It has been over half a month on the road now. The Marshal's parting speech was certainly a good warning for the horrors of combat but nothing in my entire education, nor the reports I had read, had even begun to prepare me for the sheer monotony of a march. There are green fields, the occasional forest in the distance, a town every once and a while, but no matter what else there is around us the old dirt road stretches on, seemingly forever. And there is nothing to do while marching, it is simply long stretches of myself riding on a horse, watching the soldiers grow tired and sore. It has become apparent to me, even as no one had dared tell me, that the infantry were conscripts, and not particularly well-trained ones at that. If I had to guess I'd say they'd had four weeks of training at the absolute most, hardly the sort of troops a rookie commander wants to have under her command.
I’ve been taking the opportunity to test my powers on them at the end of each day when it looked like they could march no more. I try to see just how many I can affect at once, and how best to use the power I have. It turns out, the closer I am, the easier it is to affect my soldiers. My efforts started with being able to support a hundred for half a minute, by the end of the first week it was a thousand for almost ten, though I could feel murmurs in my heart during that attempt. It will not do for their general to have a heart attack on the march, but it also will not do if she can't inspire them into combat. Or indeed, into marching…
... I miss Lazierte. For over two weeks now all I've spoken to are junior officers I don't know, who all call me 'General Pollineux' and look vaguely cheated by my mere presence. They weren't precisely a source of stimulating conversation, and by the end of the first week I was actively endeavoring to cut any contact with them short, barely able to tolerate them. I was never particularly social with my comrade witches either, but now I wonder if they’d have been better company than this… I miss my portrait of the Queen, there wasn't time to find a replacement before the march began.
Which must mean this whole 'me being a general' thing must be pretty urgent, maybe things at our fort in Alemannia aren't going well. I suppose we'll be finding out soon, our march is almost-
Cannon fire... One of the most important skills we learned at the academy was to not flinch at the sound of cannon fire, and yet I still feel my bones jump a little at the noise... At the proximity...
Those cannons are firing near the fort! The soldiers look nervous, my horse looks nervous, none of us were expecting to fight from the march like this. But there is nothing else that can be done.
"Soldiers! ADVANCE!"
A bugle call plays beside me, a fresh-faced young boy playing the tune for an advance... At least I think they're a boy, I've never asked and honestly it's near impossible to tell at a glance. In any case, the soldiers begin to quicken their pace, although there's not much faster they can go, already marching in column. Hopefully this 'General Malmo' I'm meant to be supporting can hold long enough for us to rescue him.
It takes moving a little further down the road for me to get a complete view of the situation... The intensely grim situation. The fort, if you can call that ramshackle collection of earthworks and wooden palisades a fort, is being attacked on three sides as cannon fire rains from a nearby hill. Coalition infantry, Thuringian banners chief among them, have already taken the trenches and firing positions outside the walls, and are attempting to storm the palisades themselves. And they'd succeed, unless something miraculous happened.
I take a deep breath, preparing myself to be something miraculous, when a thought occurs to me. This is the very last opportunity I have to flee, to take the troops away from here. One step further, even a moment's further hesitation would mean being swallowed by this battlefield and having to fight our way out of its stomach... The Coalition infantry are in disarray, out of formation as they try to force the gaps in the fort's walls. No hesitation.
"Infantry! Take the trenches and attack the enemy in the rear! Cavalry! Go and silence those guns!"
My messenger, a young man so blonde it seeps into the rest of his facial features, rides off to deliver my order to the cavalry. The Bugler calls the advance as loud as they can, trying to fight cannon fire and the nervous talking of inexperienced soldiers. I hear the drums of their drummers; they have received the order... But they advance hesitantly, slowly... We won't catch the Coalition at this rate!
