The Guts Corp

"It's times like these that I am reminded of Captain Gobbleguts," the old soldier said, mostly to himself, but loud enough that any of the young enlisted men might have heard. "He was a crusty sort, but he always got us out of trouble..." He nods as he reminisces, only broken from his reverie by the youngest of the lot, a Private Gherkin piping up from behind his flask.
"But why was he named 'Gobbleguts', Sir?"
"Why was he..." First Lanceman Doderidge harrumphed, "Have you never heard the stories, lad?" He was incredulous as he was met with, not one, but six shaking heads around him. A few of the other veterans smiled to themselves, giving each other the knowing glances of those who have heard a story too many times to count. "Well I never... what are they teaching these lads these days..." Doderidge mused, "Pay attention, for I'll only tell you this story once." His rosy cheeks and the rolling eyes of the other soldiers proved this false immediately, young Gherkin listened intently all the same.
"Eyes forward and you'll hear it true, Gobbleguts was a soldier, much like me or you." He coughed abruptly and shook his head. Damn rhyming curse plagued him at the worst moments. Thankfully it's effects had faded over the years, but he still hated the result. "Gods... Where was I? Yes, Gobbleguts came up in the spear infantry. He wasn't anything special either, just a run of the mill soldier. He might have even been mistaken for someone as incompetent you Goder." He reprimanded a chuckling lad. "For years he was just a member of the corp, doing his soldiering under the King's command. Every thing changed when he found himself a magic spoon." The old man wagged a finger at the lot of them, fixing their incredulous and disbelieving stares with a stern eye. "It was just what he called his standard issue rations spoon, but what was magic was the way he used it."
"The first time, and this one I witnessed with my own two eyes, was when we were up against an army of bloody-skins. The hobgoblins had us on the run and we were holing up in a cave and keeping them at bay until reinforcements arrived. Hope was lost and we had every weapon poised as a bulwark against their attacks. So Gobbleguts gets it into his head to go guerrilla. He must have gone mad, and before anyone realized it, had slipped around our defenses and around the back of the enemy camp. Our CO was furious, kept railing against the privates and telling them that if anyone let him back in they would lose their spears."
"So there we are and everything goes quiet, even our CO. We're waiting for a long time, holding our breath, some of us at least, waiting for another assault by the hobs. Finally we hear someone moving from beyond the blockade. I was the only one brave enough to peek out and you'll never guess what I saw there."
The young Gherkin leans forward intently, his drink forgotten, "What, what did you see? Was it Gobbleguts?"
"O'course it was Gobbleguts, but the way he was coming was the most out of the wilds thing I had ever seen." The old man leans forward, winking conspiratorially, "He was walking real slow, his spoon in hand, his face and clothes covered in dark blood." Another pause for dramatic effect and then he goes for the reveal, "And he was balancing one of their eyeballs on a spoon, like a little delvling at a spring festival egg race."
The table goes silent for a long while as they all quietly come to grips with the image, the veterans among them merely taking the moment to enjoy their drinks. Eventually, Gherkin speaks again, his voice deadly quiet for fear of disturbing the stillness created by the image.
"But... that was an eye, wasn't it? How did that make him Gobble*guts*?"
"No! No..." Doderidge shakes his head vehemently, his medals clacking together on his chest as he does. "You haven't heard the whole story yet. Patience boy, or you'll never find your place in an army."
"S-sorry, sir..."
"Don't 'sorry' me, just close your mouth and open your ears again." He says, sharply, but with a eye twinkle of appreciation for the boy's inquisitive nature all the same. "Now... where was I?"
"Gobbleguts just came back with an eye," offered one of the more senior members of the troop.
"Right... So he comes back up to the barricade and gives us this unsettling smile, then tosses the eye over his shoulder and says 'Well, aren't you going to let me in? The lot of us were so stunned we couldn't even move, eventually we took down the barricade and he told us how he had scared the lot off, how we could march again. Our CO, who was redder than the setting sun, all of a sudden couldn't speak, couldn't even yell to save his life. The poor old dwarf was just not ready for Gobbleguts style, and so they took him home and we got a new CO. They sent someone who could handle Gobbleguts, but not someone who would stop him."
"But... wasn't he unstable?"
