“Anyway, there’s every chance it’d be a waste of time givin’ you a uniform,” Stens had commented archly. “Seamstresses charge an arm and a leg for ’em. And, for all we know you’ll get killed in your first engagement.”
Grudgingly, Stens had agreed to see if he could procure enough coloured cloth to have a uniform made for Dieter. In the meantime, the new recruit would have to do without.
It was a small matter, but to Dieter it was important. He would not truly feel like a member of the 3rd until he had a grey-and-scarlet uniform like the others.
“No doubt you are eager for action?” Gerhardt asked, intruding on his thoughts. Evidently, he had misread the reason for Dieter’s silence. “I wouldn’t worry. It could be we’ll see some tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Have more beastmen been spotted near the camp? Or orcs?”
“Not as such.” Gerhardt shook his head.
Around them, night was falling. They made their way through the sea of tents, guided by the torches set at regular intervals throughout the camp. It was Dieter’s first time with an army out on campaign, and he was struck by the plethora of sights, sounds and smells all around him.
He heard the hubbub of conversation, the harsh screech of whetstone on metal as blades were sharpened and armoured plates were scraped free of rust. He smelt the mouth-watering aromas of meat roasting on a spit over an open fire. He saw men of dozens of different types and regiments rubbing shoulders.
He saw spearmen, halberdiers, artillerists, handgunners, and archers. He saw learned engineers, haughty knights, cocksure pistoliers, grizzled outriders, swaggering free company adventurers and mercenary crossbowmen. He saw the entire panoply of a provincial army and its militia auxiliary, ready to go to war. He saw it all, and he felt a spark of pride to be part of it.
It was said the orcs worshipped gods in their own bestial image. Let their gods help them, for the men of the Empire would not.
“General von Nieder has ordered the entire army is to break camp tomorrow morning,” Gerhardt said. “We are to head further northwards. It seems like no one knows for sure, but the rumour is the orcs are about twenty leagues north of here.”
“So we are going north to find them, then?” Dieter’s voice was expectant. “We are going to bring them to battle?”
“That’s the plan,” Gerhardt nodded. “But first we have to break camp. It’s a thing that most people don’t realise, but an army is never more vulnerable than when they are about to leave a fortified position. Take this camp here, for example. It may only be a temporary encampment, but it has its own defences. If an enemy attacked now, they’d have to negotiate the outer pickets, not to mention facing an artillery barrage as they crossed the open ground to get to us. For the moment, we’re as snug as a tick nesting on a cow. But, come tomorrow, it’ll all be different. You see what I’m driving at?”
“You mean when we break camp we have to dismantle our defences?” Dieter said. He was not sure whether Gerhardt was trying to test him or teach him something.
“Exactly. And that makes us vulnerable. Imagine an enemy army is sitting somewhere nearby, watching this camp. The second they see us packing up the camp’s defences, they’d know that was the time to strike. With the whole army squeezed together in one place like this, we’d be an easy mark if it wasn’t for the pickets and artillery. So, that being the case, what would you do about it? It’s important you should learn this, because what’s true for an army also holds true for smaller groups of men. Well, young blood? What say you?”
“I’d say it’s important to send out scouts before the army breaks camp,” Dieter replied after he had considered the matter. “They’d comb the immediate area, making sure there aren’t any enemy forces nearby. That way, the army would know they could break camp in safety.”
“Good,” Gerhardt smiled. “In this case, the Scarlets have been given that duty. Some of the huntsmen that the army uses as scouts have reported seeing sign of goblin tracks in the woods to the west of here. From all accounts, General von Nieder doesn’t put much store in the huntsmen’s reports. But, to be on the safe side, we’ve been ordered to sweep the woods first thing in the morning, before the army breaks camp.”
Gerhardt paused, letting his words sink in before he continued.
“You’d better get an early night, young blood. We enter the woods at dawn. If you wanted action, that’s when you’ll find it.”
CHAPTER THREE
SOLDIER IN THE MISTS
The next morning was cold. In the uneasy half-light before dawn, Dieter found himself standing with the other men of the regiment, lined up facing the woods to the west of the camp.
A damp blanket of early morning mist hugged the earth, obscuring the outlines of the trees ahead. Once the sun rose and the day began in earnest the mist might well burn off, but in the meantime it was hard to see more than ten paces in any direction. Shivering, Dieter realised he had taken the heat of the last few weeks for granted. The weather had changed; summer had given way to autumn.
“I always used think this was the worst of it,” Gerhardt said quietly, from beside him. “These times when you find yourself standing, fidgeting at your sword, waiting for the command to get under way. You get used to it, though. Believe me, after fifteen years in the army you realise you can get used to anything.”
Given the bad light and the oppressive nature of the fog, it was hard to see too much of the soldiers around him. Idly, Dieter wondered how many of them felt the same sense of nervous apprehension.
Gerhardt was right: he did find this was the worst of it. Yesterday, when he faced the beastmen, it had been comparatively easy. There had been the threat of death, the exertion of a life-or-death struggle, but his actions had come to him automatically, ingrained by years of training with Helmut Schau and spurred on by the natural instinct to survive. Today, in the uncertain pre-dawn light, there was more time to think.
