“Get your sorry asses out of bed!” Sergeant Steele roared, stomping into the barracks. Oliver groaned and sat up looking confused. wake up was usually done by Kevin. Looking around he remembered that he was no longer in first century. He felt his mood darken at the thought and shook his head.
“On your feet private!” Steele shouted and Oliver shoved his feet into his boots. Five minutes later, he was lined up outside waiting for breakfast. Third Century was the first one up so the line was short. He was quickly served a slop of unidentifiable meat and rice and kicked out of the line. He stood in front of the sea of tables looking lost.
“Ay Ollie!” Tucker yelled and waved his hands. Oliver noticed him and walked over. The rest of his squadmates sat around eating their breakfast.
“So does anyone know when we’re moving out?” Reece asked and the rest of the squad shifted their attention to Simmons.
“What are you guys looking at me for?” he snapped and kept eating.
“Well, you talk to Sarge the most so we assumed you would know,” Washington said.
“Yeah, what Wash said.” Teft agreed.
“I talk to Jimmy about life at home, normal shit not marching orders,” Simmons said.
Oliver frowned, “Jimmy?”
“Yeah Sarge's name is James Steele, he and Simmons here joined the army together.”
“Wait if he’s a Sergeant then why are you just a private?” Oliver asked and Kyle laughed.
“Simmons is too stupid to be a sergeant. Mark my word, the day they promote him is the day I start fragging officers.”
“What’s this I’m hearing?” Steele asked as he sat down, "plotting to kill your squad leader?”
“Hey Sarge, if you were to kick the bucket, who would be next in charge,” Tucker asked
Steele raised a brow, “I do not like where this is going.”
“Well... we are going on scouting duty and we will need a chain of command in case we get cut off.”
“Yeah, or what if you get kababed by an orc,” Kyle added bluntly and Tucker shook his head.
“That’s an elegant way to put it, but if you want to know. Simmons is next in line for a promotion.”
“Haha! Eat shit you fuckwads!” Simmons laughed and flipped the bird at the rest of the squad.
“Attention!” Instantly the entire century was on their feet, “At ease, most of you already know the gist of it, but here’s the basics for those of you that weren't paying attention. Lord Varus has granted us the honor of scouting ahead of the legion for the next week, he has asked me to emphasize the importance of this mission. Furthermore, two commissars will be overseeing this mission to completion. Do not fail or falter under their oversight, you already know the consequences for that. We move out in one hour's time, dismissed.”
/-/
An hour later, Third Century was lined up at the mouth of the road, three rows of thirty-three with Centurion Graves at the front. The two commissars stood on either side of him. They wore their distinctive black caps and greatcoats, with silver swords at their hips and pistols at their sides. Commissars were some of the most feared men on a battlefield and not only by the enemy. Magic wielding officers who had no qualms executing men in order to “inspire” the rank and file.
“Forward, March!”
The century moved as one cohesive unit as they marched down the road. Washington started calling out cadence as they ate up the ground. They made it all of fourteen miles before disaster struck.
“I’ve fucked in the west!”
“I’ve fucked in the east!”
“I even fucked a woman,”
“With very large breasts!”
“But I’ll never be happy!”
“And I’ll never be free!”
“Until I fuck someone!”
“As hard as the Army’s fucked me!”
“Hey, if you ever saw your recruiting sergeant, what would you say to him?” Kyle asked.
“Oh hell, I’d blow that man’s head off.” Reece declared, “Join the army,'' he said. “It’ll be fun,” he said. See the world!”
“Now we spend eight hours a day marching and eating shit food,” Oliver grumbled and one of the commissars stopped in his tracks.
“There shall be no more talks of treason in the ranks!” he snapped and put a hand on his pistol. The intention was very clear and all conversation ceased for several minutes.
“Hey, Ollie, where you from?” Tucker asked.
“Freehold born and raised,” Oliver said proudly and thumped his chest. A couple of men groaned and several jeered, calling out insults. “You’re just jealous you weren’t born there.”
