by Guy Antibes
The two master soldiers straightened up as best they could and barked out their assent.
“I need more than your leaders to acknowledge what I said.” Trevor looked at Boxster.
“My intent isn’t to skin your hides if you don’t respond to training, but you are soldiers and will follow Lieutenant Arcwin’s orders. If he asks if you understand, you bark out that you do. Is that understood?”
One of the soldiers flatly said, “It is.”
“All of you repeat what the soldier said, except with enthusiasm.” Boxster looked with narrowed eyes at the men. “Is that understood?”
The men straightened up and said, “It is,” with slightly more enthusiasm, but they did stand taller and acknowledged the question.
“You will stand at ease while the Lieutenant and I will interview each of you individually.”
That was news to Trevor, but Boxster had told him that he needed to know his men, and they needed to know him. He didn’t expect that to happen when they first assembled.
Once Trevor sat down in his small office, Boxster brought the men in one by one. Trevor wrote down each man’s story to compare to what was written in their files.
Their stories were similar. They had troubles at home, so the army was a refuge. Not one of them had initially desired to enter the military, Trevor noted. He asked each one about their army aspirations. Only one of them expressed a desire to become an officer, and few wanted to progress to a noncommissioned officer position or even reach a master soldier status.
Boxster sent the master soldiers in last. Liftson, the one who made the chair creak when he sat on it, came first.
“How long have you been in the army?” Trevor asked.
“I’m a lifer.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” Trevor said. “How long have you worn a royal uniform?”
“Fifteen years, sir,” Liftson said.
“And in those fifteen years, how long have you had a weight problem.”
Liftson laughed. “It’s no problem for me, sir. I can do whatever the others do.”
“Then I will put that to the test, Master Soldier Liftson. I will also assess your ability to lead. I don’t have to have a master soldier lead your squad. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir!” Liftson said. “I won’t disappoint you.”
“See that you don’t,” Trevor said, using phraseology which had often been used on him by the senior officers at the barracks and by his father.
They spoke of other things, with Trevor learning that Liftson came from a long line of soldiers, and that was why he considered himself a lifer. Trevor stared at the door after Liftson had exited. The man wasn’t a moron, but Trevor couldn’t guess how he had been allowed to get so large for a soldier. He hoped that he could show the master soldier that he really couldn’t do what ordinary soldiers could. The problem was there were no regular soldiers in his company. Boxster and Trevor were abnormal, and the rest were subnormal. Trevor hoped to get a few of the soldiers to what he considered an average rating.
Trevor was surprised at Washkin’s age, the dissipated master soldier. Trevor had expected the man to be a decade older than he was. The man was much more intelligent than Trevor had thought, , but he had a problem, one that Trevor didn’t have the interview skills to figure out. Alcohol, or something as bad or worse, had ravaged the man’s body. He expected Boxster could draw that part of the man’s story out of him.
Washkin’s family had abandoned him to some kind of personal hell. The man didn’t say that, but Trevor was smart enough to figure that part out. He liked the army but had never been able to break into officer ranks. Trevor suspected that the man had prejudiced superiors, or the substance abuse had continued. Washkin said he looked forward to a fresh start. Trevor was more than willing to give it to him.
When Trevor returned to the soldiers, milling around on the practice ground, he found that Boxster had already had his interviews with the men. Trevor dismissed the men and commanded them to assemble the next morning at sunrise, dressed for physical training.
~
By the time Trevor showed up, a few minutes before the light of the rising sun would touch the top of the western wall from the east, half the company had arrived.
Boxster had a notebook and recorded the absent men’s names before he sent the master soldiers to get their charges to their portion of the practice ground. In a few minutes, everyone had arrived.
“We start by running,” Trevor said. “When we return, we will evaluate your proficiency with arms.”
Boxster and Trevor were ready to run with the soldiers even though they would typically be mounted. Trevor led them out, and Boxster brought up the rear. Washkin said he could run well enough, so he exited the garrison with Trevor, showing him the way. The company had to stop a few times, but everyone made it back to the fortification during the half-hour run, even Liftson, who dragged far behind the rest.
“Do we have to run?” the master soldier asked. “I never had to before.”
“Why not?” Trevor said while the men crowded around the water barrel in the practice field.
“I was left behind.”
“How did you ever make it to master soldier if you couldn’t keep up?”
“I am an exceptional archer, and I am just as proficient at cooking. A well-fed army is a happy army,” Liftson said.
Trevor wasn’t convinced. If the army were made up of too many Liftsons, it wouldn’t make it through many battles, especially if they were forced to retreat. “I expect you to spend some time thinking about getting your weight down. Your cooking is useless to the army if you are dead, and if the infantry has its positions overrun or flanked, you’d be caught out. How do you think your men would feel about that?”
“Would they care?” Liftson asked.
“I care, and as long as I command the company, I’d like to keep my men alive. Don’t you agree?” Trevor said.
The rest of the men were listening to the conversation while Boxster smirked behind Liftson’s back.
“I agree. I’ve lost weight before.”
