Princess
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 1: Sweetheart
Sergeant Elias Davies grabbed Kirsti Duncan by the collar of her uniform and shoved her backward so hard she slammed into a briefing tent pole, the canvas shaking above their heads.
“A girl.” He looked at her the way a man looks at something left on his doorstep. “They sent me a girl to hold my line.”
He ripped the rifle case from her hands, threw it into the dirt at her feet, and kicked it for good measure. The men around them went silent. Davies leaned in close, his spit hitting her cheek.
“You are going to get my boys killed, sweetheart. And when you do, I am going to make sure everyone back home knows whose fault it was.” He stepped back. “Now pick that up. Pick it up before I put my boot through it.”
Kirsti did not flinch. She did not blush. She did not lower her eyes. She stood with her boots shoulder-width apart, her hands at her sides, and she let Sergeant Davies finish his performance. The men around them were watching her the way men always watched women who walked into rooms they believed they owned.
There was Corporal Rodriguez—six foot two, arms crossed over a chest like a barrel, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. There was Specialist Davis, the machine gunner, who had already decided just from looking at her face that she did not belong. And there was Private Robert Evans, the youngest man in the unit before Kirsti arrived, who was suddenly very happy he would no longer hold that distinction. He was grinning like a kid at a birthday party.
Davies stopped in front of her. His breath smelled like burnt coffee and old tobacco.
“Duncan.” He repeated her name off the paperwork, then switched to a high, mocking voice. “‘Yes, Sergeant. Yes, Sergeant.’” He batted his eyelashes. Rodriguez let out a bark of laughter. “You know who talks like that? My niece. My niece is twelve. You know what my niece does for fun? She paints her nails and cries over boy bands.” He spread his hands wide. “You got something smart to say back? You got a comeback locked and loaded? Because I got to tell you, darling, I am expecting fireworks.”
“No, Sergeant. I don’t have a comeback.”
“Good. Because I don’t have time for mouthy kids.” He turned to the rest of the men. “Command is sending us children now. That is where we are. That is the war we are fighting. Babies in body armor.”
Captain Victor Kowalski walked into the briefing tent at that moment—clipboard tucked under his arm, uniform dusty from the motor pool. He was a man in his early forties with gray creeping into his temples and the kind of permanent frown that comes from watching too many good men go home in boxes. He glanced at the scene—Kirsti standing rigid, the men laughing—and he made a choice he would come to regret for the rest of his life. He kept walking.
“Davies. New arrival squared away?”
“Sir, yes sir.” Davies’s voice had lost all the mockery—clean, professional, exactly what commanders like to hear. “Private Duncan is being oriented as we speak.”
“Private First Class,” Kirsti said quietly.
Davies’s head snapped toward her. “What did you say?”
“It’s Private First Class, Sergeant. Not Private.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.