Christopher got up early the next morning, unable to sleep, and unwilling to lay in bed any longer. His mind went to work, as did his hands. He dressed in his black button-up training jacket which had his Wymond insignia stamped on the back. He pulled his black trousers on and strapped his boots to his legs securely. Pulling his sword from its place on the wall, he strapped it on and continued out of his room.
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Once he arrived outside, Christopher made his way to the Wymond training grounds. It was a barren place, really just sand and wooden walls the trainees would work to get over. There, in the center, he found Captain Fyte and his Lieutenant training a squad of fifteen men. It was obvious to Christopher that it was soldiers who were getting a second training. Currently, they all, except for the Captain and lieutenant, of course, who had done more than enough push-ups in their years, held a prone, push-up position as Captain Fyte yelled “Down! Up! Down! Up! Push your body up corporal! NOW! GET UP! Let’s go! Down! Up!” Upon seeing his lord approach, he called “Hold a plank, men. Lieutenant Goode, if any of them fails at a plank, have them stand up at attention, I will deal with them as needed.” The man nodded and turned to watch the soldiers on the ground. Captain Fyte saluted Christopher, “My lord, you’re up early. What can I do for you?”
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“Good morning, Captain. Just out for a walk, maybe some training.” Christopher watched as one of the men in the back of the group faltered and let his knee fall to the ground for a split second, hurriedly returning to his plank position. However, it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Lieutenant Goode. He ordered the man to a stance of attention.
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“Ah. These men need some discipline, though good men in their hearts, they lack what they need to succeed here. I’m afraid we may have to decommission them. They all passed initiation somehow, but have been caught slacking.” The Captain wore a weary look on his face, counting the men standing at attention. “Two men failed a simple plank. Tch.”
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“Captain, may I have permission to take your men for the morning?”
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“Of course, sir. No need to ask. I’ll announce your command.” The two men strode to the front. “AT-TEN-CHUN!” The men jumped to follow the order, their arms folded messily against the trim of their trousers, eyes flicking around. “Commander Wymond is taking command. Follow the commander’s instructions, understand?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” All the men stood straighter, determined to be a squad that impressed, though each soldier had their own wish to be recognized. Captain Fyte nodded and saluted to Christopher as he called his lieutenant and went away.
“Soldiers,” Christopher proclaimed. “I don’t want you to be decommissioned.” He looked around at them studying each of their faces. They were a tired-looking bunch, most of them had dirty faces or ripped, sagging clothes. “I am going to tell you all a story about my father. One that I tell every officer in the Wymond Corps.
“My father, Kyler Wymond, was the most valiant noble in the mobile corps of Razium. He started out as a low-born servant, but applied for knightship. It took hard work, but he achieved it, and eventually the King himself mentored him into the lord he was. He commanded the army, this army, for twenty-four years before he died in war.” Christopher started slowly pacing, studying each soldier in formation for their reactions. “In his men, he looked for honesty, compassion, strength, mentally and physically. He looked for good, motivated, and reliable men. Every man in his army had these traits. This is how he won wars. He didn’t care if his men started out fearless, that was what came with the teamwork of his men, so everyone eventually had that trait. They worked better than any and all of the other armies within Razium. They received the medal of distinguished military service, the Corps itself. They stood at the front in every single military parade. Our king honors this army.” Christopher’s eyes flamed, “then, on the day we all know about, he was sent into an ambush. The men fought harder and stronger than anyone. They survived. How? Because of their compassion for each other. Their teamwork. They trusted each other. They survived, and they won.
“This is what I ask of all of you. I need to trust you. I need to have the knowledge that you can withstand what you will go through. Can I trust you to do this? For my father? For me? For Razium? Can I trust that you will work as a team, as a unified squad?” He swept his gaze across the lines. His men stood straight. Determined. “MEN OF WYMOND CORPS, MEN OF RAZIUM, CAN. I. TRUST. YOU!?” Christopher almost rolled his eyes at the need to give these soldiers spirit.
“SIR, YES, SIR!” The men replied with all the compassion in them, which admittedly, wasn’t much.
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“Then let’s get to work. Fall into two lines on me. We are going to grow.”