Boxster stepped up. “If you’ve lost weight, then we have some men who, I’m sure, would be glad to join you. I have some ideas about shedding pounds. Running is one of them. It will take more than two weeks, but we can get you started before we have to put our lives on the line.”
A few of the soldiers muttered, but Boxster took them to the archery range outside the garrison walls. True to his words, Liftson was an excellent bowman, not as consistent as Boxster or Trevor, but the best out of the rest of the men. Boxster made sure they both participated as they went through the weapons: sword, knife, pike, mace, hammer, and long knife.
There were surprises as Trevor looked on.
“Unfortunately, their talents are spread out,” Boxster said to Trevor. “We will start on swords and knives before we train on the pike. Everyone should be proficient on those three, first.”
“But Liftson is a talent at archery,” Trevor said.
“And that is the hardest skill to master, right, sir?” Boxster said.
“Of the talents the company must have, you are right.”
Boxster put his hands on his hips. “If we are in the forest and are attacked by brigands, what will be the best weapon to fight as a unit?”
“Swords,” Trevor said. “Archers can do damage, but not among a thick stand of trees.”
“Who will direct the arrows?” Boxster asked.
“Liftson,” Trevor said, now enlightened. “He can’t lead if he is shooting arrows.”
“There is a leadership principle there. Tell me what it is sometime today,” Boxster said.
“I’m still in school?”
The sergeant nodded. “As long as you are in Red Forest Garrison.”
Chapter Ten
~
T wo weeks and five days later, General Greenwood sent a message to Trevor to report immediately to his office.
If this was a
n expedition, Trevor didn’t feel his men were ready, although they had improved quite a bit since that first run. With more than a little trepidation, Trevor stood in front of the general’s desk and saluted.
“Lieutenant Arcwin, it is time you were bloodied in the field.” Greenwood tossed a packet to Trevor. “Your orders are in there as well as maps of your patrol area. You will be out for seven days so use the signed requisition in that.” The general pointed to the packet with his chin. “You’ll need two packhorses with supplies in case you are unable to secure provisions in one of the forest villages. No pillaging this time, but I don’t think I have to tell you that. You won’t be running a race, but a patrol to see if any weeds have grown in our patch of Presidon.”
“Yes, sir,” Trevor said saluting. “Is that all?”
“That is all,” General Greenwood said, returning Trevor’s salute with a casual one.
Trevor turned on his heel, so the general wouldn’t see the grin on his face as he left the office. It wasn’t exactly like leading men into battle, but they would be in harm’s way, and it would be Trevor’s first real army action. He had arranged to meet Boxster in his office.
Boxster unfolded one of the maps when Trevor handed him the packet.
“We should trace out our patrol,” Trevor said.
“Washkin knows the area best. I’ll get him.”
Trevor looked at the red line that ran through the forest most of the way to the West Moreton border and back. The line didn’t run close to any villages. He had an uneasy feeling looking at their route.
Boxster left Trevor’s tiny office and returned with Washkin, who ran his finger along the red line. Washkin frowned.
“What is it?” Boxster asked.
“This is an invitation to be ambushed,” the master soldier said. “See how we travel? We can’t even tell if there are roads or paths through there. How do we get word back if we need reinforcements? We only cross main roads three times.”
“No villages or farms?” Boxster asked.
Washkin shook his head. “A woodcutter’s cottage or two, but our route stays inside the forest.”
Boxster looked at Trevor. “Do you smell a rat?”
“I don’t like the patrol, but I didn’t know why. Now I do. Let’s see if we can modify the trail to avoid moving along the red lines,” Trevor said.
“Are you afraid of an ambush, sir?” Washkin asked.
“I wouldn’t say I’m afraid, but I’d rather avoid the possibility. We are going on an expedition, but not on this route. Assassins attacked me before I left Tarviston.” Trevor looked at Boxster, who nodded.
Trevor felt like he was intruding on a conspiracy against him. He had no choice but to move forward, going back wasn’t acceptable. He still didn’t know who was behind this, and he wasn’t grinning now.
They left in the middle of the next day. Trevor and Boxster led the men, with two soldiers leading the packhorses in the middle of the column. Trevor looked back at the administration building just before they rode under the back gate. Pillar, General Greenwood’s aide, stood on the top step looking at them with folded arms. If Trevor had to guess, he would say that Pillar was the culprit. Maybe he could give a report when they returned and show the general the map to see if he had approved their route.
The soldiers talked and joked louder than Trevor thought proper, but they weren’t going to battle, at least not a formal one. He let them go, and Boxster concurred as long as they proceeded on the well-traveled lane that bypassed Red Forest town.
Trevor, Boxster, and the two master soldiers conferred two hours later where they were supposed to join the main road just south of Red Forest town. They rode for another hour after turning onto the main road and turned left rather than right, onto a much smaller way. They had decided to follow the red line after all, but Trevor had decided to track the prescribed route in the opposite direction indicated.
If there was an ambush, going in the opposite direction of the route might confuse the perpetrators. The path was wide enough for two horses abreast, but no more. A wagon wouldn’t have been able to negotiate their march.
