Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier

by Lee Abrey

  “Corporal Polo Shawcross, sah.” I saw his eyes widen as I said my rank, then he caught the name.

  “Oh, you’re him.” He grinned. “Trust me to find trouble. I’m Colonel Everett Westwych. Hello Shawcross.” Everett was Divisional Commander, in charge of our division of two thousand men, one of five that made up our battalion of ten thousand. I closed my eyes a moment at the horror then opened them and tried to smile.

  “Hello, colonel. Trust who to find trouble? I think you’ll find that’s me, sah.”

  “You don’t seem as bad as I’ve heard, Shawcross.”

  “Oh?” I said, desperately going over what I had said to Everett Sah. “Was I very insubordinate during our conversation?” I probably had been. “Did I actually advocate an armed overthrow of the officer class? It’s only a hobby.” He shook his head at me. I sighed heavily. He gave me a level look, eyes amused. “Sah,” I added.

  “I could use a man like you on my personal staff.” I blinked.

  “Colonel? I’m with the scouts.” Which meant I was a bit crazy, was he sure he wanted me near him? He nodded and waved that away as if it were nothing. “I signed in for a year, sir,” I said, feeling sad, “six months left.” I cursed my luck. If only I’d met the colonel before I transferred.

  “What are your plans for your career?” he said.

  “I have eighteen months to go,” I said carefully, “I want to stay alive. Then leave the army. Haka and Zol willing.” He nodded.

  “Aye,” he said, “strangely, I have the same amount of time, the same aims, though it will take me to ten years service.” He must be nearly thirty. “So do I have it right? The gossip says you killed six men while you were at the guild, were expelled for doing your tutor and left Malion after the Crown Princess there broke your heart.” I laughed. “Then you drunkenly signed up for the army.”

  “Well sir,” I said, “some of it’s right. I was drunk when I signed up. The princess didn’t break my heart but likewise I didn’t break hers, we barely knew each other.” A polite way of saying it was a one-night-stand. I counted off the other items on my fingers. “Three fellow guild cadets died, not six. It wasn’t killing or a drunken brawl, I was fighting for my life. They attacked me in a mob, the ringleaders were doing it as a favour to an enemy of mine. However, I did cripple another four or so lads, in the sense that I maimed them and ended their military careers.” I mentioned something that had occurred to me since. “Me getting drunk and signing up for this was probably to do with how I felt over the whole event.”

  “And doing your tutor?” said Everett. I hadn’t done a damn one of my tutors. In company or otherwise.

  “The Military Guild expelled me after only two terms, sir. I barely knew any of my tutors. And I don’t have to tell you who I had sex with.”

  “Good answer,” he said, “they really expelled you?” I shrugged.

  “Well, they didn’t expel me. They banned me from the premises. I was able to transfer my credits to the Harvesters, where I was studying poultry and the like. Principles of estate management.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’m a duke, sir,” I said, “I have my people to consider.” He smiled. “As I said, sir, I have six months to go in the scouts. I made a promise.”

  I wondered about breaking it but couldn’t see a reasonable excuse other than just me being a coward and not wanting to die. “I have to finish a year. Someone did me a favour, got me out of the lancers.” He whistled.

  “That’s a big favour. The person will know if you’re not actually scouting?” I nodded.

  “The lieutenant colonel in question wanders past and growls at me every so often, or sends someone to growl in his stead, in case I’m thinking of being notorious whilst under his recommendation.”

  “In which case,” said the colonel, “I will see if, as part of your duties, you can visit me and bring me reports on the morale of the men.” That seemed plausible. Besides, a mission I didn’t have to go outside a fort on was one I lived through. I let myself look hopeful. There was a short silence. “Unless you’re dead,” he said, grinning, “or hung.” I smiled.

  “I am not planning either of those, but you know how it is, sir, Haka may take me for a sunbeam.”

  “I could do with a different perspective, Polo. I’ll send for you in a few days.” I left feeling cheered then realised he probably meant to use me sexually. That was fine. For the sake of living I’d already done worse things.

  Me being dead or hung was the only excuse Everett accepted for not visiting. He would send for me when he felt like it and even the sergeants weren’t game to say no to him. It made my time bearable. He liked to have a line into what the men were thinking.

  As a non-com I was supposed to have near-mystical insights into what made them happy, sad, or likely to disobey orders. I had a reputation as able to make my men do anything. I was pretty good with men but the fact was that most of my success was due to not caring about the army. I could no more make an enlisted man do what I wanted than anyone else.

  With a good horse, one that wanted to be part of a team, and the best horses live for that, yes, I could make it do almost anything.

  A man? A man had free will, all too often would use it to pick the most stupid option available, often not because he was stupid, but because he wasn’t thinking at the time.

  Alternatively, his addiction to something meant he wasn’t thinking straight. Addicts lacked reason when it came to the object of their desire. Gambling the rent money wasn’t something a gambler did out of logic, though they might try to say their choice of wager had a system to it.

  You couldn’t defeat the need by simply explaining how silly or counterproductive that was or by appealing to any higher faculties. The alcoholic won’t stop drinking because you cry and beg them not to. Even if at the time you’re six and cute as a button.

