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. “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.”