There was no one to play reveille. The fact that the buglers had survived was a bit odd, but habit still woke most of the men and the rest responded to loud voices and maybe some kicks from non-commissioned officers. Robert had barely slept, planning to rely on a brief nap and coffee to get him through the next day. He had spent the, too short, night reviewing everything he knew, all the information that had been gathered and the handful of pieces of information in his own brain.
He would have preferred to write it down, but his diary, like most of the available paper (other than bibles and a handful of other books) had been donated to the wizards, who apparently had to create spellbooks to be able to properly use their magic, unlike the others. Fortunately, they were being given ‘one free’ which didn’t mean they were given a spellbook, but allowed to create one without having to pay the ‘gp’ cost. Which seemed likely to be an acronym for gold piece. And so, he was to be denied one of the few comforts he had, writing, whether letters to his family, or in his own diary. He had removed the filled pages and tucked them into his breast pocket before turning it over to Thomas, for distribution. At least that spared him needing to try to come up with an explanation for the treasure hoard which was now sitting in his tent to his family.
Between that provided to ‘Rogues’ and the loot from the orcs, 810 gold pieces. 800 silver pieces and 2100 copper pieces, which were destined to be percussion caps, if anyone knew how to make the material which caused them to work. He sure didn’t. He didn’t even know how to make the Minie-balls they fired, though he knew they were lead over iron. Gunpowder he at least knew the ingredients and basic proportions, but percussion caps were a mystery besides their copper cases. For that matter, he didn’t know how to make the paper needed for the cartridges.
Which was, of course, Cabot’s point and why his second in command was right. Yes, he had to keep them together and maintain his separation from the men, an officer needed that. He’d seen all too often in his two years of service how bad it could get when that separation was not maintained.
Especially with elected officers, who might need to defend their position, reward supporters, or play favorites. He hadn’t agreed with the sneers with which the regular Army officers had greeted the volunteers, but it had to be admitted that they were right about the degree of separation needed from the line troopers. They needed to believe you cared and would fight for them, but they also needed to believe you knew best and were impartial, which required distance…
But these circumstances would not allow him to remain as separated and superior as he had been acting. That was a route to swift failure and death. No one man knew everything that the regiment, that the company, that the company and its allies—deep breath, begin again. No one man knew everything that was needed to survive and establish a successful colony. Though that would also require human women, but that was a problem for later.
The problem of the moment was survival and supply and for that, he needed every mind and every pair of hands. Even little things could help. Cabot figuring out the hand gesture for [Prestidigitation] was incredibly useful. The flavoring and warming of food were minor comforts which would help keep everyone happy, but the real time saver was cleaning items. It worked on uniforms, which would save innumerable hours and the need to assign men to laundry services. It still needed to be tested on rifles and other weapons and equipment, but if it worked there as well, then it would save significant upkeep time as well.
Cabot’s method of figuring out the gestures required, thinking about the description and what hand gesture made sense and figuring out that it was snapping your fingers theatrically, was not necessarily helpful with the other spells, but hopefully the method used with Sharts would work on the others. ‘Leveling up’ his men was one route to power and survival, hopefully.
But that was just how Cabot drove home the point. Robert had a hundred brains, well, a hundred and eleven, actually and two hundred, or two hundred and twenty-two hands. Trying to figure everything out himself was just stupid. Which hadn’t stopped him from spending the night reading the giant list of information gathered by his officers, in order to figure out the outline of what needed to be done and who might be capable of doing it. Then he’d needed Cabot, as the other man knew everyone in the regiment, their names, their history, their skills. When he’d found the time, Robert didn’t know, but he’d been able to put skills and names to faces.
So, what he needed to do was break the tasks up and put those minds and hand to work. The first step was to gain understanding and control of the many new abilities the men had gained. His own healing had proven astoundingly effective...what else might he gain if he ‘leveled--
According to the report from Captain Simpkins, who had done a delightfully thorough job, there were thirteen ‘classes.’ Commoner, Fighter, Wizard, Artificer, Sorcerer, Bard, Cleric, Druid, Barbarian, Rogue, Monk, Ranger, andPaladin. Of those, six had the spellcasting trait, and Ranger at least gained it at level 2. Perhaps they all would, who knew how this worked?
