Jacob sat on the window seat, staring out into nothing. He heard something behind him, and jumped up, pulling his dagger out, ready for a fight, but it was only his butler, Gerald. Gerald was used to Jacob’s sudden movements, and didn’t even flinch. “Master Grace,” He said,”There are some soldiers at the gate asking for you.” Jacob thought for a second, then asked, “Clintanian or Ranklan?” Their kingdom, Clintania, had been at war since its birth, but the latest struggle was just that, a struggle.
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Gerald responded in kind with a look that clearly said “go see for yourself.” Jake walked out the door, smiling and shaking his head.
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Nathaniel stood nervously at attention as he waited with the other men. He didn't know what to expect from the much admired Brigadier General Grace, or how he would react to an armed guard asking him to go to the capitol. He caught himself looking at the windows, looking for the gleam of a sniper's scope. The door opened and the butler that they had met before, (what was his name, gary)? Stepped out, saying "Master Grace will be out in a moment, he is gathering his things; in the meanwhile, please feel free to come inside." The men walked in the house, muttering their gratitude. The butler motioned towards the sofas in the den, and walked off.
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I looked in the mirror to make sure my uniform ws on properly, adjusting my saber belt to the correct position, tucked my hat under my arm, turned, and walked out. I didn't know what to think, but if it were enemy soldiers, I wanted to die in uniform, properly, and I wouldn't go down without a fight. I felt the familiar weight of my snub-nose revolver against the small of my back. Unorthodox, but effective. I put my weight on the first step, preparing for the worst.
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I try to keep the relief off of my face as I see that these soldiers are in the blue-gray drab of the Ranklan special forces. One of the seven or eight men sees me, and shouts, in a voice, a voice that I use often, the voice of a commander "GENERAL ON DECK, ON YOUR FEET!" The men jump into perfect formation in the blink of an eye, bringing their hands to their brows. I return the salute, calling them to parade rest. I look them over, and see that their is two seargents, one a Seargent first class, the other a first seargent in charge of them, the rest are Private First Class, Corporal, and Specialist. I look at the first seargent, saying "Seargent, What is the purpose of two special forces teams showing up at my front door?" The Seargent glances at his comrades, then stares me dead in the eyes, jaw clenched
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