“You are wrong, Rieger,” Hoist said, continuing the discussion, though more
quietly out of respect for the others. “There’s no way I’d kick the bastard’s
arse from here to Hergig. It would involve too much walking, and Sigmar knows
I’ve had enough of that ever since I joined the damn army. I was actually
thinking, if I ever meet that recruiter again, I’d tie him behind a pair of wild
horses and let them drag him to death. Or, maybe, I throw him into a latrine pit
with some rabid rats and see who comes out alive. Of course, then I’d need to
find some rats, or wild horses for that matter. Perhaps I’d just kick him in the
balls. It’s not as permanent. But it is a more immediate solution, and it
requires less effort.”
“So speaks a great philosopher,” Rieger yawned tiredly. “What about you,
Dieter? Admittedly, you actually sought out army life, rather than being tricked
into it by a recruiter. Do you regret joining the army now? Well? You’re very
quiet. Orc got your tongue?”
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening,” Dieter said. “I was looking at the moon. At
Mannslieb.”
“The moon?” Hoist grunted. “What about it? It’s still there, isn’t it?”
Their interest piqued, Hoist and Rieger joined Dieter in looking up at the
heavens.
There was no sign of the second moon, Morrslieb, in the night sky. Instead,
its brother Mannslieb held the heavens to itself. The moon was full. It hung in
the inky blackness of the northern sky, broad and beaming, its light brilliant
and white.
“Yes, it’s still there,” Hoist snorted. “I know you’re a country boy, Dieter.
But really, there’s not that much of interest to be seen in old Mannslieb is
there? Or are you about to tell us you’ve read our futures in the movements of
the celestial bodies? If so, I hope it involves some warm food, good beer and
women of easy virtue. Ideally, sooner rather than later. At least for the food
and beer, anyway. It’s so cold out tonight, if a woman came by—no matter what
the state of her virtue—I’m not sure there’d be much I could do about it.”
“Actually, I was just struck by how bright the moon is tonight,” Dieter said.
“It’s the first moon after the autumn equinox—Mittherbst has been and gone. I
guess that makes it the hunter’s moon.”
“Hunter’s moon?” Rieger’s voice sounded a quizzical note. “I’m not sure it’s
an expression I’ve heard before.”
“It’s what people call the first full moon after Mittherbst. The brightest
full moon of Mannslieb always comes just before Mittherbst. They call it harvest
moon because it’s the signal to begin harvesting the crops from the fields. The
moon
after
Mittherbst is called hunter’s moon. It’s the second brightest
moon of the year. By then, the crops are all harvested and put away for winter.
In the country, the men of the village make use of their time to go hunting.
Wild game is abundant in autumn, and the light of the moon gives them plenty of
light to hunt by at night.”
“Hunter’s moon, eh?” Rieger said. “I can’t say I like the sound of it. It
seems too ironic, given our current situation.”
“Ironic?” Dieter was perplexed. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean, you’ve just told us this is the time of year for hunting,” Rieger
replied. “You said the bright moon makes it easier to hunt by night. The irony
of your words didn’t occur to you? Right now, we are the ones being hunted,
Dieter. We are the prey. If your hunter’s moon is going to help anyone, it will
help the greenskins who are pursuing us.”
“Oh…” Briefly, Dieter was silent. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that.”
“Yes, well, no harm done,” Rieger shrugged. “A word to the wise, though. I
wouldn’t go sharing the fact with any other men in the regiment. The situation
is dire enough, without you telling them things are worse than they think. I’d
keep your own counsel on the moon and what it means. Anyway, get some sleep. I
know it’s cold, and the ground is hard. But we’ll be off again tomorrow at dawn.
Better to get some rest while we can.”
He couldn’t sleep. At least, not then.
Eventually, despairing of the cold, Dieter decided to get up and walk around
in the hope the movement would get the blood flowing and bring some warmth back
to his limbs. Bundling his cloak around him against the chill night air, he
stood up and picked his way through the sleeping bodies of his comrades.
Nodding in greeting to the men on sentry duty as he passed them, Dieter
decided to use the fact he was awake to check on Kuranski.
