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The young Ensign reigned in his horse before the tavern. Dismounting, he handed the reigns to the waiting stable boy, nearly forgetting to tip the young lad in his haste to meet his new commanding officer. He paused briefly to straighten his new, red coat before stepping through the tavern doorway.
He was surprised to see the tavern occupied by so many officers. There seemed to be several celebrations going on, although he was not certain of the occasion. Searching through the crowd, he located the table that was occupied by the officers of Hanover. He was again surprised as he approached the table and realized that fully half of the officers seated there were (gasp) Generals! This was something unexpected, and a bit unnerving.
Snapping to attention, the Ensign saluted the assembled officers, holding the position for what seemed like an eternity as he observed the amused looks on the faces of his newest comrades in arms, and was transfixed by the penetrating, blue gaze of the ranking officer at the table. Returning the proffered salute, the Hanoverian Commander extended his hand to the nervous, young man.
“You must be the replacement that Generaal Bijl warned us about”, said the blue eyed officer.
“Warned, sir”, asked the young Ensign. “I am Mike Friedman, sir. My understanding is that I have been assigned to the Duke of York’s 1st Field Battalion, sir.”
“And so you have, Ensign Friedman”, replied the Hanoverian Commander, “but the real question is”, he said as he locked eyes with his newest, young officer, “did Generaal Bijl warn you about us?”
“Warned, sir”, stammered the young Ensign. “I…I’m not sure what you mean by warned, sir.”
“Well, have a seat then, Ensign”, chuckled the Hanoverian Commander, “you look like a smart, young fellow. My guess is that you will figure it out soon enough.”
The officers gathered around the table all chuckled at this remark, which did not serve to calm the Ensign’s nerves as he took the proffered seat.
“We have a tradition in the Hanoverian Brigade, Ensign”, said the Hanoverian Commander. “It is a rather sacred event that promotes an immediate bonding among our officers. General Lastowicka, if you would do the honors, sir.”
“Certainly, General Jones, it would be my pleasure”, grinned the General known as Der Lowe as he unstoppered a bottle of Jagermeister, filled a shot glass, and slowly slid it to the young Ensign.
“Bottoms up, Ensign”.
The Ensign picked up the glass and downed the liquid in one shot, hoping to impress his comrades, and immediately regretting his decision to do so.
Damn that burns, he thought to himself as his belly seemed to instantaneously burst into flames. Taking a moment to recover, he found that he was very glad that the test was over, and fervently hoped that he had passed. To his extreme dismay, he looked up to discover that Der Lowe was refilling the shot glass and again sliding it in his direction.
Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, thought the Ensign. Clearly it was going to take some time for the flames in his gut to subside. Taking a second shot of whatever that hellish liquid they had fed him was definitely not a stepping stone on the road to a quick, or possibly even complete, recovery.
Der Lowe grinned at the young Ensign, and uttered the words that he most definitely did not want to hear. “Bottoms up, Ensign”.
Feeling the eyes of the assembled officers upon him, the young Ensign steeled his courage, and belted down the second shot in one gulp. Holy crap, he screamed in his head. The only problem was, he also inadvertently screamed out loud as well. “Ow, ow, ow, ow, owwwwwww!”
“I haf it”, said the Commander of the Hanoverian Feld Jagers. “Dis jung Ensign howls like Der Wolf”.
“Then that is what he shall be”, said the Hanoverian Commander with a broad grin. “Welcome to the Hanoverian Brigade, Herr Wolf. I assure you young, sir, you are in the very best of company.”
All officers in the tavern, drinks are on our newest, Hanoverian Ensign tonight. Please help us welcome him to our wretched wars!
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