Chapter Fourteen
“Boys!”
The shout rang across the field, loud and clear and ringing.
Commissar Jake adjusted his hat, then brushed some imaginary dust off the lapels of his coat. “Boys! Sons of Anne. Look at you. Pitiful wretches! Stand the hell up and pay attention, ladies!”
The army laid out on the field looked to each other, then glanced back at the commissar.
“I said stand up!” Commissar Jake screamed so hard it sounded as though he was tearing up his own throat. “You piles of degenerate filth, it’s not time for you to be laying your asses down on the ground to contemplate the worthlessness of your miserable lives! This is a time to fight, mom-damn it! Now get those boots planted on the ground or I’m going to plant mine right up your asses! On the double, boys!”
Anne gasped, a hand pressed up over her mouth. Those were some very strong things that this Jake was saying.
“That’s more like it. Now form a line. You do know what a line is? You might have spent all of math class staring at Mrs Cindy’s perfectly round bottom but I expect at least that much to have sunk into that thick skull of yours! That’s right. Side by side.”
The Jakes, still tired, and still confused, formed an somewhat orderly line under the cruel glare of Commissar Jake.
“Do you maggots have any idea what we’re up against? A whole damned army of blood-thirsty maniacs. Worshippers of a being so vile the mere sight of him will have you wanting to run back to hug your damned body pillows. They are hardened killers. They are freaks of nature.” Commissar Jake swept around and balled his hands into fists. “They want to harm our momma.”
A collective gulp sounded out across the field.
“Will you let them do that?”
There was a long stretch of silence, broken only by some mutters.
“Have you been listening to shit music too loud for too long? You aren’t deaf, are you? I asked you if you were going to let those ingrates hurt our momma?!”
“No,” came a few calls.
“What kind of unenthusiastic response is that? That was weaker than that time you asked Sally White out for prom and she rejected your sorry asses.”
Anne gasped again. Jake had asked that nice girl out? And she’d rejected him? Oh, the poor baby, no wonder he had been so upset that week.
“I want you to sound off loud and clear. This isn’t a game, this isn’t some bullshit. This is a war! Do you understand?”
“Yes!”
“That’s ‘yes sir,’ to you, you lower lifeforms! Do you understand that?”
“Sir, yes sir.”
“Say it like you damned well mean it!”
“Sir yes sir!” the Jake’s cried out.
“If it was up to me I’d have to all lynched for incompetence. Look at yourselves. Does mom not give you clean clothes? Does she not feed you? Does she not give you the love and attention you so obviously failed to earn?”
Commissar Jake stomped over to one Jake in particular.
“Why are you slouched?”
“Sir?”
“I asked you why you were slouching, boy. Are you looking for your pecker past that gut of yours? You’re going to need to bend over a whole lot more than that and find yourself a magnifying glass, you lump of shit. Stand taller, dammit!”
The commissar stomped over to another.
“Where is your weapon?”
“Uh, sir, its, uh.”
“Uh? What in the mom-damn does uh mean? Raise your fists. Come on, are you too lazy to do that much? I’m not asking you to clean out the toilets, I’m telling you to raise your fists!”
The wide-eyed Jake did as he was told, raising his fists before his face.
“That stance is pitiful! Punch me.”
“What?”
“Did I stutter?” the commissar slapped himself on the chest. “Punch me!”
Jake punched him.
The commissar barely budged. Then he slapped Jake across the face. “Weak! Punch me like that man you wish you were, you overgrown mistake! And if you can’t do that much, then find a weapon, because if that’s all the punching you can do then by mom you’d best hope that the freaks on the other side of that wall are just as pathetic as the rest of you, because they will have you for a midnight snack.”
Commissar Jake moved on to the next Jake in line, one who was holding a sword by his side.
“What is your name?”
“Sir, Jake Mia--”
“Wrong!” the commissar interrupted. “From now on your name is Swordy McStabby. Is that your weapon, Swrdy?”
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“Sir, yes sir.”
“And what will do with it?” the commissar asked.
Swordy McStabby gulped. “I’m going to stab the enemy, sir!”
“Well mom-damn, you must have been given some of the brain cells the rest of this sorry lot are missing. You’re right, McStabby, that’s exactly what you will do. You will stand side-by-side with yourself on the top of that wall and everytime one of those twinkle-toed dipshits pokes his ugly mug over the edge of that mom-blessed wall, you will take that rusty bit of iron and you will ram it into their eyeholes. Is that right?”
“Sir, yes sir!”
“Exactly! Because I am always right. Only one person knows better than me, and that’s our glorious momma. Isn’t that right, boys?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“You will go up that wall, and you will shout, and you will scream, and you’re going to bleed and die for Momma, because she’d do the same for you even if you clearly don’t deserve it! And you will hate every last minute of it! Do you know why?”
“Sir, no, sir!”
“Because they don’t have milkshakes and anime on top of that wall! You will not be served a fresh helping of chicken tendies and some girl-on-girl porn up there. You will be given death and dismemberment, and by mom, you will hate every last second of it. But you will do it anyway. Because mom has had to endure your worthless, whining presence for your entire damned life and she deserves every ounce of pain you’ll suffer tonight. Am I understood?”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“Bullshit! I didn’t hear you!”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
“That’s right! Now pick up your weapons and get up on that wall. Those bastards won’t gut themselves.”
The Jakes screamed, raising spears and swords above their heads, a hundred voices joining together in a call to feral and wild that Anne didn’t recognize her own son’s voice for a moment. Then they charged up the wall, a few stragglers rushing back to grab some equipment left on the field before they too ran up the wall.
At the top, the army spread out, momentarily disorganized before they started to form a long line, a Jake at every gap between crenellations.
“Well,” Elain’e said. She was a little flushed under her umbrella. “That was certainly something.”
“Um, yes,” Anne said.
“Don’t worry mom,” Commissar Jake said as he approached her. “I’ll keep an eye on myself. Make sure we give those heathens a reason to think twice about messing with you.”
“Thanks?” Anne said.
The commissar saluted her smartly, then with one hand tucked into his uniform pocket, he walked with a straight back up the steps. Anne heard him shouting obscenities a moment later, telling the other Jakes to stand taller and insulting the manhood of their adversaries in the same breath.
“I feel like I should wash his mouth off with soap,” Anne said.
“That’s... somehow a very intimidating thing to say, Anne,” Elain’e said.
Anne considered it for just a moment before a giggle escaped her. “Maybe. What do we do now?”
“Now we wait,” Elain’e said. “The necromancers will be coming soon, and with them a lot more troops, of the more disposable sort. And I think those lights approaching us over there are some guardsmen. My grand-patriarch won’t fail to rally the werewolves either, so we can expect supplies eventually.”
“Won’t those only be useful if this goes on for a while?” Anne asked.
“Yes, and thanks to you, the wall, that army up there, there’s a good chance that this invasion will turn from a sacking to a siege. If we can endure until sun-up, then we’ll have every able-bodied person in Not Evilia here helping us. Even just flinging rocks over the wall should make them think twice. And I think that their goal was to hit the city in the dead of night, entirely unaware. It’s a lot different to come against a city that’s expecting the attack and is preparing for it.”
“I suppose so,” Anne said.
She glanced back up the wall while fiddling with the edge of her apron. Her Jakes were up there, cursing and flinging enthusiastic insults at the army just on the other side.
She hoped things would go well.
Her more pragmatic side told her optimistic side not to expect the best. But... still. It was never wrong to hope.
***
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