“That place is a shithole.” Simmons said, “Full of inbreds, idiots, and other inadequate individuals.”
“Oh yeah? Where you fr-” Oliver started to challenge when a javelin blurred across the road and passed close enough to give him a shave. He flinched away and looked up in surprise.
“AMBUSH!”
A dozen more javelins flew towards them as they leaped off the road and crouched behind it. The commissars remained on the road, their brows furrowed in concentration as wisps of blue energy radiated off their bodies, the air around them sparking with static. Realizing that the two magicians could not move, Oliver dropped his musket and ran up beside them. He grabbed both by their collars and heaved them behind cover.
“What are you hiding for? Shoot the fuck back!” Graves roared and men started peering over the rim of the road looking for targets. Oliver peeped his head out and scanned the treeline for several heartbeats before dropping back into cover.
“What do you see?!” Kyle asked and Oliver shook his head, “Nothin. Doesn’t matter, just shoot into that treeline until they stop!”
Kyle nodded and Sergeant Steele roared, “Volley fire on my mark!”
Oliver readied his musket, “Mark!”
The entire squad stood up and let loose a ragged volley of shots. Rounds skipped across the ground dozens of feet in front of the trees, some rounds passed through trees sending wood chips everywhere and others disappeared into the forest without a trace. Oliver dropped down immediately afterward and started loading. His hands shook as he rammed the ball down his musket’s muzzle. But it was far better than earlier that week.
Graves had ordered another squad up and they lit the land up with their guns. The third squad stood up to fire but were met with a counter volley of javelins. Six men went down screaming and the rest dropped back down without firing.
“Damn it! Third squad up!” Graves commanded again and they stood up once again. This time they managed to fire off a volley before they were struck by javelins again. A man to Oliver’s left collapsed without a sound and he quickly pulled him back behind cover only to discover his head was hanging on by a single flap of skin.
“First squad up!” Graves called, ignoring the mounting casualties. Oliver gritted his teeth and leaped up firing an unaimed shot at the trees before diving back down. Not everyone was so lucky, two men from tent three fell and Aiden from tent two collapsed as a javelin passed through his right arm. Cutting it clean off.
Having watched first and third squad take casualties, Second squad faltered for a moment before standing in a ragged line. Their hesitance gave the enemy time to prepare and a devastating cloud of javelins cut down a third of their number.
“Third Squad up!” Sergeant Malone screamed and Third squad let out a defiant shout and stood up. No javelins met them and they fired off their volley without issue.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Back on the road!” the commissars demanded, for a moment no one moved then the commissar pulled the hammer on his pistol back and repeated his order. The century scrambled back onto the road and made three ranks. Oliver knelt in the first row, gun up and eyes firmly fixed on the trees in front of him. His musket swayed back and forth in his hands as sweat covered his brow. He saw an orc charge out of the woods, followed by another, then another. In total, fifty orc Warboys screamed wildly as they charged Third Century.
“Fire!”
All three lines fired at once and half of their number dropped in an instant. The rest ran on, missing arms and legs.
“FIX BAYONETS!” Graves screamed.
“Men, do not falter, do not fail! For the Almighty above watches over us. If need be, we shall give our lives in the name of Varus and join our comrades in the Elysian Halls!” the commissars chanted together, casting a spell to calm the men.
“Brace!” Steele called, Oliver felt the musket in his hands start to slick as sweat coated his palms. The ground shook as he eyed the orc in front of him. In a moment of odd clarity, he knew what he was supposed to do. Just before the orc entered striking range, Oliver raised his weapon above his head with both hands and lunged at the orc striking it in the face. His bayonet rammed home, right through its right eye and straight into the skull, killing it instantly. That didn’t stop its momentum however and the corpse slammed into him sending him flying.
Oliver flew over the lines of men and off the road. He hit the ground and bounced twice, tumbling down the side of the road. He let out a wheeze as he felt the air get knocked out of him.