But the initial point was that the Druid, Cleric and Artificerall got to select their spells every day, so by having their 13 Clerics, 7 Druids and 7 Artificers learn all spells which overlapped, they could teach the hand gesture components to those who needed them. Since the Artificers for some reason needed tools they were proficient in, rather than material components, they should focus on those spells, which meanthe’d spent some time cross-referencing the various spell lists to create a list of the spells which people should attempt to get, which would eventually be almost all of them.
The [Charm Person] spell would not be acquired, as he was issuing orders banning its use altogether, as well as the [Friends] cantrip, which both were wildly immoral. Most spells could simply be treated like any other action taken against another person, but anything which tampered with the mind was trespassing on God’s grant of free will to man and would not be tolerated.
But most spells’ hand gestures would need to be learned quickly as they had many problems and few tools. He wasn’t casting any nonblasphemous ones away without cause. That had been when Cabot had found him, doing work he should have had Simpkins doing.
He’d been smart enough to put Cabot himself on the inventory and received a nice, short, summary of what they had and what they didn’t. They were lucky, despite none of their mules, horses or carts (let alone any of the other livestock) which had followed them coming through, they had their own base rations and the company supplies for two of the companies, leaving them with (besides each individuals’ supplies for three days), a number of staples, and, critically, a large amount of beans, peas, rice, green coffee and potatoes. Those were the only things which even might be able to grow in this new environment. All their grain was in the form of flour, which was good for portability, but not for growing more.
Each man had his 40 balls, 40 cartridges and 50 percussion caps (as the small caps tended to be fumbled/lost more often, more were issued), but that was the extent of their supply, none of the larger company or regimental supplies had come through. Why he could not have said.
They’d fired 53 shots destroying the Storm Claws, and at his orders, scouring had retrieved about half that number of percussion caps and bullets. Neither could be reused, but they might be recycled, if someone knew how and knew how to make the explosive that caused the percussion cap to go off when impacted by the hammer. Or if some magic could do it. Thus far, most of the magic was focused on combat and strictly worse than just shooting people.
The healing was far and away the most impressive, but out of combat spells were somewhat limited otherwise. The most immediately useful was the [Light] spell, which would save them a great deal of time...if they could find fireflies, or phosphorescent moss, which were the required material component. As it lacked any gestures, and the verbal portion was [Light], combined with the fact that the cantrip was one of the most commonly possessed, meant that it should be extremely useful, especially in the battles underground, which were undoubtedly to come. But they still needed that component.
The [Create/Destroy Water] spell might be helpful in a siege, but they were right next to a river. For now, it was of theoretical interest, as was the [Detect Magic] spell, or [Comprehend Languages] given his own boon, though he was running out of uses for it. [Druidcraft]’s weather prediction functions would have been fantastic...if not for the fact that it had a gesture, which no one knew, and as it was a cantrip, which people didn’t get to change, everyone was stuck guessing. Or the druids were stuck guessing. In retrospect, he wished he’d pushed Sharts to choose that one, but he’d been too focused on other concerns. [Mending] had a material component they still needed to find, but again, might spare massive amounts of time on repair/replacement of gear. [Unseen Servant] might help with camp work, but until he knew where this invisible ghostlike apparition was being summoned from, he was unwilling to risk it, even if the boxes claimed that it was mindless and soulless. Too much like slavery, or their own sudden arrival here. And the [Floating Disc] spell acting as a floating beast of burden might make up for their lack of pack animals...except its material component was a drop of mercury, which they didn’t have access to!
But by far the most long term useful spell was undoubtedly going the be [Purify Food And Drink]. A ritual spell, which meant it could be cast indefinitely rather than using limited spell slots, so long as the caster took the needed ten minutes and it would remove all diseases and poisons from food. Disease killed more men than bullets and being able to ensure their food was good would make it stretch further and keep his men alive. Given the healing spells already existing, he was upset there wasn’t already one which cured disease and could only hope more powerful spells would become available. The existence of some spells which indicated variable effects if cast ‘using higher level spell slots’ seemed to support that notion. Though higher level spell slots didn’t necessarily mean higher level spells to go along with them, but the organization certainly suggested it.
