The General
I could hear the laughter and talking coming from the training field as I approached. I knew the sight that would be before me as I topped the hill. My warriors were all there ready for training. Some were mock wrestling others practicing with swords and spears and others in hand to hand. None of them were seriously training however. Not until I got there and picked up my weapon. Until that happened they would continue to play. Cheers came from one side of the field as one mock match reached its close. One warrior leaned over to extend his hand to the other. As he helped him up the two met in an embrace still laughing and ribbing each other. I continued to make my way to the front of the field, my sword and spear held tightly in my hands. These sessions always brought to mind Full Metal Jacket and the drill sergeants mantra about the maggots' riffles. Only guns don't work against the thirios. The warriors must use swords and spears. The arrows my archers use can cause injury and weakness but won't kill them. I step into my position and set my spear to the side. I turn to face my warriors and unsheath my sword. The sound it makes draws immediate attention and like a wave, silence descends on the field. Men turn towards me with looks of concentration and determination. They are ready to begin.
We begin with basic movements. I keep my eye on the new warrior. He is picking up the movements quickly and knows how to watch and apply what he is seeing to correct his mistakes. Already he is moving quickly and with the same sharpness as some of the warriors who have been here for a few months. I make corrections in arm positions as I walk the lines but overall my warriors are living up to their reputations as the best fighters in this war. After our basic moves we begin to sequence our steps. Moving together, the men step and thrust at their own speeds to the end of the field and back again. I watch their movements, see their looks of frustration when they misstep or hold their weapons incorrectly. My warriors are perfectionists and they expect nothing less from each other and themselves but the very best. "Perfection is a myth. You will make mistakes. You will decide incorrectly. You will be wrong. How you handle yourself from the moment of mistake is what separates you from the other warriors. You fuck up you fix it." Ah words of encouragement. They need it every once in a while. It's a common speech but it serves to remind them to not get too much in their heads.
The third series is proving tricky for Jeremiah. I step next to him and go through the motions with him. Three times I repeat the series with him until he is moving fluidly. Quick learner. Stepping back I watch the men move through the sequence once more before I call the next set. This is a new one. I explain the movements to them as I demonstrate slowly, step by step. Then I repeat the steps with only the directions and move a little faster. Finally I stop talking and demonstrate using the speed I want them at. Then I let them go. I walk the line correcting here and there, using my weapon against theirs to show areas of weakness in their holds. I move their wrists and fingers, spar with a couple of them. "Quickly!" "Rotate the wrist!" "Again!" As I make corrections with some of the men others work together to correct mistakes. Small side conversations occur but I learned a long while ago that as long as they were talking about the skill I could ignore the conversations. It was when they would drift off and discuss insipid details of the dinner the night before or the hot piece of ass they got that I couldn't deal with. We weren't there to exercise. This isn't some class that would be taken if the world still made sense just for fun. These were survival skills. Battle skills. If these men wanted to survive this war they would need them. If they wanted to be able to walk off the battle field to the healers instead of risking the healers lives coming to their injured asses they needed these skills. And the terrifying thing about the healers was, that while they could as would heal any warrior, they could not help themselves. Even La Meastra would need another healer at full strength to heal any wounds she may acquire. And I don't relish the times I have had to explain to her and her angel why one of their healers was hurt or killed on the battle field. God forbid one of them disappears. Those are the bodies we never recover. They are the ones I feel guilt and remorse over. I've lost five healers over the past two years of battle. Two blues, one green, one red, and one white. It is for them that I push my warriors to be the best. It is for them that we train for countless hours perfecting as much as we can. And it is for them that we will win this war. Two hours in and I call for our first break.
Jeremiah bends at the waist, his hands resting on his thighs, breathing deeply. I walk over to him and stand by him. "Why are we so worried about killing these things with swords and spears? Can't we just nuke the bastards where they sleep?"
I smile down at the bent head, familiar with the question. All of my warriors ask it in the beginning of their training. "The thirios are man-made creatures. As such, upon their creation, they became immune to our weapons. Guns, bombs, all of it useless. We needed weapons not of this world to kill them. That's where the spears and swords come from, as well as the tips of our arrows. All of them were forged in the depths of Hell and heights of Heaven."
He straightens him up and looks me in the eye. "Then why couldn't they have made us bullets to use?"
"The type of metal used in our weapons burns too hotly when leaving the chambers. We could use each gun one time and one time only. Even then, the bullet only enters the body of the thirios. It doesn't kill them because the mechanics behind propelling the bullets were man made and we are right back to the problem we had when they first attacked, creatures that are bleeding but not dying and getting more and more angry with each bullet wound received while our soldiers were scrambling to find a new gun to load a single bullet into. We lost a lot of men and women that way."
"That's the other thing, why aren't there any women warriors or male healers? I'm surprised some of the more hard core bitches that I've met in the camp aren't pitching a fit about not being allowed to fight."
"It is not that the women can not fight along with us but they are the only ones with healing powers. They can use our weapons and kill the thirios but not as easily as us. The same is true with the men. It is not that the men can not help to heal but they do not have the powers that the women do. All the men can do is human healing, stitching and setting bones. Our power lies in our ability to kill the thirios. We were given extra strength and speed."
"So like everything else it's a balance."
"Yes. Now rest. In a couple of minutes we will be practicing with our spears and you are going to appreciate all of the rest you can get."
I walk away from Jeremiah to allow him to rest. I know he would continue asking questions if I stayed partially because he wants to know and partially to distract himself from his loss. I return back to the front of the field to retrieve my spear. It feels good in my hand, the deadly extension of my arm. Tom and Jeffery met me at the front.
"We are still looking slow during the fifth progression. Take your men and train them for another 45 minutes before specific skills." I commanded my two heads before picking up my spear. "BREAK OFF," I commanded. Tom and Jeffery jogged off in their respective directions, their units following closely behind. I focus on the men who are spear fighters.,mine to train. "Alright warriors. Let 's begin."
