The cadets jostled each other, shoving and play-fighting among themselves, about to finally be free from the harsh tutelage of their drill-sergeants for the first time in months. An equal split of human and dracari – those born of dragon blood – the cadets were consolidated by tabbards boasting the crest of Suthaain, capital city of Dheathain. They crowded around Arkault, the dracari who was their self-proclaimed squad leader. Cadets were largely left to govern themselves on their own time, and were evaluated on how successfully they did so, but did not have true hierarchy. Still, Arkault was boisterous and strong, and fell easily into a leadership role. He cleared his throat, his voice only recently having stabilized from the squeakiness that plagued those going through puberty.

“The special assignment posting is up. Only four names on the list,” he said to the group to build suspense as there were many more than four present. Most looked dismayed. “Heh, Private Arkault Greyscale, obviously. Private Ovin Brightwing, surprisingly,” he said before being jarred by a rough elbow from a green-skinned scale-caste standing beside him. He continued: “Private Giselle Toulette. Finally, a little sex-appeal,” he said to a reception of raucous laughter.

“That's Private Second-Class, Lizard-Dick,” a bright young woman countered to even greater laughter.

“And Private Tummus Lotner, 'cause... I guess every squad needs a guy with glasses. The rest of you sandbags are out of luck,” Arkault concluded, turning around with an aire of finality. Those gathered other than the four mentioned, bowed their heads in shame and returned to their bunks to mope.

“What's the assignment?” the inquisitive Tummus spoke up. He was squat and the short-shaven hairstyle of new recruits did not suit his rectangular head or the rolls of extra skin on the back of his neck, or thick gold-rimmed glasses that weighed heavily on the bridge of his nose. He was bright-eyed, but homely.

Private Brightwing cut in front of Arkault to take a closer look at the postings board. The two dracari had a budding rivalry, but shared a bond of caste that the humans couldn't possibly understand. “Awwww... Man! What a boring bunch of bunk,” Ovin stated flatly, and yielded his spot to Giselle who wanted to read it for herself.

“The East Highway is being vandalized. We're supposed to catch the vandal in the act and bring them in for trial. Wow. We get a week off guard duty... to take up guard duty... on the fringe of a swamp,” she said for the benefit of the group – secretly she was no less pleased to be accepted for the job as it all but paved her way to Private First-Class.

“Guard duty, with extra mosquitoes,” Arkault said glumly.

“It isn't just guard duty,” Tummus, who usually found reason to be chipper, interjected. “Guard duty is standing around waiting for something to happen, but hoping nothing does. This is a real mission. What if it's bandits? Or monsters? Better sharpen your spears boys and girls. We might just see our first real fight!”

“Hah! My spear is ALWAYS sharp,” Ovin said, retrieving his polearm from the rack near the entrance to the barracks. His initials were carved into the redwood haft. “ALWAYS,” he shouted with a powerful swing, and “SHARP,” he stated with a returning swipe.

Arkault flopped onto his bedroll and closed his eyes. He suspected that the “mission” wasn't going to be quite as glorious as Tummus had optimistically stated. Giselle climbed onto her bunk above his, kicking him on the way, but he didn't give her the satisfaction of appearing bothered.

“Better get some sleep, boys and reptiles. We're heading out at oh-five-hundred,” the human female cadet said officially, like a superior giving an order.

Ovin returned his spear to the rack and prepared to do just that. “Uh, what time is oh-five-hundred again?”

“You're lucky you can fight Ovin, cause you're not much to look at and only slightly smarter,” the human answered, before closing her eyes and falling immediately into a shallow sleep, the way only someone in the army could.

***

They marched two by two, not even trying to disguise the proud grins they bore. Their leather armor was handed down from previous classes of cadets, but to them it was prevalida plate. They carried spears that were theirs to keep and maintain until their army careers were finished. A standard issue gladius was displayed openly without a scabbard on their hips, pressed against their tabbards with a belt. They felt like knights off to crusade, and their eyes were filled with dreams of the glory they would bring to their city and families.