That just took him back to the question of ‘leveling up.’ After some late night discussion with Cabot, and pestering a few folks for their EXP totals, it seemed clear that what gave EXP, whatever that was, was combat. And not merely combat, if so, more men should have the same amounts, but it appeared that for some reason, Sharts and Trip had been credited with more EXP than the others. The best they could come up with was that EXP was pooled for shared combat, but for Sharts’ sniper kills, he got full credit and Trip got the full credit for the one he’d killed hand-to-hand. Whether because no one else had interfered for fear of hitting him, or because of the nature of the combat was unclear. But that was all mere speculation, whatever was happening was neither clear, not intuitive and what EXP was an acronym for had distracted their increasingly tired minds for some time into silliness.
So, his plan had been set when he finally took his nap, coffee waiting beside his bedroll to awaken him fully. He did not oversleep, but his plan still fell apart instantly, because of two events that occurred almost simultaneously.
First, he woke up and a box appeared. Before he could even glance at it, Sergeant Merriman and Private Wilson burst in, “Sir, sir, our wounds are gone! We’re fully healed!” Both of them had their shirts off and did a little twirl, revealing, indeed the wounds which had been partially healed by spellwork and his [Lay on Hands] were now simple scars. Robert stared for a moment, then poked the scar, Merriman stood their proudly. “Is this something you did?” he asked, eagerly.
“No...please check with our goblin allies, the Settled Feet if this is normal, then start falling the men in for orders, Sergeant,” he ordered after a moment, his plans for the day thrown off by the sudden, strange revelation and reminder of the strange land they had found themselves in. Men healing from a spell, or strange ability granted by the boxes was one thing. Men healing from a good night’s sleep...like that, was quite another. But perhaps the magic kept working? It indicated it healed ‘HP’ but how exactly that interacted with injuries was ambiguous...
As the men left, he turned his attention back to the box.
Quest Complete! You’ve completed the quest: Defeat the Storm Claws! Reward: 10 100 EXP Reward Boxes and 1 Random Reward Box (Elite Tier)!
“Quest? What quest?” he muttered and another set of boxes appeared. But overlaid atop the rest was a single box:
Quest Screen limited functionality mode. GM assigned quests will only be revealed upon completion. Those directly assigned by NPCs will be visible upon assignment. System rewards will not be visible unless earned.
What exactly any of that meant was up entirely unclear, but worrisome, especially the mysterious GM, NPCs and System which all had the audacity to believe they could simply assign him quests, like some aristocratic fop speaking to a feudal knight. The South might have been entranced by chivalry and aristocracy, but he certainly wasn’t and no one save God and the Union had the right to assign him quests!
Regardless, having read it, it vanished and let him see the boxes beneath. There were dozens of them, hundreds of them, almost all completely black rather than the standard blue, and empty, as far as he could tell. But two were blue and had text in them, though they were nowhere near each other. The first:
Defeat the Storm Claws (Total Monster CR: 10). SUCCEEDED. Reward: 1 Random Reward Box (Elite Tier)
Additional Objectives:
Claim leadership of the Storm Claws: FAILED.
Frighten the Storm Claws away: FAILED.
Kill all Storm Claws: SUCCEEDED. Reward: 10 100 EXP Reward Boxes
Conquer Storm Claw Mesa and exterminate the goblin infestation. FAILED.
“What in the world?” Robert muttered. Partly at the rewards and various ‘additional objectives’ but mostly at that final additional objective. Why would they have ‘exterminated’ the goblins? Or wanted to claim the leadership of a group of slavers? What was the aim of whoever, whatever had assigned him this quest? He was uncomfortable enough with the boxes rewarding them with EXP for killing, seeing the explicit goal be killing all the Storm Claws—but those were surely alternate paths.
You couldn’t claim leadership, frighten them away and kill them. But the rewards might be different on different paths...which didn’t matter. He would do what he would do, he would not allow the boxes to dictate his actions.
Though that didn’t mean he would reject the rewards, but that was a problem for later, for now—his eyes focused on the other box with visible text.
Remove the Threat in the Lower Level of the Mesa (Total Monster CR: 8.25)
Additional Objectives:
Minimize damage to mushroom farms.
Tame the Threat.
Destroy the Threat.
Expel the Threat.
Preserve Giant Rats.
Secure entrance to the Underdark.
