A small, thin boy approaches the recruitment desk and coughs to signal his presence.
'Yes?' The recruiter said, barely looking up from the papers that lay strewn across the desk in front of him.
The boy looked no older than 20 years of age, his short brown hair curling around his head very neatly.
'I want to enlist in the Bretonian Armed Forces.' He said, trying to hold back the nervousness.
The recruiter stopped, looked up, and smiled. Then he said, 'You can fly?'
'Yes Sir. I fly, I think I fly well but I'll probably need training...'
The man appeared to be ashamed, due to his lack of training.
'Well, that shouldn't be a problem, no-one can be an officer without knowing how.' The man laughed.
'Y-yes of course.'
'What's your name boy?'
'Cartwright Sir, David Cartwright.'
'Age?'
'I'm 22 Sir.'
The recruiter stared at the boy, 'Why do you want to join the Bretonia Armed Forces?'
'My dad, George Cartwright, was in the Bretonia Armed Forces, he was killed recently in a Gallic siege. We were all proud of him, and, I guess, I want my family to be proud of me too.'
'Right, well. I'll speak to my superiors, and we'll contact you later.'
David made an attempt to stand to attention. 'Yes Sir.'
The recruiter chuckled and waved a hand, 'At ease.'
The boy smiled and raced out. The recruiter sat back and smiled, 'What a strange kid.'
