Muk counted the barrels of food again, this being his third time counting the lot.

"Three days. Six if we stretch it thin."

His adjutant, another brown mouse, wrote something down on his slate. Paper was too expensive to use on reports like this and he just wanted a visual representation of the hard number he had counted.

With hard numbers, he could estimate.

Unfortunately with his current estimate, he could do nothing but worry.

The annual field exercise that the coalition ran right at the end of winter was usually a test of his men's skills. They camped within view of the central mesa, but he made his supply trains go around the large outer wall of his nation. He had told them it was to simulate a long journey as the trip took a day and a half but they knew it was to be more realistic should they enter a situation such as this.

Instant resupply was not an option. He’d explained it thoroughly to the moles and the birds, and they sometimes got it, but he wished that it was a requirement to have the commander serve as a quartermaster on at least one field exercise.

Perhaps then they wouldn't demand so much more than they had.

"Coronet, did you get all of that?"

The brown mouse stopped inscribing runes into the chalkboard for a moment before looking up at him.

"Sir, if I may?" He gave the universal sign that he wanted to ask a question. He had the patient look of someone in over their head who was still trying to keep up appearances.

Muk nodded for him to continue. He would teach the young officer.

"You're telling me that number is six days, but I only see one barrel of wine. Wouldn't that be a critically short amount of wine for our purposes?"

Muk soured. He had forgotten how the young officer had arrived at his service. Old money had placed him there and it had kept him. Muk had no doubts that the man would have taken his commission and command if the option had been open. He was thankful that he had the commander's favor in that regard.

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"We don't need the wine for drinks if that is what you're after."

The white mouse blanched a satisfactory pale.

"This… I um," he stammered.

Muk, let the mouse get it out of his system. He was probably ten times as awkward at that age as well. He just now had the experience in the role to be confident of his expectations of himself and those put upon him.

"It's for cooking."

The pale look on the mouse's face turned to confusion. It was as if he had never cooked anything in his life.

"Understood, sir."

The cockroaches next to the supply carts snickered. They probably hadn't understood Muks' joke but it was good to have them on his side.

“Sir!”

A mouse riding a chicken trotted close by. One of the scout riders with a message.

Muk hurried over to him.

“Scout, do you need food? How is your beast?”

“She’ll be fine, but some food would do both of us good. I have your weather report here,” The scout said, carefully picking out a letter from his satchel.

“You’re not going to dismount and join us for a meal?” Muk asked, lowering his voice, “I’m going to make the cornet cook.”

The scout, a private by his badly sewn on rank, smiled.

“Sir, that’s all you had to say.”

Muk walked the mouse and his chicken over to the rear of the supply carts. He’d set up a trough there for the beasts to eat from.

"Coronet Kimchi, if you would?" Muk nudged the kitchen cart open. It wasn’t the best place to cook food but he found the 'field feeding test' was a good way to determine if potential adjutants would be able to take over his role. If they couldn’t cook a meal or at least attempt to cook they wouldn't do well.

The bright-eyed brown mouse walked over.

"I have some of the raw ingredients set up here for some field rolls," he began.

Coronet Kimchi looked taken aback.

"Sir, do you need me to count them?"

"The thing I need you to count is the number of rolls you can make with this recipe."

Muk brought out his mother's field rolls recipe. It was a favorite of his shop and he often made extra when he had the ingredients to spare. Otherwise, the platoon sergeants had to have someone cook, and these rolls were hearty.

Coronet Kimchi clutched his slate. Next to the large wooden cart, the mouse looked small, but at the moment especially so.

Behind him, Private Monroe hid his smile with his paws. His eyes would have given him away at any other time.

Muk kept his face blank. He knew that this next exchange would be crucial in shaping this young officer's future. He had spoken about this with the claw, and the claw wanted the young lordling to know that he wasn't above even the most menial of tasks.

“Milord…I.”

Muk smiled.