There was an opening in a forest that was as lush as the trees that surrounded it, and every shade of green covered the land. A sparkling stream flowed, its currents overturning rocks and stones on its shallow bed, gradually being eroded away by the flow that trickled down from a hill a few leagues away. It was the lifeline of a camp of banners and flags, great horns, and towers that guarded the tall palisades that outlined the village of barracks and armouries, with every building, as one might expect from an encampment, designed with the same bland faces distributed evenly throughout the forest opening. The territory appeared vast on the ground, but this was only because the camp was layered like a quarry, providing trench lines for its residents in case its wooden walls failed to withstand an assault. It was no more than a small field outpost capable of grounding an army for a few days, assuming the enemy did not choose to use fire to smoke out the defenders. Nevertheless, an island that had faced three invasions in the last two thousand years found this insignificant fort adequate. However, the threat of a fourth loomed.
The sands and gravel washed over shuffling feet, with some oblivious about what they had to do, unable to distinguish between standing to attention and standing at ease. They fixed their postures in line with their fellow cadets and filled the parade square with five disorganised ranks and sixty uneven files. Tense and unsure of what to expect from their training, some were excited, while others appeared to have been forced to join on the promise of three meals per day and a bed to sleep in. Regardless of their motivations, they were now equals, standing in silence amidst the chirping birds, blowing breeze, rustling trees, and duelling branches. One of the instructors continued with his induction speech. However, his subordinates did not seem pleased to endure his long-winded words in the heat.
The chief instructor paced about the parade square, his hand twitching from an injury he had suffered in battle many years ago, wielding a war hammer made of solid iron and silver that could crush a horse in one swing. “Take this hammer of mine: a tool of war.” His voice bellowed, emphasising his words with a dynamic volume. “It has no mind of its own, no emotions, no thoughts, and that is what a soldier is expected to be.” He spun his mallet around and, when he came to a halt, rested his hammerhead on the ground.
He took a wide stance, looking at his cadets with an old gaze that lacked the spirit of youth. His beret was slouched over his grey hair, and his uniform was out of date, reminding him of the sacrifice he had made for his king and country before any of the cadets were even born, but he did not appear to be the hero one would expect of a veteran. His once-brawny stature had grown puffy, and his cheeks sagged like a man twenty years older than he was. Although he was shorter than average, Major Thomas Ascot was middle-aged, around forty years old. However, the cadets were unaware that he had once been a young officer with a promising future, which he and many others had ruined because of one mistake. Regardless, his task was to train those three hundred youths before him, but he knew that some of the adolescent and teenage boys and girls were simple adventurers who were unaware of the small terrors of war that would weather them like it did him, and he was there to weed out the weaklings.
Ascot examined the disorderly but not unruly band of cadets and chose one unfortunate soul who appeared more measly than the others, approaching him without hesitation as his grip on his hammer tightened. The major suddenly lifted his hammer and drove it downward towards the cadet, whose entire body froze in fear, as if the sky were collapsing on him. However, just as quickly as it had accelerated, the hammer halted an inch above the boy's head, which felt heavy with panic. The cadet shuddered, tears in his eyes, and collapsed to his knees, still staring at the mallet in the face, when his comrades noticed a patch of fluid form beneath him.
“The moment a soldier becomes human again, they have lost the battle.” Ascot proved with his demonstration, but seeing that he had humiliated the cadet, who was still no more than a child, he sympathetically said to him only. “It’d do you some good to go home, son.” He lowered his war hammer and walked away with a sigh.
The cadets realised what it meant to become soldiers, and they braced up, not knowing whether they would be chosen for the major’s next fearsome demonstration, but it never came.
The chief instructor continued to pace around when he spotted his next victim and marched towards him with similar intent, but he knew that this cadet would not flinch even if he swung his hammer at him. “If we are tools to be used, then what are our enemies?” He quizzed the brutish boy, expecting him to know its answer without needing to overthink.
“Sandbags, Major! Or meatbags—whate’er ye fancy!” The cadet yelled, although he did not quite understand what he meant. He could only respond because he had heard it said before.
“Excellent answer as always, Cadet Calenzo.” Ascot brought his hammer away and revealed the smirk of the cadet that was facing him.
Many eyes turned to the cadet who spoke, and he appeared to be enjoying the attention. He was one of the older cadets around, with a whiff of arrogance about him, which led some to believe that he was just another one of those self-assured bastards who thought he knew everything, but they did not dare trespass on his ego given his well-toned muscles and shoulders, which were as broad as a miner's. Improperly dressed, giving off the air of a miscreant, his golden hair had a wave-shaped fringe that hung over his flaming, sharp eyes, their colours made even more striking by his tanned olive skin, which explained his background as the son of a farmer from southern Italen. However, he could have improved his manners.
Chuckling, Cadet Calenzo sought to prove his worth by jesting with the major, but he chose the wrong time and place to do so. “Well, ye do folla a script.” The cadet’s smirk widened as he glanced at his neighbouring comrades, seeking their laughter.
Ascot paused and cleared his throat as he maintained his stone-faced demeanour. “And I am sure everyone is dying to be enlightened as to why you’re here again.” Pettily, the chief instructor embarrassed him before his comrades.
Sniggers echoed throughout the parade square, with cadets attempting to suppress their laughter at the unexpectedly childish behaviour of the brute and the major. Calenzo’s face flushed, appearing to have been drained of any power he had planned to wield over his comrades, leaving him a class clown instead.
Shaking his head, the major turned around and returned to his cadets as he thrust the shoe of his warhammer into the ground. “Like a sandbag, the enemy is a soulless object, but when a soldier views his adversary as a human, then they become the very sandbag waiting to be cut down.” His words resonated as a warning to the cadets who had to alter their mindset every second of every day from then on lest they become less than fodder. “I, Thomas Ascot, will make certain you will never make that mistake.”
Sensing that the chief instructor was finally approaching the end of his speech, a delinquent lieutenant instructor who was not so different from Calenzo in how he acted tossed his cigarette onto the gravel and put out its ember with the sole of his boots. “Attention!” He yelled out and stood behind the major, allowing his cadets to copy his movements as well.
Ascot straightened his back and expelled the breath that he had been holding in into a heartening statement. “You will all become the foundations of a grand army that our king and country shall rely upon, and I will see to it that you will perform your duties, outweighing the contributions of our continental allies!” The chief instructor lifted his hammer as if he was pledging his speech for the heavens to hear. “To you, my spirits are high!”
The cadets stood with their arms pinned to their sides and their chins pointed upward, focusing their eyes on the instructor, who stood in the shadow of the fluttering Commonwealth lion flags that were also displayed on each cadet's left arm. Standing in the blazing summer sun, sweat pouring down their faces, cadets and instructors extended out their right arms and slashed their salutes onto their chests as if they were pledging a sword over their heart before the chief instructor returned the gesture. His arm came down, and the introductory parade was dismissed, with two hundred and ninety-nine youths becoming members of the military sooner than their parents would have allowed them to attend. One boy, however, had been performing every action with a level of precision that even the instructors could not hope to achieve. He caught the attention of many who stood beside him during the parade, but his friend noticed that his mind seemed to have wandered off during the speech, leaving behind a body that moved solely on memory.569Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9PozJ8ELYD
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