“Rank has its privileges,” thought Spinelli.
After an hour, they came to a dirt road and followed that for the rest of the morning. The only conversation was related to whether they were going in the right direction. Which, as far as Spinelli was concerned, was a-ok with him. His traveling companion didn’t seem to be one for casual conversation. He also suspected that all his stories would be about killing.
At noon, a jeep drove towards them and stopped when Mister Famulus waved them down. The driver was a second Lieutenant with a fresh uniform and a matching face. He saluted when he saw the oak leaves.
“Morning, Major. Can I offer you and your man a lift?”
“I need your jeep, Lieutenant,” stated Mister Famulus.
“Sir?” he replied.
“Was I unclear, Lieutenant?”
He paused, as if he was waiting for a ‘just kidding.’ It did not.
“Sir, I have orders to rendezvous with my Company-”
“Do you know the penalty for refusing a superior officer’s order in wartime?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
They stared at each other for a beat.
“Get out of the jeep and start marching! Double time!”
The Lieutenant leapt out of the jeep, nearly tripping over himself doing so. Spinelli and Mister Famulus watched as the green officer took off down the road.
“You drive, I’ll navigate.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” said Spinelli with a salute.
While it was springtime, the sky was a robin’s egg blue, and everything was in bloom, there was a mood of anxiety, at least for Spinelli. If Mister Famulus felt anything other than grim annoyance, it was impossible to tell.
By nightfall, Spinelli suggested they make camp.
“If you’re tired, I’ll drive.”
“The key isn’t going anywhere.”
“Stop, and I’ll take over.”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
Sitting in the passenger’s seat, Spinelli found himself drifting off. His dreams were a jumble of agitation and an unavoidable sense that something terrible was about to leap out at him.
“Wake up.”
Spinelli opened his eyes to see that they were on a forest road. There were lights ahead and the sound of marching boots. A utility vehicle pulled up next to them and stopped. These were the Allied Gallic Legion. The officer, a captain by her insignia, saluted and spoke in her native tongue.
“What is she saying?” asked Mister Famulus.
“Please excuse the Major, Captain. He doesn’t speak your language,” replied Spinelli.
“How fortunate for him that you do,” said the captain, “Please inform him that a full brigade of Eastern Troopers have taken the city of St. Arsoix. We have been ordered to fall back.”
“The major wishes to know how many Eastern Troopers are ahead?”
The captain laughed and replied, “It feels like all of them, but it’s likely two thousand. You are welcome to join us. When we make camp, you can radio your superiors for new orders.”
Mister Famulus shook his head and said, “Tell her we need to get past her men, have her order them to the side.”
“Is he a fool or does he love death?” the captain asked of Spinelli.
“It is difficult to say,” he answered, “But we have our orders.”
“I will wish you good luck then,” said the captain with a rueful smile.
She then stood up and shouted orders for her men to make room for the jeep to pass on the right. The Legionnaires did so, with a resigned weariness.
“If you change your minds, please follow our tracks,” she said with a salute as she drove off.
They quickly passed the Gallic Legionnaires and then were alone once more.
“Was she suspicious?” asked Mister Famulus.
“Only of why we seemed to eager to die.”
“They shouldn’t have retreated.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They showed weakness to the enemy.”
“They showed common sense. They were outnumbered ten to one.”
“If entrenched, the losses would be manageable.”
Spinelli stared at him. Light was low, just the flashlight he was using to read the map, but Mister Famulus’s face and compassion were unacquainted.
“That’s cold.”
“Practical.”
“A good officer tries to keep their soldiers from being killed pointlessly.”
“Don’t fret. I still need you alive. “
It’s the still part, thought Spinelli, that makes me nervous.
They came to three-way junction and stopped.
“Which way?” demanded Mister Famulus.
Spinelli looked at the map.
“Straight will bring us right into the heart of St. Arsoix, so that’s out. South will give us a wide loop around the city, but it will take longer. North is closer to the city, but it will cut time off our trip. It’s more likely to have patrols. I’d suggest south.”
“We go north.”
“Excuse me?”
Mister Famulus turned and regarded Spinelli with a baleful glower.
“There are two ways of getting through enemy-held territory. One, have more people, more guns, artillery, and if you’re lucky, air support. Two, be sneaky so they don’t know you’re here. Since I don’t see a regiment following behind us, option two is the smart choice.”
“I can handle any patrols. By the time they go missing, we’ll be long gone.”
Spinelli pinched the bridge of his nose before responding.
“You are one scary piece of work, I’ll give you that. But Eastern Troopers, don’t underestimate them. They’re tough.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
Spinelli shrugged.
“Okay then, lead on, tough guy.”
They turned left onto the north road. Any tiredness that Spinelli felt was wiped clean by their heedless plunge towards danger. It was different from when Sarge ordered Echo Company into peril. He knew he could rely on his squad mates and Sarge to do their jobs, and everyone had each other’s backs. There was a better than even chance that Mister Famulus would shoot him in the back after they got the key.
After about a half hour, the skies above the trees began to lighten. Spinelli kept looking for enemy activity, but the low light and morning mist worked against him.
They turned around a bend and heard, “Stoy!”
From the woods on both sides, four Eastern Troopers appeared, guns aimed at them. The man in charge, probably a non-com, shouted at them.
“What are they saying?” asked Mister Famulus with a baffling calm.
“They said we are now prisoners of war and we’re ordered to get out of the jeep, put our hands on our heads, and kneel.”
“I see.”
“We should do that.”
Each of them got out of the jeep. Spinelli put his hands on his helmet when her heard a stomach-churning snap. The Troopers in front of him looked with horror. Then the bullets began to fly. Spinelli threw himself to the ground and reached for his sidearm. One of the Troopers fell dead next to him, and the other began to run back into the woods.
Mister Famulus ran after him. No. Running implies effort. He sprang at him and knocked him flat to the forest floor. With a gesture as quick as a thought, he slit the Trooper’s throat.
Standing, Spinelli saw the others, all dead. This wasn’t a fight, it was a slaughter. Each of the Trooper’s bodies were twisted like pretzels. Despite having avoided church for most of his adult life, he unconsciously crossed himself. Something hit him in the chest, and he jumped backward, landing in the jeep.
“Put that on,” said Mister Famulus.
It was an Eastern Trooper’s uniform.
“This should help us blend in.”
He wasn’t wrong about that. But his casual brutality and preternatural speed and strength made him seem like he was built, not born. With his hands shaking, Spinelli changed into the enemy uniform. Mister Famulus moved the bodies off into the trees and collected their weapons.
“Do you want to drive?” he asked Spinelli.
Hands shaking, he whispered, “No, thank you.”
With that, they drove off. Spinelli could not stop thinking about how Mister Famulus moved, it was familiar. He knew some tough guys in the army, but that wasn’t it. Somewhere else. Then a chill hit him, in defiance of the warmth of the spring morning.
The figure that they all fought when looking for Ramirez. They moved the same way. He hoped it was him.
“God help us if there are more,” he thought.
The Writings of Leo Byrne Jenicek 
