“Our rifle fire must be quick and accurate, capitán, Diego added. “It is essential to take out as many of the enemy as we can before boarding so that we have less to face once we cross over.”
Heinrich and Otto listened and nodded in assent of what the two battle-hardened warriors were recommending.
“It seems your plan is critically dependent on timing; to quickly take out as many targets possible before committing the boarding units. That tells me your boarders will highly benefit from the rehearsed simulations,” Otto said out loud what he was thinking.
“That is exactly what Diego and I want to discuss with you,” said Reiner. Success in battle can be attributed to a combination of training, execution, and luck. Yes, luck, because we cannot plan for any unknown factors. We cannot control the luck, but we can train and execute according to plan. Keep in mind, no matter how well one strategizes, when it comes to the actual fight, most plans fall apart as soon as they start. But the more we train, the more things are done from reflex action. And I have said before and cannot state enough, that men with stronger wills to succeed, generally will win over men who do not.”
“That means men with much to lose, will fight more aggressively, Reiner,” remarked Heinrich.
“Ja, captain, that makes sense. We will train hard and often, trying to make what we must do in a fight second nature as best as we can.”
“Si, the most difficult trait to instill is determination. To put your heart into the fight,” Diego added.
“That is correct,” Reiner said. “I was trained in the art of swordsmanship in my youth. As the years went by, I became very talented in the use of them. But it wasn’t until my first duel that I proved to myself I had the capability to spill someone else’s blood without becoming mentally impaired. Fighting uses both physical and mental skills. One must have the ability to endure the mental anguish that comes with combat. What I am saying is until a man has shed first blood, he is clueless about how he will actually perform. He will have to prove this only to himself.”
“You … you killed your first man in a duel, Reiner,” Otto stated more than meaning it as a question. “May I ask the circumstances of it?”
“If you mean was the duel my choice; it was not. Do not get me wrong, Herren. I did not and do not crave a fight. It was forced upon me. In fact, I try my best to avert a fight before it starts. I was seventeen years of age when I accompanied my father on a visit to a close business friend in France. We were traveling to Paris by horse from our estate near Stuttgart. We were less than a day from our destination but decided to spend the night at a country tavern because it would be dark soon. My father and I took an early supper and as we were eating, four members of the Royal Garde du Corps came into the tavern. The Garde du Corps serves the King’s family and high dignitaries. They carry themselves proudly as is their right.
“During the meal, my father and I noticed them intently glancing in our direction, perhaps because we were foreigners and part of their job is to scrutinize for security purposes. After some time went by, one of them strolled to our table and spilled his drink on me as if it was accidental. Although I had been taught to think before speaking, alas, I was young and reacted instinctively, calling him an idiot. Foolishly, I allowed myself to be baited and fall into his trap. While his three friends looked on, the royal soldier verbally assaulted me with a wild tirade. My wise father instantly and profusely apologized to him for my mistake and tried to make light of the incident. The mule-headed soldier wouldn’t back down and struck me across the face with his gloves challenging me to a duel.
“My father was thunderstruck at the situation and explained exhaustively to the culprit, ‘My son was rash. Monsieur, he is only seventeen and did not mean what he said. It was simply in response to being surprised by the drink spilled on him. Please accept my deepest and most profound apology. I promise I will have a serious discussion with my son and set him straight.’”
Reiner paused for a moment, recalling the incident that had happened such a long time ago. Each time he remembered, it pained him deeply. How many times had he played out different scenarios, all with hope of happier endings, but always having to accept the reality of his fate? He bit his lower lip as he reflected on the incident that had changed his life so drastically.
Heinrich, Otto, and Diego sat spellbound. Reiner realized they were waiting for him to go on. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“The royal guardsman had no intention of accepting my father’s apology. The soldier instead turned around and faced me, eyeing the rapier at my belt. My father and I were armed, as is common for those traveling.
