“It has already been done, sir,” Sergeant Blake admitted. “A few years back, we was on campaign when our cook went and died. No one else in the company knew how to prepare a meal proper-like. It was not a fond experience.”
“Suffered a bit of intestinal disorder, did we?” Stiger chuckled.
“A bit, sir,” Blake said. “Just a bit.”
Seven
The camp was settling in for the night. The men had drilled and trained heavily over the past few days, showing vast improvement under the instruction of the officers and sergeants. The camp was coming together as well, now clearly resembling a fairly typical temporary company camp. The barn and farmhouse were fully habitable, having been cleaned out and thoroughly patched. The tree and brush line around the camp were also in the process of being cut back, receding further with each passing day. This provided plenty of firewood and kindling.
The scouts under Eli’s supervision had become very skilled in both hunting and trapping, not to mention more proficient at scouting. Their catch had included hog, deer, hare, pheasant, partridge, geese, duck and a number of other edible game. The men were eating well and it showed in both their physical activity and morale.
The fishermen had turned out to be quite skilled as well. Their catch, large-bellied trout, was drying on several hastily built stands near the far side of the barn. The fish would help supplement the regimen of salt pork, mush and hard bread for the march.
Stiger had made it a habit to move about the camp in the evening, stopping to speak and visit with his men. He had found that after a long, hard day’s work, they were more relaxed and willing to open up, if ever so slightly, to their commanding officer. It allowed him to sample their temper and needs. He felt that making such rounds also allowed his men to become better acquainted with their commanding officer. A few had even ventured to offer ideas—some good and some poorly thought out—on improving the encampment.
“A good officer listens to his men,” General Treim had told him. Stiger made a point of implementing the good ideas and making sure that those with the ideas got the credit for them.
Stiger had always been very perceptive when it came to reading others. Though no one else had dared ask about his back, he noticed that the men had been acting a tad more respectful. Yes, he had done a great deal to improve their lot since taking command, and yet … there was something more to it than that. He rather suspected that Eli had shared the story of his flogging with Lieutenant Ikely, who had then passed it along. The lieutenant had also been acting a bit differently, too. Sighing, he knew it mattered little. No one spoke of it, at least within his hearing, which he appreciated. The flogging was more of a personal embarrassment; a stinging slap to his pride and honor. One day, he fully intended to address the matter to his satisfaction. Until then, he would not speak of it. It was good that the men knew the story. If it earned him a bit of respect, he would take it.
Deep down, he felt they were all good men. In reality, he chose to believe each was a good man, though many were likely not. He would give them all the benefit of the doubt, until one or another proved otherwise, like Bennet. Likely, a number had been convicted of petty crimes and sentenced to a term with the legions. Some had more than likely joined for adventure or glory. Others had signed up to escape the desperate, crushing poverty, debt and city slums.
The legions promised a hard life in return for a pension and a plot of land upon retirement after twenty years. One acre was awarded for each year of service. Those veterans who signed up for an additional five years and completed twenty-five would receive fifty acres and a bonus to their pensions upon retirement. Whatever the reason for joining, all that really mattered to Stiger was what each man made of himself. Who they had been before was of no consequence. They were legionaries now, members of his company, and it was as simple as that.
Returning to the farmhouse, Stiger took a seat on his customary tree stump by the fire. Someone had thoughtfully kept the fire fed, and it crackled comfortably, smoke keeping away the bugs, which were few on this chill night. He pulled out his pipe and tapped it clean before filling it. Taking a small twig from a pile he had set aside for such a purpose, he lit the pipe. He puffed up the burn and took a moment to enjoy the rich, relaxing flavor of good old eastern tobacco.
The captain smoked, staring into the depths of the fire. Riding south, he and Eli had spent many a night before their campfire. Traveling south had been the first time in a long while that he had not had any real responsibility. It had almost seemed carefree, and he had enjoyed it. He glanced up at the night sky and sighed softly. He missed his evening conversations with his good friend. Without Eli, the evening fire was a lonely one.
