Chapter Text
Lieutenant Colonel Abe R. Hilarson was a well-known man in the British army. Starting out as a rather brash, loud, and enthusiastic young Cadet, to a large-lunged and incredibly feared Drill Sergeant. Made infamous by his strict adherence to the rules, and frankly harsh and physically violent punishments bestowed upon juniors and recruits that irked him, or simply failed to live up to his standards.
Despite that, it was no secret that Hilarson’s methods produced desired results, therefore placing him as the best Drill Sergeant to train any soldiers who were lacking in their performances.
Hilarson’s recruitment training camps had the most dropouts and dismissals, around 45% compared to his comrades’ measly 8-11%, but because of the outstanding skills displayed by soldiers that graduated from under his tutelage, many of the higher ups saw the losses suffered to be necessary, in order to gain an exceptional batch of new recruits.
Much to the chagrin, and painfully reluctant agreement, of many soldiers.
In an unprecedented move by the higher ups, the then Staff Sergeant Hilarson had been chosen for promotion to Second Lieutenant. An announcement that had stunned most other officers and had been hotly debated by a few of the Generals. Of course, the Generals who endorsed Hilarson were nothing but proud.
A huge sigh of relief washed over the juniors, new recruits, and even Hilarson’s own- now senior- camp graduates, thinking that perhaps this was the end of the ‘Demon Sergeant’s reign. A dream that was quickly dashed to pieces, as Hilarson still showed up to the training grounds months later. Large lungs, deep scowl, penchant for punching newbies, and all.
Rumor has it, Hilarson just took that much pleasure in terrorizing the juniors. Perhaps he’d still be making his rounds at the training camps, even if he were to be promoted to General.
Not that it was true, if anybody even cared to ask the man himself, which is what the then Captain Harvey Awlins- seemingly Hilarson’s only close friend- had done. Since, if there was one thing people closest to Hilarson knew, it was that Abe Hilarson absolutely despised soldiers who were younger than him, his minimum being 5 years younger.
‘Can’t you be a little nicer to the kids?’ Captain Awlins had asked his friend once.
‘Fuck off, Harv.’ Hilarson politely responded, doubling the drills of the Cadets for good measure.
It wasn’t that Hilarson hated young people in general, he wasn’t that much of a crochety old cunt just yet, what he absolutely loathed was being assigned a mentor role. He personally felt as though the role was hindering him from reaching his goals, which was to climb the ranks of the army as quick as he possibly could. Which he did, before he was suddenly thrust into the role of the army’s ‘Best Drill Instructor.’
What bullshit!
Hilarson knew, that despite some of the higher ranked officers taking a shine to him, many many of the officers, especially the Generals, might not so secretly perceive him as a threat or a nuisance. He wasn’t blind to how many soldiers, both seniors and even a few juniors (once they were out of his training camps), had preferential deference to him. He was good at networking and building rapport, causing many to back him behind the scenes.
To the Generals, who loved to play politics during peacetimes, his growing support was a cause for concern.
So, even when he became an Officer, an order issued from on high politely asked him to continue his role as an instructor at the training camps, since his work there was oh so important for cultivating the best class of soldiers to fill the ranks in the army. After all, he had received an alarming amount of formal complaints during the course of his earlier ranks, especially during his tenure as a Drill Sergeant, it was only fair that he should take responsibility for it.
Who knows, his next promotion may come earlier this time too.
They were trying to make his career come to a screeching halt, Hilarson knew that, and he seethed. The poor Cadets never stood a chance.
“You really have to give those poor kids a break.”
Hilarson peered over his glass of scotch with narrowed eyes, his right brow quirked up in momentary irritation. Across from him, in the cramp little corner booth they claimed as their own, his friend Harvey levelled him with a frown and a steady stare.
He scoffed, and with a roll of his eyes, knocked back what was remaining of his drink before he even deigned that sentence with a response. He bowed his head, resting it against the hand that was holding his now empty glass, as he became vaguely aware of the noise and low chatter that emanated all around the booth he was seated in.
Harvey always had shit tastes when it came to pubs. For as long as Hilarson had known him, Harvey couldn’t tell the difference between a barn and a restaurant, mostly because Harvey was some kind of health hippy, and therefore never had much need to go eat out, much rather preferring to pick his food out from his own garden. The only reason he ever invited Hilarson out to drink, was because Harvey never brought alcohol home with him.
