Every dog has its day

The Imperial State of Constancia: Benevolent hereditary dictatorship, constitutional monarchy, laissez-faire technocracy, aristocratic corporate state, organized crime family syndicate or liberal autocracy? It depends on the day.

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Primo de Aguilar
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Every dog has its day

Post by Primo de Aguilar »

Outside Ad Pontes
1653

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Tagmatarchis (Major) Eustakion of the Home Guard was not pleased, and his demeanor showed it. The pace stick by his side hit the soldier by the arm, and he winced in pain.

"Great stupidity all over the place!"

Eustakion shoved the soldier out of the way, grabbing the antiquated rifle, from the soldier's hands, its bayonet gleaming in the sunlight.

"Pay attention, you young pup. The Jings won't wait that long for you, so when you have the opportunity, you take it. Like this!"

Eustakion securely held the rifle in the charging position, inhaled, took a step forward, and then thrust the blade towards the tied Parestani prisoner-of-war, who could do little else but scream behind the black hood as his chest was pierced.

"See? That's how it's done. One-two-three-four. Everyone, again!"

The squad of recruits took their positions, and at the Tagmatarchis' count, repeated the procedure. The chorus of screams and groans was music to his ears.

Eustakion tossed the bayoneted rifle to the wonderfully-named Recruit Skilos, who barely caught the weapon. His knees shivering, he assumed the ready position.

"Skilos! At the count! Ready, one-two-three-four!"

Skilos did as was told, the stylized dance unfamiliar to him, but he did his part. Inhale, yell, thrust, recover, repeat.

Eustakion grinned, but barely, his eyes unsmiling as the recruit wiped his brow. "You missed the heart, Skilos. That enemy will live to fight you another day." The officer stabbed the recruit with the point of his pace stick, which would leave a bruise.

Tagmatarchis Eustakion unholstered his Shirley Stock Fund 9mm pistol, walked over to the post, tossed the hood away, pointed it at the balding Parestani's nape, and pulled the trigger.

This was quite the messy manner with which most of them were assured their iron dietary requirements, a rarity, this side of Eura.

"Every dog has its day. Do better next time, Skilos."

Eustakion lit a cigarette, a particularly pungent one that reminded him of an unwashed Babkhan - which made him wonder why he even bothered to utilize that adjective, in the first place. Two recruits tossed the dead prisoner to the side where the other corpses were, dragging another hooded one to the post to take its place.

That accomplished, they began shoveling Euran sand to cover the grave.

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