The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,117

used to it. Whenever we eventually have to move, it’ll be worse.”

The bedroll turned out to be a piece of oilskin with a heavy wool liner sewn to one side and a separate blanket rolled up within. It also had extra strips of leather along the edges that seemed to serve no purpose. There was no pillow.

Glancing around, he saw that some of the others had a bag of some sort that they used to rest their heads on, so he asked the man next to him about it.

“That’s a kit bag. They’ll give you one tomorrow. You keep your necessaries in it, but it makes a shitty pillow too.” The soldier laughed after he said it, though Will didn’t see the humor.

The next morning Will woke with a sore neck, shoulders, and back. The sergeant was yelling for everyone to muster in front, and he had no sooner put on his boots on and run out than he was told to return and roll up his bedding. That turned out to be indicative of his day as a whole. One of the officers appeared and began calling out names and listing assignments.

Most of it meant nothing to him, so he waited patiently until he heard his name called. “William Cartwright, Company B, Fifth Platoon, report to Sergeant Nash.”

As he had seen the last man do, he stepped forward and headed to the left, only to be quickly corrected and sent in the opposite direction. He felt awkward and foolish until he finally found the correct sergeant to line up behind. Sergeant Nash turned out to be a relatively short, clean-shaven man with broad, square shoulders and deep-set, serious eyes. Unlike most of the trainees and soldiers that Will had seen thus far, the sergeant wore a metal breastplate over his gambeson and thick leather vambraces on his forearms. Will was the only one lined up behind him, while the other sergeants had three or four new recruits each.

Fifteen minutes later the assignments were finished, and Sergeant Nash led him away without a word. After a short walk, he stopped in front of a large tent. “This is Barrentine’s Fifth. You’re in Sixth Squad. Corporal Taylor will handle you from here,” said the sergeant.

“Thank you, sir,” answered Will, but he paused before entering. “Is that all?”

Sergeant Nash’s eyes focused on him then, as though he hadn’t really seen Will before then at all. He looked up and down, then stared straight into Will’s eyes. “Did you expect a welcoming party, trainee?”

“No, sir, I just—,” Will stopped, unsure what he meant to say.

The sergeant gave him a sterile smile, displaying a flat line of teeth that did nothing to warm up the chill in his eyes. “Fine, here’s my advice, trainee. Don’t fuck up. Embarrass me in front of Captain Barrentine or the lieutenant and I’ll flay the hide off your bones. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir,” said Will. He remained still, uncertain what to do.

“That means get your ass inside and find Corporal Taylor,” barked the sergeant, then he turned and walked away.

Will did as he was told, ducking through the front flap of the tent. Inside were several dozen men, all of whom turned their eyes to him as he entered, making him feel entirely too conspicuous. His ears picked up a few words from the background chatter, primarily ‘fresh meat’ and ‘another kid.’ A heavily muscled man who looked only a year or two older than Will called out to him, “Which squad?”

“Uh, Sixth, I think. Are you Corporal Taylor?” asked Will.

“Shit squat,” someone muttered, but Will ignored them as the man that had addressed him answered, “I’m Corporal Grim of First Squad. Sixth beds down in the back corner over there on the right. Taylor is the skinny guy sitting next to the giant.”

Will followed the other man’s eyes and spotted a familiar figure, Tiny, sitting on a bedroll in the rear of the tent. He nodded to Corporal Grim. “Thank you, sir.”

“Save the ‘sirs’ for the sergeants and officers,” said Grim. “If a corporal tells you to do something, you do it or get your ass kicked. Other than that, you don’t need to kiss ass.”

“Um, thanks,” said Will. He started for the back, eager to say hello to Tiny.

One of the other soldiers stood up and stepped in front of him as he made his way down the center. The man had a receding hairline and stubble so dense it was on the verge of becoming a beard.