This pub was one of the few within walking distance of Harvey’s place, which just so happened to be in a shite neighborhood out in the boroughs. Harvey said that rent was low where he lived, so he didn’t quite mind his living situation. Hilarson hated visiting though, no matter how much he loved his friend, especially since Harvey’s neighbor liked firing shotgun shells to keep the rent low. So, the pub was their halfway point.
‘The Robin’s Nest’ was the name of the pub. The signage outside was a light oak, hanging steadily from a black iron wrought pole, its name was delicately carved into the wood in a sharp but blocky cursive, a simple drawing of a Robin perched upon the ‘N’, while curling vines with fanning leaves framed the words.
It was the only nice thing about the pub.
Inside, the interior of the pub was always bathed in a rather sickly orange hue, its once cream coloured walls now washed a plaque yellow, paint chipping off starting from the top, while spidering cracks from previous pub brawls stood dark against it. Hilarson isn’t holding out any hope of seeing the walls repaired, as the owner keeps saying that he’ll ‘Get around to it’ but never does.
The floors were always mysteriously sticky, colored in a dark red that made Hilarson’s head hurt, a shitty jukebox played a vapid pop song on repeat in the corner of the room, which nobody can stop since the last brawl broke it. The only mercy was that since the jukebox was broken, the song was mostly drowned by static, because the good Lord knows Hilarson never got anywhere near drunk enough in the Nest to even try to guess what the hell a ‘swagger jagger’ was.
The patrons were just as grungy as the pub they called home. Hilarson was sure that most of them were up to no good during their spare time, but he was off the clock whenever he was at the Nest, plus he isn’t a cop, it wasn’t his problem until they started another brawl while he was drinking.
In fact, most of the patrons were very familiar with him and Harv at this point, since Hilarson had always been the one to break up a brawl and spare someone a lost tooth or a set of black eyes, while Harv often offered to pay for one free drink for the most injured one, just to soothe their ego some. Hilarson was convinced that most brawls started these days were just to get Harv to buy a round again.
Not that Hilarson knew why they’d ever want that. All the drinks in the Nest tasted like piss, and he’s pretty sure the owner watered them down with his actual piss.
Why the hell did he ever agree to meeting Harvey at this shitty pub again?!
Next time, he was bringing Harvey to an actual pub, with nice fucking drinks that have those cute little bitchin’ umbrellas and doesn’t taste like piss, where floors never threatened to take off his shoes if he stood still in them for too long.
(Not that he’ll ever be able to do that but, oh well.)
“Are you really trying to start this with me again?” Hilarson lifted his head from its bowed position against his hand. He placed down his glass in the middle of their table with a loud clink as he leaned back against the couch, ignoring the flaky feeling at his back, and crossed his arms. “I’m staring to think you’ve got dementia or something, Harv. We’ve had this conversation before.”
“And we’ll keep having it for as long as the juniors keep coming to me! Begging me to do something about your hellish training!” Harvey threw his hands up in exasperation, letting them fall with a slap to his lap as he shook his head in disbelief at his friend. Hilarson only smiled at him, amusement tinging the corners of his eyes. “You think that’s funny?? I’ve had to talk down over 50 Cadets from sending formal complaints to the SCO! That’s how bad it’s been!”
“Why in the bloody hell would you do that???” Hilarson’s voice squeaked at the end, his brows furrowed downwards. “I’d have a laugh if they did! I would’ve loved to see the look on Barnaby’s face knowing he won’t be able to do shite. Could you imagine him dealing with that many angry Cadets??”
“It’s not funny, Abe!” Harvey huffed and let his head fall into his hands. “Aside from you getting into potential trouble with the Ombudsman, I really really think you should ease up on the kids.” Harvey pulled his hands down his face as he looked back up at his friend. Hilarson groaned and turned his head to the side in obvious dismissal, but Harvey kept going. “Seriously Abe! The Cadets look like death! You weren’t even this bad when you were a Sergeant! Not even when you got written up for those four Cadets that raised hell on the training camp!”
“Yeah? Well…” Hilarson mumbled, still keeping his gaze to the side as he hunched his shoulders. That incident was known as his only blunder on his otherwise pristine record, even with the successful toppling of an enemy base. Harvey never brought it up in normal conversation, as he feared it was a sore spot for his friend, so him bringing it up now must mean he was at his wits end.