  The army was dredging up all kinds of things that I had walled away in my mind and refused to think about. Life had to go on, didn’t it? Things could be worse, couldn’t they? Wasn’t I doing fine? I wasn’t having a breakdown. I was sober. Yes, I was high, but everybody else was drunk and high. Taking everything, to see if it killed them before the Sriamans managed it. Several troopers I knew went for long terms in the stockade, all over stupid drunken behaviour. Men went on dreamdust trips and never came back. Nearly every medic I met was into the poppy juice they carried for their fellow soldiers.

  Before going into the army I lived away from home, got drunk, took lots of drugs, bedded so many women, and men, that without the aid of my journals I couldn’t remember them all. At the time, servants filled in many of the names because I was too far gone to remember my own name, let alone my sexual partners’. I could only imagine how the women felt, with Bernard politely asking their names so he could note them, in case any came after me later to care for a bairn.

  “And did you notice, milady,” Bernard would continue, “did His Grace wear a condom?” I always did. Sexually active from a very young age, I was buying my own condoms until I moved to the citadel at fifteen. There they were handed out free.

  My experience made me feel a lot older than most of the men, many of whom seemed to have signed up to escape their parents. I’d already done that when I was just a boy. My parents had come after me but I’d had a few good years.

  When I had leave I stopped going into town much. I didn’t want to go crazy. I understood how the military polis felt about the way the lads acted, but they were no perfect citizens themselves. Same with the way they treated civilians. If Azrael ever took over this bloody army I would make damn sure the military polis lost their power.

  To my surprise, Everett didn’t want to tumble me. Although unused to not being a sex object, I adapted well.

  ****

  I was efficient and good at what I did, although some of the commissioned officers said I was insolent, sarcastic and disrespectful. I tried not to be all three at once.

  The non-commissioned officers weren’t impressed by my blood, title
, coin, constant supply of the best mindweed or wit. Nevertheless, they said I was alright, did my job well, kept the people with me alive. They were immune to sarcasm but they noticed it. They also noticed I was usually being rude to commissioned officers, so providing I was polite to the non-comm’s they’d ignore my behaviour.

  On the other hand the commissioned officers tended to miss both jokes and mockery. Within my earshot, a sergeant told a captain that Shawcross wasn’t very good at saluting but he never left anyone behind. The sergeant added, quite blithely, even officers. I tried to look penitent over my lazy saluting whilst looking noble and brave.

  Not too much. Even commissioned officers sometimes realised everyone else was teasing them. The months passed until I was nearly at the end of my time in the scouts. I requested a transfer to Everett’s staff, he counter-signed it and the approval arrived from Most High. I decided to travel the army below detection from now on, no more silliness like arrests, medals, promotions or transfers, no being incredibly good or incredibly bad.

  The army was trying to persuade me to sign up for at least another five years, promising a fast-track through the ranks, something I’d already done by being a corporal at only nineteen. Corporals were supposed to be closer to twenty-one, sergeants twenty-five, sergeant majors, twenty-nine. If I signed for another five years they’d promote me every two years for the five guaranteed. So I would be sergeant major before I was twenty-six.

  If instead I transferred into the commissioned officer corps, they were offering to start me as a captain, two ranks up from a Military Guild graduate. They would get round me being banned from guild premises. Seemed the guild was open to monetary persuasion if I could manage a decent bribe. The very obsequious official from the Military Guild said I was expected, being a duke, to provide enough to refurbish the cadet quarters as befitted young gentlemen who needed to be taught refinement by their surroundings.

  For that little bit of financial help they would give me an honorary officer’s degree. The effrontery took my breath away but I pretended interest, asked for plans and details of the work they needed funding for, with costings.

  It was a good deal except for one small thing. I was planning on getting out of the army at the end of my three years and never coming back. I never wanted to be a soldier or even attend the Military Guild, let alone serve three years in the bloody army.

  All I was doing was trying to stay alive whilst enduring my sentence for stupidity.

  ****

  I was expecting staying alive to be the easy part of my final year in the army. My time would be spent slacking around Everett’s office, fetching the coffee, making sure the colonel made it to appointments on time, reading his paperwork and summarising it for him. I might risk a paper cut, a spike from a mis-bent paperclip, maybe a tumble off one of my horses during a hunt or some mounted game or other.

  Gods, I didn’t care if the paper cut was so bad I needed stitches, I only had to survive one more year. Providing I didn’t have to go in another cavalry charge or sneak around in the dark looking for Sriamans and sometimes, to the horror of both parties, finding them, almost anything would have been fine.

  February was my signing-up anniversary, and with the wet season was about to start the heat was rising. The Sriamans decided to up their efforts and began a push by focusing on cutting off our intelligence gathering, so we lost many scouts. They also attacked our patrols more often in the first week of February than in the previous six months. The generals took it as a personal affront and decided we would up our efforts too.

  I’d barely figured out the office filing system when someone working for a general took all the men with scouting experience and put them back on active duty. Everett protested on my behalf but it was out of his control. He clasped my hand and forearm with both his hands, looking emotional.

  “I’m sorry, Polo, I’ll miss your honesty.” I was very sorry too.