I get off my horse, running forth to join the infantry. Either I get them running or they will all die, so I will get them running... I have about five thousand infantry under my command, I will need to have a very strong heart for this. My power envelops them all like a net, and in an instant their half-hearted shuffle becomes a disorganized, enthusiastic run... Technically better, but I’d prefer if they stayed in formation. But I guess that isn't especially 'heroic', is it? The troops seize the earthworks quickly, the Coalition clearly hasn't prepared for an attack from the rear like this. My troops fire once into the mass of Thuringians at the west wall of the fortress, and fire accurately enough to make a bloodbath, a corpse field that the surviving coalition forces find it difficult to navigate. It makes it harder for them to flee as they wrestle and trip over their shattered comrades, which is very unfortunate for them as my soldiers charge like a giant wave, crashing over those coalition troops who survived the volley but couldn't flee in time. It’s a complete rout, and my men quickly get moving to the next gap in the wall, not even stopping to reload, looking to bayonet more Germans. I catch a glimpse of the defenders in the fort who witnessed what just happened, all of them stunned into inaction for a moment before moving to reinforce other parts of the wall…
I meanwhile am struggling to keep up with my courage-drunk infantry as my heartbeat begins to wane and my vision starts to blur. The troops are jumping over trenches with ease, pulling bayonets out of Coalition troops with incredible brutality, moving fast. I fall into a trench trying to follow them, and probably would have broken a bone had I not landed on a pile of dead soldiers. Avernians and Thuringians both, side by side, blood-soaked holes in their heads and chests, one with a bayonet still lodged in his ribcage. It’s a scene from hell, the hell I'd allowed myself to be swallowed by. That I allowed my men to be swallowed by. I can feel the number of men under my net begin to lower, their unstoppable courage unable to prevent their very stoppable bodies from being riddled with musket fire... This is necessary, this is necessary, we'd lose the fort otherwise. I just have to hold on, to keep the men's morale up. To keep my heart beating for them from here.
As I lay on this small pile of corpses I hear a voice. A soft voice, one which somehow reaches me where I am now, which manages to cut through the crack of gunfire and the shrill screams of the dying close by. A gentle, caring voice, that my limbs seem determined to drag me toward. In the trench with me is a young woman in cuirassier dress, armored breastplate but with a flowy skirt.
Odd, I’ve heard of Witches in the officer corps, but a woman as frontline cavalry? ... In any case, the young woman is sitting beside a dying horse, who she strokes tenderly, speaking to it with fondness.
"I can understand The Convention sending someone like me to war, but to send a beautiful creature like you? It’s just cruel... I'm sorry, Chestnut."
The dying beast gives a sad whinny in response, barely able to keep its eyes open, still bleeding from a wound in its neck.
"I know, it's unfair. If I had only been a bigger target, you might've been comforting me in these twilight moments... But don't worry, Chestnut, I'll be with you until you sleep, you won't be alone... And I'm sure I'll be there when you wake up."
The horse, 'Chestnut', bleeds its last, and the young woman's hand is left utterly saturated with blood. She seems to have removed her riding gloves to pet the poor thing in its final moments. Perhaps she doesn't want them to be stained red with her friend’s blood…
With the creature dead the gentlewoman seems about ready to cry, before she spots me pathetically crawling towards her through the blood-soaked mud. "... You're dressed far too nice to be in a pit like mine.
"I didn't exactly have a choice..." I try to laugh, it mostly comes out as a desperate wheeze.
"Does anyone? ... You don't look so good, where are you hurt?"
I gesture to my heart, and the gentlewoman takes a moment to examine my chest, before turning away, flustered.
"I... I uhhh, I can’t see a wound... You didn't throw yourself into this pit because of some love troubles, did you-"
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"I would never disgrace Her Majesty like that- ... I'm a witch. My magic comes from my heart, so it slows my heartbeat..." It’s starting to ache... It’s starting to more than just ache. "My men... Need my magic."
The gentlewoman raises an eyebrow at 'Her Majesty', my little heresy, before shrugging it off. "Seems to me that you need your heart a little more than they do."
"They... They're saving the day. They need me, they... They're dying for me."
She takes a few moments to think, before sidling over and patting my head, getting blood in my hair. "My name is Pasche. Figured I ought to introduce myself, if you're here to rescue me and all."
"... I'm sorry I couldn't rescue Chestnut."
"She is a loss. I know she's prancing somewhere nice in heaven now."
