Disclaimer: If someone that actually owns Tin Man is reading this (ha! Like that's gonna happen) can we share?
Author's Note: Group. Narration. Never. Again. *Quality Control Cheers* This was unexpectedly painful to write. It's also one of those chapters that result from letting a story lie fallow too long – other people start thinking they ought to have their say…and I stupidly agreed. Like always, I did not plan this, it just happened.
...
The Royal Guard had a long and proud history of bravery in service to the Crown…
Crash. Thud.
…a legacy carried by every guard, from the high profile protection details to the common palace guard…
Crash. Thud.
…It was a well-known fact that when darkness had fallen on the O.Z., the Guard had held their ground to the bitter end…
CRASH. THUD.
…unlike certain traitorous Royal Army forces…
CRASH. THUD.
…which made the lapse in professional behaviour leading to the events of yesterday night just that much more embarrassing…
CRASH. THUD.
…though they would like to point out that that had been their naked one man cavalry charge to the rescue…
CRASH. THUD.
…Ow. Though that apparently didn't prevent one from being dumped out of bed not bright and yet still early in the morning. Especially since Commander I-Don't-Need-Clothes-For-A-Gunfight was doing the cot tipping. If that hadn't woken the bed's erstwhile occupant, the looming certainly would have done the trick. Did the Othersider have any idea how terrifying he could be when he got all quiet like that?
Groans could be heard throughout the guardhouse, either Ol' Gulchy was still channeling the Tin Man or they'd missed his more conventional wake-up call. It wasn't unlikely – almost half the guards in here had only got off duty a few hours ago…of course, according to Dawkins' Don't Piss Off The Quiet Man theory, that excuse would be about as effective as recent inter-forces communication. The guard currently under unnerving scrutiny decided it would be best at this juncture to appear alert and spritely, and hope to rainbows that the Menace would move on.
CRASH. THUD.
This…was not going to be a good day…
The Royal Army had a tradition of honour and discipline…
Tack.
…a reputation for courage and acts of valour almost as old as the O.Z. itself…
Tack.
…and while it may be true that certain units of the former Royal Army had disgraced its name with betrayal…
Tack.
…it was also true that none of those traitors to the Crown had been allowed to survive the war's end…
Tack.
…Relatively few of the Loyalist Army may have survived the Sorceress' reign, but they had taken their oaths to the Crown very, very seriously…
Tack.
…which only made their failure of the night before last just that more galling…
Tack.
…The soldiers that made up the majority of the army may not have been brought up, as it were, to its traditions…
Snap.
…but they had their own code of honour, pride, duty…
SNICK.
…and the sound of the Tin Man's revolver being cocked memorized well enough they could recognize it even when sleeping the sleep of the about to be dead…
Every soldier in the barracks was up, dressed and assembled in the palace courtyard before the first sun had even thought of rising. They'd figure out later what in the witch's darkness was going on…
More than one of the Royal Guard had the odd, nebulous thought, as they stumbled their way out of the guardhouse in the policeman's wake, as to why exactly they were doing this. The Guard, after all, was very structured. The bulk of it, of course, was made up of your common palace guard (common nothing, stouthearted fellows all of them), who were either assigned to a particular palace on a more or less permanent basis, or who made up a large component of the Royal Entourage (almost as good as being in a detail, really). Then there were the Royal Protection Details (who got private rooms, the bastards), the smaller, more temporary security teams for things like diplomatic embassies (okay, so that beat being a palace guard, at least for the slipper shod), and the more eclectic units, like the inter-force liaisons (mobats, were they in trouble). There was even a Guardian of the Royal Chickens – a position invented for the sole purpose of a proper humiliating demotion for the really big screw ups – and for every detail of the guard there was a commander. Officer Gulch commanded exactly five of their brethren, over for the rest the Othersider had no authority…
…except that small detail of having gotten disconcertingly scary all of a sudden. And he was looking this way. The entire Guard had never been assigned to Royal Chicken duty before, but there was a first time for everything….