“He said, ‘I will not have you hide behind your father’s apology! If you’re old enough to wear such a superb weapon, then I fully expect you, not your father, to handle your own fights. There is no excuse to call one of the King’s Royal Guards an idiot and expect to leave it at that. You wretched Germans do not know how to act like guests in a foreign country, especially in France. We do not take lightly, monsieur, your outrageous attitude in addressing a Royal Guard with such harsh language. You shall pay dearly for your infraction, you young fool. Now I expect you to – “
“‘Please, monsieur, I beg you to reconsider …’ my father pleaded.
“‘That is enough, old man! I am of the mind to teach you a lesson after I deal with your degenerate son. You should have taught him better manners.’ He turned from father to son, ‘Now young one with the unruly mouth, get up and at least act like a grown man if you are so quick in disrespecting one.”
“I felt so horribly ashamed for forcing my father to step in and apologize in my stead. My father was a German Baron and highly respected for his leadership as well as his mastery of weapons.” Reiner paused; he was having a hard time suppressing his emotions. “I also felt terribly guilty for putting my father in this predicament. Although he was a man of vast fighting skills, he was foremost a peaceful man who made a point to avoid contention with others. It was covered in my first self-defense lesson – avoidance; always avoidance.
“I hated to see my father pleading with this unmerciful pig of a man. My initial anguish began to turn to anger rapidly. I looked at the insolent bastard and saw his contempt. Instantly my temper raged towards this despicable excuse for a soldier, especially one that was supposed to be a man of solid repute in the service of the Royal Guard. Then my anger turned into fierce and resolute hatred. I leaped up. My father immediately saw the change in me. He knew the situation was beyond recovery. Without a doubt, there was dread in my poor father’s heart. The menacing Royal Guard stood his ground. He was wearing a smug look thinking he successfully contrived an easy duel with an angry young man, and indeed he was right.
“‘As you wish! And do not talk down to my father with such disrespect.’ I said harshly, which made his jaw tighten with rage and I am certain that I even heard his teeth grind together.
“‘You arrogant young pup! You do not tell me what to do. I will meet you outside in five minutes. If you decide to run out of fear, my fellow Royal Guards and I will pursue you and your father and hunt you down like the wild swine you are!’
“He strode off after waving over his three peers, and they all went outside. My father had his face in his hands; he was experiencing intense regret. I just sat there not knowing what to say. But after a moment he got to his feet and straightened the sash running diagonally across his chest, which hid two pistols. He then looked at me with gentle eyes that expressed his love. Then, in a heartbeat I witnessed those same eyes glare with savagery. He put his hands on my shoulders and said to me, ‘Son, your only thoughts until this is over – and it will be over soon – should be total concentration. Remember what you have been taught. Do not deviate from your training. Do not let up your guard. Watch his weak hand carefully, which you know will not be weak at all; it will be holding a dagger. And do not give him any quarter! I will have your back; I will never forsake you. We will stand and fight together. Do I m
ake myself clear?’
“‘Ja, Vater. I will not let you down.’
“‘Gut, let us go together then.’
“That was all he said to me before we stepped out the door and to a duel to the death.”
Heinrich queried, “How do you know it would be a duel to the death, Reiner?”
Reiner looked straight at Heinrich, “If you were there and felt the tension and the pent-up emotion, you would know that someone was going to meet the thereafter. It was not a gentlemen’s duel; it was a setup from the start. Royal Guards; supposedly professional men chosen for their loyalty as much as their integrity, came to a little tavern and within the span of minutes chose to reap havoc on two total strangers. In any case, we stepped outside in the early evening hour. The sun was low and cast long shadows in the brilliant western sky. I remember it so vividly as if it were yesterday.
“To our right stood the arrogant Royal Guard; he had taken off his hat and had cuffed his sleeves to just below his elbow. The other three were evenly spaced, strategically spread out, facing the tavern, and blocked all exits, which did not surprise either my father or me. My father and I carefully prepared for battle. We put our hats on top of a barrel along with our coats, pistols, and both of us secured our sleeves. By now all four Royal Guards were warily watching us.