  ****

  Chapter 41 – Death and Life

  Suddenly I was a scout again, assigned to a new base. On reflection, it wasn’t the lancers so perhaps I wouldn’t complain. I think putting most people in a cavalry charge could effectively control them. If they survived they’d back off any argument simply by offering to send them back to a frontline cavalry platoon.

  Back on mounted duty, I bought another three stallions from Magpie’s lineage, along with more good horses for those men who couldn’t afford their own. The duchy invested in a new stud back in Starshore, breeding and training Pesertines for battle.

  ****

  Without warning it was November and summer, though in the north the warmth stayed through the winter except in the mountains. I was still alive. I knew most of the gossip back in Sendren and Highcliff thanks to letters from friends and family.

  Azrael was finishing his third and final year at the Military Guild, hoping to serve behind the lines if the king could be persuaded into it. He wondered if maybe I could transfer to wherever he was posted. He was trying for a coastal town. I thought about that option. Even if they’d let me, did I want to? I was teased enough over being a duke. It would be tricky if I had a close friend who was a prince, a duke, and a commissioned officer. A junior one at that.

  The Army of the North was the army of the old kingdoms, which were the southern two-thirds of the landmass that had once been called Pangea. Sriama was in the actual north of the landmass. Sriama said half the continent belonged to them, which would bring their border almost to my castle at Port Azrael. If the north fell the Sriamans wouldn’t stop at Sendren, which was on the southern edge of the Great Star Lake. The Army was everywhere in the kingdoms. It guarded the coasts against pirates and slavers, and every kingdom had several garrisons of soldiers who pottered about looking for outlaws or other interesting things to occupy themselves.

  Any one of the old kingdoms wasn’t strong enough to stand alone against Sriama or other enemies. The Kavar, not currently our enemies, had spent centuries attacking the west coast. The Blackshippers were pirate slavers who usually attacked the east coast. Without co-operation the kingdoms would be overrun.

  Azrael, heir to Sendren, wanted to unite the old kingdoms and bring back Dragon to fight on our side against Sriama. When I wrote to him I mentioned things I noticed, problems, stupidities and observations on both the army and Sriamans, but didn’t mention our past, keeping the correspondence casual.

  His letters were pleasant but also ignored our history, instead talking excitedly about progress as more rulers agreed in principle to his united kingdoms idea, or about joining the army and getting his own chance to serve. I knew Azrael was hoping for some pirate or outlaw action while his superiors and Uncle Theo would be praying he didn’t find any. I hoped he was happy.

  On the Northern Front, our generals were so annoyed over the Sriaman incursions they decided to attack the enemy at night as well as during the day. That meant that aside from capturing Sriamans who might be useful sources when interrogated, we sidled up to any enemy camp we could find. Before they realised we were there we killed or dragged off as many Sriamans as we could.

  In my letters I told funny anecdotes, but my reality was night scouting, creeping around the borders. We didn’t fight battles, instead picking off stragglers, dozing guards or men off for some quiet contemplation while they emptied their bowels.

  ****

  One night in December I was wandering the hills with another four scouts, looking for trouble. We found more than we bargained for.

  A fire flickered in the next valley, so the captain and I left our horses and bellied up over the ridgeline to consider our options. As the two Blood in the group, we saw best at night.

  “Shawcross? They have prisoners, can you see?” I peered down. I was fond of the captain, I sirred him.

  “Aye sir,” I said softly, “twelve Sriamans. I count five Kingdom men. If we don’t move those lads will be on the fire.” The captain sighed.

  “Don’t really have time to get help,” he said,
sounding thoughtful.

  “No, sir.” We both sighed at that and went back down to the others. The captain had an idea on the way.

  “Used to be in the lancers, didn’t you, Shawcross?”

  “Aye,” I said cautiously. Usually that question was followed by a lewd joke about spears.

  “Good,” said the captain. “You and Robson, you’re the biggest and best at hand-to-hand. You’re going to charge them on horseback. There, see. Come charging down the hill at the fire and cream as many of the bastards as you can.”

  “Um, sir?” I said, sounding doubtful. “I love you and all that, but there are twelve of them.”

  “You’re simply the distraction, Shawcross, and a lovely distraction you are too. The rest of us will take advantage of their disarray.” We all giggled. The captain shook his head, smiling.

  Two would come in from the back roaring loudly, as the ones from the front were about to reach the group. That was our signal to stop throwing knives. Two others would rescue the prisoners. “You all have your wire-cutters?” Wire was near impossible to get off without some kind of pincers.

  “Enemy near the prisoners must be neutralised,” said the captain. “We do not pursue. The priority, gentlemen, is rescuing our fellow Kingdom men. Give us three minutes, Shawcross, we’ll be going as fast as we can.”

  Robson and I went carefully forward, me leading with my night vision. I was armed with a knife almost long enough to be a short sword that could double for one, an assortment of throwing knives, various blades for stabbing and slashing at close range, several garrottes and a good short club. My two biggest knives were in my left hand, a bunch of throwing ones carefully in my right. If I was lucky, once I gave them those and before we had to fight, I would have time to loose the ones in my forearm sheaths.