Ill was sitting discussing the social schedule with her aide, when Tom came in. “Ill?” he asked, and she stepped out. “Ill, this is Drenden, we were rankers together, here!”
Ill made her curtsey toward the young man in top ranker's stripes,, about her husband’s age. “Drenden asked for a transfer to our unit, the fool!”
Drenden grinned. “Me and Tom here go way back, and when I heard he was coming I just had to get myself into his unit.”
“I’m pleased to hear my husband is so popular.”
Drenden made a funny face. “Not sure as how I could call him ‘popular’, so much. I know our Tom don’t mind my speaking this way, otherwise I wouldn’t do, but he isn’t the most popular man, unless you like to win battles and skirmishes and all. Then you want him on your side.”
Ill looked at Tom, appalled, but Tom just grinned at her and, between hums, said, “I lack ‘social graces’, or so I’m told.”
“Good with the young’uns, though,” Drenden admitted. “None better at training. But not so good with authority.”
“I’m getting better,” Tom protested.
“You left your leader up a tree on your last little skirmish, Top.”
“It was the best place for him,” Tom protested.
“You didn’t give him much choice.”
“He got a medal out of it, too!”
“Yah, that’s why you didn’t get charged for mutiny. He killed eight of the aliens and got a commander’s own medal. Field jumped to Sub-commander, poor slob.”
“Not OUR sub-commander?”
“Oh, no. Transfered to Festian V. Kept his grade on the move, though. Took some of our old lads with him, too.”
“Well, that’s fine. So who’s our sub-commander here?”
Suddenly the door chimed. ”Well, I guess we’ll find out now,” Tom said. “Speak of the Devil.” Ill heard the door opened even as she rounded the corner out of her office. “Sub-Commander?”
“Ah, Ld. Tomirosh,” Ill heard and saw, at the same time, a large, bluff man, holding a salute to her husband. Tom quickly returned it, and then the two shook hands. “I’m so glad to have you on board!”
“I’m glad to be on board, Sir,” Tom said. “Won’t you sit down?”
“Certainly, certainly, thank you. And this is?”
“Ah, yes. My wife, Illoia, the daughter of Tareno IV.”
The sub-commander started visibly and turned his perfunctory bow into a much deeper one, and turned his eyes quizzically on Tom. But Tom didn’t notice, or pretended he didn’t. “You have orders for me, Sir?’
“Ah, well, yes, no, just the standard orders. Since you have an all new century you will have the standard three months to familiarise your troops.”
“Thank you, Sir. I have a rigorous training schedule planned.”
“Yes, yes, I heard that you were quite a daemon for training. We have an excellent set of training obstacles…”
“Yes, Sir, I’m sure you do, but I prefer in-location training.”
“In location?”
“Yes, Sir, I studied the specs and there is a wonderful area for training right behind our battalion’s front.”
“Right behind the front? But… well, it is up to you. I can’t say I recommend it myself but…”
“Yes, yes, I understand. It certainly isn’t standard protocol. But I’m not one for standard protocol.”
“I had heard that. One day I would love to hear how you got those medals…?”
“Maybe one day, Sir. Perhaps back at the officers mess.”
“Yes, yes. A few beers and we can all tell some tales, eh?”
“Yes, Sir. Was there anything else, Sir?”
The sub-commander suddenly shut up. “Well, no. I suppose you have a lot to do, getting your unit ready?”
“Yes, Sir. We begin training tonight.”
“Tonight? You are a daemon for training!”
“Thank you, Sir.”
The sub-commander got up, looking very awkward. “Well, I’ll be going then,” he said. Walking toward the door he started to turn back, and then walked on.
“So, that’s the sub-commander?” Tom asked Drenden after the door closed.
“Yup.”
“A coward?”
“Yup.”
Ill looked appalled. “How do you know? What an awful thing to say!”
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Drenden said. “Not something I’d like to say against anyone, but it is true.”
“But Tom, how did you know?”
“Look in his eyes. Way he talked about training up by the front. Way his eyes looked. Way he talked. I can’t really say. Hard to say.”
“But he’s right. Spotted it right away. He does that. No social sense at all, our Tom, but he can spot a bad penny from a mile away. And fix them, too.”
“Drenden!”
“You cleaned up that one kid in our company, the one who was left-handed.”
“Drenden!!”
“Left-handed?”
“You do NOT want to know,” Tom said, harshly.
“Well, you fixed him, anyway.”
“You are training tonight?”
“We are training tonight. Soldiers, dependents, everyone.”
“Dependents too?”
“Yup. One of my training rules. When we move out, everyone moves out. I’m not leaving anyone here to be captured by the buggers. We move out in an hour.”
“What… what do I need to do?”
“You? Nothing. Eat, Drink, use the fresher. Our staff will carry what you need.”
“What will I need?”
“Arms, water, camo blanket, tree tarp, multiple ropes, multiple power packs… your soldiers will know, it’s been in their sims. Just freshen and all.”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, moving off.
Thank you for reading Von’s Substack. I would love it if you commented! I love hearing from readers, especially critical comments. I would love to start more letter exchanges, so if there’s a subject you’re interested in, get writing and tag me!
Being ‘restacked’ and mentioned in ‘notes’ is very important for lesser-known stacks so… feel free! I’m semi-retired and write as a ministry (and for fun) so you don’t need to feel guilty you aren’t paying for anything, but if you enjoy my writing (even if you dramatically disagree with it), then restack, please! Or mention me in one of your own posts.
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If you get lost, check out my ‘Table of Contents’ which I try to keep up to date.
Von also writes as ‘Arthur Yeomans’. Under that name he writes children’s, YA, and adult fiction from a Christian perspective. His books are published by Wise Path Books and include the children’s/YA books:
The Bobtails meet the Preacher’s Kid
and
As well as GK Chesterton’s wonderful book, “What’s Wrong with the World”, for which ‘Arthur’ wrote most of the annotations.
Arthur also has a substack, and a website.
Thanks again, God Bless, Soli Deo gloria,
Von