"No, no... quite the opposite. You see, Gobbleguts wasn't doing it because he found some sort of sick pleasure in it, he was doing it because he knew it was the only way to fight beasties like that. He knew the means to beating them was to be more uncivilized, until they gave up all together." The old man nods and takes a long draught from his drink, thinking over his next words for a moment. The pause is uninterrupted, as even the most senior members can't help but be drawn in by the telling of it.
"Well, to make a longer story come to an end, the higher-ups promoted him at every bend." He breezed on through the random affliction of his words, "And eventually he became a Captain. Now, this entire time he was still going by his given name, and hadn't yet earned the Gobbleguts title. It wasn't until his final battle that he became what he is known as. He always kept his trusty spoon with him, day and night. It was more a friend than his spear or his shortie." He taps the diminutive blade at his side for effect, "And he sharpened it more too. So we get there to the side of Mount Tekh and we're facing a whole battalion of orcs, the nastiest, greenest and bluest nasties you could imagine. There was no way we were getting out of it."
There's another pause as he takes another drink, smacking his lips for their dryness. It had been a while since he talked this much, maybe a whole four hours if his estimate was right. With a grunt he continued, wiping his beard with the back of his hand.
"So Ol' Gobbleguts knows a thing or two about their culture, he did some reading, see, and he knew that they couldn't resist a one-on-one fight between two champions. A flag went up, he walked out there at the same time as the biggest, burliest orc you ever did see. And all he brought with him..." he says with another significant pause, his words growing quiet as he leads up to it. When he says his next, it's echoed by the timid voice of Gherkin, the two nearly speaking in unison.
"...was his spoon...," Gherkin mimics with a surprised gasp at the end.
"Aye, his spoon... So he gets a few laughs from the big feller, and within two minutes the thing's on the ground and as dead as a doornail. His heart was carved into by the toughest, sharpest spoon this side o' the mountain. O' course Gobbleguts knew better, he knew them orcs would try to rally, defy the challenge. He saw them thinking it over in their tiny brains. So he did the only thing he could think of, he picked up that big green, still-beating heart and lifted it high so everyone could see. The enemies paused, confused and bewildered, then he took the biggest bite out of it. It was like he was biting into the haunch of a mountain boar."
"What did the orcs do?"
"Well, they turned tail and ran!" he barks out with a laugh. "They must have scrambled down that slope so fast they almost fell down! Well, Old Gobbleguts earned his name that day, then he came amblin' back to us, like he always did, looked around at everyone of us, tossed the heart over his shoulder, then passed out dead on the ground right there."
There's a shocked silence over the table, the abruptness of the death keeping everyone in their seats until this time it's Goder who decided to speak up.
"He... died?"
"Hah! Of course he did! That green heart was so chock full of orcish grog that it poisoned him in an instant!" He laughs at the memory. "I've never seen anyone die with such a stupid grin on their face. Ah... I miss Ol' Gobbleguts."
"So... " murmured Private Gherkin, "Why doesn't anyone do what he did? Act all crazy and wild around the enemy?"
"Well... I don't rightly know, Gherkin... I suppose it's just because none of us are really brave enough," He looks over the boy for a moment. "But they say if you keep your spoon sharp enough, and always by your side, then you'll get a little of his courage out in the field."

---

Two months later, on a campaign on the coast, a journey to take back the lost coastal towns from the orcs, Corporal Gherkin was sitting by the fire, eating his stew and staring down at his razor sharp fork. First Lanceman Doderidge had died last week, taken by a rogue poisoned arrow, but his words still rang in the young dwarf's mind. When he went to battle that day he brought his spoon, kept it right in his belt within quick reach. The prince was lost that day, but he managed to avenge his future king by gouging out the eyes of the two trolls who dealt the final blow. The effect was so gruesome that much of the orc forces retreated, leaving Gherkin and his few remaining comrades to bring their prince home on their shields.

The Guts Corps is an elite fighting unit serving under the King of Yui'tian. They specialize in guerilla tactics and behind-enemy-lines efforts. The tale told here is of the Corps' origin, written by it's founding member, newly commissioned by the King himself, First Spoonguard Gherkin.

Type

Special Forces