“’What the hell are you doing old man?’ The hatless Royal Guard asked curiously. ‘I am dueling with your son. Now if you want some of the same after I am done with him that will be fine with me, but just wait your turn.’
“‘If you expect me to take your word that you only have my son in mind, you are quite an ignorant lot. You, monsieur, are nothing but a conniving jackal and not worthy to wear the attire of a Royal Guard. And if you other three are standing with this fanciful clod, you share my same sentiment.’
“‘You dare speak to the King’s Royal Guards in that tone?’ Spat out the hatless Royal Guard. ‘You will both regret -’
“‘Non!’ my father’s voice thundered. ‘You will regret that you ever came to this tavern tonight. But it won’t be a very long-lived regret, I assure you, for your blood will flow out of your veins and spill to the ground too fast for you to contemplate your fate.’
“‘You will pay for those words, monsieur.’
“‘The only thing I will pay for is the dubious reputation I will acquire after having spilled the blood of the King’s trusted Royal Guards. And you, monsieur, will pay with your life. Now enough of your sniffling attitude; you either ride out of here this minute and leave my son and me in peace or shut your blathering mouth and put up your sword.’
“With a snort, the hatless Guard moved in our direction, weapon up. His face was red as a beet from the furious state he was in, which, I should mention, my father purposely instigated to provide me an edge over this opponent. My father taught me that a large part of a fight is mental attitude. One must entirely focus on the fight or else face the consequence – death.
“By this time, two of the other Guards had shed their coats and pulled out their rapiers and were preparing to fight as well. So much for the gentlemen’s duel that was to take place between the one Guard and me. But then, they had already shown their true colors. I quickly stepped to my right, my back to the tavern, so that all of them were facing my father and me. It was no surprise that they wanted to trap us, which was to their advantage. I faced the lone swordsman, and my father faced the other two. A simple step to my right had countered that placement. My body felt limber and ready. I had no doubt that my father was just as prepared. I could see him from the corner of my eye. The fourth Royal Guard had yet to move from his original spot, and I wondered why; what was his motive? With the three of them ready to strike, I ordered my mind to focus. We squared off. Adrenaline pumped through my entire body, but my mind was sharply riveted on the threat before us. I was trembling, and I commanded myself to stay calm for it could make the difference between living and dying. I instinctively went into my fighting stance.
“‘Steady, son,’ Father calmly asserted. ‘Don’t let the so-called legendary Royal Guard moniker phase you. Make every maneuver count, just as you’ve been doing for the last fourteen years, and you’ll be fine.’
“Not only were his words soothing to my ear, I saw the stunned expressions from our three opponents when they heard him say ‘fourteen years,’ which was unbelievable to them.
“‘No way, monsieur. You exaggerate the number of years. Ha, you take us for fools,’ remarked one of the other two.
“‘You have already proven yourself as fools,’ countered my father. ‘Reiner von Mannheim has more years of swordsmanship than any of you. You will soon see for yourselves, just as the swordsmen he beat in tournaments experienced his expertise.’
“Father had all three of them pondering his words. That was all the edge my father needed; his feet moved as fast as lighting while his rapier quickly lashed out at the fellow on his left, who stepped back just in time to clear the lunge of the blade, but in mid-stroke the blade suddenly changed directions; just a slight angle, and pierced the thigh of the swordsman on his right. The man gave out a sharp yelp much like a dog stung by a wasp. The insulted Guard now seeped blood. I used the moment to strike with a quick lunge, though barely ready, he took it deftly on the forte near the hilt and parried my strike. He was however caught by surprise and was not in a position to reciprocate, and I stepped back, setting up once again.
