Quar-22

Is-Caerten Dongal  jumped down from the truck. His worn boots crunching on the gravel in front of the supply warehouse. "Wait here, Pod." he said to the driver, trying to sound authoritative and cover the insecurity brought on by his sudden awareness of just how shabby he looked.

But three months on the Fidwog front will do that to you.

He entered the Quartermaster's office, clutching his papers like an offering at the Shrine of the Ancestors.

An old quar emerged from an inner sanctum. This quar, like a priest at a shrine, radiated power. Perhaps it was his well fed belly. Or the cleanliness of his comfortable fatigue duty uniform. If knowledge and wealth grant power, than this quar, the Quarter-Master Yawdryl, had great power indeed. Power given to him by his control over the wealth in the gloomy cavern of supplies behind him, kept safe from unworthy hands by a stout counter. The greying at his snout and wrinkles around his cunning eyes indicated great knowledge as well. Knowledge of the regulations and how to twist them. Knowledge of who was connected to who, who owed who favours, who could get him access to things an important senior officer might require. Hidden, arcane knowledge, like the Sacred Scrolls.

The old eyes flicked over Dongal's worn uniform, from cracking boots to faded woolen cap (cap, field, knit. Ryfhler for use of. Uniform Regulations section 243 subsection 5: "The knit field cap is NOT to be worn in garrison. It is only to be worn on active duty while under field conditions."). The Supply Depot certainly counted as being "in garrison", but Dongal's officer's cap had been shredded by shrapnel from a Royalist shell.

"Can I help you" the slightest pause, to indicate a senior NCO's disdain for a junior officer, "sir?"

"My regiment has been pulled out of the line for resupply and to incorporate replacements. Here is my supply request." He handed over a sheaf of dirty paperwork.

The Quarter-Master Yawdryl did not deign to pick it up. He scanned the top sheet. His snout curled in disgust.

"This needs to be filled out in triplicate." He pushed the forms back.

"Our box of carbon paper was blown up by a Royalist barrage." Dongal pushed the forms back. "You will notice item 6 on the Headquarters supply page: carbon paper, box, quantity (1)."

The Quarter Master looked again. "Is this your signature?" Dongal nodded. He pushed it back. "It needs to be counter-signed by your Smyrnol." 

"I am acting Smyrnol of the 22nd Tokish Ryhflers!"

The QMY snorted. "You? An is-Caerten, barely old enough to leave the nest? Acting-Smyrnol? You're having me on, kit."

Dongal bristled. "Smyrnol Baengen was standing beside the box of carbon paper when it was blown up."

"No Caertens to take command?"

"They were all killed in the following weeks. I am all that is left. Me, one Yawdryl and 23 ragged, dirty rhyflers who all need new uniforms. Boots, socks, everything."

The Quarter Master adopted a conciliatory tone. "Look sir. This here is Quarter Master Stores. If we just gave gear to every Quar and their ancestor who walked in, well then, we wouldn't have anything to store, would we?"

Dongal sighed and reached into his satchel. He had feared that he would be stonewalled by bureaucratic obstinance. Fortunately, he'd listened to his uncle Maevik's tales of rear echelon hijinks around the dinner table when he was a kit. "How about a trade?" 

The Quarter-Master looked at his hand emerging from the satchel curiously. "Oh, aye?"

Dongal plopped a heavy paper sack on the counter. It writhed slightly. The QMY opened it and looked inside. His eyes widened. "Are these...?"

"Yes. Maggots. Fat and juicy too. Harvested before we left the line this morning."

"Corpse fed?" the Quarter-Master whispered.

"Yes." The shelling was so bad at the front that it was almost impossible to recover one's own dead. Enemy dead weren't even bothered with. Consequently, the repeatedly churned up mud was alive with maggots. It felt bad eating a maggot that may have been feeding on a comrade, but when the rations couldn't get through the barrage, needs must. You just hoped it had been feeding on an enemy corpse.

They had a unique flavour that one just couldn't get in the rear areas.

The Quarter-Master swept the bag out of sight before anyone else saw it. "Right, sir. I'll get Milwer Nobyn here to retype your Stores Request out all proper in triplicate so everything's all official like."

He called a passing Storesquar over and gave him Dongal's form. "Get these pulled right away. This here officer has been at the front for months now and his fine quar need to be kitted out. You can type it out proper when you're done, hear me?"

As Milwer Nobyn slouched sullenly away, dreaming of when he'd get the back handed bribes while delegating the hard work, the Quarter-Master Yawdryl turned back to Dongal. "Righto then sir, just bring your truck around to the loading bay at the side and we'll get you sorted out."

This truck started out as an RCA Victor promotional die cast with the old Victrola logo and signage on it. It was too big to fit comfortably with my gangster vehicles so I rarely used it. But it certainly fits the WW1 aesthetic for the Quar and I do like to have a rear echelon component in every army. Colourized photos and photos of reconstructed WW1 era trucks show a great variety of colours used. A lot were a vague greenish-greyish-khaki-ish colour, so after a matt black spray I painted it Vallejo 70886 Green-Grey so it could fit into either army.