Luckily for him, Hilarson never really considered that incident as a sore spot.
“Look Abe, I don’t think you’ve noticed but your dropout rates this year has reached 75%”
“Nah, I noticed. I’m glad actually.”
“Are you trying to get in trouble?!”
“Yeah, actually.”
Harvey shut his mouth in surprise, he stared at his friend in confusion. “..Huh?”
“Harv, I’m not meant to be a mentor. Not to those stupid kids anyway.” Hilarson looked down at his empty glass, he placed a finger on top of its rim and rocked it back and forth on the table. “That’s not me, you know that all I want is to climb the ranks, I’m not getting any younger Harv. It used to be a straight shot for me, then suddenly the Generals decided they want me to play nanny to a bunch of brats for, what, the entirety of my career??”
He pushed the glass forward, maybe a bit too harshly as it toppled to its side, rolling a little towards Harvey before stopping. Hilarson sighed. “I’m not an idiot, I know what they’re trying to pull here. My career is dead in the water right now Harv, it’s…it’s getting to me…I’m at a standstill and it feels like a dead end. I feel like..like I’m wasting space doing nothing.”
“Don’t…Abe, don’t think like that.” Harvey winced, he took his friend’s fallen glass and set it aside, joining a few others standing idle. Hilarson wasn’t drunk, his alcohol tolerance was a mile high, plus he was a cheerful drunk, one that Harvey spent many a college days with going absolutely bonkers, but when he was just a bit buzzed, Abe Hilarson tended to be a little….down.
“You’re rushing this too much, you know? You’re already a Second Lieutenant despite, well, everything. That has to count for something, right?”
“I’m a Second Lieutenant at the age of 44, Harv….” Hilarson scoffed, resting his head on the hand he had propped up on their table. He chuckled mirthlessly, wincing as his throat caught. “I can hardly call that a victory, it’s fucking embarrassing is what it is….”
“That bullshite and you know it.” Harvey huffed and gestured towards him with two fingers. “You and I both know that you would have already made Colonel if it wasn’t for General Curson always obstructing your promotions, all to promote his own bloody nephews….” The Captain scowled at something far away, hopefully Curson, where ever his toupee laden head may be. “It’s pretty much an open secret that Curson bribes the Secretary to keep you off promotion. General Bisset’s been trying to catch his arse in the act for a while now. You know how much Curson hates you.”
“Yeah, for no bloody reason!” Hilarson spat out, his face twisting into a scowl. “You know what he calls me? ‘Discharge Delay’ The fucking NERVE!” Harvey had, fortunately, plugged his ears on time as Hilarson’s voice reached his infamous Drill Sergeant volume. The Nest took no notice of this, as they had already been conditioned to the noise level that Hilarson was able to achieve.
Harvey frowned at his friend once he was sure Hilarson wasn’t going to start screaming. His gaze turned sad, drooping in pity, as he watched Hilarson wrap his arms around himself, ever so subtly curling in as if he wanted to hide. “…Curson’s just being an arse, you know?” He started softly, his voice heard above the chatter of the Nest. “What your old man did had nothing to do with you at all. He’s just senile, and he should clearly already be retired at this point, but old bastards like him have trouble letting go of power.”
“Sometimes I wonder if dad was right.”
Harvey felt as though he had taken a double-back at that statement. In all the years he had known Abe, there had never been a time where his friend talked about his father in a positive light. For all that he did, Abe always made sure that it was some sort of indirect ‘fuck you’ to Hilarson Sr.
Sure, once upon a time, Abe had looked up to his old man. Born and raised a true army brat by his then Captain father.
It all ended when Hilarson Sr. had deserted his men, then his family, never to be heard of again.
He’s listed down as K.I.A., but most senior officers said that he was court martialed.
Abe Hilarson just happened to resemble his old man, a lot.
“Don’t get me wrong, I still think I’d sooner shoot him on sight than talk to him, but……” Hilarson sighed, seemingly slouching downwards on the couch as he stared up at his friend, before he shifted his gaze to the floor. “I dunno Harv….I’m tired, and the army isn’t like how I remember it to be. Way too much politics, way too much of…stupid shit, I don’t know….”
He rubbed at his face, a flicker of irritation in his eye and the way he scrunched his brow, before he sighed heavily and shook his head, “I did the best I could, at least, I like to think that I did, Harv, but with every step forward, it’s twenty steps back. I’m sick of it.”
