The Choice of Magic - Michael G. Manning Page 0,118

“You a private contract?” asked the stranger, his tone slightly belligerent.

Will nodded. “I enlisted yesterday. My name is Will, Will Cartwright.”

“You a merchant’s son or something?” asked the man.

Will shook his head. “No, why?”

“You must have money if you bought that gear,” said the soldier.

“He took it off a Darrowan soldier he killed,” said Tiny, stepping up behind Will.

The soldier snorted. “Probably looted it from a corpse.” Then he glared at Tiny. “I ain’t afraid of you, big man.”

“Bickler, sit the fuck down,” growled another man standing up nearby. “I’m sick of your shit. Private or conscript, we all bleed the same.” Will noticed that the man speaking had a black stripe painted across one arm of his coat, identical to the one that Corporal Grim had.

“All right, Bradshaw,” said Bickler. “I was just introducing myself. No need to get pissy.” Bickler returned to his spot and sat back down, muttering to himself, “Fucking rich kids.”

Will followed Tiny to the back of the tent, and the skinny man that had been pointed out stood and offered his hand. “I’m Corporal Taylor. Welcome to Sixth Squad. Since you already seem to know John Shaw, let me introduce you to the rest of the squad.” He waved his arm toward two other men, both of whom Will recognized. “This is Dave Wilson and Sven Fausk.”

“We met already, sir,” said Will.

“We was locked up together,” snickered Dave. “We’re old friends now, ain’t we, Cartwright?”

Will grimaced. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Sven started laughing when he heard Will’s reply.

“All four of you were locked up?” asked Corporal Taylor. “No matter, we’re all on the same team now.” The corporal seemed slightly anxious, and Will wondered how long the man had been in the King’s Army. He wasn’t about to ask, though.

A horn sounded outside, and everyone got hurriedly to their feet. Taylor glanced at Will. “Just drop your bedroll and kit bag over there. It’s time for muster.” Then he paused. “Where’s your kit bag? Never mind, we’ll get that sorted out this evening.”

Will had hoped that breakfast would be first, but he was disappointed to find out that wouldn’t be for another hour yet. He was even more disappointed when he learned why someone had called Sixth the ‘shit squad.’ Their first duty for the day was digging new latrines and filling in old ones with ash and soil.

Corporal Taylor provided useful information as they went about their task. “Since this is a long-term camp, we dig the trench five feet deep so it will last a week, hopefully. Today is the worst since we’re digging a new one and filling the old, but tomorrow we won’t have to do much aside from add some ash to keep the smell down. When we’re in the field, we only dig them a half a foot deep and we fill them back in each day before we move.”

“Do the squads rotate latrine duty?” asked Will hopefully.

The corporal chuckled ruefully. “Afraid not. It’s not as bad as you think, though. The other squads aren’t resting on their laurels, they’re busy digging and hauling for earthworks. We only have to dig this hard one day a week.”

“At least they don’t have to smell shit while they work,” complained Dave.

The trench they were digging was almost six feet in length, which made it a considerable task since it would also be five feet deep. Will stared at the other five latrines nearby. “Do we have to do all of these?”

“No,” answered the corporal. “Each company digs its own. Those belong to the other platoons in Company B.”

“Why aren’t they out here digging theirs then?” asked Dave.

“Each platoon does theirs on a different day, so we don’t get in each other’s way. Usually we use our own, but if one fills up too quick there’s always a new one just in case,” explained the corporal. Then he added, “Make sure it’s five feet deep or deeper, though. The worst fights are often over latrines if one of the platoons starts slacking.”

It took them a little more than an hour to complete the job, so they were one of the last squads to line up for breakfast. The food was much better than Will had gotten in the constable’s lockup, being a pottage of peas, carrots, and ham. The ham was present in spirit only, being noticeable only by its flavor and the occasional bit of fat or gristle. They were also given a large portion of boiled cabbage and