Post

1919 - Ogden, Utah

Newly promoted Major General Robert E. Lee Thiessen looked out upon the assembled recruits and inwardly sighed. What a motley band of soldiers this was going to turn out to be, he thought to himself. He supposed they had to start somewhere... and recruits out on the frontier were hard to come by, considering most eligible males were needed for work either on farms or in the mines.

The problem was that he had to train a highly mobile and effective force to patrol the frontier, and he only had eight weeks to do it before the Foreign Legion departed for good. While a few officers and soldiers had volunteered to stay behind to form the nucleus of his new Frontier Corps, they were few and far between - and scattered among several outposts.

His musing was interrupted by the buglers calling to attention. Once the ruckus from the assembled recruits had died down, he cleared his throat and began to address the assembled crowd.

"Gentlemen of the West," he began, speaking in French, "Welcome to the Frontier Corps. Let me be the first to thank you, from the bottom of my heart on behalf of the people living in this frontier of ours, for stepping up to serve your country - your communities - your home. Today, you all embark on a new journey, one that will transform you in ways you will have never thought possible. Today, you begin the journey that will transform you from Men of the West - to Defenders of the West."

He paused a moment for effect. "The road ahead of you is long and arduous. Take heart; stay the course. Remember that the lives and livelihoods of many depend on your success. So then, gentlemen," he said with a smile, "Let's get to it."

He stepped down as the sergeants began to organize their respective companies and take them away to their training areas. He was met at the edge of the stage by Colonel Montserrat, the leader of the training battalion. "A very fine speech, general," he remarked, clapping his hands.

"Thank you," Robert replied, smiling slightly. "Do you think you'll be able to whip these men into shape in time for the handover?" he asked.

Montserrat put his hand to his heart in a mock gesture of hurt. "General, you wound me. I have wrestled bears and won, I can handle a few rowdy men."

Across the parade field, in a column that was waiting to march out, young recruit Private Stemson gawked at the two commanders. "Is it true he wrestled a bear to death?" he whispered to the recruit standing next to him, a grizzled mountain man by the name of Pierre.

"Who, General Thiessen?" Pierre replied, not bothering to whisper at all.

"Hey, quiet back there!" hissed Walks-with-Bears, a Shoshone tracker just ahead of the pair. Pierre replied something in Blackfoot, to which the Shoshone also replied. They had a short argument before the Sergeant came by and shut them both up.

"This should be an interesting eight weeks," mumbled Private Stemson.