Penny the Lancer

Second Lieutenant Penny Elizabeth Churchill stood in the bustling room taking deep breaths. Around her were her platoon making ready for the parade they were to conduct today. She knew she was lucky, the daughter of what the Yanks called a Greaser, her mother had been a worker at a munitions factory before it was destroyed in a flying bomb attack and her father had died on the front lines ages ago, but she managed to not only become a wren but a Filly too! That meant she was special among women of the kingdom. Unlike so many other girls in the UK she hadn’t been shuffled off into a factory or ended up in a cramped room living off the charity of soldiers who were share her bed for the night. Instead she had been joined army. She was proud to be a Wren, granted once upon a time that had stood for Women’s Royal Navy, but now it was used generically for any young woman in uniform, like the Yank term; Brass Girl. With the war ruining so many British Traditions, it was agreed that some drastic steps had to be taken in order to preserve some traditions. Among the changes Regiments of Merit, like her beloved 17th Royal Lancers, were granted Regimental Privileges and had formed companies of women specifically to take the place of men at traditional ceremonies, assist the training companies in training boys to fill the depleted ranks and to specifically provide comfort and moral for the men of their regiment.

“Second Lef-tenant Churchill,” the smoky voice of her Squadron Commander called from the mirror by the door of the Troop Ready Room.

The young woman looked at her commanding officer and marched over to the five six brown haired Scottish woman. She was already a combat veteran having leading a detachment of women to bolster the regiment on the front lines and boost morale. She had personally managed to kill a few of the Axis monsters.

“Let’s have a look at you,” the Captain put her cigarette back in her mouth, “Stand at attention.”

Part of her place in the regiment was to stand in the parades and make sure she stood out for the regiment and attract recruits. The Captain stood back and held her belly. Unlike the rest of the Wrens her regiment had its’ own nickname and uniform for ladies. Their young un test or at least without child members were Fillies and the seasoned members of the Squadron were Mares. She wore a double breasted red jacket with a buttoned on blue front panel and cover like the rest of the regiment, unlike the men the lady’s version was tight latex, over a rubber corset, and black rubber hot pants with a matching garter belt, Stockings and their crotch high leather boots. Looking down at her feet in the long mirror Penny and her commander looked at the “Hooves” that replaced the normal feet of the boot. Unlike the other wren on chunky heels, the Fillies of the Royal Lancers stood perched atop heelless Horse shoe boots.

“Back Straight, tits out, chin up,” the Captain said taking a drag of her cigarette, “Is this your first parade?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Penny answered nervously.

“Bullock. You know I can kick you out of the regiment for lying to me,” The captain fiddled with the shoulders of the tunic, “This might be your first parade for a royal, but this is hardly your first parade. You are coming up on a year in the regiment.”

“In three days Ma’am,” Penny squeaked.

“Plus all the time you were in training to be a trooper and then the Officer’s course,” the captain took the cigarette from her mouth and blow to the side as she stepped behind Penny and rested her chin on Penny’s shoulder, “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the Royals are watching us every day for every parade, it’s just this time we are having them as part of the show.”

Penny felt the hands going down her back smoothing the tunic.

“Lean forward,” The captain ordered, “Lef-tenant Miller will be standing out there in my place. Just relay the commands as usual. Let’s see just the right sized strip of cheek showing out the bottom of the pants. Keep in step with the band and you will be fine, let’s look at your boots. Hmm, Trooper you with the boot polish… come over here and polish this scuff.”

The captain pointed at a scuff on the ankle of the left boot.

“Yes Ma’am,” the clearly Scottish girl said rushing over in her bare feet, “Please hold still ma’am.”

“Now,” The captain continued, “When the parade is done, take care of the horses, tend to the needs of the royal house, tend to the needs of the regiment, then look into the needs of the royal house regiments, then if you are feeling generous you can tend to any other stallions you might fancy.”

“Done Ma’am,” the barefooted trooper said getting up.

“Very good trooper,” the captain smiled, “Now finish getting dressed.”

“Ma’am,” Penny asked quietly, “Do you think I will get sent up to the front with the boys?”

“Want a fowl of your own?” the Captain held her belly.

“I was concerned about,” Penny trailed off.

“Ah yes,” the Captain looked at her prostatic encasing her left café and hoof that replaced her foot, “Active combat, don’t worry about it. If you get called, you get called. Now be sure to be stunning, we have to recruit for the regiment remember?”

“Yes Ma’am,” Penny said.

The Captain gave her a peck on the cheek. It was well known that Captain Mary Scott was just as happy to ride a fellow mare as she was a stallion. Given the current state of the war no one faulted her for setting up an apartment with a captain from the mare company of another regiment. The pair would entertain each other on nights they weren’t entertaining others.

“if you can’t find a stallion to keep you satisfied,” Captain Scott whispered, “Captain Thatcher and I can make sure you have a pleasant evening.”

With a final slap on the ass Captain Scott smiled at her in the mirror and started waddling around the room checking on her troop as they finished their preparations. Penny watched her and had to admit a slight tingle in her hotpants whenever she was much too close to a fellow filly and wondered what that meant about her. She had never not enjoyed contributing to the war effort with boys, well with the exception of that one right at the end of primary school who didn’t know what he was doing. Ever since Parliament and the Crown had issued laws and royal decrees demanding every fertile boy and girl in the empire do their part to contribute to the war effort, a woman’s maternity was a critical war resource just like bomb, bullets and beans heading to the boys fighting at the front.