some duty and has since been in a position of disgrace.”
Ian was going to say something, but only nodded, pursing his lips as he stared away at the bit of food on the ground, lying in the sun and already having attracted several flies that—
“In fact,” the other said, backing away a bit and looking at the others casually, “it would sound as if this posting is merely the latest in a series of poor postings.”
“It is an awfully small company,” Ian murmured, to say something.
“Indeed,” Arran said. “We’re far more a squad than a company. And though we do have special responsibilities, it is fairly unusual for an experienced captain to be only given two flanks.”
“He’ s overly bitter about us,” Ian said, and that was true. “Which isn’t fair at all.”
“No, it’s not.”
They both turned at the captain’s shrill voice, telling the company to prepare to continue on. Ian took a deep breath, grimacing a bit and not looking at the corporal.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Ian blurted.
“ Why?” Corporal Wesshire asked. “Do you believe it’s the truth?”
Pressing his lips together, Ian realized just how far those two sentences had carried him. “Yes—but that doesn’t matter. And I’m sure there are plenty of other possible explanations—”
“Initiative is a central tenet of our organization.” Corporal Wesshire calmly hoisted his pack around his shoulders. “We’re all expected to think for ourselves. That is what separates us from the regulars. Being ashamed of your own ideas doesn’t just hurt the individual, it hurts everyone.” The corporal gave a small nod and with that walked toward where the rest of the company was assembling on the road.
Ian let out a shuttering breath that he hadn’t dared let go until the other was far enough away.
He’d never heard words spoken like that, at least not in person. It was somewhat silly, but from an academic standpoint, an incessantly critical disposition, Ian was amazed at how flawless it had been. It wasn’t the confidence—that was unarguably essential, but not difficult. It wasn’t even the succinct communication of an appealing set of ideas. Certainly not the logical composure, the pacing or delivery, it had been—what had it been?
The power. The calm assurance coupled with a momentary, but overwhelmingly well-aimed sense of pathos. Looking at him just a few seconds ago, Ian had been unable to doubt in any quarter of his mind that Corporal Wesshire believed exactly what he was saying, and the corporal not only could carry out those notions in reality, he already had and definitely would. Forever, if Ian’s usually cautious impressions were to be trusted.
Ian gave one last look at the bit of food on the ground being clumsily drug away through the dirt by some new insect before he turned and hurried to where the captain was already glaring at him.
But Corporal Wesshire might not be so handily trusted, at least in this instance. As much as Ian wanted to be won over, he couldn’t help the nagging uneasiness that had surfaced.
“Company, form ranks!” Captain Marsden crisply shouted out, himself at attention in front and a little to the left of the single file of men that formed with Lieutenant Taylor at the temporary head.
I t was clear that he had been baiting Ian, probably for far more material than what Ian had given him. It didn’t seem that the corporal would betray what Ian had said, but then for what reason would the corporal do that if not for some sort of personal or regimental gain?
“By flank!” the captain commanded, walking sideways to examine as the company quickly reformed itself with only some slight hesitation into two parallel lines according to their flanks. “Quickly, quickly,” the captain said as he paced alongside their progress.
Perhaps Corporal Wesshire held some of his own reservations against the captain, and not just because his disposition struck Ian as the kind that was
Ian was going to say something, but only nodded, pursing his lips as he stared away at the bit of food on the ground, lying in the sun and already having attracted several flies that—
“In fact,” the other said, backing away a bit and looking at the others casually, “it would sound as if this posting is merely the latest in a series of poor postings.”
“It is an awfully small company,” Ian murmured, to say something.
“Indeed,” Arran said. “We’re far more a squad than a company. And though we do have special responsibilities, it is fairly unusual for an experienced captain to be only given two flanks.”
“He’ s overly bitter about us,” Ian said, and that was true. “Which isn’t fair at all.”
“No, it’s not.”
They both turned at the captain’s shrill voice, telling the company to prepare to continue on. Ian took a deep breath, grimacing a bit and not looking at the corporal.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Ian blurted.
“ Why?” Corporal Wesshire asked. “Do you believe it’s the truth?”
Pressing his lips together, Ian realized just how far those two sentences had carried him. “Yes—but that doesn’t matter. And I’m sure there are plenty of other possible explanations—”
“Initiative is a central tenet of our organization.” Corporal Wesshire calmly hoisted his pack around his shoulders. “We’re all expected to think for ourselves. That is what separates us from the regulars. Being ashamed of your own ideas doesn’t just hurt the individual, it hurts everyone.” The corporal gave a small nod and with that walked toward where the rest of the company was assembling on the road.
Ian let out a shuttering breath that he hadn’t dared let go until the other was far enough away.
He’d never heard words spoken like that, at least not in person. It was somewhat silly, but from an academic standpoint, an incessantly critical disposition, Ian was amazed at how flawless it had been. It wasn’t the confidence—that was unarguably essential, but not difficult. It wasn’t even the succinct communication of an appealing set of ideas. Certainly not the logical composure, the pacing or delivery, it had been—what had it been?
The power. The calm assurance coupled with a momentary, but overwhelmingly well-aimed sense of pathos. Looking at him just a few seconds ago, Ian had been unable to doubt in any quarter of his mind that Corporal Wesshire believed exactly what he was saying, and the corporal not only could carry out those notions in reality, he already had and definitely would. Forever, if Ian’s usually cautious impressions were to be trusted.
Ian gave one last look at the bit of food on the ground being clumsily drug away through the dirt by some new insect before he turned and hurried to where the captain was already glaring at him.
But Corporal Wesshire might not be so handily trusted, at least in this instance. As much as Ian wanted to be won over, he couldn’t help the nagging uneasiness that had surfaced.
“Company, form ranks!” Captain Marsden crisply shouted out, himself at attention in front and a little to the left of the single file of men that formed with Lieutenant Taylor at the temporary head.
I t was clear that he had been baiting Ian, probably for far more material than what Ian had given him. It didn’t seem that the corporal would betray what Ian had said, but then for what reason would the corporal do that if not for some sort of personal or regimental gain?
“By flank!” the captain commanded, walking sideways to examine as the company quickly reformed itself with only some slight hesitation into two parallel lines according to their flanks. “Quickly, quickly,” the captain said as he paced alongside their progress.
Perhaps Corporal Wesshire held some of his own reservations against the captain, and not just because his disposition struck Ian as the kind that was
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