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"That was Raoul, wasn't it?" Armand asked mildly."I believe so, Master," Wench answered carefully. She knew that tone.Armand pointed at the receiver for the house phone and snapped his fingers; Wench leaped to retrieve it. "Jason, we have a disciplinary problem," Armand announced."Sir." There was a click -- Jason was on his way. In a moment, Consuela arrived with Armand's clothing. The Wench collected it while Armand queried, "Raoul sent you?" A nod. "Get him." Consuela got out of there.Armand signed for the video to be put on hold while this other matter was dealt with; the Wench handled it, juggling clothing and the remote.Jason arrived next, followed quickly by Raoul, for whom one look at the occupants of the room signaled trouble. "Raoul," Armand murmured, "You are correct that the Wench occupies a position of low estate in this house. However, if she is responding to my directions, she represents ME, does she not?" Uhhh, yes, Sir, sorry, Sir," Raoul placated nervously, his eyes. "Fuh-whad... Mharch!" The last syllable was expulsed from the diaphragm, hard and sharp. There was a definite count, almost like singing, to the words. Again, together with the others, she stepped off, left foot leading, right arm swinging, in step. And three steps later, the command came, as the left foot reached the ground, "Detail! Halt!"The speaker was in the driver's seat, the position one third of the way up from the rear of the small double column, on the left. Another Midshipman Fourth, the boy took to the command voice the Gunny had taught them like a duck to water. Lynne's command voice was much higher pitched, but even she had been impressed with the sound of her voice once the Marine had shown her – with a soft punch under her ribs – where to express the air from.And where had Candidate Collins found this guy to coach them in drill? A Master Gunnery Sergeant in the freaking Marines, for chrissake! She could not believe her eyes when she'd arrived at the parade ground.
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