Page 29 of Wings of War

Several of the drill sergeants seemed to have it out for him and Merrik because they were half-elves and, worse, they had famous parents. If the rest of the unit had to run two miles, Fieran and Merrik had to run four. If the rest of the unit had to do the obstacle course in under a minute, Fieran and Merrik were expected to do it in less than half a minute. Sure, they could usually pass the extra duties, given their elven agility. But it still rankled, and Fieran had gotten extra PT more times than he could count in the past weeks.

At least he had no trouble with the actual training part. He’d easily won hand-to-hand combat sessions with everyone but the most experienced drill sergeants or if he was paired with Tiny, who had the immovability of a boulder. He was top in their class at the gun range with both pistol and rifle, though he shared that top spot with Merrik.

As the last of their unit joined them, the drill sergeant swept his hard, assessing glance down the line. “Kit up.”

Under the drill sergeant’s orders, they marched into their barracks and over to their bunks, where they were ordered to pack their rucksacks.

There was, of course, a special way everything had to be folded and an order in which it had to be packed. Fieran checked everything as he packed, from the rolls of his spare underwear to the placement of his Not-Knot boots. Today was a Knot boot day, so those were on his feet.

Once he was fully kitted out from his helmet on his head to his rifle resting on his shoulder, Fieran stood at attention next to the end of his bunk for inspection, his toes right at the line that marked the sergeant’s zone in the center of the room but not crossing over.

The drill sergeant paced in front of them, his gaze taking in their uniforms, searching for any flaw.

One recruit’s rifle wasn’t clean enough. Another was wearing his Not-Knot Boots instead of his Knot Boots.

Fieran held his shoulders straight, his eyes straight ahead, as the sergeant halted in front of him. Surely there was nothing wrong this time.

“Is that what you call a well-made bunk, Red?” the drill sergeant yelled in his face.

Fieran couldn’t turn his head to look. What was wrong with his bunk now? He’d made sure the sheet and blanket were perfectly tucked and taut this morning.

What was he supposed to say? He settled on, “No, Drill Sergeant.” It seemed like the less insubordinate option.

The sergeant stalked past him. Fieran caught a glimpse of his blankets tugged askew—he must have caught it with his rifle or pack when mustering—before the drill sergeant flipped Fieran’s mattress off the bed, tumbling blankets all over the floor. Among a slew of insults and curses, the drill sergeant barked, “One minute, knucklehead!”

After properly setting down his rifle—he’d get even more PT if he treated his weapon less than carefully—Fieran rushed to heave the mattress back onto his top bunk. He tucked in all his blankets, keeping them tight in proper military fashion. While lower bunks were favored because they were easier to make, especially quickly, Fieran’s height helped negate the difficulties of a top bunk.

He grabbed his rifle and toed the line just before his minute was up, though he was breathing hard and trying not to show it.

As the sergeant finished his inspection, he swept a glance over all of them. “Due to the sloppiness of your bunkmates, your two-mile ruck march is now a five-mile march. Move it! Left, right, left, right.”

Fieran fell into line behind Lije and before Pretty Face, Merrik marching behind him.

The drizzle had turned into a cold rain that slanted on a breeze seemingly determined to drive the water through any gaps in their slickers. The muddy ground slipped beneath the treads of their boots even as the mud spattered up their boots and onto their clothes.

Just as bad as the chill rain, his spaghetti sandwich sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach. His joints and shoulder muscles felt the weight of the sixty pounds of gear the longer he marched. It would have been easier and lighter to carry his little brother Tryndar on his back than his pack.

By the time they finished, he was more than ready for the two-minute shower that was all he was allowed.

They were lined up before their bunks for one last inspection. As the sergeant finished, the corporal stepped up, a bag at his side and holding a stack of letters. “Mail call.”

Fieran stayed where he was until his name was called. He walked the perimeter of the room, staying out of the sergeant’s zone, and claimed the stack of letters. As he returned to his bunk, he passed Lije on his way to claim a package.

Reaching his bunk, Fieran climbed up and sat on the hard mattress cross-legged, paging through the letters. Three from his mother and one each from Adry, Louise, and Ellie. If Tryndar included anything, it would be in one of the letters from Mama. Same with anything from Dacha.

The final letter appeared to be some kind of official letter. Fieran set aside the other ones and tore open that letter first. He scanned it, then laughed, waving it at Merrik, who sat across the way on his bunk. “The Flying Corps is trying to recruit me into the Mechanics Auxiliaries because of my magical engineering degree. Joke’s on them. I’d rather fly the aeroplanes than fix them.”

Though if he was one of the mechanics, he’d have the chance to flirt with Pip far more than just smile at her across the mess hall.

Not that he was flirting with her. Nope. Not flirting.

Merrik huffed, sorted through his letters, then held out an identical letter of his own. “Looks like they sent me one too.”

The way he looked at it made something in Fieran twist. Had he made a mistake in dragging Merrik along with him as he always did? Was Merrik having second thoughts about taking the more dangerous choice?

After a moment, the look cleared, and Merrik raised his eyebrows at Fieran. “At least we’ll have a backup plan for when the army kicks us out due to your insubordination.”

“Hey, now. I’m a model recruit.” Fieran flapped a hand at his bed. Which he had somehow managed to muss up even more than Merrik had, even though all he was doing was sitting on it.

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