“Keep in mind that sword fighting is about the simplicity of one’s motion and timing of one’s strike. Basic techniques are at play in a duel; proper footwork, blade work, and timing. Over time a swordsman gradually personalizes his fighting style, almost without thought. It is usually a very slight adaption of the fundamentals. A master swordsman can pick up these differences by watching his opponent’s blade placement, attacks, and feints.
“To establish an opening, I threw a feint directly to his rapier, and then slid off his blade and lunged deeper, sliding my leading foot forward, and was able to partially penetrate his chest. It was, however, shallow and although the blade point had pricked him, he retreated out of reach and set himself up once more.
“After several thrusts, evasive moves and a few parries, the sword prick was spurting blood, indicating the blade actually had done more damage than I initially thought. Having noticed this himself, he strove even harder to put an end to the fight before he succumbed to loss of blood. Several times he used his left hand that held his dagger to stem the flow. This gave me an advantage, which I quickly sought to capitalize on. I intensified my attack, attempting to sustain the upper hand. I was now fully in my fighting element, and I felt my confidence building.
“The thought of facing masterful Royal Guards had long been put out of my mind. I was asserting my skills with ruthless determination. My fighting instincts took over, and I drove my opponent further back with a series of lightning-fast lunges. We continued our composed attacks of feinting, deceiving and lunging back and forth. His skill at sword-fighting was indeed quite proficient, but he was definitely on the defensive, with mainly counter parries.
My thrusts either came up short or were still evaded, but I could tell he was exhausting himself and he was beginning to struggle with the intensity. I, on the other hand, was feeling fine. I kept myself in fabulous physical shape. With my young age, my energy level was high, and I knew, that it wouldn’t peak for some time.”
Reiner paused, grabbed his cup from the desk, and took a swallow; his mouth and throat were parched. The other three men sat still, fully engrossed in his story, and stayed absolutely quiet. Reiner rose and continued his story as he slowly paced back and forth and moving his arms about as if had the sword in hand, reliving the fight.
“Opportunity, even though marginal, shows itself in any fight. Sometimes, it only takes the slightest edge to overcome one’s opponent. This is what I had to exploit. I had not given my opponent any quarter since the start of the fight, and I did not intend to. I heard one of the men fighting
my father call out to the fourth man who had not joined the action.
“‘Claude, what are you waiting for? Get in here and help us.’
“‘Does it take four Royal Guards to brawl with an old man and a boy?’ remarked the fourth Guard. ‘I find your plight rather amusing. I believe you three have chosen the wrong people to tangle with.’
“‘You coward! What kind of friend are you?’
“‘One that has no taste for bullying innocent strangers. You are on your own.’
“The wounded one then said, ‘We will settle up with you afterward,’ with menace in his voice.
“‘I will be waiting, but I regret that the outcome may not be to your advantage.’
“My father was holding his own against the two attackers with masterful moves that kept them at bay – for the moment. I realized that his ability to keep up, even though one of his opponents was impaired, would soon deplete my father’s energy. Before that happened, I knew I must quickly put my opponent out of action and come to his aid. I drove into the Guard with extra zeal. Then one thrust pieced deep into his left shoulder that momentarily froze up his body as his nervous system reacted to his injury. It gave me the break I needed to finish him off. With youthful quickness, three straight thrusts in rapid succession followed; one into his rib cage, the next to his heart, and the final one through the middle of his neck. His body went limp, and he collapsed to the ground. I believe he was dead before he hit the ground. Pivoting to the left put me at a ninety-degree angle to the others. I flanked them, closest to the one wounded in the thigh. I did not hesitate; I charged in a few steps and drove the point into his side. He gasped and stumbled, and my blade pierced him again, this time higher deep into the chest. The man dropped his sword and dropped into the dirt, his muscles went into spasms, blood formed on his mouth in bubbles, and then his body became still. I readied to launch at the last man, but my father barked out with a booming voice, ‘This one is mine, son. I will finish him off myself. Stand aside.’
Winds of Fury Page 23
