Down to the Basics

It's been a week, and I still can't believe they made me a Captain. I hadn't even been a Lieutenant for two weeks yet, and next thing I know, I'm replacing Septumus in the chain of command. I suppose that it was to be expected, though. I mean, I did pretty much do all the work. I just hate promotions, and I miss my stripes. Being a Sergeant worked for me, it was nice. I enjoyed it. But I suppose everyone's got to move up one day.

They didn't have to use Amie as leverage, though. The Major knew I wouldn't turn down the promotion to Lieutenant if he passed it off as a way to give Amie a better place to stay. HQ didn't even try anything like that for bumping me up to Captain, though. They just sent a new transfer in with the papers that said everything was already official. I think that was a sick joke, on their end. I bet they expected me to really tear that transfer apart. It's a small victory that I disappointed them, at least.

On top of it all, however, they made me a blades trainer. I'd been fighting this ever since they first promoted me to Staff Sergeant. They actually used Trainer Duty as a threat at one point. It's not that I hate the job, I used to doing it before the ash. It's just, I've got a lot of stuff on my plate now. I've got to get the Saints back into working order, I've got to take care of Amie and make sure all that's taken care of, I've got to see to all the new recruits, and now I have to teach a bunch of green soldiers how to not kill themselves or who ever's next to them with their blades. It's really trying.

It is kind of nice, though. My first session was yesterday. The students were milling around as they are wont to do, but the moment I stepped into the clearing, the Sergeant barked for attention and everyone fell into place. I think it surprised them that I wasn't for all that heavy handed discipline crap. I run things my own special way, it keeps everyone on their toes.

There's this one kid, Mitchel Henderson. Cocky as all hell. Entirely too much of a flyboy attitude. Real King of the Hill type guy. His mom's one of the security detail in Foreas Base, right? One of the heads of. He was brought through the wormhole when he was thirteen, so now he's fifteen and thinks he is the One True King. Swore up and down that he didn't need the lessons, that he could take me with a hand tied behind his back. Well, I've always believed that nothing teaches a kid the rights and wrongs of a task like experience. First thing I told the kids after the introduction was that if, at any point, they thought they'd completed their training ahead of schedule, they could request a duel. If they could beat me, they were written off.

So, naturally, I accepted the challenge. Let the kid have first pick of the practice swords. Naturally, he picked the biggest and "coolest" looking of them. You always have to have one of those in there. It's always a laugh. I drew my personal practice blade and took a stance. I asked one of the other students to start us. Mitch took off almost before the caller could finish pronouncing the 'G' in Go, charging and flailing his big, scary stick. It took effort not to laugh. You could see so many openings, it was actually more difficult to find ways to attack that he could actually defend against.

First rule of dueling the show-boater? Stroke the ego before you puncture it. It teaches humility, and it raises morale. Well, everyone else's at least. So I threw a few easy to block and parry swings and jabs, made a show out of dodging his heavy handed attempts, even feigned having to dive out of the way and roll to my feet once. That got a good laugh out of some of the students. It's good to know some of them have potential from the get go.

I ended it quick enough. He swung high overhead when I made him think he had me cornered, and I lashed out a series of quick thrusts and bats that nearly liquefied his knees for the next minute. He fell, bemoaning the pain, and I clocked him upside the head for good measure. Only hard enough to leave a bit of a welt. I'm not mean, just like giving people something to remember me by. And that was the match. I helped him up, pointed out the good things he'd done, and hinted at the fact that there were a few fields he still needed to improve upon. Yeah, first rule is to stroke the ego before you puncture it. Second rule is, when it's over, you make sure you didn't leave any lasting damage. You're trying to teach them something, make them capable fighters. Not make enemies.

After that, I could tell I'd won the respect of a couple of the students, and from that point on it was almost as if the ash had never happened. It was the old classes all over again, just in the outdoors with the occasional sound of artillery in the background. Granted, prior to the ash I'd never taught a Forean how to wield a stick menacingly, but you've got to make some allowances for comparisons anymore.

So, all in all, I think I'm actually glad that they shoved me in the training position. Maybe one of these days, one of these students will end up in the 105th. They've got potential, but they're going to need to learn a lot more than just the sword of they want to make it more than an hour out there on the field. Here's hoping.