Lieutenant's Love

By Red Haircrow

Lieutenant Jarryd Alyt has given blood and soul in service to the Duke, yet suffering the loss of a beloved companion and best friend drives him near the brink of despair. Disillusioned though still loyal, when new recruit Arin arrives, Jarryd is struck by the youth’s innocence and beauty.

But will the horror of war strike before Jarryd summons the courage to love again?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Mar 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9781685507053

Red Haircrow

An award-winning writer/poet, freelance news correspondent, chef and former law enforcement officer of mixed Native American descent (Chiricahua Apache/Cherokee) who lives in Berlin, Germany. Red Haircrow holds a Bachelor’s of Science in Psychology, is a Graduate Student at Montana State University Bozeman, and owns/operates Flying With Red Haircrow Production, a multimedia company.

Book preview

Chapter 1

They keep getting younger and younger, the lieutenant grumbled, looking over the new recruits with a jaundiced eye.

Aye, Jarryd, that’s because you’re getting older, his sergeant quipped back.

Absolutely, Lieutenant Jarryd Aylt nodded with affected seriousness. I’m so old now I can barely pleasure my campie. Considering your grand age, it makes me feel sorry for you.

Sergeant Lvarnan laughed heartily. He was nearly twenty years Jarryd’s senior, with scarred skin the hue of weathered leather, in sharp contrast to his shock of white hair and bright blue eyes, yet the old campaigner still ranked as one of the toughest fighters in all the Duke’s army.

That’s why I stay with you instead of accepting a promotion command of my own, the sergeant said, slapping his superior and friend on the shoulder. Besides being the smartest fighter and fairest man I’ve ever known, you’re always good for a laugh, even when you don’t join in. His tone then changed. But you’re right, His Grace is getting desperate. Wants to finish this campaign, settle for winter and dig in to recover from his wounds, and let the enemy rot from theirs.

Jarryd sniffed in agreement. Yes, the Duke needed bodies to throw upon the swords of his enemies, as many as possible until, at last, they collapsed into total submission, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Be that as it may, these new soldiers-to-be must have been dredged from the bottom of the barrel. They were too old or too young, gray-bearded grandfathers, some bent and twisted, struggling to stand upright or pimple-faced youngsters, fidgeting with nervousness. Many of the latter looked to be no more than ten and four, sent into service for pay likely never to be collected before they took a spear in the guts.

This mattered little to the Duke, and even less to Jarryd’s brother officers, for to them, having such ones to blunt the edge of enemy swords meant those same blades were less likely to fall upon their own precious necks.

What changes awaited some of those expectant gazes bent upon him for direction! Lieutenant Aylt looked away. Behind his back, and beneath the covering fall of his blood red cape, he dug nails into a forearm.

Well, Sergeant, get them cleaned up as best you can, outfitted, and assembled in the south field for inspection by third horn, he clipped out in short order. I’ll be in my tent.

The curt tone wasn’t taken personally. Lvarnan had known Jarryd a