The Royal Army, meanwhile, knew exactly why they were there – the Othersider might find occasion to be scary, but Cain just was – they just didn't know why they knew why they were there. Or why they found themselves meeting the Royal Guard in the palace courtyard in the early dawn light, with only two very quietly pissed off lawmen between them…
The Royal Guard had, up until two days ago, envisioned themselves to be the heart of the Realm's defence. For the most part the various units got along cohesively (except if there was beer and a distinct lack of Royal Army), what differences they had being easily settled through, ah, friendly debate (see beer, lack of Royal Army and comments regarding glorified babysitters, because the common folk did get jealous). Sure, the Royal Army was still necessary, but it had obviously fallen from its former glory, as was evidenced by Lieutenant Jeb Cain (don't ask why; trust me you are better off not knowing). Officer Gulch may be the best joke any of them had ever heard (and, yes, they would like to buy tickets to the next big event), but he was their joke, dammit, and they'd stand by him. Solidarity, what made the sum so much more than the whole of its parts…
…and then they'd let their professional failure expose themselves and the Royal Family to danger and the true merit Officer Gulch (and where in the witch's spun darkness had that come from?)…
The Royal Army, it had to be admitted (at least by its few survivors), was not the shining example of military discipline it had been before darkness fell on the Realm. The current army was a munchkin mix of old diehard soldiers, surviving resistance fighters, and far more than a few wet behind the ears recruits. Very few in the resistance had had military training before being blown into annuals of guerilla warfare, and the captured Crown Loyalists had come out of the moritanium mines feeling not so civilized as they went in. The result of this being chains of command that had been a bit…fluid. Since the end of the war the generals had been doing their best (under the direction of a certain Tin Man) to impose a coherent order on the ranks, an effort slightly hindered by the loss of a common goal. One thing they had agreed on, though, was that the Royal Guard was full of incompetent, lion-livered scarecrows, as exemplified by none other than Officer Gulch…
…which had made it particularly awkward when he'd turned out to be a one man (naked and thus more disconcertingly awesome) cavalry charge (the likes of which had impressed even Argus Flynt – woe be his loss to the dread Guard). It made a rather nasty hole in their theory.
"Morning ladies and gentlemen," the maybe not so inept unexpectedly intimidating man announced with an unsettling grin, "welcome to the first annual company retreat, complete with team building activities. Please assemble yourselves into your respective units in a quiet and orderly fashion so that my secretary can give you your group assignments."
And damned if he didn't look like he expected to be obeyed.
One perceptive soldier had an idea, as the two forces turned their bemused attention to the young man following in the guard commander's wake, that they were about to experience horrors the likes of which the O.Z. had never seen before. It certainly didn't help that the nerves to see the Othersider's secretary blissfully scribbling on the margins of the clipboard like that…
Ahamo's protection detail was assigned to the Classics. Classic what, they had no idea. Considering cleaning a perfectly tidy stable with toothbrushes and soapy water was the most relaxing part of their day, they didn't dare ask. Several of their members had been present at the assassination attempt, if Officer Gulch wanted to see his face reflected in the stall doors, they'd make it happen. And quietly thereafter vow to do anything loyally possible to avoid any and all trips to the Otherside. The Consort was often overheard muttering that cops were a dime a dozen there after all.
Lieutenant Cain's unit, meanwhile, merely found it to be adding cliff jump to Papay bite that after a day and a half of being tag-teamed by angry Cains, they had to be subjected to a berserk Othersider as well. The princesses' protections details, having spent the most time in the lawmen's vicinity, knew it probably wasn't a good thing that Ol' Gulchy was giving Cain ideas. Neither group liked the look of Gulch's Military Obstacle Course As Extrapolated From Movie Montages (And Lacking A Tower Of Victory We'll Just Use The Palace It's Tall Enough), hell, the sight of it made even the Gillikins wince, but it was probably better than the Tin Man's alternative. They didn't even want to know what that was.
The palace guards probably wouldn't have minded their assignment if they weren't very much aware that guard commander had a strong sense of fair play. It was all kinds of fun to enact the munchkin on the back of the beleaguered royal soldiers; it was less enjoyable to realize that once they'd finished their Lazy Man's Marathon it would be the Royal Army's turn…
The group of men allocated to Things My Mother Made Me Do When She Was Upset By My Behaviour merely expressed a wish never to meet Mrs. Gulch. Ever.
By their noon break the Royal Forces were united in the understanding that it was well for the Realm that the eldest princess hadn't discovered the sadistic policeman until after she was exorcised – the O.Z. would not have survived. Come midafternoon reprieve, they had cemented their definition of Otherside guard to mean Perfectly Friendly, Affable, And All Around Good Guy With Disturbing Yet Awesome Tendency Towards Violent Behaviour And Unnerving Consequences (and yes, they really would like to buy tickets to the next big event). In other words, he was brains in a scarecrow, courage in a lion, heart in a woodchopper, brick of the road, man of moritanium…
…by the evening First Aid lessons (because nine year old princesses knew better than to try and poked one's own guts back in and they should, too) they had it narrowed down to one simple phrase: Officer Gulch, a man who's damned determined to get the job done, with you or in spite of you.
So don't piss him off.