Chapter 6
On the March
Hampshire, Willoughby County, Greland
The morning bugle call had never been quite so unwelcome as this morning. Over the weekend, Corporal Elon Schwartz and his mates were at the pub celebrating his promotion to corporal major. Three straight nights of binge drinking would leave most men dead of alcohol poisoning, but not the proud troops of the Second Light Foot.
However, Corporal Schwartz's prodigious alcohol tolerance still left him with the mother of all hangovers and the bugle call wasn't helping.
"Gorram bugler," one of his mates, Corporal Withers, grumbled, "I'd likes ta string 'is bleedin' guts up the bleedin' flagpole."
Corporal Schwartz felt much the same way, but after more than 30 years in this man's army, he knew that voicing those sentiments wouldn't accomplish anything. Grudgingly, he rolled out of bed and fumbled with the key around his neck to open up his footlocker and pull out his uniform. He didn't much care that it was a wrinkled mess or that he had a three days' growth of whiskers. Let Sergeant Major howl. It wasn't too likely the Colonel would take his new bar so soon after it was sewn on his sleeve. He might get some lashes, but his back was already so thick with scars that Sergeant Howell could barely break the skin anymore.
Slowly but surely, he and the other seven corporals he bunked with straggled out of the barracks and fell into formation. The six companies of the Second Light Foot very nearly filled out their rolls honestly. If the Army didn't meet the strict quotas set by Aureans, they risked being disbanded just like the Elbans and nobody in Greland wanted to end up like the bloody Elbans.
"Fall in!" Sergeant Major bellowed. "Fall in, ye gorram apes!"
They were already doing that, but Sergeant Major would just sulk if he didn't get to shout at everyone.
"Alright, ye poxy dogs! Look sharp, look sharp! In-spection! Open or-der, march!"
The field was just barely large enough for the battalion to stand at open order. At the new interval, the platoon sergeants could easily pass between ranks to inspect the soldiers one by one. Schwartz could already imagine all the things Sergeant Grenway would have to say to him.
"Schwartz!" he barked, his voice cracking as it always did when he started shouting. "What in Heaven an' Hell, the Blessed Virgin an' all the saints d'ye think yer doin' comin' to my formation lookin' like a sack a' gorram crushed arseholes!? Yer a gorram disgrace ta the mem'ry a' His Majesty the King, this man's army, the uniform, an' all the legions a' honored dead in this kingdom's proud history spinnin' in their gorram graves 'cause a' this shameful display yer puttin' on! Is this how ye repay this man's army fer takin' in yer worthless carcass, makin' somethin' useful a' ye, givin' ye a fine, upstandin' livin' these past thirty years!? Yer gonna spit in the bleedin' face a' this regiment fer honorin' ye with a promotion comin' here lookin' like that!? I swear, Mother an' Maid, I'll peel the hide off yer gorram carcass an' make a drum outta it ta beat the pace on our next march! Fall out an' gimme a hunnerd laps 'round town 'fore I have the Colonel bust ye back down so ye serve out yer last ten as gorram peon rifleman! On the double, ye worthless pile a' stinkin' swine offal!"
"As you were, Sergeant," a voice said.
It was Major Wickham, the battalion commander.
"But, sir, this piece a'—"
"Sergeants, I need you to put the inspection and any punitive hundred laps around town on hold," the Major said. "We've just received orders from headquarters. The regiment has been called up to the border. Reconnaissance reports that the Eye-lies are massing at the border. It could be nothing, and it could be that Zadok is mounting a new offensive. Word has been sent to Tiberia and surely the consul will raise concerns with San Constantino, but while all that's going on, Zadok could invade. Hopefully, a show of force will be all it takes to discourage the Eye-lies, but we must be prepared to fight. Finish your inspection, then get ready to move out. I want us on the road no later than noon. Sergeant Major."
"Sah!"
Sergeant Major saluted Major Wickham and took over once more.
"Alright, ye mugs, ye 'eard the Major! Ser-geants! Let's pick it up, pick it up!"
Sergeant Grenway glared at Schwartz and told him, "Don't think ye've got off, Schwartz. Once we've made camp, I will see that ye get all the pain ye've got comin' fer this revoltin' display ye've offended my eyes with an' the eyes of ever'one b'low the Heavens an' above 'em too."
The smart thing would have been to say something like "Yes, Sergeant! Thank you, Sergeant!", but Schwartz had never been accused of being all that smart.
"Steady on there, Sergeant," he said. "Ye wouldn't wanna work me over as I'm unfit durin' a combat march. They'd brin' ye up on dereliction. Ye could lose them pretty stripes a' yers. Ye wouldn't wanna lose those stripes on account a' lil' ol' me, now would ye, Sergeant?"
He grinned. Sergeant Grenway looked like he was going to explode.
"SCHWARTZ!!"
* * *
Back at the barracks, Schwartz and his bunkmates were packing their gear. Most of their kit was kept at the quartermaster's, but whatever they needed from their footlockers was the first to go into their packs. Socks were the most important thing next to food and water. You could wear the same uniform for weeks, but if you didn't change your socks regularly, you were just asking to have your feet rot off and the one thing an infantryman needs as much as his rifle is his feet.
"D'ye really think it's gonna be war, Schwartzie?" Corporal Ralston asked.
"How the hell should I know?" Schwartz replied. "I ain't never seen no damn war. Missed the last one by four months. I been marched out ta the border, oh, four or five times, but nothin's come of it, so why should this time be any diff'rent?"
"I hope so..."
"Whaddye mean, Rally boy?" Corporal Withers demanded, punching him in the arm. "What the hell's the point a' bein' a soldier if ye don't get in a good war or two?"
"Fightin' Eye-lies is one thing," Ralston said, "but gorram Zadok..."
"Don't let the kiddos hear ye talkin' like that," Schwartz said. "They'll be lookin' ta us ta keep our shit together."
"Oh, yes, sir, Mr. Corp'ral Major, sir."
It annoyed Schwartz that Ralston was being such a sullen little smartass when he was giving him a far gentler warning than what he'd get from the sergeants.
"Stow that shit," he growled. "If ye ain't holdin' onta yer stones, the kiddos won't neither."
"Yeah, man the hell up, Rally boy," Withers chimed in, slapping Ralston on the back. "We play our cards right. we could all be gen'rals by the end a' this."
"The hell would I wanna be a gen'ral?" Ralston asked.
"Pay's better for one thing," Schwartz noted. "Chow too, no doubt."
"Don't forget 'bout the wine an' the wenches," Withers added.
"While yer workin' on them promotions, ye wanna hurry it the hell up?" Corporal Burwick said. "Sergeants gonna have all our arses on a platter if ye don't get the gorram lead out."
"Always gotta be rainin' on the parade, ain't ye, Burdick?" Withers replied.
As much as Burwick tended to get on everyone's nerves, he had a point for a change.
"He's right," Schwartz said. "Ye can dream 'bout comin' back with crowns an' laurels on yer shoulders once we've made camp."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin', I'm goin'," Withers said, quickly stuffing things into his pack. "I swear, Schwartzie, yer startin' ta sound like a sergeant yerself."
Schwartz chuckled at this.
"Gaw forbid."