Alfred Frank tried very hard not to look at his palm cards, to deliver his speech with the proper air of authority and infectious enthusiasm. “We are the supply chain. Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot stress enough the importance of every single one of our employees. I’m sure you all are aware of their importance. However, it’s not enough for us to know how valuable they are. We need to show them.”

Alfred had spent his entire career working his way up to this position. He had done his Masters Degree of Business Administration, his Masters Degree of Commerce and his Bachelor of Law at Harvard. He had worked for shipping companies for ten years - ever since he was 14 - working his way up through the ranks. He was young, perhaps a little idealistic, and with big ideas. All in all, he was the perfect candidate to bring Armada back from the brink. And it all started tomorrow.

* * *

Amelia Frank was absorbed in not thinking about tomorrow. By all accounts it was supposed to be the most exciting day of her life, but thoughts of starting her new job just made her want to run away to the circus. Again. Did that count as starting a new job? Technically. Did it sound safer than a class full of six-year-olds? Absolutely.

Amelia had always known she was supposed to be a teacher. She’d just had trouble finding her way there. (Even now, the night before, she was having trouble.) And while spending eight years in the circus didn’t exactly sparkle on her résumé, it had certainly taught her some important skills. Creative thinking. Problem solving. Qualities that she wanted to impart on the next generation of young people. And it all started tomorrow.

* * *

Alan Frank turned on the rugby, a savage excitement filling him as he thought about the new batch of fresh-faced, green-as-grass recruits he would begin whipping into shape tomorrow. He always got a perverse satisfaction in showing the newbies what army life was like. And he was starting at a new base, too, so the gullible cadets would have no idea what was coming.

Alan had spent 12 years of military service trying to reach sergeant… and the next 20 pointedly not working his way up from this position. To his way of thinking, he was one of life’s born sergeants, and it wouldn’t even cross his mind to try and escape from his position. After all, being a drill sergeant could be incredibly satisfying. Watching the recruits either crack under the pressure or harden like diamonds was one of the great joys of his life. And it all resumed tomorrow.

* * *

Serafina Frank hit ‘send’ on each of the three emails, smiling to herself, and the smile had a wicked edge…

* * *

Alfred checked his emails one more time before he set off to his meeting. It was lucky, too, because there had been a venue change. Why there had been a venue change he had no idea, but… there had been. There had also been a time change. To 7:00 am! It seemed awfully suspicious.

Going as fast as he could at this unholy hour of the morning, he straightened his suit and prepared for the 40-minute drive to the middle of nowhere. At least if this was a hoax, he would have time to get back to his meeting. He had to get to that meeting.

When he arrived, he pulled up at a collection of austere-looking buildings. It made a harsh, militant impression and was generally uninviting. No wonder the employees are all near quitting if some of them have to work in places like this, he thought wryly. He found what he assumed was the main building, where a bored-looking secretary wearing a garish-looking orange wig droned “Are you A. Frank?” She didn’t even look up.

“Yes, I am.”

“Did you know that you have the same initials as a famous person?”

“Really? No, I’ve never heard that one before,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes to heaven and keeping them there for a while. He had heard that one before all right. Unfortunately, when he rolled them back to earth…

He was in a meeting room, yes. However, the meeting room was filled with men in military uniforms with aggressively neat regulation haircuts. They watched him with a mixture of curiosity and outright hostility. Something was obviously wrong. He started to say as much before a garrulous old man at the back said, “Well, sergeant, hop to it! Your batch of recruits are in Block D. Troublesome bunch, I warn you. Well, I’m sure you can handle it. Have fun!” The man chuckled.

And with that, the secretary was towing him by the elbow to ‘Block D’ and whatever the heck he was supposed to be doing there, with the orange wig bouncing in an irritating way. He wrenched his elbow out of her grasp and said, “I think there’s been a mistake. Are you looking for Alan Frank? Because he’s actually my dad. Sorry for the mix-up. Can I go now?”

“No,” she said placidly. “No mix-up. I sent that email to you, Alfred Frank, because I believe that you’ll be a good influence on these boys.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’ll leave.”

“No. You will remain here for three days or be court-martialed, ‘A. Frank.’ Those are your choices.”

Okay. The secretary was insane.

“I choose… neither?”

“Choose again.”

He sighed. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

* * *

Before Amelia, an enormous building shot up into the sky like a blade. It was so tall that she couldn’t even make out the neon letters running up the side - so tall that those letters were larger than a person.

A woman who stood shuffling papers at the front of the room looked her up and down - taking in her blue dress with a school-supplies pattern, her doc martens and her neat braid - and said “you must be A. Frank.”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“I’ll be escorting you to the meeting room.”

When Amelia got a closer look at the woman, she realised that the woman was wearing the most ridiculous glasses ever. 3D glasses shaped like hearts. They stepped into the elevator. The glasses had pineapples stuck on the rims! At least it was distracting her from this meeting. What was it about, anyway?

She brooded over this for a while until the woman finally broke the silence. “Did you know you have the same initials as a famous person?”

“Yes, actually,” she deadpanned, giving crazy-glasses-woman a long look which lasted until she heard the door shut behind them and she quickly moved her gaze to the imperiously dressed men and women in front of her.

“This is Miss Frank, the new Chief Management Officer of Armada. Her speech will begin shortly.” The eccentric woman introduced her. Everyone seemed to take that seriously. What was going on?

“I think there’s been some kind of mistake… this definitely isn’t my job…” she whispered urgently to the woman, before realisation hit.

Oh my goodness, she realised. I’ve stolen Alfie’s job.

“This isn’t your job,” she agreed, “but I haven’t made a mistake. I need Alfred elsewhere for a while, and you’re a perfect fit for this. It’s only for three days. Don’t worry, I’ve made arrangements for you. Now, go give that speech.” The woman shoved her up to the lectern, where she flailed ungracefully for a moment. She pulled out her phone, sure that Alfie had emailed her his inception speech at some point… hoping that he had… there it was!

“We are the supply chain. Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot stress enough the importance of every single one of our employees.” She continued through the speech, trying not to look as uncomfortable as she felt. “I intend” (Alfie intends) “to restore Armada beyond its former glory, to usher in a new era of worker satisfaction. You have put your trust in me. I will not let you down.” (I hope.)

She sat down as they politely applauded, waiting for one of them to denounce her. But they didn’t. And as she exited the room, she felt a rosy tinge of hope. It made her feel warm… for a moment, just a moment, until she had a horrible thought. Her stomach plummeted as she asked herself:

Who has my job?

* * *

Alan grinned savagely as he made his way through the training facility, admiring the ‘alternative art’ and bright, happy colours the same way a shark might admire a particularly fine fish. So this was one of those wishy-washy institutions where they pampered the cadets with ideals of honour and justice and made them believe that they were some kind of white knights. Well, a few hours of push-ups would set them right. He pushed his way through the door, watching the eager young faces. Youngest batch of recruits I ever saw, he thought to himself. Then, they did something unexpected.

“Good mor-ning Miss Fra-ank,” they all chorused.

“First lesson: It’s Sergeant, not ‘Miss Frank.’” Seriously, how green were these people? It was almost disgraceful. They were all so small and runty, too. “You are the weakest-looking batch of recruits I’ve ever had the displeasure to lay eyes on,” he told them, not being one for subtlety. “And I only have a few weeks to make soldiers out of you. So I’m going to push you as hard as I can. Are you ready?”

“Ye-es,” they chorused again. What was with this batch?

“Yes, sir!” He barked.

“Yes, sir!”