Davis Aurini - As I Walk These Broken Roads

“I figured as much.”

“You did a good job there.”

“Hey, it’s all about getting into their head, right?”

“I guess so. Listen, Raxx — O’Neil wants me to help out with training her men. Are you going to be okay without me?”

“Umm… what time are you going to help her with that?”

“Not until tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine — you can still help me this afternoon, right?”

“Of course — what do you need?”

“Tell you what, just hold she shield up while I mark her.”

“The sandbags are coming, right?”

“Them and the styrofoam are on order. We’ll get ’em, don’t worry! Okay, just hold it there while I get some measurements… you can put it down for a second now…”

“Boys — excuse me, boys!” The light green dress flowed around her ample figure, highlighting the femininity of her curves. The look on her face belied her light-hearted tone of voice. “Vince told me you’d be here.”

Wentworth regarded the approaching figure while Raxx smiled.

“Maria! Lovely as always!”

“Oh, Raxx… listen, boys I know how busy you are, and Vince told me not to bother you—” she smiled conspiratorially, “but I figured you’d need a good meal to keep you going. Where can I put this without troubling you?”

Raxx showed her, and she placed the basket she’d been carrying on the truck bed.

She started counting off on her fingers, “Two Simcoe Salmon sandwiches, four meatballs — two each — and a thermos of coffee, plus crackers.” She smiled, “I want the thermos back, boys!”

“But what if we’re still thirsty?” said Raxx.

“In that case, you’ll have to stop gallivanting, and come home for some fresh brew! But oh, my, look at me! I’m keeping you men from their work — Raxx, Iain — be careful, promise?”

Wentworth nodded. “Promise.”

“Promise,” said Raxx.

Maria clasped their hands, and looked at both of them. She nodded, and walked away.

Raxx watched her leave, then looked over at his partner. “Iain?”

“Yeah… I prefer Wentworth.”

“Wentworth it is, then.”

“Vince has been listening to too many rumours.”

“Hey, I’m not judging.”

“Of course you aren’t; you’ve only got one vowel for a name. So what are we doing now?”

Walking out of the city gates, he could see the constabulary assembled to the south-east, going through early-morning drills. He walked towards them, rifle slung over one shoulder. Some of the older members pointed in his direction, sharing a joke amongst themselves.

“You’re late.”

He looked at Patricia. They were the same height.

“You didn’t specify a time.”

“It’s nine-fifteen in the goddamned morning.”

“I’m just a mercenary, what do I know?”

“Yeah… you are.”

“Is it alright if I address the troops?”

“The constables? Yes.” She turned away and cleared her throat. “Constabulary… form-UP!” They ceased their exercises, and assembled in front of their Captain. Three blocks, two rows deep… subconsciously he nodded at the organization, while the Captain spoke.

“You’ve all been briefed on what these operations are for — you know their intent — it was my estimation that the best training you could receive would be from the mercenary Hope hired, with whom I formulated these plans. This is him, Iain Wentworth, recently of the Blackstock Massacre. Most of you have seen him, and all of you have heard of him. He will be conducting training over the next four hours, under my supervision. I expect discipline, and proper Hope attitude out all of you — is that clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

She nodded at him, and he stepped forward. This mass of men and women was no army — off to the left he spotted the overweight supply officer — to the right, the light-weight personnel administrator. They regarded him with doubt and suspicion. On the far side of the line he noticed a couple of the older members whispering to each other.

“You!” He guessed at the rank on their shoulder, “Sergeant! Is something funny?”

“Ah, no… nothing’s funny.”

He turned his attention on the rest of the company. “That’s good. Your Captain’s given you a lawful command, and I’d expect that Hope’s Constabulary would have the dignity to obey it.

“None of you know me from a derelict — maybe a few rumours, some of you — but here’s the man. I’ve been in long conversation with your Captain. You’re lucky to have a leader of her calibre. She didn’t ask me here out of stupidity — she asked me because she wants her constabulary to have the best training available. Do any of you doubt that?”

The assembly looked confused. Some of them opened their mouths, but no proclamation was forthcoming.

“I asked you — do any of you doubt your Captain?”

“ No. ”

“That was weak. I’d hoped for better, but I accept what I have before me. Now, I am going to be training you in the operation of platoon level combat. I am going to be training you so that I and my compatriot will survive the upcoming battle with Slayer and his men. This is a field in which I have expertise. Now I ask of you, and I need an honest response. Are you able to learn from me?”

“Yes!”

He dipped his head, shaking it. “I asked you a question, whether or not you could learn. I’m going to ask you again. Can you learn from me? ”

“ Yes — Yes, ma’am — Sir! — Yes Sir! ”

“Do you want to avenge your brothers- and sisters-in-arms who died on that supply caravan?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good! Now, I want the four senior commanders — sergeant, that’s you, isn’t it? — to confer with me. The rest of you return to your previous training, under your senior group commander. Questions, problems, concerns…? Good. Dis missed!”

It took them a moment to react, unfamiliar to the phrase — but then they scattered, while the three sergeants approached him.

“O’Neil… I’m beginning to think that your Constabulary might not get us killed, after all.”

The Captain snorted in response.

Once again he stood before his men, grinning, a sheen of sweat across his chest.

They’d won their second tribute from the settlements, the Mennites eyes shining like rabbits in the electric light. Their submission had filled his belly with a warm, quiet laughter.

“We are a new force! The faithful steward the land, whilst we steward them! Like the fattened cows they herd, they are there for our food, our clothing, and our pleasure!”

A fit of laughter rolled through the band. No need for formality this time. The point had been made, and tonight they were revelling. Even his own planning could be put on hold for once. A cask had been tapped, and the stewards were unloading — they’d feast soon, after some drinks. The Catamite had a soft, wistful look in his eyes, his pipe smouldering darkly.

“With each act of submission, every tremor of fear, each flame of anger they become more like us, their forgotten children! Our truth fills them with bile and they forget their lies of love, land, crucifix, and family! We grow! They diminish!”

He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the cutlery. Another cheer went up, eyes gleaming red in the torchlight.

He smiled with a hanging jaw. For a moment these men were almost as brothers. A forgotten want, a sudden urge for kinship that not even the Catamite brought forth in him. The bonfire glowed warm and violent. Perhaps Jenkins prophecy was more than mere dream…

Then—

A shattering of contexts.