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The men obeyed, and they quickly marched from the training grounds, headed for the trail that they all had run on countless occasions. It contained obstacles that required their work as a team, as a unified force. They knew it like they knew the slash of a sword. They also had burning hate for it. Together they started down it, but immediately some fell behind while others stuck in groups that helped only each other. All, however, marveled at their Commander’s agility, compassion, strength, and reliability. He pushed on, encouraging each soldier, pulling each person up, helping them through their tiredness. They kept going, following their disciplined leader, though they stayed in their groups. Christopher spoke only to encourage them.
As they rounded the last stretch, Christopher called out, “You are tired. You are weary. On this stretch I need your utmost teamwork, encouraging each other. In the middle of battle, you can’t give up. Be leaders! Full strength now lads. Let’s go!” With that, they went full speed, as hard as they could to the finish line, though most staggered at an unsteady jog. Of course, the commander made sure he was first across the line. As soon as the last person got past the painted tree that marked the finish line, Christopher told them all to line up and sit on the grass that lined the trees.
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“What happened? Did you complete the course as a team? Did you communicate? There is a group of you and yet me, a single man, beat you.” He crossed his arms, tapping his foot.
“But sir,” one of the soldiers said. “You are a lot better than any of us. Stronger, faster. How are we supposed to beat you?”
“You followed me instead of following each other. Yes, you will look to your commanding officers in a battle, but you still need to think for yourself. Work together and you can overcome any challenge.” Christopher looked around at the tired men. “You will all meet me at the training grounds every day until I tell you otherwise. You will become the strongest, hardest working squad in my army, and you will pass that on to others.”
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A few of the weary men perked up, ready for the challenge. “So, what’s next?”
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Christopher smiled. “Pull your swords. Stand up, get in a loose circle around me, about a wagon wide all around.” They did. “Now, one at a time to start with, you will come into the circle and you and I will fight. Don’t touch your opponent with your sword, rather unarm them. That is how you win in this. In war, kill the fools, do you understand?” ‘Yes sirs’ resounded around the group. “Good. You. You’re first.” Christopher grinned and raised his sword.
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The soldier had short-cut, black hair. His face was fearful as he approached his commander. He half-heartedly raised his sword and swung it. Christopher didn’t even bother parrying it, the swing was strengthless and useless. The stoic noble dodged the next strike and shouldered the soldier to the ground, kicking his sword to the side and holding his sword at the throat of the man before him. “Try harder,” He growled and shoved him back into line. “Next.”
The next soldier jumped quickly from his place and slashed downward at Christopher’s sword. Christopher deflected the swing and pushed the man beyond him. Then, with a strong offense, the soldier turned on his heels and kicked out. Christopher neatly sidestepped and rammed the unbalanced soldier. Knocking him, and his sword, to the dirt. “Soldiers! You make filthy and useless attacks. Be smart. Work out a plan and anticipate my parry. Next.”
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Christopher went through the line, one by one, going through each soldier five times. Then he ordered them into double lines behind him and ran them home. Every time that someone started to lag behind he would yell for the soldiers' peers to encourage each other, they didn’t, or they grumbled. Each time Christopher noticed, he stopped the line and made them do a physical punishment.
Eventually, sweating, they arrived back in the training grounds and lined up. “Push-up position. Two hundred push-ups and you can be done for the day. Start!” The exhausted men worked for the next hour and achieved the required amount before getting sent back to their barracks to rest.
Only one soldier remained, refusing to return to his housing. “My lord, I do not wish to stop now, please, will you train me more?” He looked hopefully at the commander of the Wymond Corps.
“What’s your name, soldier?”
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“David Teem, sir,” replied the man.
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“Well, David,” said Christopher. “What makes you think that I should continue to train you separate from your squad?”
David hesitated before saying, “I am more determined than my squad, sir. I want to be the best soldier I can be, and I can’t do that if I am constantly training with the soldiers that can’t properly fight.” His enthusiasm seemed to burst from every seam.
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Slowly, Christopher nodded. “Meet me here every other evening. I have things I need to do during the day.” With a quick nod, he turned on his heel and continued towards the castle.
With a satisfied mind and a quiet heart, Christopher made his way to the war planning room. Yet, a darker foreboding thought drifted in his mind.
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