The injured soldier’s condition had grown worse over the last two days. No
one discussed it aloud, but the general consensus was the man was dying. The
wound on his leg had turned gangrenous. The best efforts of the man’s comrades
to keep the wound clean and regularly change his dressings had achieved little
effect. Increasingly, it looked like the amputation of his leg was Kuranski’s
only hope for survival. None among the Scarlets possessed the necessary skill to
perform such an operation—at least not with any realistic chance of success.
They all knew therefore, before it came to hacking off Kuranski’s leg, the man
would have to be as good as dead already and lacking any other option.
In the meantime, his comrades took turns caring for him. To Dieter, it seemed
to speak well of the Scarlets, and the sense of brotherhood between them, that
they were willing to do so much for one of their wounded fellows. Ready to do
his bit, he decided he would offer to replace whichever of the Scarlets was
currently nursing Kuranski. It seemed the least he could do: since he could not
sleep himself, it made sense that another man was able to sleep in his stead.
The Scarlets had placed Kuranski on the southern side of their makeshift
encampment, within the shelter of an old oak whose bulk would serve to hold off
the worst of the weather if it rained. Using the bright moonlight to guide him,
Dieter headed for the oak.
As he came within sight of it, he saw Kuranski lying in the shadow of the
tree. The dark shape of a man was crouched beside him, leaning over the sleeping
figure. Thinking it was one of his comrades on nursemaid duty, ministering to
Kuranski’s wounds, Dieter called out softly to him.
“Hallo. It’s Dieter. I thought I’d relieve you for a while, let you get some
sleep.”
The nursemaid started at the sound of Dieter’s voice. Startled, the man
turned to look back over his shoulder.
It was Krug. He had a guilty expression on his face, as though he had been
discovered unexpectedly in the midst of a crime. In the moonlight, Dieter saw
that Krug had a balled-up piece of cloth in his hand. He had been holding it
over Kuranski’s face, pressing it down over the unconscious man’s mouth.
Horrified, Dieter realised he had caught Krug in the middle of trying to
choke Kuranski. Drawing his sword, he charged over and tried to kick Krug away
from the wounded man. But Krug was faster. Darting out of the way of Dieter’s
kick, he dropped the cloth and drew his own sword.
The two men faced each other, steel glinting in the moonlight.
“You were trying to murder him!” Dieter accused Krug, appalled. “You
bastard!”
Krug’s only response was a venomous smile. Provoked beyond endurance, Dieter
stepped forward and slashed out with his sword. Krug parried the blow, the sound
of clashing steel seeming almost deafening amid the silence of the sleeping
camp.
“So, what of it?” Krug sneered at him, his voice barely above a whisper.
“What use is he? He’s like a lame animal, country boy. You’d kill a dog after it
went lame, wouldn’t you? I was just doing Kuranski the same favour. He was
slowing us up anyway.”
“I think you do it because you like it,” Dieter said angrily. “You’re a
monster.”
“And you’re a fool.” Krug’s smile widened. “You know, you should really be
more careful of your flank if you want to be a soldier, country boy.”
Suddenly, Krug snapped a glance over Dieter’s shoulder and called out as if
speaking to someone standing there.
“Well? You have a knife, Febel. Use it. Stick the bastard.”
It was a trick, but Dieter was wise to it. Even as Krug suddenly charged
forward, hoping his words had unsettled his opponent, Dieter was ready for him.
Among Helmut Schau’s many lessons, he had taught Dieter to make maximum use of
his hearing and peripheral vision to keep aware of his surroundings.
“Remember, a battle goes on all around you,” Helmut had said. “It’s not just
the enemy you are facing you have to worry about. There’s also the enemy behind
you, and the one to your flanks. Keep your ears open, use your eyes fully, don’t
let yourself become too focused on the man standing in front of you. Stay aware
of all that’s going on around you. Do that, and after a while it’s like you’ve
got a sixth sense. You won’t have to ask yourself if there’s a man behind you.
You’ll know when he’s there, or you’ll know when he
isn’t.”
As ever, Dieter always tried to put Helmut’s good advice into practice. He
did not need to glance behind him to know there was no one standing there ready
to ambush him.
As Krug charged forward, Dieter raised his blade to parry the clumsy thrust
of the other man’s sword. Taking inspiration from a manoeuvre he had seen Hoist
use in battle, he let Krug’s momentum bring them face to face. Then, as their
swords locked and Krug struggled to free his blade, Dieter head-butted his
opponent across the bridge of his nose.