Alone with his thoughts, the captain found himself thinking about his past. Stiger had been an officer in the legions for nearly a decade, and in that time he had seen more than his share of fighting. A number of good men had died under his command, for the battlefield was not a perfect place, and tough decisions often translated into blood, suffering and death. Even when he had done everything right, he had still lost men.
He preferred to think that in the scale of life, on balance, he had saved more than he had lost. It was not much, but it was some form of comfort. Ultimately, on nights like this, when he was alone with his thoughts, he was haunted by those whom he had lost.
Stiger pulled out his dispatch pad and put pencil to paper. He wrote out a brief update to both General Kromen and Colonel Karol on his progress with the company. Stiger had long since learned the value in keeping his commanders informed. Regular updates helped to minimize misunderstandings. Finished, he sealed the dispatch and tucked it, along with the pencil and pad, back into his tunic pocket. A messenger would deliver it in the morning.
Rising, Stiger threw two more logs onto the fire and then cleaned out his pipe, putting it away carefully. He could have slept in the farmhouse, but the night was cool and the ground thankfully dry. Though the farmhouse had a serviceable fireplace, tonight he would prefer to sleep under the stars, next to the fire, where it was warm. Retrieving his field blanket from the farmhouse, he arranged it on the ground and sat down. He removed his boots and made sure they were upright so that unwanted critters would have a more difficult time of crawling in. He rolled up a spare tunic to use as a pillow, then placed his dagger underneath it. He kept his sword within easy reach. With the fire crackling merrily, he lay down and was soon asleep.
“Sir,” Lieutenant Ikely nudged his captain gently. Stiger’s eyes snapped open, hand shooting for his sword, before he realized that it was his lieutenant. Alarmed, Ikely stood up and took a step back.
It was still dark. The moon was further down the sky, though Stiger felt as if he had just closed his eyes a few moments ago. A quick glance at the embers glowing in the remains of his fire told him a significant amount of time had passed. The large rocks placed around the edges of the fire still radiated heat. Sitting up, the captain rubbed at his eyes, driving the sleep away.
“Sorry to wake you, sir,” Ikely apologized, sounding grave.
“What is it?” Stiger asked bluntly, throwing a log on the fire and using a smaller one to stir the embers up. With luck, the log would catch and not require much more effort.
“Sergeant Ranl discovered one of the sentries asleep,” the lieutenant stated.
“Damn it,” Stiger cursed, angrily throwing the smaller log into the fire. He wasted no time in pulling his boots on. “He has the offender in custody?”
“Yes sir,” Ikely responded. “He placed the man under arrest and put another at his post.”
“All right,” Stiger growled, standing up. Catching a sentry asleep on post was bound to happen sometime. It was what Stiger would be forced to do to keep it from happening again that really bothered him. Sighing deeply, he belted on his sword. Better to set an example now than have it occur in the field. “Let’s go see the man.”
Lieutenant Ikely led the captain toward the other side of the camp, where the la
trines were located, behind the farmhouse. Most of the tents had been erected on the other side of the house, the front side of the camp. Since they did not have a proper stockade, they found the man sitting on the ground, between the two sergeants, who were verbally berating him. He looked miserable and afraid, especially when he saw Stiger. The sergeants stepped back. The legionary stood and came to a shaky attention. A bruise was forming around his left eye. One of the sergeants had clearly made a point with a fist.
“You fell asleep on watch,” Stiger said. It was not a question.
“Yes sir,” the legionary responded, voice trembling a little. The man was young. If Stiger had to guess, he would bet that the man had not been under arms for more than a year.
“What is your name?” Stiger asked coldly.
“Legionary Teg, sir,” the frightened man answered.
“The watch are the eyes and ears of the company. You realize that by falling asleep, you jeopardized not only your life, but the lives of the entire company?”
“Yes sir,” Teg said more firmly, coming to the realization that his own fate was now in the hands of his captain. A look of resolution crossed his youthful face. This impressed the captain. Teg might be worth something.