He had been introduced to many of his new comrades last night, before they bedded down. It was difficult to tell much after such a short acquaintance, but for the most part they had seemed welcoming enough. There was a natural reticence against being too friendly or too forthcoming; Helmut had warned him about that.
“Remember, you will be the new man,” Helmut had told him. “Don’t expect too much in the way of friendship when you first join the barracks. They will wait to get the measure of you first. One day, their lives may depend on you and your character. They’ll want to know what kind of man you are before they welcome you.”
In common with many other regiments in the army of Hochland, the 3rd was divided into a series of ten-man sub-units called files. Dieter had been assigned to the file commanded by Sergeant Bohlen, alongside Gerhardt, Rieger and Hoist. He had learned the names of the other men of the file were Kuranski, Breitmeyer, Rosen, Krug and Febel. It was hard to tell too much about them after such brief acquaintance, but Dieter supposed he would get to know each of them in time.
Behind them, lost in the mists, the rest of the camp was waking up. Dieter heard sounds drift towards him, muffled by the fog. There was the clatter of pans as the cooks saw to breakfast, the noise of voices as the sentries changed watch and orders were shouted back-and-forth.
Somewhere, Dieter heard a woman’s voice singing. A camp follower no doubt, giving voice to a sarcastic song as she taunted one or more of her lovers.
Oh sailors they get all the money,
Soldiers they get none but brass.
I do love a jolly sailor,
Soldiers they can kiss my arse.
The song raised a smile from Dieter, easing the mood of nervousness that had settled upon him. He realised it was a trick which might stand him in good stead in years to come. It was better to laugh and think thoughts of good humour, rather than dwell on his anxieties. Blinded by the fog, it was easy to fall prey to unreasoning fear.
Abruptly, he heard a rolling series of drumbeats. Captain Harkner had told the regimental drummer to give the sign
al to advance. Keeping pace with the other men around him, Dieter moved forward as the Scarlets entered the forest.
* * *
“Keep close,” Gerhardt had told him as they prepared for the expedition. “It’s your first time out and you haven’t drilled with us, so stay within sight of me, Hoist and Rieger. Follow what we do. As long as you’ve got one of us in view you’ll be all right.”
It was good advice, but Dieter quickly found it was easier said than done. From the moment they entered the forest, the mist seemed to swallow them.
Within a few paces, it was so thick the men around him were reduced to little more than amorphous silhouettes. He could no longer tell one from another, much less follow any particular shape and know it was Gerhardt, Hoist or Rieger. Instead, the most he could do was to stick close to one of the silhouettes and hope for the best.
The Scarlets had not entered the woods alone. A group of local huntsmen had been assigned to them as guides.
They reminded Dieter of the professional huntsmen he had known in his home village of Bromstadt: hard-faced, gimlet-eyed men in black cloaks, armed with bows. Such men could spend weeks at a time living in the deep forests, foraging to survive as they tracked their prey—whether that prey was wolves, bears, orcs or beastmen. Sometimes, if he possessed a particularly mercenary disposition, a huntsman might even hire on to track his fellow man—hunting fugitive criminals and bandits in return for a bounty.
There were four huntsmen in total with the Scarlets. Two of them had disappeared into the forest, scouting ahead of the expedition, while the other two accompanied the Scarlets to make sure they didn’t get lost.
Dieter only hoped the huntsmen knew the forest as well as they claimed. Otherwise, in the current conditions, far from scouting the area he had no doubt they could be wandering around it for days without ever finding anything.
It was hard to judge time surrounded by the mists, but by Dieter’s estimation several minutes passed before he noticed an unsettling development. From the first, the forest had been quiet. The Scarlets were under orders to move through the woods as stealthily as possible, but even so it had been possible to catch the break of twigs and crunch of leaves underfoot as the soldiers passed through the woodlands. Without any warning, Dieter suddenly realised he could no longer hear those sounds.
In its place, the forest was eerily quiet. Turning to the man silhouetted by the side of him, Dieter realised to his horror he was looking at a tree, its shape disguised enough by the mist that he had mistaken it for one of his comrades. Appalled, he scanned his surroundings and saw that none of the silhouettes around him were moving. With a sinking heart, it occurred to him that he was alone.
His first impulse was to cry out, but he remembered his orders were to maintain stealth. Stifling his cry, he considered his options.
He was no great huntsman, but he had lived his whole life in the country, giving him a wealth of skills to draw on. Cautiously, he moved to the nearest tree and rubbed his hand over the bark. Determining which side of the tree had moss on it allowed him to roughly estimate the compass direction. Coupled with the fact he knew the Scarlets were supposed to be moving north-west, he headed off in the same direction, reasoning he would likely cross their path sooner or later.
At the same time, the temptation to shout out in the hope of attracting his comrades’ attention was almost overwhelming. Resisting the impulse, Dieter reminded himself they had been sent into the woods to scout for greenskins. If any of the enemy were nearby, his call for help would draw them like crows to a carcass. Besides which, he was proud. It was his first duty with his new regiment, and he did not want it to be remembered as the time he got lost and endangered their mission. It was not in his character to accept such humiliation lightly.