Blood spurting from his broken nose, Krug fell backwards onto the ground.
Despite the shock of the impact, Krug had managed to keep a grip on his sword,
but as he looked around him it was clear he was at a disadvantage.
Dieter loomed over him. Cautiously staying outside the reach of Krug’s sword,
he raised his own weapon and made ready to charge forward to administer the
killing thrust.
“Wait!” Krug held up his hand in a warding gesture. He lifted his face to
look at Dieter and begged for his life. “Whatever you think of me, we are
members of the same regiment. We are Scarlets. We are comrades. Please. You
can’t just kill me…”
Distracted, Dieter hesitated. Around them, the rest of the regiment was
stirring, roused from sleep by the sound of the fight. Abruptly, it occurred to
Dieter that if he ran Krug through it might seem to the others he had murdered
him. Dieter would have nothing to support his story that Krug had tried to kill
Kuranski.
Reading Dieter’s hesitation as weakness, Krug’s face took on a crafty gleam.
Before Dieter could stop him, he began to call out loudly.
“Help! Murder! Someone please help me! He’s trying to kill Kuranski!”
Within moments, the sentries had raced onto the scene. The rest of the
Scarlets soon followed them. Dieter found himself surrounded, his sword pulled
from his hand, as men rushed forward to interpose themselves between him and
Krug.
“What in the name of Sigmar’s holy arse is going on here?” Sergeant Bohlen
roared as he arrived onto the scene.
“It was the young blood!” Krug said, as the assembled men tried to hold him
and Dieter back from each other. “He’s gone mad! I found him trying to smother
Kuranski! Then, when I tried to stop him, he attacked!”
“He’s a liar!” Dieter yelled, pushing against the hands of the men who held
him back. “He’s the one who was trying to murder Kuranski! I stopped him!”
“Shut up, both of you!” Bohlen growled. “Before we go any further with this,
has anyone thought to check the supposed victim?”
“I did,” Gerhardt said. While everyone else’s attention was on the fight, he
had knelt down beside Kuranski. He stood back up and turned to Bohlen.
“He’s still breathing, but he’s unconscious. I can’t rouse him. Whether
that’s because of his fever, or because someone tried to choke him, I don’t
know. But I found this lying on the ground beside him.”
He held out the balled-up cloth.
“Yes, that’s it!” Krug shouted. “That’s the cloth I saw in the young blood’s
hands. He was trying to force it into Kuranski’s mouth while he held his nose
shut with his fingers.”
“Liar!” Dieter yelled, pushing even more fervently against the hands that
restrained him.
It occurred to him abruptly that he had no way of proving his story. It was
his word against Krug’s.
To make matters worse, Krug was a polished liar. Dieter suspected it was
proof his opponent had been in such situations before, but Krug was so
convincing in his story that Dieter would have been tempted to believe him
himself if he hadn’t known better.
“You see how he keeps going for me,” Krug said, insidiously. “That’s what he
was like before. I tell you he’s a madman.”
“Pushing a cloth into the mouth while holding the nose shut is an old
bodysnatcher’s trick, isn’t it?” Rieger said, pushing his way through the crowd
of gathered soldiers. “I hear they kill people that way because it doesn’t leave
marks. And you have already argued that Kuranski should be ‘put out of his
misery’. You can’t deny that, Krug. Everyone heard you.”
He cast a significant glance at Krug, who glowered back at him in silence.
“I don’t care who did what, or how they did it, or what they did it with,”
Sergeant Bohlen said at last. “In case no one noticed, we are up against it. We
are on our own. For all we know the greenskins are on our trail. They could
attack tomorrow. They may even attack tonight. That being the case, I don’t have
the time to pick over the bones of your squabbles. I don’t care which one of you
is guilty. I don’t care which one is innocent.”
He let the point sink in. Then, he continued.
“We don’t have time for private duels. With the greenskins breathing down our
necks, I need every man I’ve got. That means you two don’t get to kill each
other—no matter how much you want to. Try it again and I’ll have you both
executed for breach of discipline in a time of war. You’ll be hung from the
nearest tree branch, and I’ll make sure there’s not enough slack in the rope to
break your necks. You’ll die slow, your feet kicking in the air. You understand
me?”