Forwards to the East! (EIS)
Nov 24, 2015 17:26:39 GMT -6
Post by Dietrich Landrik on Nov 24, 2015 17:26:39 GMT -6
As morning broke, the unobstructed horizon revealed a closeness of the ground and the sky. Across these simple grasslands, a single dirt road laid riddled with the marks left by horse, foot, and wagon wheel. Also just nearby were the low-lying buildings that took presence here. They were little more than mud reinforced with wood - as scarce as it was to find unless by the creeks and rivers, with a tent to perch atop of it. Tapestries were in no short supply of Sacaens. The sun began to now truly peek over the lip of the land and burn its presence into the shivering bodies of the 106 men who were too cold to sleep without the help of a certain drink.
This was war in the steppe. This was mobile warfare.
The small cooking fires were already being put out and men already had their armor and equipment loaded or laden on their bodies. With the company formed up next to the road, Dietrich stepped out of the shanty mud dwelling. He began folding a map and sticking it into his sleeve cuff. Just behind him was a thin rider wearing the colors of Etruria splattered with encrusted mud. The rider immediately turned for his horse, mounted it, and rode to the west.
Landrik motioned to the company sergeant, Keppler, to report to him. The man that stepped forwards was well-built and muscled like a bull, yet had the eyes of a mother that pierced the soul. There was no doubt this man knew multiple ways to kill a man with his bare hands. The men saluted each other, and Dietrich quietly spoke to Keppler with a few words of encouragement and well greeting, followed immediately with business. Their breath was visible in the chilly air. "What's the status of our company, first sergeant?" Dietrich asked, glancing over the men himself.
"Three sick that've been moved this past night an' ain hundred an' six enlistn' men accounted fer." he replied, eager for the group to get moving. Dietrich felt the same.
"Good. We march for the crossroads of Kipti. Commander Oya is concentrating his forces once again. Understood, first sergeant?" he asked, looking again to the column of men.
"Aye Sir!" Keppler reported with a salute and turned heel towards the column, booming his voice to wake those who'd rather still be in bed. "A'ight lads! Left... face!" the sun now pierced the eyes of the men, but the warmth of the sun was eagerly welcome. Landrik found his way to the front of the column and Keppler remained alongside of it. "Farward... march! Wake them Sacaens up wit' a song! Sing, damn it! A song, a song!" he barked. Without much apprehension a man in the line started striking up the first words of a song that applied well to the victories so far:
--
Approaching the crossroads, the area couldn't be mistaken as anything but an army camp. The size of Landrik's company was dwarfed by the grand armies of Etruria collected in this staging area. White, black, and gold were patterned on the uniforms of the regular troops and the banners they flew. The general headquarters, as well as where Nya's forces would be centralized would be found. While all of the men in the company had at least armbands to reveal their allegiance, they looked like peasants in comparison to the proud armies of Etruria. Peasants loaded down with weapons, mines, and grenades.
An Inquisition Army Lieutenant approached Landrik and guided them to their staging area, where he had the group rest and grab a meal. It was high morning, not just yet noon. Only a few clouds spotted the sky and the sun burned off the chill from the early morning. Dietrich alone walked to the headquarters, expecting Oya to either be in a fit of rage at someone's incompetence, worried senseless of the situation at hand, or full of vigor for the upcoming offensive. If he stuck around long enough, he'd probably see all three. His wife, Willow, usually kept him calm enough. Landrik saluted the guards at the door of the slightly nicer mud hut... tent thing. Sacaen architecture wasn't much at all if not confusing to this Westerner.
"Commander Oya will be back shortly. He was expecting you, Sir." the guard notified Landrik, who was stretching and laid his helmet on the table.
"...and I, him. I'm patient, but an army of this size attracts attention. Our movements must be quick and our speed of violence even quicker. The 336th Privateer Shock Troop is always ready." A bit over the top Landrik saw in hindsight, but his venting was just a product of the long march. Still, if it inspired the guardsman, it was a good yet unintended side effect.