The rest of the line had fared far worse, cohesion was non-existent and men fought orcs one on one. The two commissars cut down three orcs in swift succession before sending a fireball at a fourth. It went up like a torch as it screamed rolling on the ground. The elder commissar staggered for a moment before putting both hands on his knees and steadying himself. Second squad's sergeant lifted his musket over his head to block an axe blow but it cleaved right through and the axe blade sunk deep into his head. Oliver gritted his teeth and charged back up the hill, stabbing an orc in the back. His bayonet sunk deep into its flesh and it roared with pain. Whirling around and wrenching the gun out of his hands. It reached back and pulled the seven-inch-long steel blade out.
Oliver backed up, reaching down to his hip for his personal knife, a long nine-inch affair. A gift from his father before he had enlisted, he grasped the smooth handle and held it in both hands in front of his body.
The orc roared and swung its club at him, he screamed in terror and ducked under it. Then he shot up and shoved the blade deep into its exposed armpit. The knife sliced through flesh like butter and with a wet crunch snapped one of the orc’s ribs in two. Three inches of cold steel tickled its heartstrings and it let out an ear-piercing shriek and punched Oliver in the face. The blow hit him like a horse’s kick and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. The orc followed soon after and its corpse landed on top of him covering his entire body.
/-/
“Will! You backstabbing little shit!” I howled as I felt my legs go out from under me. I looked down, about six inches of twisted metal was jutting out from my thigh. William Tourel kicked me in the back and pulled the spear out. I screamed again and dropped to the ground. The third year in front of me laughed and swung his mace at my head. I took a deep breath in and he froze, I tried to stand up on my ruined leg and immediately collapsed. I grunted in pain and involuntarily lost control of my trait. His mace continued down and I lifted my sword to block it, bracing my left hand on the side of the blade. He grunted in surprise as I kicked him with my good leg. Will’s spear shot out like a pit viper and the third year barely dodged in time.
He backed up, giving me time to roll around on the ground and get back up. I hobbled on my right leg, using my sheath as a cane. Will pressed on, pushing the guy back. His spear held in both hands and a hard light shield floating in the air blocking any attack that came his way. The older student swung his mace down at Will, the blow crashed against his shield, and a crack formed. He hit it again and again before it finally exploded in a flash of green light. Will blocked the strike with his spear then used it as a stand and kicked him in the chest.
The third-year grinned and unleashed a torrent of blows. I hobbled closer and decided to get some revenge. Just before Will’s spear blocked a blow aimed at his right arm, I took a breath and plied the spear out of his hands, and walked several paces back. The mace crushed his elbow with a crack, he screamed and grasped at his arm. The third-year swung at his head and the mace paced right through and Will collapsed onto the ground, not moving an inch.
“Oh shit,” I said, realizing that he was out of the fight. The third year smacked his mace in the palm of his hand and laughed.
“It’s nothing personal.”
I lunged at him in a last-ditch attempt to put him out of commission. I was far too slow and he carelessly batted my sword out of the air.
“Just, make it quick.” I sighed and closed my eyes. I felt the mace go through my head and I collapsed to the ground, body seizing up.
“That’s the match.” Ms. Mallory said with disapproval and with a wave of the hand. My body returned to my control and a surgeon walked over. He gave me a leather strap and I bit down as hard as I could.
A few minutes later I was stretching the newly formed muscles in my leg and thinking about creative ways to kill Will. He glared daggers at me and cracked his knuckles. That had been twelve rounds, twelve rounds of fighting some of the best students at the academy. We might have stood some sort of a chance if we hadn’t been screwing each other over every chance we could. If Mallory really thought this was going to strengthen our bond or something, she was sorely mistaken.
“Hey Will.”
“What?”
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too.”
“Students, that is the twelfth time in a row the two of you have thrown a match because you are too busy trying to get each other killed, and as much as I would like to beat some sense into the both of you. We are out of time, do not let me find you fighting outside of class again.”
“Yes ma’am,” I grunted and exited the stadium, Will followed a few paces behind.
