Conor Dillon – Beginnings Excerpt 22
‘So what of my future?’ I asked, ‘Do I have one?’ I was still unsure of my position. ‘You are my son, bastard or not, you will have my name and if you will, you can fight besides myself and your other relatives here in Germany.
‘That I will happily do, if you can find employment for my comrades and I, but I don’t expect nor seek preferential treatment.’ I stated honestly. ‘ I can assure you that preferential treatment is the one thing you will not be getting, there are already too many Dillon’s in this Regiment, so watch your back, some of your relatives will not take kindly to your presence here,’ he warned me as graciously as he could.
‘So am I likely to get shot in the back?’ I asked my new found Father. ‘Nothing as subtle as that, but in the heat of battle, things happen, just be wary of who you befriend, the man may shake your hand with one hand and plunge a dagger in your chest with the other,’ He reminded me.
We left the French encampment and after roughly half a days ride arrived at the encampment of my Father’s Regiment. The first thing I noticed was how orderly and busy everything seemed. All the tents were in orderly rows, and the area seemed very tidy not like the slovenly French encampment. I should not have been surprised, I had heard that my Father was a strict disciplinarian.
In the centre of the encampment was my Father’s Headquarters, more of a marquee than tent, it had a small personal area and the rest was where the Officer’s dined and discussed strategies.
(C) Damian Grange 2018