Ah, okay, so this was the request of the Settled Feet. Which, since he could see it without having completed it, must make them ‘NPCs’ by the language of the boxes...who knew what that meant? Ah well, the Settled Feet hadn’t been explicit about the additional objectives, but they were obvious from the intended goal. He was deeply uncomfortable with the fact that their leader was a woman, but he supposed the orcs had probably killed most of their menfolk, before enslaving the rest. The fact that none of them exactly appeared feminine would surely be helpful in maintaining the discipline of the men. The orcish women had been disturbingly human-like, but they were all dead, which also made him extremely uncomfortable in a number of ways, starting with the fact that he was uncomfortable killing women, even if they were rushing at you like a madman--madwoman with a big ax.
He didn’t even want to think about the magical, size-changing ax which he’d turned over for use splitting wood, or the apparently ever full bottle of smoke which he’d turned over to Thomas for study and which, he now had a note, apparently would fill an area bigger than a baseball diamond with smoke, which blocked sight, but was easily visible. He could imagine strategic uses for that, especially combined with the [Unseen Servant] spell to deliver it, but why those items? It was such a strange set of items to exist. But perhaps it was all a small band of orcs could steal? Or perhaps they had their own magic users who made such things? If you were going to make a magical ax, make one better suited for chopping down trees! A magical bottle should be filled with endless clean water. His men might prefer beer, but he preferred sober soldiers. Instead, he got this tat. Frustrating.
He focused on the ‘rewards’ and there was suddenly a box.
Select reward to apply: Random Reward Box (Elite), 100 EXP Reward Boxs
He started with the first one and a spinning wheel appeared in front of his face. It was translucent like the boxes and reminded him of the roulette wheel he had seen when his family went on tour on the continent, except someone had flipped it vertically and it was broader, with more colors as the wheel spun, music filled his ears, strange, but synced to the spinning wheel, which just kept spinning until he managed to focus on it. Then it began to slow to a stop and he realized there were symbols on each of the individual sections. One read EXP, another GP, several had what seemed different weapons, armor, jewelry, or a big question mark, and there was one that read ‘Boon Recharge,’ but it stopped on one which read “Retainer.”
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Another box popped up.
Select your retainer, retainer will be loyal unto death: Elite Steward. Knight. Servant/Assassin. Slave Mage.
“I am not summoning a person who will be magically loyal to me, such a thing is no less than slavery, regardless of the title given.”
Warning: Declining reward will result in redrawing from that category at a lower rarity level.
“Fine.”
Select your retainer, retainer will be loyal unto death: Steward. Squire. Servant. Slave Girl.
“Still no!”
Warning: Declining reward will result in redrawing from that category at a lower rarity level.
“Still fine.”
Select your retainer, retainer will be loyal unto death: Mule. Horse. Dog. Cat.
Robert swore internally. He wanted that horse. He wanted it badly...but the mule was the right choice. “Mule,” he said and thought before he could talk himself out of it, or realize that choosing an animal that definitely couldn’t breed as his reward was arguably a mistake.
And then there was a mule in his tent. He wished he had been a bit smarter and stepped outside. Getting the shockingly obedient mule out of his tent was no easy feat, but he turned it over to one of his men and confirmed his instinct that they didn’t get any rewards. It would be too much to hope for that everyone could get rewards for the same quests. It was odd that he was the only one with the set of quest boxes, as he confirmed with a few questions, but presumably that came from being in command? Once he ordered the mule to obey them and everyone in the 54th, it obediently left, rather than remaining standing outside his tent, like a guard.
Regardless, when he finally got the mule away from his tent and himself back into it, he found Sergeant Merriman had returned, apparently, no goblins did not heal overnight and they didn’t know anything which did, except some old legends about some monster called a troll which couldn’t be killed by mundane means because it kept healing itself.
He nodded politely, and then it belatedly occurred to him that that might mean the goblins had injured people of their own and sent Merriman off to check and grab the few Bards who had been randomly assigned a healing spell, and get those goblins healed up, if so, then get the briefing set up.
When he finally got rid of them, he managed to bring back up the reward screen and select the “100 EXP Reward Box” wincing in anticipation of another dizzying array of lights and sounds.
But instead, all he got was another box.
Select which PC will get the EXP reward.
His brain reacted instinctively to that question, the obvious answer was Trip, given how critical he’d been to the business with both the orcs and the goblins and what he’d done after Robert’s death on the battlefield back home. Before he could reconsider, the box accepted the thought.
Reward assigned. Assign another 100 EXP Reward Box now?