Trevor felt comfortable having the men set up camp in a clearing bordered by a stream about fifty paces from the path. After Liftson had demonstrated that he was indeed a good cook, Trevor told the men about the change in plans. Trevor couched it as an extension of palace intrigue, which it could very well be, and that he didn’t want any of his charges caught in an ambush, and that they had to be prepared at all times.
The next day, when they set out again, the soldiers started out walking in silence. As they penetrated farther into the forest, they began to chatter, but everything was subdued. Trevor hoped it would last. Boxster told him that the only real purpose of the two-week training period was to establish the chain of command. The men were marginally better, but none of the soldiers had reached what Boxster considered a normal state.
If someone wiped them out in a battle, the readiness of the garrison would be unaffected, Trevor thought. He vowed not to let that happen as they continued for two more uneventful days.
Liftson took a bow from one of the packhorses and a quiver of arrows and began to walk ten to twenty paces in parallel to the column to see if he could find fresh meat. Amazingly, the master soldier returned with three rabbits. It wouldn’t be enough to feed twenty people, but the soldiers would be happy. Trevor had never eaten rabbit before, since his father didn’t like them, but he was curious enough to take a morsel if offered.
The soldiers knew how to skin things and clean the animals. Trevor stood around, watching in case he had to do something similar. The game sent to the royal kitchens was always cleaned before it got inside the castle, although, he had watched Win’s mother expertly skin animals before. The soldiers set up spits, and soon, the rabbits were ready to eat.
“How much does the lieutenant want?” Liftson asked.
“A taste only. My father never liked rabbit,” Trevor said.
“Try this,” the master soldier said, holding out a strip of meat on the tip of a knife.
Trevor took it with his fingers and waved it to cool and then ate. Rabbit wasn’t his favorite meat, at least this one wasn’t, but he could live off that without a problem.
A soldier ran into the clearing. “Men camped about fifteen minutes away. They are armed.”
“How many?” Boxster asked.
“Five or six,” the soldier said.
Trevor looked at Boxster. “They wouldn’t be assassins,” he said. “Not enough to face twenty men.”
“They could be scouts for a larger party,” Boxster said.
“I’ll take a squad and find out,” Trevor said as he donned his helmet
“What questions are you going to ask?” Boxster asked.
“I’ll ask them if they’ve spotted any deer,” Trevor said. “Something innocuous before they attack us, if they do. Do you think they will tell me that they are assassins if I ask nicely?”
Boxster shrugged. “I wanted to know if you were planning to go in swinging your sword.”
“No,” Trevor said. He took Washkin’s squad and left Boxster behind to keep the soldiers from running off. It was always a possibility, Boxster had told him.
Trevor walked along with the squad. As they approached the camp, he sent Washkin and three other soldiers to circle the clearing in case the men fled.
Trevor noticed horses tied to a rope line. Six horses, six men. Trevor coughed and entered the clearing. The men had just started to serve the stew.
“We had rabbit,” Trevor said when he entered the clearing.
The men jumped to their feet, but none of them went for weapons, since they all had bowls of stew in their hands and two weren’t armed. Trevor didn’t like the look of them, but that didn’t mean they were assassins.
“What do you want with us?” one of the campers asked.
“Nothing,” Trevor said. “We stopped for the night not far away, and one of our sentries sp
otted your fire.”
As Trevor walked closer to the fire, he spotted hoof prints in the dirt. The hoofprints all headed away from the picket line. Trevor casually looked back and quickly calculated there could be ten horses missing. His stomach began to churn when he noticed how large the stewpot was.
“We camped back there,” Trevor said, pointing in a different direction. “I didn’t want you upset when we got close to you in the morning. Enjoy your stew.”
Trevor turned around to leave and heard the metallic sing of a sword being drawn. He drew his sword as he turned around again to face four armed men and the two others running to their swords.
“They are going to attack us,” Trevor said.
Only a few of the men were competent enough to fight these men, and they were on the other side of the clearing. Rather than having the campers attack them all, Trevor attacked them. This was no different from fighting the assassins in the castle, he thought. But this was different because these men were nowhere as good as the renegade royal guards. Trevor thought of them as renegades, but the men could have been following the king’s orders. Trevor wondered if it was the same with these men as he sliced his way through them.
Washkin led his men in a charge into the backs of the men fighting Trevor. With a few more men acting to distract half of the fighters. Trevor pushed the three still fighting him until two of them backed up to the fire. One stumbled, and his companion moved to help him, but Trevor was quick to take advantage and cut them both down, leaving one more to deal with. The camper dropped his sword.
“Who sent you?” Trevor asked.
“You’ll never find out,” the man said as he threw a knife at Trevor. The blade glanced off his steel pauldron, and as the attacker scrambled for his sword, one of the soldiers ran him through. The six men and one of Washkin’s soldiers who knew how to use a sword were killed.
Trevor looked down at his tunic in the firelight and figured he’d have more sewing to do when he returned to the garrison—if he returned.