For Her Country

Coming of Age

"We need the oldest male here, peasant," the recruiter demanded. "Who is the oldest man in this residence?" The man's breath wreaked of ale.

Grace brushed her long dark locks behind each ear and sighed before meeting the man's hooded eyes with her own chocolate ones. "Our father is dead and the oldest of my brothers is twelve. Charles has a job, but even as the oldest he is too young for a battle field," she challenged the militant presence.

The soldier straightened up and glared down his hooked nose at her. "There are boys half his age learning to wield swords."

"Please, sir," Grace stammered through flush lips, "my brothers-"

"We don't make exceptions. Every family must contribute at least one member to our nationalist services." The soldier suddenly gained a twinkle in his hardened eyes and stroked the ends of his blond mustache at the corners of his thin upper lip.

It didn't take a mastermind to figure out where he was going with these so called services. Grace reached behind her, finding a vase on the small table kept by the door of her family's rundown hovel. Keeping it behind her, she bit her lower lip, bringing a slight rush if color to it.

The soldier licked his lips imperviously and explained, "If you joined me for a walk into the forest and a brief exercise, that would be an exemplary demonstration of national pride." His grin widened, giving Grace a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"Actually, I have another idea," she snorted. "Instead of defining me, you could shove your sexist services up your arse," Grace growled.

The soldier sneared. "If you won't volunteer, I suppose I'll have to take your services by force!" He reached out a hand to throttle her, his other hand flying for her skirts.

"I am no harlot to be used for your fifteen minutes of pleasure and then discarded!" Grace smashed the olive green vase over his head as hard as she could. Blood dripped from several cuts and gouges in the soldiers head as the vase flanked to the floor in several large chunks.

The soldier stumbled before grabbing the short girl around the waist and hauling her over to a pig feeding trough. "If you want to behave like a bitch,  then you'll be treated and domesticated like one," he hissed in her ear, his hot breath on her pale neck sending her into a panic. He forced her face into the trough and moved behind her.  As he reached for the hem of her skirts, Grace plead.

"Don't do this! I will give my srbicrs, my life, for my family and this country. Just not as a common whore."

"Then how, girl? How would you repay your debt to me for saving your brothers from having to ever see battle or for protecting you from the enemy?"

"I'll fight," Grace grimaced. "A seventeen year old girl can hold a sword better than a twelve year old, or any of four younger brothers."

"I don't think a sword is what you're gonna hold," the soldier ripped the back of Grace' s corset and bodice open, causing her to gasp and grab hold of the sides of the trough to brace herself.

"Richard!" Another soldier's voice carried from across the yard. His voice was filled with gravel but was at a high enough timbre that Grace found herself attracted to the unknown source. "Stop terrorizing farm girls. We're here to collect recruits, not rape and pillage the innocent. That's what the enemy is doing."

"You sure you don't want some, Henry?" Grace' s pursuer, Richard, offered. "I've already half got her out of her clothing."

"I heard her offer a different service. Back off, Rich."

Grace clutched her disheveled and destroyed clothing to her chest.

"Do you have any fighting experience, girl?" Henry asked, his piercing blue eyes seeming to tear right through her.

"Not behind what you may or may not have just seen," Grace confessed. "But I can learn."

Richard scrubbed his face with his muddy palm. "You can't actually be considering this, Henry. She's a girl!"

"But she has spirit. Are you willing to die for this country and the people you love, dear?"

"Yes. I will do whatever it takes," she stood tall. "And my name is Grace, not "dear" or "girl," so use it."

Henry smirked, " Are you sure about desiring service with a sword?"

Another group of soldiers entered into view with their new recruits huddled like livestock as Grace cried out. "You pig! Just when I began to respect yiur decency!"

Henry bowed his head apologetically, "Sorry, love. I mean, Grace, but I had to ask. I'm not yiur problem, he-" Henry nodded at the largest man in the oncoming group. "He's going to be your problem. I may have faith in you, but he isn't going to want to arm you with anything but a better corset and rouge for the queen's fly squad."

"Her what?" Grace's eyes widened in confusion. Henry didn't have time to answer before the man he nodded at came forward haughtily.

"Captain," he mumbled to the large man.

"What have you for us here, Henry?" The man barked the question as if all he did was shout orders throughout each day. "A treat for the army to protect her fsmily, I'm guessing?" The captain instinctively loosened his belt, handing his sword to the nearest recruit. 

The recruit blinked at him, barely processing the event unfurling. It took Grace a moment to recognize him, with his blond hair a wilder frizz than usual. Ramone, her childhood friend.

The captain turned to face the recruits. "You boys will some day get to participate in these occasions, but a lot of farm and village girls will give themselves over for a night or so in exchange of keeping their family members out of our ranks. Fathers would rather whore out their daughters than fight," he barked a throaty, scratchy laugh.

Ramone straightened, his mouth opening to speak out, but Grace shook her head at him violently.

She raised her voice for all the men to hear her words, her plea.  "No. I will not bed any of you. Nor will you have me against my will. I will fight side by side with you. I will bleed beside you, die beside you, and reign victory on the battle field beside you, sword in my hand like any of you."

The captain's eyebrows rose. He looked at Henry with great judgement. "Did you tell her about the flu squad?"

"She isn't one for that, my lord. She has fire in her blood," Henry flipped his dark curls to the side.

"Then she is your responsibility. If she can't keep up, you kill her or send her to every tent in our camp so she can personally show her gratitude and apologies to my men. I want her first and last." With that, the captain turned away from Henry and Grace,  finding that Richard had already returned to the group.

"Thank you," Grace murmered to Henry. "I think."

He looked at her, their gaze meeting, "You better keep up."