“No.”
Then he had to go find Trip and get confirmation that the man now had an additional 100 EXP, bringing him up to 285/300. With that finally clear, only about an hour after he’d originally intended to, he could finally get to the briefing.
Almost everyone was there. Except the squads securing the field they’d all come out and the squad standing watch. A number of goblins were watching from nearby, with some confusion. He straightened his uniform and marched to the front of the column.
“Regiment, Attention!” Rawlins shouted as Robert reached his position. Cabot and the two captains were up front with Rawlins. Every soldier came to rigid attention, with some of the goblins trying to imitate the movement and Robert spoke to Rawlins and a moment later the man yelled again, this time “Stand at ease!” They slid into that posture.
“Soldiers of the 54th Regiment. We find ourselves in unique circumstances. We are cast far from home by providence’s hand, we are not dead, but rather given another chance at life. Already we have defeated one band of raiders and slavers and made allies, with the goblins of the Settled Feet Tribe. Certain tasks must be undertaken with some alacrity by those who have been ‘classed’ as druids or clerics. Captain Simpkins has a full list of the spells to prepare this day and in future days in order to ensure we have full use of as many of the spells we have gained as possible.” It wouldn’t be all of them, some appeared to be only for Sorcerers or Bards and therefore were not acquirable in this fashion, but those were few and far between.
“Captain Russel has a full list of the material components we are seeking. Keep your eyes posted for those items, rewards are available for locating the needed items. Our noble allies in the Settled Feet have a problem, a beast, interfering with their farming and ranching. We will assist them with that, as soon as we locate the phosphorescent moss, or fireflies required for the [Light] spell which will allow us to engage them in lighting appropriate to our plans and nature. Captain Simpkins will be preparing a plan of action for the operation.”
“We have learned some things about how this world works and the strange boxes we have all been seeing. Allow me to summarize briefly.” He was not particularly brief. “So, this EXP from killing enemies allows us to gather strength, as does completing these quests. The rewards will be distributed to those who are participating in the next combat, to strengthen them. Which leads us into the reorganization of our forces.”
That got a few murmurs, which were permissible while at ease, but Rawlins bawled out, “QUIET IN THE RANKS!” and everyone shut up.
“We are currently the size of a company. Until we receive reinforcements or new recruits, we will operate as such. Captain Simpkins will lead 1st Company,” since usually companies went by letters, that deliberately avoided favoring any of the existing companies. “Captain Russel will act as my staff officer and quartermaster, while Major Forbes will remain as our executive officer.”
That got no major response, because it was all basically what they expected. They were glad Robert was taking the extremely young Russel off their hands, though Simpkins wasn’t that much older. Robert’s officers, except his surgeon, had all skewed young to avoid the tendency of older men to think they knew better than the younger, which would have been awkward given Robert’s own age. But still, no one wanted to be commanded by someone who didn’t need to shave. The next command however.
“Sergeant-Major Rawlins, please step forward.”
He snapped out of line, approaching with razor precision, and came to attention in front of Robert.
“Sergeant-Major Rawlins, a company sized force does not require a Sergeant-Major.” There was a mixture of resignation, annoyance and relief in the older man’s eyes. But no surprise, which hurt a bit. Robert continued, “It needs a first lieutenant.” It was a good thing Captain Russel’s inventory had been so thorough, otherwise he wouldn’t have had the shoulder boards for this. Rawlin’s eyes widened in shock. Which also hurt a little bit, but a better kind of pain as he pinned the boards to the shoulders of Rawlins’ uniform. “For courage under fire and steadfast leadership, I promote you to the rank of First Lieutenant and assign you to second in command of Company 1.”
Robert came firmly to attention
“Sir, you can’t do this! Orders were no Colored officers in the regiment! You said it yourself when you made me Sergeant-Major.”
“They said none were to be assigned or appointed to the regiment, they said nothing about brevetting you to the rank, which I have the authority to do and am doing.” That was pushing things. Brevetting out of the noncommissioned ranks was questionable and his interpretation that appointment was different than brevetting was not something that made much sense, but--” If command disagrees with my interpretation of my orders, all they must do is tell me so.”
A thin round of amused chuckles ran through the throng.
Robert saluted.
He saluted again.
Rawlins slowly came to attention and returned the salute, then they shook hands. The crowd cheered.