“Sorry, sir,” Teg stated firmly. “It won’t happen again, sir.”
“Damn right it will not happen again,” Stiger growled, getting in the legionary’s personal space. In the field, he could sentence a man to death for such an infraction. Teg and the sergeants knew this as well. All stood still, holding their breath, and wondering if the Stigers were as terrible as everyone said they were. The captain, however, was not in the habit of executing his men for petty infractions. Deep in enemy territory, it would not be so trivial. Regardless, such lapses could not be tolerated. “Five lashes, to be administered first thing in the morning, followed by punishment detail.”
Legionary Teg said nothing, but his shoulders sagged slightly in relief. The sergeants’ eyes also reflected relief. They had expected worse.
Stiger spared his legionary a last cold, hard look that said I expected better of you, before turning on his heel and stalking off. As Stiger made his way back to the farmhouse, he knew there would be no more sleep for him tonight. In the morning, he would have to watch someone flogged. Damn … damn … damn! How he hated the lash. Yet deep down he understood it was a necessary part of the legionary’s life. Without it, there would be no order.
As soon as the sun was up and before breakfast, Stiger had the company drawn up to witness the administration of punishment. The prisoner, without a tunic, was led to a tree in the center of the encampment. The tree was a lovely old oak that contrasted harshly with the ugliness that was about to happen. The tree had been spared by Eli, who, for some unknown reason, insisted it not be chopped down like all of the others. Stiger supposed Eli had felt some type of primal connection with the tree. Unfortunately, the lovely oak would now forever be known by the company as the punishment tree.
Legionary Teg was bound to the tree with rope. “This man fell asleep on watch,” Stiger said, loud enough for all to hear. “He has admitted his guilt. His breach put all of us at risk. In a few days’ time, we march. Where matters little. What you need to know is that we are marching into hostile territory. Should a sentry fall asleep at the wrong moment, we will all be in dire peril. Such lapses will not be tolerated! I have ordered five lashes, followed by punishment detail. Sergeant Ranl?”
“Sir,” the sergeant responded, turning to face the captain. He was standing a couple of feet behind the judged man, holding the implement of punishment, a short, yet vicious judicial whip. Sergeant Blake stood off to the side. He had just given Teg a small piece of wood to bite down on.
“Sergeant Blake?” Stiger asked harshly.
“I stand ready, sir,” Blake replied with a grim look.
“You may administer punishment,” the captain ordered harshly, hating himself even as he spoke the words.
“One!” Blake thundered, and Ranl let the wicked-looking judicial whip fly.
Crack! The whip sounded loudly across the near-silent camp. Teg said nothing, but tensed as the strike landed, trying with all his might to keep from crying out. The whip drew a thin red line of blood across the legionary’s bare back.
“Two!” Another vicious crack, followed by a second red line across the man’s back. Stiger kept his gaze unwavering, fixed on the legionary. He mentally recoiled with each crack of the whip, recalling his own punishment as if it had occurred yesterday. He could almost feel the searing pain that accompanied each crack, until there was only numbness.
“Three!” The legionary issued a groan, but did not cry out.
“Four!” Another groan. Legionary Teg embraced the tree tightly, knuckles turning white.
“Five!” An anguished groan, followed by a short sob, came from Teg.
“Punishment has been administered, sir,” Ranl said, turning to face the captain. Some blood had spattered across his face.
“Cut him down and see to his wounds,” Stiger ordered, thoroughly sick to his stomach. “Lieutenant Ikely, dismiss the company.”
“Company dismissed!” Lieutenant Ikely shouted, as the sergeants cut Teg down. The company was too small to rate a surgeon, but they had a surgeon’s mate. Teg was helped and forced to lie down on his stomach as his wounds were attended to.
