“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.”
Krug took a step forward. He stared at Dieter menacingly.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stand off—right now. I was in the
army when you were still sucking greedy at your bitch-mother’s teat. You don’t
want to make me an enemy, boy.”
“I killed at least six beastmen yesterday,” Dieter told him. “Not one of them
was as ugly as you are. They smelled better, too.”
Without realising it, he had swapped his sword over to his right hand. Now,
he saw Krug unsheath his own sword.
“I warned you, boy,” Krug said. “Looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”
Seeing Krug take up a fighting stance, Dieter went into his own stance. Some
small part of him said he had let things spiral out of control. He had been a
Scarlet for barely a day, yet he was about to fight one of his fellow soldiers.
Part of his mind told him he should withdraw, report the matter to Sergeant
Bohlen and let military justice deal with Krug and Febel for their looting.
Still, pride would not let him back down.
Febel had retreated to the side of the hut, but Dieter knew he should keep an
eye on him. He didn’t trust Febel not to stab him in the back while he was
dealing with Krug.
Krug took another step forward. Already, matters had gone too far for a
peaceful solution. There would be blood.
Suddenly, Dieter heard a low, mournful sound from out in the forest. He
recognised it at once.
It was clear Krug and Febel had recognised it as well. Embarrassed, Krug
lowered his sword. For a moment they stood in silence, listening to the sound,
trying to work out its direction.
It was the sound of a hunting horn—the one Captain Harkner carried with
him. It was a prearranged signal, a call to arms.
Somewhere, out in the mists, the Scarlets had met the enemy.
“The horn,” Febel said as the last notes of it died. “The others are in
trouble.”
Their conflict abruptly put aside, the three men rushed to the door of the
hut and pushed outside.
“Don’t think I’ve forgiven you, Lanz,” Krug said as they stood in front of
the hut and attempted to find their bearings. “We will settle things later, you
and I.”
“You can count on it,” Dieter replied. “Now, shut up. I’m trying to
listen.”
The horn sounded again. Its tone seemed eerie in the haze. Listening to its
elongated, keening cry, Dieter was reminded of one of the tales Helmut Schau had
told him as a child. It was said the daemons of the Ruinous Powers sometimes
hunted in the forests, driving a pack of monstrous hounds before them. Dieter
was not sure whether he believed the tale, but he suspected the horn used by the
huntmaster of the damned when he summoned his hounds sounded something like the
noise they could hear in the mists. He suppressed a shiver.
“It’s coming from over there,” Febel said, pointing in an approximate
direction.
Hurrying as fast as was possible given the conditions, the three men raced
off in the direction of the sound. As he ran with the others, Dieter was careful
to keep his senses sharp. The fog was so thick, it would be all too easy to
blunder directly into the enemy.
For a second, Dieter wondered whether the mist was entirely natural in
character. He had heard the shamans and sorcerers of the Empire’s enemies were
capable of every manner of trick: spells that could conjure storms, plagues of
insects, pestilences and other miseries. Surely an impenetrable wall of fog, to
better be able to ambush their human opponents, would not be beyond them?
As swiftly as the idea occurred to Dieter, he rejected it. He told himself
the haze around them was simply a natural phenomenon, typical of the season. It
was an early morning mist, nothing more.
Suddenly, three brutish shapes reared up out of the mists. Catching sight of
them just in time, Krug and Febel raised their shields and made ready to meet
their new opponents. Falling in beside them, Dieter raised his shield as well.
Wary of the fact that he had not yet drilled with the Scarlets, he was careful
to leave some space between himself and the others—standing close enough so he
could cover their flank, but not so close he might get in their way and endanger
them all.
The monsters were orcs. Dieter had never seen them in the flesh before, but
one look at the creatures’ jutting jaws and slab-browed, bestial features was
enough for him to identify them from the descriptions of Helmut Schau.
Each of the orcs was armed with a shield and a heavy sword with a huge,
cleaver-like blade. Where their human opponents were quick to adopt battle
formation, the orcs fought without regard for any such tactical subtlety.
Bellowing with rage, they charged forward, red eyes shining at the lure of
bloodshed.