/-/
“I’m back,” I yelled as I walked up the stairs into the lounge room. Sam looked up from his bowl of northern takeout and with one mighty slurp, sucked all the noodles up in one go. I shook my head, “Didn’t even wait for me, I’m hurt.”
“Hey, you try fighting the Invincible Girl.”
“So what was detention like?” Alex asked, he was laid out across one of the couches with his head in Arya’s lap.
“I spent an hour getting cut to ribbons by the third-year students with Tourel. Little shit stabbed me in the back more times than I can count.” I spat and rubbed one of the many tender spots.
“What was fighting the third years like?” Val asked idly, flipping the next page in her book.
“Man, I could barely touch them even when the two of us were actually working together.”
Sam stood up. “So now that he’s back what do you guys want to eat, I’m starving.” They looked at him in disbelief, “what?”
“You and Illia ate an entire cured pork leg and literally all the noodles they sold,” Noah said flatly,
“Wait what?” I asked, “Elves eat meat?”
“Of course we do, what else are we supposed to sustain ourselves on in a forest where barely any light gets through, vegetables?”
“Couldn’t you just use magic to grow plants?”
“And miss out on the delights on meat?” she asked incredulously, then I shit you not. She grabbed the large bone that the pork had come with and took a bit out of it like it was a fucking carrot. There was a crunch not dissimilar to the sound Will’s arm had made.
I recoiled back, “What the hell!” she gave me a toothy grin and kept on chewing.
“Yeah, we had that reaction too,” Arya said, shaking her head. Sam’s stomach let out an impressive rumble and he gave us puppy eyes.
Cassie rubbed the bridge of her nose, “I can’t believe we are related.”
Varus sat in his command tent, reading a supply report and drinking coffee when one of his guards came hurtling through the closed tent flap. He stood up drawing his sword.
“What is the meaning of this!” he demanded and the guard looked back in terror.
The guardsman shot up as a dozen more appeared in all corners of the room spears at the ready. “I’m sorry my Lord, I tried to stop him but he wouldn’t listen.”
“Who is him?”
General Iroh strode into the command tent with a fury in his eyes that only veterans of the Reclamation wars would recognize, “That would be me Kaedin.”
“What are you doing here Iroh?” Kaedin irritatedly asked, “Did I not give specific orders to not dist-”
“Fuck your orders, did you send one of my musket centuries out on scouting duty today?” Iroh snapped.
“I did.”
“Alone, without any heavy infantry support?”
"that is correct."
Iroh continued, “with orders to not return for seven days and commissars to see the mission through?”
“Right on all counts Iroh,” Kaedin said lazily, looking at his fingernails. “What seems to be the problem?”
Iroh gaped, “What seems to be the problem? Are you trying to get men killed, you know they don’t stand a chance of surviving that long.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you doing this, I know I taught you better than this.”
“Tell me Iroh, in the past month how many times have we been ambushed or attacked?”
“Seven times not counting random demon encounters.”
“And how much time do you think we have lost because of those attacks?” He asked, “How many marks this campaign has costed us so far?”
“You are not answering my question Varus.”
Kaedin sighed, “You know orcs better than almost any other general alive. Tell me would they ever give up a chance to fight?”
“Unless under the command of multiple Given men, Orcs will always attack any target they believe they have even the slightest chance at defeating,” Iroh spoke as if he was lecturing a class.
“Now take that knowledge and apply it to our situation. The commissars can communicate with us instantaneously. So if they are attacked and defeated, then we would know how far away an ambush is. That way we won’t have to form defensive lines every morning while we march.”
“What if they aren’t attacked?”
“A hundred men is not a small force If you were the Orc general commanding Blackstone fortress. Would you want the enemy to see what you are doing at the castle?”
“I suppose not.”
“There is your answer.”
“Still, I do not like how easily you spend the lives of men Kaedin. This is not the way I taught you.”
Kaedin gave a bitter laugh, “I’ve killed hundreds of thousands, a few dozen more won’t make much of a dent in my consciousness.”