Private Arendelle
for Anna Weekend 2017
The sun beat down on the parade ground of the Arendellan Reserve Army base, just on the edge of the capital. The latest batch of two dozen reservists milled about in their wrinkling, too-stiff uniforms, waiting to begin the six weeks of training that was mandatory for all able-bodied Arendellan men. Sargent Erdman would already be herding them into ranks if he hadn't been interrupted by the memo currently wilting in his sweaty fingers.
Sargent Erdman:
Her Highness Princess Anna has expressed an interest in undergoing military training. Her Majesty Queen Elsa supports this, and has specifically instructed that if Princess Anna ends each day “too exhausted to get into trouble” it would not go amiss. For decency's sake the Princess will not be sleeping in the barracks, but will otherwise be treated like any other Reservist Trainee.
She is your responsibility now.
Lieutenant Commander Gerhardssen.
He lowered the memo and looked into the grinning, freckled face of the young woman who had handed it to him. “Right.” The letter crumpled as he shoved it into his pants pocket. “You're serious about this.”
“Yes, sir!” said Anna.
“This isn't some game. If you're going to chicken out partway through you might as well turn around now and not waste my time.”
“I won't, sir.”
“And you won't be getting any special treatment from me. No bowing, no Your Highness-ing, no going easy on you 'cause you're a girl or because you're a princess. Do you understand?”
Anna puffed out her chest. “I'm very happy to hear that. I wouldn't have it any other way, sir!”
“Did I ask you for a damned commencement speech, Private?” shouted Erdman, his mouth inches away from her nose.
“…no sir…”
“I can't hear you!”
“No sir!”
“Right. Now…” His brow furrowed. He pulled the memo from his pocket, smoothed it to readability, scanned it without satisfaction, and jammed it back into his pants. “What do we call you?”
“Just Anna is fine, sir.”
He slapped his hand to his forehead and wiped it down his face. “Well, Anna, perhaps we'll get together with Fritzi, Karl, Peter, and Gustaf and go for a gambol in the woods. What's your family name, Private?”
“…Of…Arendelle? Sir?”
“You don't know your own name, Private?”
“Of Arendelle, sir!”
“All right, Private Arendelle, get back to your group.” He turned to the men. “You lot! If you look down, you will see a yellow stripe painted on the ground. You will form a line, one arm's-length apart, with your toes to that line, facing me, and stand at what you think attention looks like!” They began to shuffle into position. “Now!” They hurried to comply, the ones nearest Anna awkwardly trying to be deferential and still do what the sergeant said. He pointed at them. “What do you think you're doing?”
A skinny man, swimming in his oversized uniform, “Well, she is a princess–”
“Never mind! You don't know what you're doing, that's obvious, so don't bother trying to answer.” He pointed at Anna. “What you are looking at there, gentlemen – ladies and gentlemen – is a Private. As of oh-seven-five-nine this morning you were bankers, farmers, plumbers – princesses – and God knows what all. As of oh-eight-hundred you were all Privates, may God have mercy on the nation.” They stood completely terrified, except for Anna who was half-terrified half-eager. “Now on my command, you will form a line, single file, and march to the weapons training area, where you will be trained in the use of the Corona short-sword by Sergeant Pine. You will begin marching on your left foot. If you have trouble identifying your left side, it's the hand you don't masturb–“ He glanced at Private Arendelle. “–you don't shake hands with.” He had been looking forward to the inevitable lefty explaining which hand he used, which would've led to some instructive shouting. As it was, he had to content himself with seeing how many of his charges still managed to get themselves wrong-footed.
“Gentlemen. This is the Corona short-sword.” Sergeant Erdman brandished a cast-iron frying pan with deceptive ease. “You may think the point of training with a blunt weapon is to keep you from hurting yourselves. You would be wrong. The point is to keep you from killing yourselves. You will hurt yourselves. Badly. That is how you learn to pay attention. And this is Sergeant Pine.” He indicated a thick wooden pole, tall as a man, with three stout poles sticking out at head, waist, and ankle height. He shoved them, and they spun horizontally around the pole at different speeds. “You will engage Sergeant Pine in combat, until such time as you are knocked over or I tell you to stop.” He consulted his alphabetical list. “Private Aarhus! Begin.”
A lanky man whose uniform did not quite reach his wrists or ankles stepped forward. He bobbed forward and backward, dodging the posts swinging at him.
“This is a fight, not a folk dance, Aarhus! Engage the enemy.” Erdman waved him forward.
Aarhus swung his skillet at the middle pole, hitting it with a satisfying thwack. It immediately reversed direction. He dodged its return journey, feeling proud of himself for the fraction of a second before the bottom pole cracked him on his bare ankles and swept his legs out from under him.
“Back of the line, Aarhus,” said Erdman with bored resignation. “Arendelle, next!”
Anna gripped the handle of her frying pan, changing from single-handed grip to two-handed and back again. Erdman slapped the posts as they went past, speeding them up. She hesitated. “Sometime today, Arendelle!” In a lower voice he added, “Not too late to back out. You're the only one here with that option.”
“Bring it.” She gritted her teeth, then glanced at the Sergeant. “I mean 'Bring it, sir'.” She came at the device and hit the middle pole soundly, then knocked away the top pole before it could clout her. She jumped over the bottom pole, dodged the top one, and was folded in half around the middle pole as it knocked the breath out of her. She lifted her legs, ducked her head, and rode it once around before jumping free and landing on her feet.
“Done yet?” asked the sergeant.
“No sir. I have not been knocked over, sir,” wheezed Anna as she straightened up. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, dried her palms on her pants, and gripped the skillet handle firmly.
Erdman nodded his respect. “Go ahead, Private.”
She judged her timing for a moment, then came at her spinning opponent again. She smacked the middle pole back and forth, ducking under the top one – an advantage of being short – and stepped easily over the ankle-whacker. She had an epiphany. I've got it! It's like skipping rope! She felt a rush of energy and confidence, as the muscle memory of her childhood returned. She built a syncopated rhythm of knocking the head and waist poles back and forth, and skipped the ankle pole without looking or even thinking about it. Sweating freely and happily, she sparred with Sergeant Pine, smacking it harder and harder, shouting “Whoo!” and “Yeah!” and “Take that!” Poor dumb guys. If they'd had jump ropes when they were kids they wouldn't suck at this.
Sergeant Erdman smiled for the first time that day and gave her the highest praise he ever gave: “Not bad, Private Arendelle. Not bad.” As she continued whacking, he added, “Perhaps you'd like to give someone else a turn.”
CRACK!
Later that day, a memo arrived for the Lieutenant Commander.
Lieutenant Commander Gerhardssen:
I am pleased to report that we have a promising group of Reservist Trainees. Her Highness Private Arendelle shows some talent.
Sergeant Pine will be on medical leave. He broke a limb.
Sergeant Erdman.