One of them made for Dieter. Stepping forward to meet its charge, Dieter
reminded himself of the lessons learned fighting beastmen the day before. When
the orc lashed out at him with its sword, Dieter was careful not to meet the
blade directly with his shield for fear the orc’s attack would smash right
through it. Instead, he feinted with the shield as though he was going to parry
with it, before sidestepping the attack at the last moment.
As the orc’s blade slashed through empty air, Dieter thrust his sword at the
gap created in the creature’s guard. The blade struck home, stabbing deep
through the monster’s hide and into its chest. Pulling the sword free as the orc
grunted in pain, Dieter resumed a high guard position, confident his enemy was
about to fall.
He was wrong. Turning to face him once more, the orc spat out a mouthful of
dark blood and showed its teeth in a snarl.
Dieter was sure he had stabbed the creature in the heart, but incredibly the
orc seemed hardly fazed by the wound. Redoubling its efforts to kill him, the
orc charged forward once more, swinging its sword as it uttered a roaring cry of
defiance.
Trying a variation on his previous tactic, Dieter dodged the blow and tried
to slash at the back of its legs, aiming to hamstring the orc for an easy kill.
This time, the orc was ready for him. Catching him with the edge of its
shield, it swatted Dieter like a fly, hitting him with a force that sent him
reeling. Barely managing to keep his feet, Dieter took a more open stance as the
orc turned to face him again, hoping to tempt his enemy into making another
charge.
He did not have to wait long. With a roar, the orc lumbered forward. Making
another feint, Dieter jinked as though he was going right, before he suddenly
rushed to the left. The movement exposed the orc’s right side as it lifted its
sword to strike. Dieter thrust his own sword forward with all his might, the
blade stabbing between the monster’s ribs and digging deep. Pulling the weapon
free with a twist, Dieter stabbed at his target a second time before the orc
could react. Disengaging swiftly, he took a step backward, moving to a safe
position beyond the orc’s reach.
Again, the orc snarled in defiance. But, this time, the damage done was more
than it could shrug off. It moved a step forward. Then, another step, its sword
falling from a dying hand even as it tried to shuffle onward to revenge itself
on its enemy. Before Dieter’s eyes, the orc collapsed to its knees and slumped
forward as its lifeless body fell to the ground.
Breathing an uneasy sigh of relief, Dieter looked about him, checking on his
companions. Krug and Febel had defeated their opponents, but Dieter felt a brief
sliver of pride as he noticed the orc he had killed was larger than either of
theirs.
In the course of the fight, with his mind focused on his duel with the orc,
he had been only dimly aware of the sounds around him. Now, Dieter realised he
could hear the noises of a nearby battle.
Without a word between them, he pushed on into the mists with Krug and Febel
beside him, seeking its source.
After another few minutes’ progress, the origin of the sounds became plain.
As ever, it was difficult to see clearly through the film of the mists, but it
was quickly apparent they had come upon the main centre of the conflict.
All around them, Scarlets skirmished with orcs and goblins. Throwing himself
headlong into the struggle, Dieter caught two goblins unaware as they made ready
to shoot arrows into the backs of the soldiers with their bows. Smashing one to
the ground with his shield, Dieter split the other goblin’s head in two with a
blow from his sword.
Spotting one of the Scarlets was in trouble, Dieter raced over to support
him. The man was facing two orcs armed with spears. Hemmed in on either side,
the man had lost his shield. He had been forced back against a tree as the orcs
closed in on him scenting victory.
Charging to the man’s aid, Dieter attacked one of the orcs. Taking advantage
of the element of surprise, he stabbed his sword into the thick mass of muscle
where the orc’s head met its shoulders. It was like cutting through bundled
layers of cowhide, but by putting all his strength and momentum behind it Dieter
killed the creature with a single blow.
Becoming aware of Dieter’s presence, the second orc turned to meet him—only
to be spitted like a piece of meat as Dieter and the trapped Scarlet thrust
their swords in tandem, running the monster through.
“My thanks, young blood,” the man said. “You’re like an answer to my prayers.
