"RISE! UP! Up and T' arms lads!" Clay awoke to the sound of an angry ferret Sergeant banging a stick on the side of his rack. "Git up ya lazy slobs! We're under attack! Out! Outside now!"

The state of the barracks was an utter mess, beasts running to and fro, Wruddy jumping down from his bunk only to slip on a pair of trousers and face plant into the floor, Mudnose vainly attempting to fasten a far too large breastplate to Gritter only for it to slip down to his legs; Widespread mayhem seemed to have consumed every beast in the cramped barracks. Clay sat up rubbing his brow, a splitting headache striking him almost as hard as Stumptooth's stick. "Move yur sorry tail or yew'll be a Longear's lunch!"

Rubbing his now sore arm, courtesy of the Sergeant, Clay slid off his bed and reached under it, grabbing a helmet and donning it before going back for the chest plate. He threw on his coat before trying to fasten the armor piece to his body. In a flash, Wruddy was at his side, helping him tighten the straps. His paws were shaking, but the searat got the job done. "We gotta git t' the courtyard smart-like," Wruddy said urgently, grabbing a rusty spear and running towards the door to the barracks. Clay panicked, he didn't have a weapon. He looked under the rack, but there was nothing. "Mudnose! Ya gotta weapon?!" "Ya 'ere!" The ferret tossed him a sword belt, which Clay threw over his shoulder as he made his way over to the exit. The recruits poured out into the open courtyard, the morning light just beginning to filter over the walls of Ashburn fortress. The morning mist in the air was refreshing, and the cool autumn breeze was just enough to wipe any trace of tiredness out of the weasel's mind, while not being miserable.

"Get in line, NOW! Form up! Two ranks! I said two ranks! Not three, not four, TWO! Move yur sorry, piss-stained tails!" In a flash, the recruits had formed up in two ranks, ten beasts each. They had all donned some sort of armor and seemed to be armed to some extent. All in the span of five minutes. It was far better than the Sergeant had expected. He walked down the length of his recruits, critically inspecting each of the beasts as he passed before coming to a halt, centering himself in front of his men. "If the lot of yew take nearly as long again, yew'll be sleeping in yur armor every night! That clear?"

"Yes sur!" They answered loudly in unison, so loudly that Clay surprised himself with the volume of his own voice. That's when he realized his chest was heaving, his heart beating through his breastplate. The adrenalin in his body was just beginning to recede and the weasel realized with relief that they were not under attack. It was a drill. As bad as sleeping on hardwood planks had been, the idea of doing it in full armor made his already sore back even sorer; something he thought impossible moments ago.

"As of t'day, yew are all no longer recruits. Yew are, officially, soldiers of the Empire." Stumptooth announced. It came as a shock to everyone. They weren't due for graduation for another two weeks. "Yew will now be eligible for promotions and will also be commissioned a uniform as well as standard weapons and armor. Replace whatever it is yur currently wearing." Clay was suddenly made aware of how tattered his clothes were, not that he particularly cared. "Now if yew thinks this means anything other than more drilling, less rations, and harder work, then you would be sadly mistaken!" There was a groan from the lined up vermin which was quickly silenced. "We've done plenty of weapons training, but out there, in the wild yew will need t' learn how to keep n' hold a formation."

A fair bit of the afternoon was consumed by the Sergeant explaining basic orders and formations. Marching orders, stances, positions, and commands were all laid out for the newest members of the royal army, not that any of them retained the information. Clay certainly didn't remember even half the stuff, and standing still for hours on end was beginning to take a mental toll. Clay was at the point where he would have welcomed some drilling, just to move around a little. He almost wondered if that was done by design, a purposeful decision by the Sergeant. Standing there, Clay found it difficult to not think of other things. His eyes wandered to the soldiers, tediously pacing back and forth on the wall tops, talking to their mates, although he couldn't hear the words. Or the slaves going about their work while looking as miserable as he felt, or even things such as the keep and how high it was, how many beasts it must have taken to build such a structure. The monotone voice of the ferret officer faded to his periphery and the memories of his past life trickled into his thoughts. He didn't do much to stop them either, although even if he had, he probably wouldn't have been able to stop them.

"Clay you'd never leave me, would ya?"

"What're ya tryna say Watershine?" Clay shuffled awkwardly, "Why in 'ells gates would I 'efer 'ave ah cause t' leave yur wet tail."

"I dunno, I just. Clay I need t' tell ya something, something I found."

"Well... out with it," Clay gestured impatiently for his friend to continue.

"There's this place, a place where all live peacefully and all are welcome. The buildings are made of food, and rivers flow throughout the entire place. There is no war, not fighting, and you can be whoever ya wanna be."

"There's no such place." Clay said softly, there can't be.

"Regiment, Forwaaaard! march!" Clay was brought back to reality in crude fashion as the sound of his commanding officer's yell pierced his ears. None of them were prepared, most certainly not Clay, and the subsequent show of order was sad, to say the least. Their step was off and their entire formation began to collapse. When the Sergeant ordered them to turn to the right, half of them turned left. Clay wasn't sure whether or not he'd turned in the right direction, but he ran straight into Skad. "Watch it Slob." Skad growled, rubbing his nose.