“Sergeant Merriman, please step forward.”
The man did so, and approached, saluting. Not quite matching Rawlins’ precision, but it was close.
“For courage in the face of injustice and going forth to face an unknown threat under the banner of peace, I promote you to the rank of Second Lieutenant and assign you to third in command of Company 1.”
That was it for the available officer insignia. If they were able to recruit, or more of their own turned up and they expanded back to multiple companies, they would need to make additional insignia.
“Three cheers for Lieutenant Rawlins!”
Hats rose and fell with the heartfelt huzzahs of the men, even as the handful of watching goblins either mimed participation, or simply stared in confusion.
“And three cheers for Second Lieutenant Merriman!” the cheers were not quite as enthusiastic, but they still rose eagerly enough.
Robert saluted the crowd.
“Additionally, Private Trip has served both on the front line and as liaison to the Settled Feet and for that is promoted to Sergeant Trip,” who could sew on his own stripes, made from something, that was a problem an NCO better be able to solve. “Three cheers for Sergeant Trip.”
Robert was surprised that the cheers were as loud as for Rawlins, he hadn’t thought the abrasive private was that well liked.
“Finally, Corporal Searles has served ably in an engineering and spellcasting role, which he shall continue as Sergeant Searles. Three cheers for Sergeant Searles.”
These were more muted, which was unfortunate, he’d thought the reaction would be reversed and he’d be ending on a high note, but he just pushed forward. “With those promotions addressed, the company’s officers can reorganize as needed.”
“With our command structure resolved, we turn to the matter of our current situation. Besides the needs of our allies, we have three primary priorities. Food. Equipment. Defense. Secondarily, we need additional information and allies. Food, as previously described, we will assist our allies in reclaiming their farming and ranching caverns. We also have potatoes and a few other potential crops. Those of you with farming, fishing or hunting experience will report to Lieutenant Merriman to assist. No one goes anywhere alone, or eats anything without having it checked out. We do not know this area, assume nothing is as it appears. Try talking first, but if anything attacks you, make sure we’re the ones who walk away. One hundred and eleven soldiers of the 54th have arrived here, I want to see one hundred and eleven developed homesteads within out walls the day I finally meet our Lord, not plots in the cemetery beside the orcs.”
There was a moment of silence for that.
“Second objective, equipment. We’ll need to be able to replace our ammunition, which means lead, iron, gunpowder, paper and percussion caps as well as make more weapons for new recruits and allies. Anyone who knows about those matters should report to Lieutenant Rawlins. Again, no one is going prospecting alone. If you need facilities, coordinate with Sergeant Searles.”
“Which leads us to defense. Sergeant Searles has already made a creditable beginning with the ditch and earthworks, but those need to be strengthened into a proper palisade, wells need to be sunk and proper housing put in place to protect us from the weather. With the mesa to act as a redoubt in the event of enemy attack, we can have defenses in depth. Sergeant Searles will coordinate that construction, as well as any other needed construction activity.”
Thomas nodded slightly and seriously, as eager as the day he volunteered for the 54th, but with a resolve which hadn’t been there before—no, the resolve had always been there, what had been missing was the steel core of the man, which the drill instructor and battle had tempered out of the brittle cast iron which had been there before. “The first thing I need to do is get information from the Settled Feet about the flooding in this area. We can control it, but we need to know how bad it gets.”
“Coordinate with Sergeant Trip, he will continue as the liaison to the Settled Feet.”
He nodded, “Yes, sir.”
“Gentlemen, if there is some matter I have missed, speak now.”
There was silence. “In that case, I leave you with this thought, the United States was created out of disparate colonies carving their place in savage wilderness, with few friends and many enemies. Its original sin was slavery. We are offered here the chance to recreate the feats of our ancestors, without their mistakes. If we can do it. I believe we can. Shall we try?”
That got a roar of approval and he yelled, “Dismissed to your assignments, let us build!”
And the entire group imploded as people moved towards the various officers and NCOs, seeking to be useful. A bare squad didn’t have an assigned duty, as their skills fit none of the needs. Mostly barbers, waiters, or hostlers. Robert instantly put them to work carrying word to those on guard duty in the field and replacing those whose skills were needed for construction.
