Herzer sat in a chair and looked around as he took them off. There were several recruits in the room being fitted for boots but he didn’t see any boots in sight.
“Uhm, where are the boots?” he asked as the man pulled out string and started taking measurements.
“They’ll have to be made, won’t they?” the man chuckled. “It’s not as if we have warehouses full. Big feet; you’re going to use up most of a cow, boy.”
“Sorry.”
“Not a problem.”
Herzer continued through room after room, occasionally moving to different buildings and being outfitted or, more often, measured. Helmet, cloak, blankets, underclothes and cloths to wrap to replace socks. They did have a helmet his size, although it wasn’t fitted on the inside and rolled around on his head until he removed it and stowed it in the footlocker. The locker was getting heavy by the time he completed the circuit and emerged back into the sunlight. Some of the rest of the recruits he had spent the night with were waiting, most of them sitting on their footlockers, as well as the sergeant who had moved the “gaggle” over.
“What now, sir?” Herzer asked.
“We wait for the rest, of course.”
Herzer took a seat and looked at the group that was there. He hadn’t had much time to get to know them the night before and he wondered if they were all going to be in his training unit.
“Hi,” he said to the person nearest him. “Herzer Herrick. Are you all line infantry?”
“Nope,” the man said with a grin. “Lucky me, I passed the bow course.”
“Oh,” Herzer said, looking him over. The man wasn’t nearly as heavily muscled as Herzer. “You did the fifty course? Congratulations.”
“Oh, hell no,” the man said with another grin. “Nobody passed that one, so they dropped it to thirty. I made that, no sweat.”
“Oh.”
“Well, I heard a couple of people passed it, but I’d have to see it to believe it. I mean, thirty nearly killed me. They told us they don’t have many bows anyway, so the ones who did really well will be the archers at the beginning and the rest will be support.”
“Ah.”
“Didn’t you pass? I mean, you’re pretty big.”
“He passed,” Deann said, setting down her footlocker. “He passed the fifty course. Then he asked if he could go to line infantry.”
“You’re joking!” the man said, looking at Herzer askance. “What in the hell did you do that for?”
“I don’t want to be stuck as an archer,” Herzer replied with a shrug.
“He’s a fisking lunatic,” Deann added.
“And for our sins we followed him over,” Cruz said from behind Herzer.
“Cruz!” Herzer said, getting to his feet to pump the young man’s hand. “Where’d you come from?”
“The same place Deann did. After looking over what we were being offered I figured being a soldier had to be better! I mean, if I never see another hide or crosscut saw I’ll be too happy. Even if it means being stuck with you guys!”
“You’re all nuts! You guys are nothing but sword fodder; the archers are the elite.”
“Yeah?” Herzer challenged. “Infantry is about movement. When you can do the Hill, I’ll be impressed.”
“Archers are going to have to keep up with us,” Deann said smugly. “I think they’ll face the Hill soon enough.”
“On your feet you…” The sergeant looked around at the group as the last recruit joined them. He started to say more then shook his head. “Never mind. It’s not even worth cussing.” He started to call off a list of names, breaking them out into four groups. As he did, other sergeants drifted into the area.
Herzer’s group was the smallest, with the archers being the most numerous, and two groups of women, presumably archer females and “line” females.
“I’m Drill Corporal Wilson,” one of the NCO’s said, coming over to Herzer’s group. “I’ll take you to meet your makers.”
“Our what?” one of Herzer’s group asked.
“You’ll see,” the corporal said with a chuckle.
He led the group, still carrying their footlockers, out of the area and along the base of the hills to a clearing where three figures in armor waited.
“WHAT THE FISK ARE YOU DOING JUST AMBLING ALONG LIKE A BUNCH OF GRANNIES?!” one of the figures shouted. “MOVE IT! MOVE IT! MOVE IT! YOU, THE BIG ONE, OVER HERE!”
Herzer looked to where he was pointing and trotted over to the spot as fast as he could carrying the box of materials.
“Footlocker on the ground behind you,” the man said. He was nearly as tall as Herzer and just about as wide, with the articulated armor and helmet making him appear even larger. He pointed to the spot then chivvied the group with Herzer into a semicircle.
“I am Triari Sergeant Jeffcoat,” the man said, walking along the line and looking at each of the recruits. “Triari is my rank, not my name. It is my sad duty to inform you that for the next couple of months I’m going to be your drill sergeant. The reason that it is my sad duty is that you are not going to like it! There are many things that I could be doing with my time other than training a group of such useless fisks as you yardbirds. But this is what I’ve been ordered to do and I will damned well do it, even if it kills you. Note, not if it kills me but if it kills you! This is Decurion Jones and Sergeant Paddy,” he continued, pointing to the two persons in armor. “Along with Drill Corporal Wilson, they will be helping me in this unenviable task.” He paused as one of the group raised his hand.
“Did I ask you to speak?” the sergeant said quietly.
“No, but I was wondering…”
“WHEN I TELL YOU TO WONDER YOU WILL WONDER, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD? DOWN, DOWN ON YOUR FACE. HANDS EXTENDED, LEGS EXTENDED AND LOCKED. FACE TO THE GROUND.” He tapped the recruit into a push-up position and then nodded. “Now, on my count, you will do push-ups, is that clear?”
“Uh…”
“IF YOU UNDERSTAND THE ORDER YOU WILL SOUND OFF WITH A LOUD AND CLEAR ‘CLEAR, SERGEANT!’ YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AND THE OTHER SERGEANTS AS SERGEANT OR BY OUR RANK. IF YOU WISH TO ASK A QUESTION YOU WILL SAY ‘PERMISSION TO SPEAK, SERGEANT.’ IS THAT CLEAR?”
“Clear, sergeant!” the recruit said.
“ALL OF YOU, IS THAT CLEAR?”
“Clear, Sergeant.” “Yes, Sergeant.” “Uh, huh.”
“THAT’S IT. ALL OF YOU, FRONT-LEANING-REST-POSITION, MOVE!”
Herzer, despite the fact that he had, in fact, sounded off nice and clear, joined the rest of the recruits and learned the proper way to count push-ups. After fifty, when most of the group was sweating and their arms buckling, the sergeant stopped and shook his head.
“I just don’t know. This is the group that they want to defend our great town with. What a bunch of useless ragbags. Look at this one,” he continued, toeing one of the group. “What’s your name, Fatty?”
“Cosgrove,” the recruit replied.
“WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET YOU TO SOUND OFF?” the sergeant shouted. “THAT’S ‘COSGROVE, SERGEANT’! IS THAT CLEAR!”
“Clear, Sergeant.”
“LOUDER!”
“Clear, Sergeant!”
“LOU-DER!”
“CLEAR, SERGEANT!”
“Better. Almost there. Now, what is your name, Fatty?”
“COSGROVE, SERGEANT!”
“Well, we’ll sweat that fat right off of you.” He looked around again and shook his head. “On your feet. Now, the purpose of this little meeting is to get a few things straight. There will be no knives, other weapons, drugs, pornography or anything else that I feel unmilitary cluttering up my barracks. Is that clear?”