Telling himself he would give it another quarter-league before he stopped and took stock of his situation, Dieter continued on. Wary of the fact he was on his own, he had drawn his sword. He moved carefully forward, his senses alert, listening intently for any sound which might give him warning either of the Scarlets’ presence or an enemy’s.
Spotting a bulky shape further ahead in the mists, Dieter altered his course to move closer toward it. Intrigued, he wondered as to its nature, until the mists suddenly parted for a split second revealing its identity.
It was a small hut, of the kind used by woodsmen, charcoal burners and others who made their living in the forest. A light was burning beneath the window shutters. Advancing to within hailing distance, Dieter briefly considered calling out to its inhabitants. Thinking better of it, he crept over to the front door.
Transferring his sword to his shield hand in a blade downward position, Dieter made ready to push the door open. It was another of the tricks his foster father Helmut had taught him. Rather than sheath his sword or discard his shield to open the door, he relied on his forearm to control the shield while his left hand held the sword, giving him a free hand to ease the door open quietly instead of kicking it down and alerting whoever was inside to his arrival. If trouble occurred, he could quickly swap the sword back to his right hand and take up the proper grip on his shield, ready for action.
Gently lifting the latch, he opened the door. Inside, he saw two men in the uniform of the Scarlets, standing with their backs to him. They were both hunched over a shape in the middle of the hut floor.
“You wouldn’t think her bones would be so strong,” one of them said, straining at something. “Wait a minute… I think I’ve got it…”
There was an audible crack, the sound nearly as loud as a gunshot in the cramped confines of the hut. Horrified, Dieter realised the two men were stooping over the body of an old woman, lying dead on the floor between them. Finishing his task, the one who had spoken started to straighten his knees. As his hands came up, Dieter saw he was holding a ring.
“There,” the man said, inspecting his prize. “The metal’s only pewter, but I’m pretty sure the stone is a garnet. Morr only knows how some old peasant woman ended up with a gem like that.”
He looked up and saw Dieter.
“Look sharp, Febel!” He stood suddenly. “We have company. Hmm, it’s the new young blood. What is his name?”
“Lanz,” the other man said, displaying a mouthful of blackened teeth in what Dieter could only guess was an attempt at a smile.
“Lanz. That’s it. Stupid name for a swordsman. With a name like that, you’d think he’d have joined a spear regiment.”
Having recovered from his initial shock, Dieter realised he recognised the two men. Their names were Krug and Febel. They were members of the same file as him, commanded by Sergeant Bohlen. Krug was the larger of the two: a gaunt man with a shaved head whose pock-marked face did little to make him look more appealing. Febel seemed inclined to stay in his shadow. A born follower and toady, his face had a rattish cast to it.
“Well, what’s the matter, young blood?” Krug said, taking a cautious step forward. “You don’t say much, do you? Cat got yours?”
“The old woman,” Dieter said. “What have you done to her?”
“Done?” Krug looked back at the body and shrugged. “We did nothing. The old bitch was dead when we got here. If you don’t believe me, you can see for yourself. Touch her cheek. You’ll see that she’s stone cold.”
“She probably dropped dead when she heard the orcs were coming,” Febel elaborated. “That’s what we thought, anyway. Either way, the place was picked pretty clean by the time we got here. You ask me, her family probably decided they couldn’t waste time burying her. They wouldn’t want to be around when the orcs get here. So they packed up, scarpered, and it was too bad for dear old granny—”
“Shut up, Febel,” Krug cut him off. “You’re talking too much. Before we stand here telling each other stories, I want to hear what the young blood thinks of things. I don’t like the look in his eye.”
The hut had been ransacked. Initially, Dieter had been distracted by the discovery of the corpse, but as he took in hi
s surroundings, it became clear to him that Krug and Febel had been busy. The hut’s meagre furnishings were in disarray. The bedsteads had been overturned and the bedding pulled open. In places, they had even ripped up the floorboards.
“You have destroyed this place,” he said. “You have smashed these people’s belongings. You defiled the old woman’s body. And for what?”
“About twenty pennies worth,” Febel said. Sensing Dieter’s anger, he had started to nervously back away. “Least, that’s what Krug reckons it comes to. It’s not too bad, but it could’ve been better. Sometimes, these peasants have real treasures hidden away. You’d be surprised what you find. I remember one time…”
“Shut up, Febel,” Krug growled. “He’s not looking for an inventory. Are you, young blood? You got that high and mighty look, like you’re about to take exception.”
“You are soldiers,” Dieter felt a rising fury grow inside him. “More than that, you are Scarlets. You are members of the 3rd. Yet, you stole from this poor woman. You destroyed her home. You acted like thieves or graverobbers!”
“Graverobbing’s a business same as any other,” Krug said. His expression darkened. “You’re awful full of yourself for someone who joined the army yesterday. You ain’t a captain, boy. Or a sergeant. You’re just a snot-nosed shit-dribbler with ideas above himself.”
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