Most of the goblins were just watching bemused, but he saw the matriarch, identifiable by her strange scarf, moving towards Trip, apparently fearless in the crowd of larger people. If the rest of her clan had her courage...well, he hadn’t been lying about having visions of battlelines in his head. The pistol had a closer range than a rifle, but so far the biggest threats had been melee based and a battle line of goblins, shoulder to shoulder in front of the humans, each armed with a pistol like his...the amount of fire they could put out would break almost any charge, so long as they stood fast. He had not been impressed by their courage, and he lacked Sergeant-Major Mulcahy to make soldiers of them.
But that was a problem for later, the rest of the morning was spent drinking tea (to his annoyance as all the green coffee beans had been seized to see if they could be properly grown, but no one even imagined they could grow tea plants from tea leaves) and repeatedly saying yes, or very occasionally no, to proposals by the various groups he’d just set up.
Thomas needs large quantities of wood, okay, he would start men working from both ends towards clearing a straight path to the field they had come out, that way the men on guard duty weren’t just all standing around. It meant some trees would need to come from further away, but since the key limiting factor initially would be cutting down the trees and getting them into position, that was less of a problem than it might have been. Cutting trees was not unskilled labor, but a man could learn the basics quickly and if they rotated men quickly before they got exhausted and started making mistakes, progress could be made. Fortunately, the men had the whetstones to sharpen axe-blades and the magical one never went dull, which was its first trait that impressed rather than annoying him.
The trees would be used mostly for construction, while the limbed branches would be used for fuel, or construction, depending on size. That was fine. But then there was a debate about ashes, which were desired for fertilizer, for use in creating percussion caps and soap. And that was without getting into the need for charcoal for gunpowder, which would also require significant wood to create, and would fight with other needs.
Thomas wants to start with a sawmill, which means he needs to reshape the river flow somewhat, create a pond and gates to that pond? Fine, though Robert had his suspicions that this had more to do with Thomas’s longstanding interests in mills and machinery than a cold-blooded calculation on what’s needed first. He needs earthmovers, who else has the [Mold Earth] spell? Robert produced a list. Ah, but Rawlins’ team reports that to make the saltpetre needed, they need to dig various pits, for either human excrement, or human urine and they wanted his input on which. Fortunately for him, as he was attempting to make that very important decision, Merriman’s team insisted that though some of the soil was good, they’d need manure, and since humans and goblins (whose excrement and that of their own livestock was spoken for, both for fertilizing mushrooms and because the Giant Rats, disturbingly, nested in the stuff) were the only available sources, except for the mule which had just showed up, they’d desperately need as much of the excrement as possible to attempt to get the crops to grow.
Which solved that problem. Separate latrines would be dug for urine and excrement, with both leading to clay-lined cisterns which could easily be collected from. Or, that was the idea, until Thomas came up with a better one for the urine latrines, they could be placed near the saltpetre fields and angled to be self draining into them, using a halved and hollowed log as the pipe, at least for now. Feces was rather less...sliding and so would need to be moved, but they placed those latrines near their future farm fields—which meant they would have to extend the ditch, earthworks and future palisade. Every solution came with more problems. And there was nothing anyone could do about sulfur, iron, lead, or mercury (apparently needed for new percussion caps). Natural sources of all of those would have to be found.
The percussion caps’ explosive required three elements as well, mercury, nitric acid and ethanol. Allegedly, once they found the component needed for the [Witch Bolt] spell, they would be able to use its sustained bolt of electrical power to create nitric acid from air and water. That took wood from a tree hit by lightning, which people were already keeping an eye out for. Mercury, as previously noted, required mercury. Ethanol...every farmer knew how to make, but that would take crops that weren’t even planted, let alone harvested.
Trip reported that the goblins had their own ‘smithy’ which was somehow deep within the Mesa. Its smith was practiced at recycling the small amounts of metal they had and fuel made from the dung of their Giant Rats. It was not particularly efficient, but it would let them reshape some of their own metal, or the captured orcish equipment into the tools needed for actual smithing, which was another thing Rawlins had been looking for. And, he could resharpen axe blades a lot faster than their hand-held whetstones, meant for bayonets and cooking knives.
