The following morning the camp looked strangely busy.
At first I couldn't understand why.
Then I noticed Sergeant Harlan moving from company to company with several corporals, stopping whenever they found a young soldier.
By noon there were over twenty of us standing together.
I looked down the line.
One fellow stood a little taller than I did. Another had broader shoulders. One's nose had clearly been broken more than once. Another's hair ran a shade darker than mine.
None of us were identical.
But from a distance —
especially in the half-light of dawn or dusk —
we would look remarkably alike.
One of the older recruits laughed.
"Shadow take me. I thought they'd lined me up beside my brothers."
That earned a few chuckles.
Sergeant Harlan walked slowly down the line, hands clasped behind his back. He stopped every few paces, studied a face, and moved on.
Finally he nodded.
"This'll do."
I couldn't help myself.
"Sergeant?"
He looked over.
"Yes, Rowan?"
"What exactly are we doing?"
His mustache twitched.
"We've spent the better part of a day finding every recruit, levy, and green soldier who resembles the two men attacked yesterday."
I looked down the line again.
"There are... quite a few."
"Two and a half squads." He gave a satisfied grunt. "Close enough that a stranger won't know which of you he's looking at."
That was all he seemed inclined to give me. When I opened my mouth again, he shook his head.
"The rest you'll hear from the Duke himself."
At that moment Brenn wandered over, two practice spears across one shoulder.
He looked along the line.
Then barked a laugh.
"Well. That's unsettling."
Several of the men chuckled.
He pointed at one recruit.
"Squint a bit, and I'd have sworn that one was your older brother."
The Duke arrived a short while later, Sir Regimax and Mage Hodger a pace behind him.
He stopped before our assembled line and, for a long moment, simply looked — his gaze moving from one face to the next.
Then he smiled.
"Excellent."
When he spoke again, his voice carried the easy weight of a man long accustomed to being listened to.
"Gentlemen. You've no doubt been wondering why Sergeant Harlan spent his morning gathering you together."
A few uneasy chuckles answered him.
His expression did not change.
"Last night, an intruder entered this camp."
The laughter died.
"Earlier that same day, one of our patrols was attacked. Two men — both young, both, I am told, of a certain height and coloring."
He let it settle.
"We have reason to believe our enemy is searching for a young soldier who fits a particular description."
A pause.
"You do."
Silence.
Somewhere down the line, a boy shifted his weight.
"I will not stand here and pretend this carries no danger to you."
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
A few faces paled.
"But I would ask you to understand something." He began to walk the line, unhurried, his hands behind his back. "A hunter who cannot tell his quarry from the men standing beside it is a hunter who will make mistakes — and every mistake he makes is one more opening for us."
He stopped.
"So until we know more, you will train together. You will march together. You will be quartered together." A beat. "And should anyone come asking after a boy..."
The faintest hint of a smile.
"...every one of you will answer to 'boy.'"
That finally earned a ripple of laughter. Even Sergeant Harlan allowed himself the ghost of a smile.
The Duke waited for it to fade, then turned to Hodger.
"That word you gave me yesterday. The foreign one."
The old mage inclined his head. "Maskarovka."
"Maskarovka." The Duke turned it over as though tasting it. "From a military treatise, translated out of one of the eastern kingdoms. It means to deceive an enemy — to make him see what you would have him see." He looked back down the line. "If a man is certain he hunts one boy... let him wonder which."
I had never heard the word before.
I made certain I would not forget it.
Sir Regimax sighed, theatrically.
"I had hoped to train one recruit." He surveyed the line. "It appears I have acquired twenty."
A few nervous grins broke the tension.
The Duke's smile faded, and when he spoke again the ease had gone out of his voice.
"Some of you will think this unfair."
He nodded, once.
"It is. War rarely is anything else."
He let that stand.
"But you have my word. If danger has found you because you happened to wear another man's face, I will spend everything within my power to see each of you home again."
No one laughed at that.
The Duke looked toward Captain Caldwell.
"Captain."
"Your Grace."
