Just something small to keep the thread going while I'm working on the Frontline stories.

As he watched the new recruits march almost in step from the rear of the parade ground, Legatus Cotta sighed. He was one of the first to admit that he had little experience in the field, and less in training men to fight. But already he could tell these were not men of war. Farmers, shopkeepers, delivery boys, maybe. Not fighters. But then, I wasn't much of a fighter when I first joined the legion, either he thought privately. Still, it could always be worse. At least they were all marching in the same direction. Weren't they?
As he watched one of the younger looking recruits turn at the wrong moment, causing commotion around him as his fellows tumbled and stumbled around his mistake. Cotta shook his head, walking away from the confusion and roar from the centurion in charge, back to the tent that served as an office and to offer him some privacy while he was visiting the camp. Entering, he walked past the scribes and officials that sat at desks throughout the interior, heading towards his own chambers at the rear, closed off from the scribes. As he lifted the flap, his chief scribe stood.
"Sir, I have taken the liberty of placing the scrolls and tablets that require your direct attention on your desk." Cotta nodded, wearily.
"Thank you, Servius. I'll deal with now." He moved under the flap, stifling a yawn, before letting it drop back into place behind him.
His chamber was dim, lit only by the single lamp and a few incense sticks burning in the corner, filling the small space with a heavy intoxicating scent. His head rolling slightly, Cotta slumped onto the campaign stool behind his desk, and attempted to focus on the scrolls and tablets before him. Dispatches to Rome, orders of equipment and food, the delivery of someone's will to their sibling in Arretium. All needed his signature and seal before they could be sent off. Cotta sighed again. This new promotion had been nothing more so far than an unbelievable amount of extra paperwork. He understood now why the civilised world needed so many scribes and slaves; no man could do this for ever. He'd die of boredom.
There was another tablet underneath the dispatches, addressed the Senate. Mildly intrigued, Cotta picked it up to examine its contents. Scanning through, he saw it was a letter asking for the appointment of a suitable young officer to act as Senior Tribune for this new legion. Of course, he had asked Servius to conduct this two days ago. The silly fool must have forgotten until now he smiled. Still, he would need someone to fill this role; his role until only a few weeks previous. The smile disappeared, as he remembered his first battle on the plains of Tarentum nearly two years ago; the smell of blood, the faces of those he had killed. Cotta remembered every one of them. They never left him, visiting him in his dreams, endless cycles of emotionless faces. He knew most soldiers faced the same problem, but it made facing them every night no easier. Still, he could always finish these reports.
He picked up the top letter, and began to read.

The new legion will require one hundred cartloads of wheat, fifty cartloads of barely, four hundred barrels of water, eight hundred...

The chief scribe entered the chamber.
"Sir, woud you like..." But Cotta was snoring peacefully, his head lolling over the back of his chair, and a piece of parchment dangling from one hand. Smiling, the scribe walked behind the desk, retrieving the scrolls and tablets.
"I'll deal with these then, shall I?" He chuckled, before removing himself from the room, shutting the flap behind him as he went.