Meanwhile, Thomas had dug a very temporary well, without supports, but since it only had to go down 10-20 feet due to the high groundwater this near the river, it would last until they could get the sawmill up and running and get boards in place on the next one (their own supply of rope was more than sufficient for that, but they had to rough cut a bucket from some lumber, as they didn’t have any of the blasted things). Given [Purify Food and Drink], they could take water straight from the river withou giving themselves the runs, but Madam Varrarg’s stories of monsters made him wary, anything in the water would be a real problem for them. Perhaps a place attack spells might be useful?
Regardless, that issue was temporarily solved, but they’d need a blade for the mill—which brought them back to the blacksmithy. Which was operating on a limited basis because the supply of Giant Rat dung had been greatly reduced with the loss of the lower caverns. The 54th could supply wood fuel, but no one was looking forward to carrying that up the mesa.
Fortunately, at that point Simpkins finally turned up with a plan of action. Apparently, the goblins listening to his speech had heard the bit about phosphorescent moss and fireflies and though they had none of the later, they used the former quite a bit in their nursery caves, where they communally raised their young. A strange practice, but one that they would surely grow out of as their civilization advanced under the protection and guidance of the Union.
Regardless, they produced the moss and Simpkins had had the men with the [Light] spell practicing. He proposed a two prong assault, as the cavern allegedly had two entrances. There was only one beast, so whichever group found it first would pin it in place, while the second attacked from the flank or rear. Given the relatively small size of the caverns, each force would be squad-sized, with a second squad for backup. Those capable of casting the [Light] spell would be in reserves, casting it on rocks. Twenty brilliantly glowing rocks, would be created ahead of time, since each spellcaster could only support one, and one give to each goblin guide, who would lead them into position. Then they’d lay down a barrage of light, advance in skirmish formation to the edge of it and, if the area was clear, the reserves would advance, create more light-bearing rocks, toss them forward and repeat the process until the enemy was brought into the light and engaged, closing to tighten their ranks. They’d clear each gallery as they got to it.If they got pinned down in the tunnels, each group also had one wizard capable of casting [Silent Image] which, given that the material component was fleece, was not a problem.
It was as good a plan as Robert could have come up with. Neither Cabot, nor Russel had any real improvements to make. He looked at the order of battle. Rawlins would be in operational command, as it was too small a force to justify Simpkins taking command himself. But...how would the men take that? Having colored officers was good for morale, but if the white officers did not expose themselves to danger, would the men think them cowards, or that they viewed the men as expendable? Surely not. Every white man here had died for the regiment after all. Still, the words of his first commander rang in his ears, “A soldier is only as brave as his commander allows him to be, by command and by example.”
After a very long moment, he realized he was being an idiot and asked a runner to bring him S-Lieutenant Rawlins.
“Lieutenant, Captain Simpkins has come up with a plan to deal with these beasts beneath the mesa,” he laid out the plan. Rawlins didn’t have any improvements either. “He has drawn up a roster of the men to participate in the attack. Two squads which came through mostly intact as they’re used to working together, with reserves made up of those capable of casting the [Light] spell. He proposes you for command of this assault.”
Rawlins saluted sharply, still an NCO in his bones. “Understood, sir!”
“Relax, Lieutenant, you’re an officer amongst officers.”
He tried to relax and failed.
“Lieutenant, I am...uncertain on how this will be interpreted by the men and would welcome your insight.”
“About what, sir?”
“Promoting you was the right decision. You are the right man to lead this operation, given its size and your capabilities. However...if no white officer accompanies you, I am concerned that the men will think that we are willing to subject them to risks we do not accept for ourselves.”
Rawlins actually smiled at that. “Sir, you need not concern yourself with that, not after yesterday.”
“As Benjamin Franklin said ‘It takes many good deeds to build a good reputation, and only one bad one to lose it’.”
“Sir…”
“Speak freely.”
“If I was a white officer would you worry about this, or trust me to handle it?”
There was a long, painful silence. The other officers shifted. Several excuses flew through his mind. Russel got so uncomfortable he started to say something, but Cabot elbowed him sharply, while Simpkins was still examining the maps he’d made. Finally, he simply nodded. “Lieutenant, given your primary assault forces, who would you recommend receive the EXP boxes? We have 9 remaining, that should be enough to allow two men to receive an increase in level.”
He blinked. “Shouldn’t it be three, sir? Three hundred EXP per level?”
“Three men will advance, but one of them is already chosen. It’s you,” he said calmly and activated three reward boxes, choosing Rawlins each time.