The Officer Versus the Enlisted

Writing prompt from Ironage media

The Officer Versus the Enlisted

I stepped into the cold, stone room to meet my challenger. He decided to dress in his white enlisted uniform as I decided to wear my red officer uniform. Like a fool, he brought two sabers. Even worse, one of the sabers was the enlisted’s sword, which of course is meant for decoration or ceremony. The blade was unfit for a duel. My saber was not only designed for a duel, but also specially crafted for my dueling style.

                He drew both of his blades out to the side with poor posture. Fitting for one in the enlisted ranks. He waited for me to draw my blade, at least he had a bit of courtesy. Dueling may be outlawed, thus making this duel no more honor bound than a simple street brawl, but it used to be etiquette to wait until both participants had drawn their blade. Manuel challenged me to the duel in anger. The typical enlisted would not contain themselves in such a situation, so I was prepared for a quick draw if he had simply charged me. In this case, I would allow him to have some hope. He could pointlessly strike at me a few times for showing such curtesy not often found among his ranks.

I drew my blade out of it sheath and pointed it to Manuel’s face. He stumbled backwards for, as the blade was drawn, it had almost cut his nose. Like a novice, he stood entirely too close to me. Even though I carried a blade longer and thinner than most, he should have known to keep more distance. Distancing was a key aspect of a duel. It was a rudimentary element that was learned in the earliest days as an officer. If he didn’t even have a basic understanding of that one aspect of a duel, then this match had already been decided.

Sweat already glistened off Manuel’s forehead. His uniform was unkempt. A savage dressed in our country’s uniform. Although it may have been different than a prestigious officer’s uniform, there were shared items worn. The enlisted couldn’t maintain their appearance or their behavior; they should not have the honor to share some of the same articles of clothing. An insult to us all.

I placed my right hand behind my back and thinned myself to my opponent. It was an officer’s stance, formed as the optimum styles in saber duels. Taught to every officer. Manuel grunted in anger and lunged forward, swinging both his blades down at me. I easily brushed the blades away and stepped to the side as to not let him tackle me with his momentum. He let out a yell of frustration, aimlessly swinging the saber around, hitting nothing but the air between us.

His anger was common, common and disappointing. Enlisted did nothing but drink in their free time. They inebriated themselves to the point that they released their anger in an all-out brawl. I had to waste my precious time, countless nights, writing reports and counseling the enlisted for their constant brutish behavior. We would have them write the reports on their own if they had been educated. Almost the entire force of simpletons was unable to read the common language, let alone write it. It was a repeating cycle of the officer constantly doing everything in their power to contain these animals. It held us back from achieving even greater heights in our being.

Manuel flailed his arms around, trying to land a hit on me. Each attempted strike, I successfully repelled. With each strike, though, I was forced to move back. Manuel expected me to be pinned against the wall, but as soon as we arrive, I would simply dance around him. He didn’t have the experience to keep an opponent locked in his path. I wouldn’t even allow him the honor of pushing me back any further. As another strike came for me, I parried the attack and lunged my saber straight to his face. Manuel bobbed his head to the side, nearly escaping a deathly blow. He was left with a sliver of a scratch on his cheek. Only a single drop of blood dripped. His face was unable to hide his shock. He really believed he might have been gaining the upper hand on me. A fool. He saw my red officer cloak, and yet he was blind. He did not see the countless hours of training, the sweat pooled, the blood shed to earn the embrace of this cloak. While he played childish game in his youth, I sacrificed my time to become better. A sacrifice greater than me, but for my family, my country, and my God. The hubris of a man to challenge me and use my time. My time wasn’t worth yours. I was compelled to accept the challenge for a secret that should not be one.

I thrashed my saber at Manuel. Simple slashes to land a cut. The advantage of him bringing a second blade was it allowed him to block my strikes. Holding two swords up limited the area in which I could his break defense. His attacks were slow, and if he decided to strike me with both blades again, he would die. His stance was wide, leaving a large target. It also limited his reach. This is why an officer led with their dominate side forward. It thinned the target and allowed for maximum reach of one’s arm. If Manuel tried the same, whichever sword was in his non-dominate hand would serve no use for defense or offense.

When the metal of my blade and his enlisted sword met again, the enlisted blade shook separately from the handle. His ceremonial sword was not designed for this kind of stress. I let out a smirk and swung my blade vigorously, clashing with the enlisted sword. The blade shook even more intensely until it fell to the stone floor. Fear flashed across Manuel’s face. He still gripped the handle, probably unsure what to do with it. He backed up and let out an onslaught of slashes. Manuel was frantically trying to block every one of my attacks, but I slipped a few through his defenses. Small strikes, drawing a little drip of crimson water with each one.

The fear he held should be a constant for his kind. Every movement he made now was obedience to my actions. My superiority in this fight allowed me to control it. It allowed me to control him. Every swing of my saber was an order, an order for him to respond. My status was bought with my time. The enlisted were bound to obedience of the officer. I struck, and he blocked. That was my command, and that was his obedience. He was my slave. His woman was mine to be had. I was a better man through my status, and that is why I took her. Her beauty was soiled by someone of his rank. She was too marvelous to be with an enlisted, so I did what was right and took her myself. I gave her a better man. It was only by her wishes that my time was spent to entertain this duel.

Manuel desperately swung his blade for me, leaving his right side completely open. I struck my final blow down to him. My saber caught on the handle of the bladeless enlisted sword. Why did he keep that handle? I stepped back quickly to recover myself. Manuel’s sword dragged in my blouse, and I felt a tug from my stomach. Looking down, my own blood painted my enemy’s blade. I tried to lift my blade up, but my strength failed me.

Why? Why block with that handle? The chance of him successfully pulling that off was not on his side. That should not have worked. He does not deserve this. This is a sin against what is right in this world. A sin against the natural order. A sin against God. Only a savage would attempt such a suicidal plan. This was a fool’s luck. My vision darkened, and my body became heavy. I collapsed to one knee before fading even further and laying on the cold floor. Manuel looked down at me, his face expressionless. He turned and left me alone.

Author’s note:

This story was influence by a real legal statement I’ve read from an officer that slept with an enlisted member’s wife. I don’t remember the exact statement, but it read something like this – “I slept her because I’m better than him.”