"Halt! Haaaaalt!" Stumptooth's nostrils flared as the soldiers shuffled awkwardly, "You cloven-hoofed clodhoppers! I've seen a wheelbarrow turn sharper!" He walked around them as he spoke, eying each one with stern disappointment. "How are we t' march upon Redwall, If yew lot can't make it 'cross the courtyard! Fall in! Get back in t' formation. Now!" They scurried to form back into their ranks, not daring to make the Sergeant wait.

Wruddy leaned over to Clay, "Did he say we was marchin' t' Redwall?" Wruddy's hushed voice bore a mix of surprise and anxiety.

"Shut it, yew two," Vray's voice came sharp and firm from behind them. "An' Clay stop whispering' t' yurself, ya freak."

Clay wasn't sure what the stoat was talking about, but he didn't pay much mind to it. The Sergeant was pissed and preparing to have them go again. Clay took a deep breath, this is going t' be a loooong day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He took off his overcoat and draped it across the backrest of the chair before sitting down in front of his desk and loosening his collar. With a deep sigh, the fox opened his ledger and skimmed through the pages, considering the various officers.

Molestown was a woodlander town, under the Governorship of Major Edmund Clawhide, also known as Major Softy for his extremely lax policies and strategies for taming the woodlander town. The other town, Halesville, didn't seem to be causing any trouble, but then again their governor, Major Cutthroat, wasn't known to mess around. In fact, he'd been dubbed the Heartless Major, for his role in subduing the town through extreme methods. Sergeant Peters wasn't a bad choice as far as relief forces went, but Redfang was considering another, Sergeant Stumptooth, the one overseeing recruit training. Keeping order in a town seemed like a good first mission for recruits, at least compared to getting slaughtered on a road in the middle of nowhere. However, Redfang had no power to overturn Roguefur's already made up decision. The recruits would be going with Redfang on the so-called 'diversion' and neither Vulpez nor he could change that.

A name suddenly found its way into the fox's mind. They weren't in the records as an officer, due to their lack of an official commission to the Imperial Army, but they'd been a valuable asset over the past couple months... Captain Shadow. The stoat was a famous (infamous amongst woodlanders) pirate who, after losing his ship, had decided to become a land roving mercenary ranger. He'd built up a solid force over the past few months and had made a name for himself by putting many woodlander towns to the torch and catching escaped slaves. Overall, Shadow was just your typical vermin land wanderer, who wasn't constrained by the order of the Empire which left him free to roam and do as he pleased with the populous, as long as he wasn't attacking them that is. The more Redfang thought about it, Shadow was the perfect beast to provide a counterbalance to the Major's extremely soft leadership. Maybe Shadow could even find a way to overthrow the fool. Redfang certainly wouldn't be complaining. With his mind set, Redfang drafted up the order. Of course, since Shadow was not technically conscripted into the Army, he could turn down the job, so Refang decided to throw it a sum of gold to sweeten the deal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The high noon sun shone down on Ashburn fortress, as the various beasts went about their duties. A call came from the gatehouse where the large steel studded oaken gates were pulled open. Shadow sauntered into the fortress, the rest of his mercenaries following close behind. Throwing a pitiful slave at the feet of the fox Corporal, Shadow presented it as though a work of art. "Another day, another captured slave!" Shadow announced proudly. The fox kicked the slave to the side as he signaled some lads to drag him off. It was a disregard for his mercenaries' hard work which Shadow didn't appreciate.

"Shame ya couldn't 'ave been available a couple days ago, we coulda used yur… skills"

"I'm available now," Shadow pointed out, "What's the name n' the look?"

"Doesn't matter." Colonel Redfang said impatiently, "She's more than likely already dead. We have bigger issues at hand anyway. There's some insurrection in Molesville. I'm sending you as a reinforcement force. Yew'll only be there for a couple weeks and by the end of it yew'll be rewarded with a healthy sum of gold an-"

"How much gold?" Shadow demanded, interrupting the fox, "Because yew still 'aven't payed me fer the last three slave catches."

"Yew'll get yur money Shadow. Have we ever failed t' pay ya back?" Without waiting for a response Redfang continued. "A shipment of funds is coming in next month with gold an' plenty of it. When that comes in, yew'll be the first t' 'ear of it." The fox paused for a minute and gave a frustrated sigh, "Now as for the amount, I'm thinking three pounds."

"Five" Shadow demanded quickly.

"Four is as high as I go" the fox said firmly.

"Fine... four it is." Shadow said with a smirk. This is going to be fun.

"An' remember," Redfang said gravely, "During this two week period, yew are under the Major's command, officially speaking anyway. That means that he outranks yew. Think of this as... temporary conscription except yur getting paid as well. After the two weeks are over yur obligations will end." The fox pulled out a piece of paper and made some adjustments to it. Normally Shadow wouldn't do this kind of work as he was a mercenary, not some common foot soldier that could be ordered around, however four pounds of gold was no small sum.

"Major Clawhide'll be 'ere any minute, he'll meet yew outside the fortress," Redfang said shoving the paper into the stoat's paws before turning towards the keep.

"Edmund Clawhide?" Shadow was caught off guard. He wasn't aware that he would be placing himself under that soft-headed weasel's command.

"That's the one! Be the spine he doesn't have, will ya!" Redfang hollered over his shoulder.