"Attention troops. Today you will be receiving your assignments". The Colonel announced. "You have all done exceedingly well having completed your training in record time".
The Colonel walks past his soldiers. The best of the best. Those who have achieved the highest marks in combat and close protection. These are the cream. The ones who will become Guardians.
For as long as there have been Slayers there have Guardians. Those chosen from the unlikeliest of domains to protect she who will become the Chosen One. To ensure that the protectors of mankind are not taken before they have the chance to accept their mantle. The Guardians are the unsung heroes who will willing lay down their lives to keep the Slayers-in-training safe until they are called.
The life expectancy of a Guardian is considerably shorter than that of a Slayer, dismemberment being the most common way for them to go. But there are other ways for a Guardian to cease to be. Decapitation, being crushed to death, incineration and death by drowning are all commonplace. For so long they wait in the shadows, there true identites unknown to those they would willing sacrifice themselves for.
Now the Class of '82 is receiving it's postings. How many will see their Slayers mature? How many will see the next twelve months through?
"Troops, standat-eeez", the commanding officer shouts. The Colonel lightens his demeanour. "Now troops, this will be the last time you will be referred to by your unit number, once you have received your assignments you will be given new names. These will be the names that you are known by out there. These are the names that the Slayer's-to-be will know you by. From the second you receive your assignments, the old you will cease to be. You are about to be reborn". And with that the Colonel marches off to the largest hut which is serving as his office today.
Left alone, the class of '82 huddle into small groups talking to one another. Each one formulating a theory on where he or she may be assigned.
The largest of one of these groups starts speaking first, "So what do think? Where do you want to end up?" he enquires of his two dereast friends.
"Well, I don't know about you but as long as it's warm I don't care", replies his short squat friend. "Look Seventeen you know me and the cold, if I've got to spend all my time hanging around outside freezing my ... well freezing I'm not going to last six months".
"Oh, typical, Tubby", the third member of the clique responds.
"Look, it's Nine not Tubby. Six months of training and you still call me by that nickname", the offended number Nine responds.
Seventeen can't resist joining in, "That's right. It's not Tubby. We don't call him Tubby. Being called Tubby is something that Tubby doesn't like and if Tubby doesn't like being called Tubby, then Tubby will be called Tubby no longer". Looking at Nine he asks, "Isn't that right Tubby?"
"Ha, ha, very funny. I'll be glad to get away from you guys", he retorts but although sounding annoyed he hates to admit to himself that he'll miss their ribbing.
"Seriously lads, you know this is it. When we get called in and given our assignments we'll be off to wherever and to face whatever. So I just thought I'd say", Two stops as he trys to find the right words.
"I know Two", Seventeen jumps in. Saving him from the deafening silence which had just descended on the three comrades.
"Yer, all said and done, it's been a privilege to know you guys", Nine adds.
Just then the Seargeant comes out. "Okay Number Twelve ... the Colonel will see you now".
In another small group a blonde haired female makes her goodbyes as she heads off to receive her assignment.
"Oh great, they're not even calling us in numerical order", Nine announces.
"Just the Colonel and his mind games", Seventeen observes.
"Yep, don't suppose he could let the opportunity of a little mental torture go by", Two concludes.
"So what about you Seventeen? Where do you want to head off to?", Two asks trying to get the conversation back on track.
"Oh I'd like to go off to somewhere on Continental Europe. You know, France, Italy, southern Germany ... perhaps along the Dalmatian coast."
"Oh, you just want lots of historic building to wander through". Two notes. "Typical Seventeen, who cares if he's got to protect the future saviour of mankind when he can stroll through some damp and manky old church".
"No, Seventeen is right", Nine chips in. "Though as long as it's not America I'm happy. God all that 'Have-a-nice-day' and innumerable t.v. channels. God save us. And you can't get a decent pot of tea anywhere".
"Oh, tea. Yer that's a rational reason to hate an entire country. Especially given the importance it bears in your life", Two points out to his friend.
The Sargeant re-emerges from the office, "Number Nine, move yourself", he shouts.
"Well, I guess this is it then", Nine remarks as he looks at his friends for what will be the last time. "Off on another of life's great adventures". He strains to force a smile on his face, trying to hide the fear which is racing to overpower him.
Seventeen steps forward and hugs his friend, patting him on the back, "You take care of yourself Tubby".
"You can be damn sure of that", his portly friend replies as his voice begins to waiver.
His other friend follows by also hugging him, pulling him close for the final embrace before who-knows-what. "Hope they post you to the Arctic", Two concludes.
"Nine .... get your fat arse in here now. We haven't got all day", screams the Seargeant.
Nine finally heads up to the office and as he reaches the door, he takes one brief look back at his friends, "I won't forget you", he mumbles to himself as he steps inside.
"In front of the Colonel, Nine", the Seargeant orders.
Nine comes to attention in front of his commanding officer. Sat at the table next to the Colonel is a man in a grey suit. A stranger.
"Nine", the Colonel commences, "this gentleman is from the Watcher's Council. He is here to ensure that you will integrate yourself into your new life". He hands Nine a file, "That's the girl you'll be guarding".
Nine takes the file and opens it. Attached to the inside back cover is a photograph of a baby girl, only a few months old.
The Colonel starts talking again. "The girl's name is Buffy Anne Summers, as you can see she lives in Hemery, California. The file contains everything you need to know. Father's name - Hank. Mother's name - Joyce. It's all there Nine".
Nine gazes at the pages, not really taking in what they say.
"That is all. And good luck", the Colonel concludes as the man in the grey suit gets up and opens the back door for them to depart. But Nine doesn't move.
"That's all Nine. On your way", the Seargeant instructs bringing Nine out of his daze.
"Yessir", he responds and salutes his commanding officer. He then turns to leave.
"Good luck, son", the Colonel adds as Nine reaches the door.
Nine turns back to face his commander of six months, "My name, what's my name?".
"It's in the file", the Colonel replies as the door is finally shut behind him.
Nine opens the file and looks through it. "Name, name, what is my name?" He finally reaches the relevant part and scans across the page ... "My name is ... my name is ...." He stops in disbelief
"MISTER GORDO, what kind of name is that?"
Back in the office the Colonel turns to his Sargeant, "Okay. You can send the next of the toys in".
Go to the next story The Chosen One
Send feedback to Colonel Furry Palms
Back to the Fanfiction Archive