Hilarson chewed on his lower lip, his finger tapped a silent beat on his arm. Harvey could vaguely feel the vibration of his leg shaking underneath the table. Then, Hilarson’s gaze flickered back up towards him, an uncomfortably glazed look in his eyes.
“Maybe I should just retire after all.”
“WHAT?!”
Harvey slammed both his hands on top of their table as he stood up in shock, the movement jostled the host of glasses they had at the side of the table, but thankfully not enough for them to fall and topple to the ground. The Nest seemed to hiccup into silence at Harvey’s outburst. The patrons all subtly shifted themselves towards the corner booth where the two soldiers sat, surprised that out of the two of them, Harvey Awlins- meek and barely able to shout above a whisper, Harvey Awlins- had been the one to deliver that ear piercing yell that usually only Hilarson was able to muster.
The jukebox continued to sputter out its unfortunately permanent playlist into the silence.
‘Swagger jagger
Swagger jagger
You should get some of your own
Count that money
Get your game on
You're a hater
Just let it go.’
Harvey blinked and looked up into the pub, only now noticing that he had gathered the attention of the patrons. His face heated up, dusting it with a light red that reached his ears. He ducked his head and raised his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture, but only made him look like he was about to bust out the kind of dance move a confused distant uncle would do during his niece’s wedding reception.
“Sorry! Sorry!! Uh, don’t mind- me, I’m- I’m just- yeah…sorry…” Harvey grimaced at himself as he slowly sank back down on his couch, refusing to look back up at the pub in shame. Luckily, nobody wanted to get stuck listening to the jukebox, so the noise level of the Nest came back with no trouble at all, drowning out poor Cher Lloyd just as she was about to elaborate on the state of her ‘swagger’.
Without the eyes on him, Harvey directed his hardened, disbelieving, gaze back at his friend. Hilarson returned his look with one of his own, one eyebrow curled delicately upward with his lips ticked down one way, seemingly unbothered by his friend’s clear disapproval of his decision. “What the fuck are you talking about, Abe?!” Harvey stage whispered at him through gritted teeth, unwilling to shout like he wanted and draw attention again. “You just made it to a CO rank! After all the bullshit bureaucracy and Curson’s shitty attempts to block your advancements! What the hell do you mean retire?!”
“I meant exactly what I said.” Hilarson shot back just as hotly, but didn’t even pretend to whisper like Harvey had, uncaring if someone overheard what they were talking about, its not like any of the Nest patrons would narc on him, it was already a miracle that they liked him and Harvey, despite being army men.
“I should have known it was all over the moment I was denied service academy and OCS. Sure, being an NCO isn’t bad- wasn’t bad, despite all the hell I had to go through, at least I had an ear on the ground, I’ve got connections now, something I wouldn’t have gotten if I made CO straight away.” Hilarson shrugged, ignoring the way Harvey sputtered as he tried to think of a rebuttal. “Besides, General Bisset can recommend me for something else, don’t know what yet, but you know, maybe then I wouldn’t have to deal with all this bullshit posturing and dick measuring contests from the senior officers.”
A wistful smile crossed Hilarson’s expression for a moment, almost making Harvey pause at his attempts to plead with his friend. “That’d be nice, right? Maybe I’d finally have some peace of mind….”
“That’s just- You don’t really-“ Harvey’s face twisted in desperation, his eyes darted around Hilarson’s face, unable to concentrate on a single feature as his friend seemed to resign himself to his decision even more. Harvey sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging it gently. “Abe just…..” He took in a deep breath before he continued. “Abe, let’s not make any rash decisions alright? Like I said, you just made CO, trust me when I say that it’d be a lot more easier for you to climb rank than as an NCO.”
“I’d be under Curson’s immediate radar, Harv. That’s hardly reassuring.”
“That’s exactly it, Abe.” Harvey pressed his fingers down on the table as he leaned forward, towards his friend. Hilarson scrunched up his nose when he came close, the stench of piss poor beer hanging off his lips as he spoke. “As a CO, who was directly endorsed by a few of the Generals mind you, Curson would have a much harder time trying to veto or cheat you out of a promotion. Godsake, Abe! You have General Bisset on your side! The bloody CDS! Do you think the Secretary wouldn’t think twice about taking Curson’s bribes now that Bisset has publicly shown you favor?”
