John Ringo - There Will Be Dragons

“So who is that man? He looks as if he’s a badly made marching toy or as if someone has shoved a piece of steel in his spine. And it hurt.”

“Oh, he’s a reenactor,” Rachel said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you’ve never met him; he’s been friends with my father since forever. His name is Miles Rutherford but everybody calls him ‘Gunny.’ ”

“He doesn’t come across as your normal Pict or Viking or knight in shining armor.”

“Oh, no, he’s an early industrial reenactor.

“Early industrial?”

“Yeah. There were some big wars fought in the Po’ele back in the preinformation period. The character he plays is one of the noncommissioned officers of the infantry that fought in those campaigns.”

“Oh. Okay? If his name is ‘Miles,’ why does everyone call him ‘Gunny’?”

“Good morning, my name is June Lasker,” June said without looking up from the record of the last arrival. She knew it was impolite but she didn’t seem to have time to do it any other way. She heard the next person walk up and stomp to a halt but she hadn’t seen who it was yet. “I’ll be asking you a few questions, giving you a short introduction to Raven’s Mill Settlement processes and then answering yours to the best of my ability. What is your name?” she said, looking up.

The man in front of her was two hundred and fifty if he was a day. He was standing with his legs spread shoulder-width apart, a shield leaning against his left leg and a heavily loaded rucksack leaning against his right. His left arm was steadying the shield with his right hand over the left. His back was ramrod straight and he was staring just about a decimeter over her head.

“Ma’am, my name is Miles Arthur Rutherford, ma’am!” he barked.

June looked closely to ensure that he was not in some way making fun of her but it was apparent that he had simply answered the question. His face had not changed expression a bit. She noted the name in her log and continued.

“Is that your legal name or a character name?” she asked.

“That is the name I was given at birth, ma’am!” he responded.

“Were you met at the border?”

“Yes I was, ma’am!”

She shook her head but decided that barking out declarative sentences was simply the way he talked.

“And did the guards tell you the minimum restrictions of Raven’s Mill? That you are granted three days food and shelter? And that after those three days you can either enter into a training and placement program or assume duties of your own? That after those three days, with the exception of the placement program, you are on your own, required to feed and shelter yourself while following the rules and regulations of Raven’s Mill? That you must agree to abide by the Raven’s Mill charter to continue living here after three days. That at minimum you must agree to provide for the common defense, pay taxes as provided by the local elected government and obey such laws as that government might see fit to write.”

“Yes, ma’am, that is what I was told!”

“Do you agree to these strictures?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do!”

“Is it possible you could look me in the eye?” she finally asked, a hint of irritation entering her voice.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he answered unbending enough to look down.

June felt for a moment as if she were staring into a pit. He didn’t look at her so much as through her and she felt chill bumps run across her body occasioning an involuntary jump.

“Uh…” she looked down quickly to check her notes then looked around flustered. “Uh…”

“The last question you asked, ma’am, was on the subject of do I agree with the strictures, ma’am!” Gunny barked helpfully.

“Oh, uh…” She looked at her list of questions and found her spot after a moment. “Ah. Are you a reenactor of any sort?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She waited a moment until it was clear that was all she was going to get.

“What sort?”

“I specialize in mid to late industrial reenactment, ma’am.”

“Oh,” she said. “That’s disappointing; those skills don’t help much right now. Do you have any skills which relate to preindustrial technology which may be of aid to Raven’s Mill?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked up again involuntarily when he didn’t continue but he was back to staring over her head. “Would you… do you mind telling me what they are?”

“No, ma’am, I would not mind. I was a recreationist specializing in premedieval combat technology, especially Roman weaponry, training and tactics. I am the equivalent of a journeyman armorer and blacksmith. I can build all my own armor and clothing from base materials but it takes me more time than a professional armorer and seamstress and the results are cruder. I am familiar with the design and construction of basic siege engines and can construct a ballista with an untrained crew and provided base materials in no more than two days. I can maintain a field camp and instruct others in its construction. I am partially trained as a preindustrial farmer. I am a trained furrier and can tan and work with leather. I am trained as a saddler to the level of journeyman. I am a trained bowyer to the level of apprentice. I can hand, reef and steer on-board ship. I can turn a heel in knitting.”

“Ah, well, that should… help,” she said weakly. “All that?”

“I have been a reenactor or a person living in a preindustrial lifestyle since I was born, ma’am.”

“You have?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How… People are not a reenactors as a children… Mr. Rutherford.”

“No, ma’am.”

“So you have lived in preindustrial conditions? Not just for a few days?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Where?”

“Ma’am, I am not at liberty to disclose that information.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Ma’am, I am not at liberty to disclose that information.”

“Ooookay,” June said, shaking her head and finding the next question after noting down as much of the list as she could remember. “Do you know anyone who was a resident of Raven’s Mill prior to the Fall?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’m getting tired of dragging this out of you, sirrah. Who ?”

“Ma’am, I am a long-time acquaintance of Edmund Talbot.”

“Oh, really?” she asked, interested for the first time. “Where’d you meet Edmund?”

“Ma’am I am not…”

“At liberty to disclose that information?”

“No, ma’am. But I have known Lord Talbot for most of my life.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of you. And he’s not called ‘Lord Talbot.’ ”

The new recruit didn’t seem to have much to say about that for a moment then he cleared his throat.

“He doesn’t talk about me much, ma’am.”

“Can’t imagine why. Very well, if you exit to your left when we are done, at the end of the street is a quartering tent; they will tell you where you stay. You need a token,” which she handed him, “for that. You get three meals a day. You can check in at the quartering tent each morning for your meal chits. That is all you get and what is served is what is served. We’re short on food, shelter and everything else. Take only what you can eat, eat everything that you take.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Later on you’ll be told where to go for orientation.” She looked up at him and shook her head with a smile. “Welcome to Raven’s Mill.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, scooping up the quartering token and his gear. “Somehow I’m starting to feel right at home. May the Bull God bless and keep you.”

“And may the Warrior keep you, Mr. Rutherford,” she said as he marched out of the tent.