I thought I was done for there.”
It was Rieger. Before, in the mists and the confusion of battle, Dieter
hadn’t recognised him. Looking about him, Dieter realised he had lost sight of
Krug and Febel when he leapt into the fray.
“Where are the others?” Dieter asked as he and Rieger paused for a few
seconds to catch their breaths.
“The rest of the file, you mean?” Rieger gestured with his sword at the
tumult around them. “Somewhere in this disorder. True to form, we blundered into
the greenskins in the mists. I’d almost think they were waiting for us, but they
seemed as surprised at the turn of events as we were. After that, it was all
blood and madness. A typical battle in other words.”
Hefting his sword, Rieger picked up his fallen shield and strode on to rejoin
the skirmish.
“Come on, Lanz. We’ve rested long enough. Stay close to me and let’s show
these greenskins what war really means.”
Letting Rieger take the lead, Dieter followed him into combat. At first, he
was unsure whether the older man was not just charging blindly back into the
fight. It quickly became clear, however, that Rieger had a specific aim in mind.
Ahead, an embattled group of Scarlets were desperately trying to hold off a
much larger force of orcs and goblins. Yelling at the top of his voice, Rieger
charged at the nearest orc, his sword swinging in a deadly arc.
“Forward the 3rd!” Rieger shouted. “Forward for Hochland! Forward the
Scarlets!”
Around the battlefield, the battle cry was repeated as other men took up the
chant. Standing close to Rieger, matching him stroke for stroke as they cut
relentlessly into the greenskins before them, Dieter joined in the cry. Rising
above the cacophony of battle, the sound reached a stirring crescendo.
“Forward the 3rd! Forward for Hochland! Forward the Scarlets!”
The cry did its work. It seemed to spur the Scarlets on to greater efforts.
With renewed ferocity, they laid into the greenskins. Goblins and orcs died in
ever greater numbers, lessening the disparity between human and greenskin
forces.
Almost imperceptibly at first, a change came over the enemy. Whether it was
the result of his and Rieger’s unexpected attack from behind them, the Scarlets’
renewed efforts, or the battle cry booming across the field of slaughter, Dieter
could not be sure.
It started as the goblins broke and ran, leaving their larger cousins to
fight on without them. No longer possessing superior numbers, the orcs were left
at a sudden disadvantage. Making their own numbers tell, the Scarlets redoubled
their assault. Outnumbered two to one in places, the remaining orcs were swiftly
dispatched.
The fighting ended with unexpected abruptness. Finishing a fallen orc with a
stroke from his sword, Dieter looked about him to find another enemy and saw
there were none left standing. In their place, the surviving Scarlets stood on
the battlefield, surveying the scene. The sense of relief was all but palpable.
For an instant, blessed silence reigned.
It was only a brief respite. Within seconds of the fall of the last enemy, a
new tumult replaced the receding storm of war. Men wounded in the battle called
out for aid, their comrades rushed to them, sergeants yelled orders. Other men,
glad to be alive, clapped their hands, shouted oaths, exulted to the heavens.
“You survived then?”
Turning at the sound of a voice behind him, Dieter saw Gerhardt approach him,
followed by Hoist. Their weapons and armour were splattered with orc gore.
Glancing down at himself, Dieter realised he was in the same condition.
“Well?” Gerhardt asked. “What did you think of your first time in the field
with the Scarlets? I take it you did your duty?”
“He did fine, Gerhardt,” Rieger said. “A credit to his teacher. I never met
Helmut Schau, but he must be a lion to raise such a fierce cub.”
Dieter had briefly lost sight of him in the scrum of battle, but the blond
man appeared at his side once more, polishing blood from his sword.
“I did my best,” Dieter said. Ordinarily, it was his habit to project a
shield of bravado, but in the aftermath of so much bloodshed he felt strangely
humble.
“Don’t get cocky,” Gerhardt warned him. “I won’t belabour the point now, but
I told you to stay close. We thought we’d lost you in the mists. You were lucky
you didn’t run into the orcs on your own. If that had happened, your head would
be adorning some chieftain’s trophy-pole right about now.”