Hilarson’s lower lip jutted out ever so slightly as he took in Harvey’s words. His silence was a positive, so Harvey continued. “Think about it! Like you said, you have connections now! People who would raise hell if you didn’t get what you deserved! Your juniors love you, even if you scare the crap out of most of them, or make them want to kill you for doubling the drills-“
That pulled a snort from Hilarson’s mouth.
“The seniors see so much in you! Despite your old man even! Everybody loves an underdog trying to restore his family’s honor.”
“I’m literally the only ‘Hilarson’ left, Harv. Not much ‘family’ in there.”
“That’s not the point okay!?” Harvey huffed in frustration as he threw his hands out, trying to emphasize his words. “Point is: you have backing now! Really really solid backing that even Curson struggles to keep, and he’s been playing military politics since he was Lieutenant!” He clasped his hands together on the table, turning his most pleading eyes towards his friend.
“I’m just saying…you should give this one more shot, Abe. Just one more. I know more than most how hard it was for you to even get here.…..I don’t want all your efforts to have been for nothing. As your friend, I don’t want all of the hurt you went through be for nothing…”
Hilarson visibly softened at that, the crease in his brows smoothed out, his shoulders dropped down, and his frown lifted up somewhat as he shifted on his seat. “Harv….”
“Before you say anything,” Harvey lifted a hand to keep him from talking. “Yes, I know, it’s very likely that Curson will do all he can to keep assigning you to be a Drill Instructor at the training grounds, despite your rank, especially since the SCO still has to file all your past formal complaints from when you were NCO.” He gave Hilarson a look when he looked about ready to rebuke his plea, thankfully his friend shut his trap and decided to let him keep talking, for now.
“There’s nothing we can do about that. Which is why I’m telling you to Ease.Up.On.The.Kids-!”
“Good God, not this again-“
“Abe, I swear, all your problems will be solved just like that if only you’d stop acting like the juniors’ own personal Curson.”
Hilarson’s eyes widened, his jaw dropped low as genuine offense bled through his expression. “What the fuck!? Low fucking blow there, Harv.”
“Am I wrong? No. You’re being a right cunt to the poor juniors, and not in your brand of lovable bitchy cuntness, it’s old bastard Curson cuntness.”
“You are seriously hurting my feelings, Harv. I really think we shouldn’t be friends anymore.”
“Good. I think you need your feelings hurt now and then, because I’m serious about this. You’re taking your anger out on the juniors, Abe. So tell me, who exactly is the one Curson is taking his anger out on at the moment??”
Hilarson scowled at his friend, opening his mouth to retort, before he paused just as the words were about to leave his lips. He stood stock still for a moment, eyes flickering ever so slightly, before his face paled and his expression fell. He sat back on the couch behind him, dejected. His limbs flopped uselessly to his sides as his head bowed down, his eyes stared at his lap in wide disbelief.
“Oh shit…fuck me, I am a cunty Curson…..”
“I’m glad you acknowledged that.” Harvey turned to the side and raised two fingers up in the air, he smiled politely at the barmaid who rolled her eyes at him as she sauntered away. He turned back to his friend. “So?”
“So?”
“You need to ease up on the kids, Abe. The last thing you need as a CO is to have a new file of formal complaints against you just as you made rank. The batch of juniors under you are at least a bit more fortified than your first, given that they had been prepared to enter your camp from the start.” Harvey stood slightly and reached across the table, he patted his friend’s shoulder before he sat back down.
“Look….I know it was hard, I know how much you sacrificed to get here, and you can deny it all you want, say it as much as you want, but I know for a fact that you don’t actually hate the kids.” All he received for that statement was a light glare and a downward twitch of Hilarson’s lips. “You used to, maybe, but somewhere in between you changed. When Curson didn’t fuck with you constantly, you adored the kids-“
“No I fucking didn’t-“
“You adored your kids then.” Harvey smirked when Hilarson clicked his mouth shut, he chuckled when his friend squirmed in his seat, face turning a twinge pink, before he flipped him off rather indignantly. “See? You can’t even deny it, that’s how much you adored your kids. Don’t think I forgot all the graduation days you spent crying into a handkerchief when your kids took all the top spots.”
“They always do.” Hilarson mumbled.
