Ichor

Lieutenant (Part I)

Year 4 - Lieutenant
Planet Primae

° ° ° °

"Don't stop. Keep the momentum going. The moment you stop, you lose energy."

Percy was instructing his squad on sword techniques. They had to go through a variety of weapons, but Percy's squad had seven sword specialists, so they focused on that most of the time. The other three were skilled with a dagger and were allowed to practice on their own during sword-specific training.

"But wouldn't that expend your energy more quickly?" one of his privates asked.

"Energy in the sense of your stamina, yes. That's why we train hard. Build up your strength and endurance. But I'm referring to the energy exerted through the sword that makes a strike powerful."

"Lieutenant, isn't strength mostly determined by personal might?" another private asked. "What difference does fluid motion make?"

"Great question. Let us demonstrate."

That got the private to pale slightly. They knew their lieutenant was extremely skilled with a sword. Whenever someone would spar with him, they came out no short of cuts and bruises. Most collapsed after practice from exhaustion. But the lesson was always a good one.

Unsurprisingly, this time was no different. They quickly learned why a continuous motion was beneficial. But it didn't stop there. Percy next went through when it was best to implement this tactic and when it wasn't.

"You must be adaptable. And to do so effectively, you need to know the reasons why one might use each tactic. That way you can make the best choice in a fight."

"No offense, Lieutenant," Percy prepared to be offended, "but we are not strategists. What use is this to us?"

"Brawn is not always best. Even strength must bow to wisdom sometimes," he answered automatically.

It was a phrase he first heard at the age of twelve from someone he had loved very much. It pained him to use it now, but the truth behind it was too good not to share. The pain, however, mostly came from another conclusion; he didn't love Annabeth anymore. She would always have a place in his heart, but four years was a long time. And Percy knew he wouldn't be going back to Earth any time soon. He realized he had to move on. He would've wanted her to move on had she been in this position. So she probably thought the same. It was a scary thought, though. It made everything more real. The Olympians' betrayal, leaving without an explanation, not getting to say goodbye, never being able to go back as long as Zeus was king. It was all too real.

° ° ° °

The next day was filled with excitement and anticipation. The biennial Chaos Competition was starting. Every two years (i.e., every other year) a bracket of lieutenants through generals was made and a contest was hosted over the span of two weeks. Those who participated did so at their own risk. No deaths had occurred in a millennium, but there was no rule against it either. The only thing preventing purposeful murder was the retribution one would face afterward or in the next fight.

Much to everyone's interest, Ichor was written in. Percy's squad was enthusiastic and a little too smug—in his opinion—about his chances, but the support was greatly appreciated. While those who signed up were relax with their squads and platoons and so forth so that they could train themselves more, Percy pushed his subordinates harder than ever.

"What good is winning a competition to prove my own skill if I can't produce soldiers with equal prowess?" he argued. "Wars are not won by a single man. They are won by the hands of many. I rather have many skilled hands by my side than a select few."