Now he would wait.
This was war in the steppe. This was mobile warfare.
The small cooking fires were already being put out and men already had their armor and equipment loaded or laden on their bodies. With the company formed up next to the road, Dietrich stepped out of the shanty mud dwelling. He began folding a map and sticking it into his sleeve cuff. Just behind him was a thin rider wearing the colors of Etruria splattered with encrusted mud. The rider immediately turned for his horse, mounted it, and rode to the west.
Landrik motioned to the company sergeant, Keppler, to report to him. The man that stepped forwards was well-built and muscled like a bull, yet had the eyes of a mother that pierced the soul. There was no doubt this man knew multiple ways to kill a man with his bare hands. The men saluted each other, and Dietrich quietly spoke to Keppler with a few words of encouragement and well greeting, followed immediately with business. Their breath was visible in the chilly air. "What's the status of our company, first sergeant?" Dietrich asked, glancing over the men himself.
"Three sick that've been moved this past night an' ain hundred an' six enlistn' men accounted fer." he replied, eager for the group to get moving. Dietrich felt the same.
"Good. We march for the crossroads of Kipti. Commander Oya is concentrating his forces once again. Understood, first sergeant?" he asked, looking again to the column of men.
"Aye Sir!" Keppler reported with a salute and turned heel towards the column, booming his voice to wake those who'd rather still be in bed. "A'ight lads! Left... face!" the sun now pierced the eyes of the men, but the warmth of the sun was eagerly welcome. Landrik found his way to the front of the column and Keppler remained alongside of it. "Farward... march! Wake them Sacaens up wit' a song! Sing, damn it! A song, a song!" he barked. Without much apprehension a man in the line started striking up the first words of a song that applied well to the victories so far:
"We stand for Etruria on guard,
And blood stains every yard.
Now the sun rises in the east,
And calls thousands to fight the beast.
From Taras to the hills of Bulgar:
Forwards! Forwards!
Forwards to the East, to the Morning Star!
Freedom just at hand,
The banner waves true,
Prophet, command!
We'll follow you!"
And blood stains every yard.
Now the sun rises in the east,
And calls thousands to fight the beast.
From Taras to the hills of Bulgar:
Forwards! Forwards!
Forwards to the East, to the Morning Star!
Freedom just at hand,
The banner waves true,
Prophet, command!
We'll follow you!"
--
Approaching the crossroads, the area couldn't be mistaken as anything but an army camp. The size of Landrik's company was dwarfed by the grand armies of Etruria collected in this staging area. White, black, and gold were patterned on the uniforms of the regular troops and the banners they flew. The general headquarters, as well as where Nya's forces would be centralized would be found. While all of the men in the company had at least armbands to reveal their allegiance, they looked like peasants in comparison to the proud armies of Etruria. Peasants loaded down with weapons, mines, and grenades.
An Inquisition Army Lieutenant approached Landrik and guided them to their staging area, where he had the group rest and grab a meal. It was high morning, not just yet noon. Only a few clouds spotted the sky and the sun burned off the chill from the early morning. Dietrich alone walked to the headquarters, expecting Oya to either be in a fit of rage at someone's incompetence, worried senseless of the situation at hand, or full of vigor for the upcoming offensive. If he stuck around long enough, he'd probably see all three. His wife, Willow, usually kept him calm enough. Landrik saluted the guards at the door of the slightly nicer mud hut... tent thing. Sacaen architecture wasn't much at all if not confusing to this Westerner.
"Commander Oya will be back shortly. He was expecting you, Sir." the guard notified Landrik, who was stretching and laid his helmet on the table.
"...and I, him. I'm patient, but an army of this size attracts attention. Our movements must be quick and our speed of violence even quicker. The 336th Privateer Shock Troop is always ready." A bit over the top Landrik saw in hindsight, but his venting was just a product of the long march. Still, if it inspired the guardsman, it was a good yet unintended side effect.
Now he would wait.