"This detail falls under your command."
Caldwell inclined his head.
"Understood."
The Duke continued.
"Sergeant Harlan, these young men are to be organized as a provisional platoon until further notice."
"Yes, Your Grace."
The Duke's gaze shifted to Brenn.
"Brenn."
The old veteran straightened instinctively.
"Your Grace."
"I am assigning you as their acting sergeant."
Brenn blinked once.
"Me, sir?"
"You."
"You've already earned their respect, and several of them have served with you."
Brenn glanced down the line of nervous young faces before nodding.
"I'll do my best."
"I know you will."
Brenn looked slowly along the line.
"Some of you I know."
He pointed toward Corbin.
"You."
Then Martin.
"You."
His finger stopped briefly on me before moving on.
"Most of you..."
He shrugged.
"...I don't."
A grin spread beneath his beard.
"So today..."
"...we're going to get acquainted."
Several of the lads exchanged uncertain smiles.
One actually looked excited.
Brenn pointed toward a pair of wagons standing near the edge of camp.
"The south latrines are full."
The smiles vanished.
"They need moving."
Groans rolled down the line.
One unfortunate soul muttered, "I'd rather fight the assassin."
That earned the first genuine laugh of the morning.
Brenn nodded solemnly.
"Aye."
"So would I."
"But the assassin only stinks up one tent."
He jabbed a thumb toward the wagons.
"Those stink up the whole camp."
Even Captain Caldwell couldn't hide a smile.
Brenn clapped his hands together.
"Right then."
"Grab shovels."
"If we're going to become friends..."
"...we might as well suffer together."
As we marched off toward the trench line, I glanced back.
Captain Caldwell stood beside Sergeant Harlan, watching us go.
There was the faintest smile on the captain's face.
Harlan noticed it.
"What?"
Caldwell folded his arms.
"They'll be a platoon by dinner."
Harlan raised an eyebrow.
"Because they're digging latrines?"
"No."
Caldwell watched Brenn teasing one of the boys already struggling with his shovel.
"Because Brenn understands soldiers."
Brenn looked down the line.
"First thing."
"There's twenty-seven of you."
He paused long enough to make sure everyone was listening.
"Twenty-seven doesn't divide nicely, so we're going to do this a little different."
He scratched at his beard.
"You're going to work in teams of three."
"That gives me nine teams."
He pointed toward the wagons waiting nearby.
"Each team's getting a job."
"Digging."
"Cooking."
"Firewood."
"Water."
"Camp sanitation."
"Whatever needs doing."
He began pacing slowly before us.
"Now, here's the important part."
"Every morning..."
"...one man from each team changes."
A few puzzled looks met him.
"The man who moves draws the short straw."
He grinned.
"Literally."
Several chuckled.
"By the end of a few weeks..."
"...every one of you will have worked beside every other man in this detail."
He stopped pacing.
"That means you'll know who's lazy."
A few laughs.
"Who's dependable."
More nods.
"Who snores?"
That earned a louder round of laughter.
"And who you'd trust watching your back."
The laughter faded.
"Because that's the one that matters."
He looked from face to face.
"I don't care much if you're friends."
"I care whether you come home."
He jabbed a thumb toward the waiting wagons.
"Now..."
"...let's go move those latrines."
Brenn held up three fingers.
"Why teams of three?"
A few shrugged.
Corbin ventured, "More hands for the work?"
"Partly."
Brenn lowered one finger.
"If one of you twists an ankle..."
He lowered another.
"...or catches an arrow..."
Only one finger remained.
"...there's still one man to help him..."
He pointed with that last finger.
"...and another to run for help."
He looked slowly down the line.
"Never send one man anywhere he doesn't have to go alone."
He paused.
"If two men are ambushed..."
"...the third can carry word."
"If one man's unconscious..."
"...two can drag him."
"If one loses his head..."
"...the other two can still think."
He folded his arms.
"I've buried enough good soldiers because somebody thought a pair was enough."
Silence settled over the line.
"So from this day forward..."
"...none of you works alone."