“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 turnips. His grandfather would have probably had a much more severe opinion, but Will was simply grateful to finally have a full belly.
He felt a little guilty when he saw Tiny staring forlornly at his empty bowl just a few minutes after they had started eating. The big man probably needed more food, but the servers didn’t make allowances for size when they scooped out the portions. He resolved to try and save a little for Tiny at the next meal.
The rest of the morning was taken up by a demonstration and then practice taking down and then putting up the platoon tent. They were also instructed in how to load the same into a wagon.
Sergeant Nash was quick to disabuse them of the notion they would be taking their own tent with them. “If and when we actually get the order to move, don’t think you’ll be sleeping in such luxury. We only bring large tents like this for the mess and similar things. On campaign you’ll be sleeping in smaller, five-man tents. Do any of you have questions?”
Will held up his hand and heard several men nearby groan quietly, ‘idiot.’
“Trainee, you don’t need to hold up your hand. This isn’t a school. If I ask for questions just speak up,” said the sergeant. “What’s your name?”
“Will Cartwright, sir. Where are the smaller tents? I haven’t seen any.”
Sergeant Nash’s face lit up with obvious enthusiasm. “I’m glad you asked!” Turning, he waved his arm at another wagon, covered with a heavy tarp. “Over here behind me you will find thirty of those self-same tents, enough for every squad in the company. Next we will go over how to properly set up camp with those tents. When we’re done, you’ll be able to unload a wagon and set up in less than fifteen minutes.”
Will received a number of dirty looks from the soldiers nearest to him. It’s obvious we’d have been doing this anyway, he observed silently. He resolved to refrain from asking too many questions in future, though. He figured it probably wasn’t a good idea to stand out.
After lunch they spent the afternoon learning drills. The main goal seemed to be to teach them how to move in a line without getting separated, which turned out to be harder than he thought. Learning the commands was easy, but learning what to expect from the men on either side of him was where the difficulty came in.
To make matters worse, Sergeant Nash kept pointing him out, though whether it was because the sergeant liked him or because he simply didn’t know the names of the other soldiers, he wasn’t sure.
“Stop!” yelled Sergeant Nash once again. “No! Don’t anyone move. Stay where you are. I want everyone to take note of what a sloppy bunch of fuckwits you are!” He walked along the front line, stopping in front of Will.
“See this man here? He’s where he should be. Look at your positions. Some of you are in line; some of you are so stupid you probably don’t have any idea what the word ‘line’ means.” The sergeant pointed at Dave, who was to Will’s right. “You! What’s your name?”
“Dave Wilson, sir.”
“Trainee Wilson, does your mother know what a sorry excuse for a soldier you are? Straighten up! Square your shoulders and get that shield in line! By all the gods, your daddy’s dick was probably limp by the time you were conceived, judging by your lazy ass! In fact, it’s probably a goddamn miracle you didn’t dribble down your momma’s leg and end up as a stain on the bedsheets.”
Someone laughed, and the sergeant turned on Tiny, who was standing on the other side of Sven. “What’s your name, trainee?”
“John Shaw, sir, but most call me Tiny,” said the big man.
Sergeant Nash responded instantly, “Why? Is your dick that small, soldier?”
Tiny seemed stunned, but he answered anyway. “No, sir.”
The sergeant let out a dramatic exhale. “Well Mister Shaw, I am sure that is a relief to sheep everywhere. Did you find what I was saying to Trainee Wilson to be funny?”
If the insult bothered Tiny, he didn’t show it, since he smirked faintly. “Yes, sir.”
“Why you would find that funny is a mystery, Trainee Shaw, since by the look of you I expect your mother shat you out one day rather than give birth,” said the sergeant.
Tiny didn’t answer, but his face hardened and his ears turned red.
“Did that make you angry, Mister Shaw?”
“No, sir,” said Tiny.
“Really? I find that surprising, Mister Shaw, since from the look in your eye I would strongly suspect you’d like to stick that spear in my gut. Isn’t that true, Mister Shaw?”
Tiny shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Perhaps you’re worried about being whipped. I’m sure you know that striking a superior is a mandatory flogging. Wounding one is punishable by death,” said the sergeant, his voice growing calmer. “In your case, though, I’ll give you permission. Would you like to hit me now?”
“No, sir.”
“Corporal Grim!” shouted the sergeant. The corporal hastily responded with a ‘yes, sir.’ Sergeant Nash went on, “Corporal, please make note that I’m giving Trainee Shaw permission to take a swing at me.” Then he turned back to Tiny. “Mister Shaw, would it surprise you to learn that the reason you’re so fucking big is because your mother was in fact the biggest sow on—”
The sergeant never finished his sentence, because Tiny dropped his spear and unleashed a wild haymaker. Sergeant Nash was expecting it, though. The sergeant leaned back and tilted his head, letting Tiny’s fist glance off the top of his helm, then he stepped forward, putting one hand on the back of Tiny’s arm and shoving while he kicked the big man’s leading foot out from under him.
Tiny fell like a ponderous oak, and the men behind him tripped over one another as they hurried to get out of the way. Meanwhile the sergeant caught Tiny’s spear as it started to fall and whipped it around with one hand. The point stopped just below Tiny’s chin. Sergeant Nash stood over him with a look of malicious glee in his eyes.
“I would dearly love to put this through your ugly neck, Mister Shaw, but until this war is over you are the property of Lord Fulstrom, and he needs your fat ass to help fulfill his duty to the king.”
Will couldn’t stand it any longer. “Sergeant—”
Quick as a whip, Sergeant Nash turned and focused his attention on Will. “I did not give you permission to speak, Mister Cartwright, but seeing as I respect your opinion, I will let it go this time. Did you have something to say?”