“They always do.” Harvey echoed in agreement, despite the way Hilarson pursed his lips in mortification when he realized he said it out loud. “Truth of the matter is, Abe, you love the kids, you push them to be better, to be the best. So you told me you weren’t meant to be a mentor, sure you can believe that, and I know you meant it when you said you just wanted to climb the ranks, and maybe being an instructor will hinder you a bit, but I’ve seen the way you are when you’re at the training camps….
“Abe, you love being a mentor, you adore your juniors, you hate the politics of the army and all the grandstanding that the seniors do, but that? No, it was the one thing about the army you might still care about. People call you a hard-arse, but between the two of us, you’ve always been softer when it came to people, you’ve always cared more.” Harvey gave him a sad smile. “It was why you were a good NCO, and why I was CO from the start.”
A calm silence settled over their table, accompanied only by the buzz of the Nest patrons and the shitty pop song from the godforsaken jukebox. The barmaid from earlier had passed by their table while they were talking, depositing two bottles of vodka at the edge of the table before she walked away without a word. Hilarson had subconsciously reached out to take one of the bottles, and he silently nursed it as he processed everything Harvey had told him.
Harvey patiently waited for him to take it all in, happy to just sit and drink in silence as he absentmindedly watched the other patrons. He hoped there wouldn’t be another brawl tonight, he was already exhausted enough by the talk he had with his friend.
“….Do you really think I could climb rank as a CO? Even with Curson breathing down my neck?”
Harvey snapped his attention back to his friend, Hilarson looked up at him with tired eyes, a light shade of grey circling underneath them, his sclera seemingly bloodshot, or maybe it was just the lighting. “Like I said, Abe. If Curson wasn’t around to fuck with you, you would have already been Colonel by now. You would have climbed the ranks-“ He snapped his fingers, “-Just like that. Why else would the Generals think you were skilled enough to get sent to OCS when you were just a Staff Sergeant?”
Hilarson bit his lower lip with a frown, he looked to the side and drummed his fingers on the vodka bottle he held. After a moment, he nodded his head rapidly, shaking as though he was trying to hype himself up. “Okay, okay sure, fuck it.” He brought the bottle to his lips and chugged down half of its contents before he spluttered and slammed it back down into the table with a gag.
“Eaugh! FUCK! Why the hell did I do that?!” He turned a wide eyed glare at the vodka bottle in his hand before he shoved it to the side. “Fucking-! Piss vodka!”
Harvey laughed out loud and tipped his own vodka bottle towards his friend. “Cheers!” He said as he happily took larger gulps of his selected drink, completely missing the look of abject horror from his friend across from him.
“You’re fucking gross, I can’t believe you’re smiling while drinking that swill!” Hilarson jabbed a finger into Harvey’s chest when he was done drinking. “If I’m agreeing to giving this one more shot, you are going to let me take you to a proper pub, to drink proper drinks, without the taste of rat arse in it!”
“How do you know what a rat’s arse tastes like?”
“Ever been hazed by a senior?”
“Your military career is fucking depressing.”
“Heh, yeah….”
The two snapped their heads up when they heard several bottles of glass shatter on the floor, followed by the sudden angry yells of inebriated drunks gearing up for a fight. Hilarson rolled his eyes and counted down from 3 with his fingers, Harvey gave him the same tired look just as he reached 1 and a man had been thrown across the pub, barely missing the barmaid who sidestepped out of the way and walked off with her orders without a care.
It wasn’t long after another pub brawl broke out in the Nest. Hilarson had watched as a table flew towards the jukebox, only to sag in disappointment when it missed it by an inch.
“Should we step in?” Harvey asked as he sipped at his vodka, watching the fight break out and dodging out of the way when a fork came flying towards his face.
“Give it 5, then we’ll step in.” Hilarson said as he rubbed at his face. “I gotta get my emotional shit in check before I even think about going out there. I’m pretty much liable to crying right now. It’d be awkward if I just start bawling as I’m punching the shite out of somebody.”
“Take your time, bud.” Harvey winced as one of the patrons came stumbling towards their table only to knock into it, mouth first, before he slipped to the ground, leaving a gold tooth, teeth marks, and blood at the edge of their table. “Take your time…..”
At the end of it, despite General Curson’s best attempts, Hilarson made Captain in record time, just as Harvey had predicted.
Though, it would have been nice if the war didn’t come with the promotion.