I walked among those brave men of Loyal Company, I surveyed the grounds where they had fought and fallen, where their sargents had deemed a worthy place to die at my orders. Second Platoon had died to the man— my troops had died well. They were farmers, woodsmen, divers, miners and factory laborers. Hard working men and their sons. Good stock for soldiering. Damned respectable men, service was in their veins every since the city of Brunswick had broken off from the Confederation of buffer states under the Slavic Hegemony some 430 years back. My boys may not have been career soldiers—the city militia didn't maintain a standing army, only reservists—but they took to soldiering naturally, years of casual training and generations of military service made up the heart and soul of Loyal Company.

"How did we do LTee?" One of the 'corpses' asked, cracking open an eye.

"You did well enough son, but there's room for improvement yet." I answered truthfully.

A bugle blows in the distance and the 'dead' men rose back amongst the living. The myth of immortality had been cracked wide before my eyes! They groaned and partook of the ancient soldiering pastime of complaining about this or that as they worked life back into stiff limbs. Men flushed their wounds with water and the bullet holes dotting their uniforms washed away.

Were it that reality were so simple as these wargames. Wishful thinking wouldn't stop the conquering barbarians howling at the doors. That was something these brave men would have to do in glorious battle and when that fateful clash of arms came their immortality would be exposed for the charlatan myth it was. When that day came and the bugle sounded at day's end, those who had fallen would never rise again. When that day came…

"Sargent Bradly!" I hollered over the din. "Conduct review on my behalf and get the men ready for the next round."

"Sir!"

Bradly was a smart man, a shining example of the rank. He'd carry out the business of the day in my absence well enough. Within the minute he had the men standing at parade rest and I felt the same tug of pride in my lads that I always did at times such as these. Loyal Company, Second Platoon. My lads.

Would that the rest of our troops could be half as disciplined as my lads were. Further down the line of battle I saw entire companies milling about in the absence of any real leadership. The coalition forces playing the aggressors were even worse, if such a thing could be believed.

Directly opposing us were roughly 600 Kobryn irregulars, an unsightly mob of convicts, drunks and heavyset thugs all of which quite enjoyed these coalition wargames. They seemed to revel in playing the aggressor while my lads grew more stubborn every day. That was good, stubbornness went hand in hand with willpower and in kind willpower lent itself to discipline. That any state would trust it's security to criminals seemed an exceptionally misguided thing indeed. Perhaps a small detachment of ne'erdowells under proper martial guidance might be of some use, but to have an entire force composed of such lowlifes was unthinkable to me.

Further along were the Hanover Ferrous Guard who were flawed in an altogether stranger regard. They were fine soldiers, make no mistake on that front, yet they were a zealous lot. In the battalion that came marching to our aid, some 400 men in all, there was not a single soldier lacking in that fanatical zeal— that didn't have righteous hatred burning fiercely in his eyes. They might be the most bigoted and spiteful men I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting but for all their personal failings they were a stiff-backed and uncompromising lot of soldiers.

While the ranks regrouped and resupplied, us educated types among the leadership gathered round in a more casual regard. Career soldiers were a rare thing here, political will favored the doves and the doves in turn seemed to think defense of the state wasn't worth spending a dime on. It wasn't until the threat of war was just weeks away that our leaders began singing a different tune.

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Colonel Lynder and Color-Sargent McClain were the only commissioned men present who'd seen any action in their long careers in defense of our independence. The rest of us were an odd collection of men educated enough to pass the commission exam: engineers, physicians, foremen, bureaucrats or career scholars. I was a teacher myself, just of secondary school though. In fact I'd taught several of the younger men as they were coming of age and such past relationships had granted our new relative positions a proper air.

Save for the Colonel and CSM, we were reservists to a man. Some of us had been sporadically serving for years but there were few among that number who'd wore their uniform for more than a fraction of that time. I'd been a soldier for nearly a decade now yet in all that time I had perhaps three years actually practicing soldiery. I knew that most of the other Lieutenants and Captains present had a similar story to my own.

Once we'd gathered and positioned ourselves around the map board in alignment to our respective units, Colonel Lynder allowed the CSM to administer a disciplinary chewing out to those who deserved it. I felt a small glow of pride that no officer from Loyal Company received so much as a harsh word. Once the dressing down concluded, the Colonel turned the command debriefing over to the black sheep in the tent.

That things had come to this… Our city hiring on vagabond warmongers as tactical advisers and hired guns for the coming battle. It was disgraceful but it was necessary. Two mercenaries standing among us as nominal equals, lecturing us on matters of tactics and strategy, it was absurd! They were hulking thugs going by the names of Leeroy and Havoc. No doubt their physiques were the result of chemical enhancements and tailored supplementation rather than honest labor. What these brutes knew of soldiery seemed archaic. They sought to abolish the line of battle, delegating more autonomy to the lowest levels of command. They even wanted us officers to stand in the ranks with a rifle just as a lowly private would! Were it not for the near reverence of the Colonel and CSM, these brutes would have been throw to the enemy and left to die— it was no less than these dishonest mercenaries deserved. These killers fought for a paycheck, it was preposterous that they should be treated like equals to those of us fighting for duty, for our homes and loved one.

There was a certain irony I'd have delighted in baring to the politicians once this was all over. They'd spent decades pinching pennies when it came to security budgets; in fact the primary reason there were so few career soldiers in the city was because they politicians refused to finance a standing army. They'd claimed a volunteer citizen's militia would be more than adequate to defend our homes and our families. They'd slashed defensive spending time and time again until the City Corps had dwindled to the Defensive Division and now it wasn't even that. We were a Brigade on paper, a reserve force that numbered somewhere between one to three thousand men— depending on if you were consulting reality or an outdated file.

After decades upon decades of letting our forces rust away, those same politicians along with the son and daughters of such distinguished pedigree, now there was a bottomless coffer to hire mercenaries. Now that danger was on the horizon, now they wanted a standing army and they wanted it yesterday! Not two years ago when there was time to train and provision a proper fighting force. Only now that danger was stomping through our neighbor's backyard and eying up our own, willing recruits were few and far between. Oh, the irony in that. If I survived the coming days, I'd make a grand example of such hubris for my students.

Which brought me back to the mercenaries…

"I'm not going to mince words here." Leeroy stated. "This brigade still has a long way to go. I know we're throwing a lot of new ideas at you but while you've been living in peace, war has changed. If your tactics don't evolve to meet that reality, you will be outmaneuvered and destroyed in the coming days. The Russo-Successor-Nation has been fighting for years. They have a militant legacy, dozens of campaigns of history to draw doctrine from. They are a modern mechanized fighting force with capabilities you simply aren't equipped to handle. Even with our outfit plugging the holes in your hardware shortfalls, this is going to be a battle unlike any you have ever seen."

I would have dismissed the merc's superstitions and nay-saying, were it not for the grim look of foreboding upon the Colonel's face. Col Lynder was a deeply respected veteran, his word alone gave these mercenaries credence yet that look… I allowed myself a moment's consideration. We were an untested force. The coming battle would be the first inside Brunswick's borders in over 200 years. There was no denying that we were inexperienced but we were fighting for our homes! Doubt was a luxury we could not afford and so I shook it off.

If the RSN invaded our lands, we would repel them. Surrender was not an option, defeat was not permissible. We would win or we would die, there would be no alternatives.