Transition

"Alright! Everyone off the fucking cart!"

A hoarse voice came from the lead driver of the carriages as he suddenly snapped the reigns of his horses, making them stop abruptly shaking those sitting inside. With Captain Orwell and the other Rangers stepping out of the carriage, Sergeant Randall's boots slammed into the semi-muddy ground as he straitened his legs and readjusted his plate carrier.

The convoy had ended up in a forested area. Trees covered the horizon, yet muddy fields were occupied by what looked to be wooden prefabrications. While the knights and other soldiers of the kingdom moved throughout what looked to be a combat course to set up wooden targets with metal plates, the other worldly men stood in a half circle facing the green forest before the carriages.

Lieutenant Patterson chuckled to himself as he patted his hands together. "Fuck man. We've really ended up in another world. As far as I know, they aren't any pine trees in Pakistan or the middle east."

"You're just now figuring it out?" Captain Thompson sneered.

A sudden voice came from afar drawing the men's attention. Turning around what was a run of the mill soldier approached the seven with caution. The words he spoke were simple; "The course has been set-up, please report to Captain Orwell". Considering that the soldier said the word 'course', it was obvious that the test would be an evaluation through training.

Regretfully the men complied. To Captain Thompson, Patterson, Richard and Malkovich, the 'test' organized by the kingdom was unnecessary and would be wasting time. Thompson was still furious about being summoned to this god-forsaken world, but the least he would admit was the benefit of not being shot at behind enemy lines.

The humid air made the men sweat as they collected themselves under an olive-drab tarp set up by Captain Orwell's men. With annoyance Sergeant Randall recalled his time during the "Florida Phase" during Ranger School. He did not want to repeat crawling through a humid forest only to come across a snake nest. That was true hell.

"Ah the Holy Knights." Captain Orwell chided, "It seems the mouth your Captain has put you in this situation, thus my men have set up an evaluation to see if you are worthy of such a title."

Thompson cleared his throat and looked away slightly flustered. "I hope you men can fight." Orwell continued, "I don't need petty disputes between us soldiers, so if you can pass this test, we won't question your methods and we'll stay out of your way."

Stepping up to the front, Sergeant Randall gained the attention of Orwell as he spoke, "What are the parameters of the test? It would be unfair if we go in blind." He said firmly.

"Fair?" Orwell repeated with a snarl, "I remember you from earlier. Tell me, is war fair?"

"No." Mike answered swiftly, "But for an evaluation, it would be best for an even playing field for the best results. What we are doing is not comparable to war. There is nothing that will truly prepare you for a fight, not even mock battles."

Clapping his hands, the captain momentarily wiped his forehead before bringing out a map and unfolding it on the wooden table. "Twenty-three targets in the first section." Orwell pointed at a single large building then traced the map to the forest next to it, "Forest navigation is next, followed by a general examination of all knowledge." He looked up momentarily, "Though I suppose we can omit history, and have you all write a scroll about your worlds own history."

The captain stood up straight as he rubbed his fingers over his small beard, "Five minutes till start. Dismissed."

Grunts came from the Rangers as they began to pick up their gear and exit from under the cover of the olive-drab tarp. Just around the corner Princess Lecca appeared with a scroll in her left hand and a cup of tea in her right. Her face was weary as she sipped on her drink while overviewing the contents of the scroll she had brought with her.

Grumbling to himself, Captain Orwell sat in a nearby seat as he roughly adjusted the sling over his chest. Unlike many of the other knights, Orwell chose to have a sheath on his back rather than the waist. Most of his deployments had been to neighboring kingdoms, thus he had no need to present his blade in any hostile manner. Though it had cons to the nature of drawing his blade, he had become more than efficient in his fighting style, relying on a strong, unbreakable defense.

Princess Lecca looked at the older knight with a sift smile. He had served her well through her younger years and had almost acted as pseudo-father when her own was not available. She snickered to herself as she recalled a nickname she had given the man when she was no less than five-years old, "Unkie Orwall". The name annoyed the hell out of Orwell, but he eventually grew tired of responding to it, thus he became complacent with the Princess's rambunctious names that she once could come up with on the fly.