NaNoWriMo 2022

Hog Jowl and Red Beans

American Kingdom: Day 14

Previous scene:

After evening quiet came to an end, signalled by two chimes, we walked over to dinner as a group.

We waited by our barracks door for the men to arrive. The vehicle had delivered them from the range area before the quiet, there had been sounds of splashing and whoops from the showers and then running feet back to the other end of the building where presumably they sat meditating in the nude for thirty minutes before jumping into their evening uniforms in two minutes flat.

Or possibly they had borrowed a bit of quiet time to dress but I had been entertained by my first thought and consequently my discussion with the Lord was not on as high a moral plane as one might wish.

But that was okay. Laughter and all the other emotions flowed from the Almighty and if one cannot smile during prayer, then what hope is there for humanity?

Hazel had sat demurely reading her testament. Occasionally while I prayed for guidance and light, there had been the rustle of a turning page. It was a delightful time, a pause out of the day, a bookmark dividing one chapter from the next and the Dear Lord knew that I needed markers and reflection right now.

The men, both tall and bald, one by choice, one not, walked in step down the central corridor and down the stairs. Their uniforms were the same as ours, cut along slightly different lines to accentuate and flatter their more angular figures.

“Nathan and Oscar, I’d like you to meet Molly, who arrived earlier today,” Annie said. We shook hands and Nathan — the taller, broader-shouldered, younger one — extended his elbow to me. I took it and he led me in the direction of the mess hall.

Oscar — Annie had labelled him the grouch — shrugged, held out both elbows, and escorted the two others. I looked back; he was smiling; he’d won the prize.

“I’m sorry we had to spend the day on the range,” Nathan said, wasting no time. “I would have liked to see the welcome ceremony.”

If he played his cards right, maybe he could have a private replay.

“The men get the same deal, I guess?”

“Born again from filth, cleansed by their redeemed comrades, enlisted in the King’s Guard,” he said proudly. “Quite an experience, when you think about it.”

“They don’t have anything like that in the SEALs?” I inquired innocently. “I’ve heard rumours…”

“Oh boy!” He grimaced. “Sorry, cannot tell. We’re sworn to secrecy. Blood oath.”

“You don’t have a price?”

He shook his head, but I could see a flicker in his eyes. He had a price.

We were dining outside tonight, it seemed. Underneath the trees a table had been set up. White-jacketed stewards waited and three officers rose to greet us.

Officers in that they had rank insignia, where we had none. A captain and two master sergeants.

“Good evening, my friends!” the captain said, extending a hand to me. “I’m Sir Duane, and I have the honor to be the camp commander under Prince Jeff of Missouri. My two assistants: the lovely Sergeant Payne, and the talented Sergeant Hart.”

We shook hands. Sergeant Payne didn’t look quite so intimidating now. Her dress uniform was cut to accentuate a decidedly feminine shape. Sergeant Hart looked like every drill sergeant I’d ever met, carved out of rock, stubble for hair, shirt and pants tight over a chiselled body. Yum.

The stewards were not introduced. I suspected that one or two of them might have laid hands on my naked body earlier that day and heaved me into a pit full of floating filth. I hoped that they had washed their hands since then.

Duane pointed to the seat at the foot of the table. The others took seats along the sides, men to his right, women to the left.

“Please be seated,” he said.

We took our seats and everyone looked at me. Big choice here. I stuck out my hands and smiled. Nathan to my left and Hazel to my right took them and the link rippled up the table. I thought I saw Sergeant Hart roll his eyes. Screw him.

“Heavenly King,” I began, bowing my head, “we ask Your divine blessing on our fellowship here tonight. May you smile on our meal, our company, and all who helped make today precious and beautiful. Amen.”

“Amen,” echoed up and down the table. Hazel gave my hand a tiny squeeze before releasing it. Nathan’s fingers caressed mine as he broke the chain.

The servers moved in, pouring wine, offering napkins, serving crusty rolls onto side plates. This was how a boot camp should be run, I thought, recalling endless chow lines where a bored messhand slopped something gloopy into a tin bowl before his companion cratered it with a mashed potato meteorite.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sir Duane said, lifting his glass. “let us drink together to the health and success of the newest member of our family, Molly Freytag, our friend.”

I smiled in return as glasses were raised in my direction. My friends. And I was a friend of theirs.

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