Stiger watched for a moment more, then turned and walked back to the farmhouse, where he wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
***
“A pleasure to see you again,” Captain Handi said pleasantly, flashing a radiant smile filled with teeth that seemed a little too perfect. Handi’s eyes betrayed his true feelings, though. The man dismounted, handing his reins to Sergeant Ranl, as though the sergeant were a mere stable boy and beneath notice.
Stiger said nothing as he took the captain’s offered hand. The handshake was weak. Stiger had encountered men like Handi before. Foppish, phony and filled with ambition. He disliked such men intensely, as they tended to use and abuse their power with little regard for the consequences other than in relation to themselves. In Stiger’s experience, such men typically thrived under weak or ineffectual commanding officers.
“So nice to get away from the dreary day-to-day life in the encampment,” Captain Handi exclaimed, taking a deep breath of fresh air while making an exaggerated show of glancing around the camp. “I just love occasionally getting out into the country.”
Handi turned back to face Stiger, flashing another very false smile. Stiger had already tired of the man’s game, though he was careful not to let it show. He had little interest in useless people. Still, he had to permit this charade to play out. There was a reason Captain Handi had come out, and it was not for pleasure.
“Captain Stiger, I must say I am deeply impressed,” Handi said, gesturing around expansively at the camp. “You have been busy, haven’t you?”
“The men have worked hard,” Stiger responded neutrally. He was not sure why the staff captain was paying him a visit.
“Well … if you must play at war,” Captain Handi responded, “then I don’t see why your men should not bend their backs and make it look good for you.”
“I can assure you, sir,” Stiger bristled, taking umbrage at Handi’s implication, “I do not play at war.”
“A jest poorly delivered,” Captain Handi soothed, laying a calming hand briefly on Stiger’s shoulder. “I offer apology for any perceived insult.”
Stiger frowned. He fairly itched to rearrange those perfect teeth. The supposed jest was only cover, of which Captain Handi had not actually apologized. He had only offered apology on a perceived insult, not the actual insult that had been delivered.
Technically Stiger could seek satisfaction. Though dueling was rare among legionary officers, it was not an unknown occurrence. The problem with dueling was that the commanding generals typically frowned very aggressively upon the practice. Stiger suspected that Captain Handi was counting on this to effective
ly tie Stiger’s hands. Frustrated, Stiger looked beyond the staff captain, who turned to see where the infantry captain was looking.
Handi had brought a troop of cavalry as a personal escort, which was clattering across the makeshift bridge and into the camp. Stiger recognized the cavalry lieutenant as the one who had been escorting the wagon train out of the main legionary encampment on the day of his arrival.
Captain Handi was his enemy, of that Stiger was confident. What he wasn’t sure of was the cavalry lieutenant. Was he an ally of Handi’s? Or had he had been brought along as a simple escort for the pompous fool? The lieutenant dismounted and handed his reigns to one of his men, who remained mounted. Stiger noticed the lieutenant was looking around with ill-feigned interest at the camp. Though fairly young, he carried himself erect and proud. He did not seem the type of man to lick anyone’s boots to curry favor. But how one looked did not determine how one behaved, Stiger knew.
“Lieutenant,” Stiger directed himself toward the cavalry officer, stepping around Handi. Stiger’s intention was to provoke a response from the staff captain. What would Handi do when he was no longer the center of attention? He extended a hand. “Lieutenant Lan, isn’t it?”
“Why yes, sir.” The lieutenant shook Stiger’s hand, which was firmer than that of the man he had been sent to escort. He seemed surprised that Stiger had remembered him. “Yes … we met outside of the encampment.”
“Lieutenant,” Captain Handi interjected himself. He shot an irritated look at Lan. “Please see to your men. Captain Stiger and I have important matters to discuss.”
“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Lan said stiffly. He turned away from Stiger with a slight frown of irritation. It seemed the lieutenant was no friend of the staff captain’s.
“Sergeant,” Stiger directed to Ranl, who was still holding the reigns of Handi’s horse. “After you attend to the captain’s horse, please see that the lieutenant and his men get some grub. It seems Captain Handi and I have pressing matters to attend to.”
Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) Page 9
