Rising Moon

~Chapter Nine~

"Show me," Hector ordered.

"What?" The young man, Hermund Sigeferthsson, said, surprised.

"I said show me. I asked who believed they'd improved their shooting accuracy and speed the most in these past weeks. You stepped forward first, and I might be inclined to agree. So show me that I'm not wrong."

The man hesitated for a moment. Then he tightened his grip on his bow and took his place at the railing seventy yards away from the shooting targets. As he reached back to grasp an arrow from his quiver, Hector spoke again.

"No," he said bluntly. "Not from there. Come back to where I'm standing."

Sigeferthsson gawked at his commander. If he moved back that much, he would be shooting from a full ten yards farther away than he was used to. He had shot seventy yards away from a target for the past four weeks of training!

"Now, Sigeferthsson," Hector commanded. "That's an order."

Sigeferthsson begrudgingly went back to where he had been standing before. He eyed Hector curiously while he drew out an arrow from the quiver on his back. He then carefully strung the simple bow. He pulled back the string, took aim, and finally let the arrow go. The arrow struck the target just an inch or two right of the center.

"Very good," Hector said. "Do it again."

Sigeferthsson began to retrieve another arrow when Hector suddenly took a step towards him.

"Faster," he ordered.

Sigeferthsson continued the process only for Hector to repeat his previous order again, getting closer and speaking louder. He said it again. And then again. He was shouting now. Sigeferthsson's hands were starting to shake, his eyes darting between his commander and the bow.

"Faster, Sigeferthsson!" Hector was screaming right in the man's ear. "Half your friends are dead by now! The rest will be by the time it takes you to string that! Their blood is on your hands! Faster!"

Sigeferthsson dropped the bow and the arrow. Hector kicked the man's legs out from underneath him as he bent down to retrieve his weapon. The warrior knelt on top of him, pressing his knee into Sigeferthsson's spine and grabbing a fistful of his copper hair. Hector tugged the young man's head upward. He leaned down until his mouth was directly next to his ear.

"And now you're dead too," Hector hissed.

The warrior got off of Sigeferthsson and nearly tossed him back into his place in the front line of the formation by his hair. The rest of the men and women in line gawked at their officer. They couldn't believe what they'd just seen.

Hector began to stride up and down the line of refugee soldiers with his hands tucked neatly behind his back. He looked each of them in the eyes as he spoke.

"It's been four weeks since I took control of your company. There are one hundred and eight of you. And yet not one of you is ready to be placed on a battlefield. It's true that your technical skill and formation has improved, but all of you lack what I'm looking for most.

"Do you think the enemy is going to go easy on you and wait for you to slowly string your bow? Do you think that a battlefield is going to be anything less than distracting, bloody chaos? Do you really believe that the only life you're responsible for on that battlefield is your own?"

"NO, SIR!"

"Well, I don't believe you! All any of you have shown me is that you are stupid, selfish, and incapable of functioning when it really matters! I might as well let the Insurrectionists have you!"