'She'? War horses were all male, weren't they? I shake my head of this thought, and it gets lost in the fog that encompasses my thinking. I am fading... I need something to raise my heart rate. "Pasche... I need you to restart my heart."
"... I, what-"
"I don't care how, just raise my pulse."
"... I mean, there's a traditional method of that but I don't think it's especially appropriate-"
I throw out my magic again to catch her in its net, having one more person under my power is likely just a single drop of blood in the bucket. Let's hope some courage gets her to help me. Let's hope whatever she has in mind is worth it.
She gets to her feet, my eyes barely manage to follow her... She draws her pistol, and slowly loads it, all the while speaking words that have to swim and struggle to reach me.
"Y'know, if I bring an Avernian officer to The Coalition as a prize, they might just accept me with open arms. I've never much cared for my country, they forced me into this stupid war after all... Perhaps this is the best path forward that I have."
I panic even before she points the gun towards me, I scream when she fires it right... Beside my head, close enough that I swear I can feel the bullet whizz past my ear, unpleasant memories of the Academy lecturer in my head. Well, my heart is certainly beating again, at least for now. Pasche drops her gun, and then drops herself by my side, eyes rather wide.
"What... What did you do to me? How did I do that?"
"My... Magic. It seems to make people all brave and stuff. That's as far as I understand it... I really thought you were going to kill me, you jerk!"
"Hehe, I had to sell the bit, y'know? ... I don't much care for Avernia, but I'm not going to shoot a poor woman in a trench about it."
"I guess so... My name is Serena, by the way. I try not to make a big deal of my last name-"
"As in Serena Pollineux?!"
"... Yes, the very same."
"Your little speech in the Grove of Steel has given you some measure of infamy among the fancy folk of The Convention, you know. I'd watch your step... Figuratively and literally, given you fell into a corpse pit with me."
"I barely even remember doing it... Some man made the queen upset, and I just started yelling, and that's about all I remember."
"You really love our queen, huh?"
"... More than you know, Mademoiselle Pasche."
The gentlewoman, Pasche, seems rather pleased to be addressed in such a fashion, taking my hand and simply sitting with me a while. My heartbeat steadily lessens bit by bit, and eventually my magic wanes as I lay in that trench. I just hope my men are okay-
"Monsieur Pasche, what are you doing in that trench?!" A voice, a loud male voice chastising from the top of the earthworks... Monsieur?
Pasche grips my hand tighter, it seems the voice has upset Pasche considerably. "I am attending to a senior Avernian officer, General Malmo."
Malmo... The man I am here to reinforce. Well, if he has the opportunity to chastise us like this then things must be going well enough for our forces... Maybe we won while I was stuck in a trench being invisibly important. Maybe I can finally give my heart a break.
"Someone so utterly caked in filth, an officer of Avernia? Absurd!” After berating Pasche he turns his attention my way, looking no more inclined towards kindness. “... Well, give your name then, so I know what to put in my report to The Convention."
I slowly, shakily get to my feet, realizing just how blood-soaked and muddy I have become on my attempt to march with the men. "I am General Serena Pollineux, here to reinforce one 'General Malmo'."
If I had my own Serena to give me courage, I might've added something snarky. Not that I need to, upon hearing the name 'Pollineux' General Malmo’s demeanor immediately shifts, and he quickly jumps into the trench to join us.
"Ah! Forgive me mademoiselle! Please, allow me to escort you from this muddy hole in the ground and get you cleaned up... Monsieur Pasche, stop bothering the poor woman!"
She squeezes my hand again, rougher this time... I may not have my own Serena, but right now I want Pasche to have one, giving her another taste of my magic. She stands, with very little of my help, then stares Malmo down with an intensity that could kill thousands.
"Mademoiselle Pasche. You all know this; I have told you a thousand times."
"I'm not inclined to show kindness to rebellious officers-"
"It is not a 'kindness', it is a simple fact, Malmo! It would hardly be the first time you ignored basic reality, our scouts noted the movement of Coalition forces days in advance and we couldn't bring the artillery to bear? We couldn't prepare a plan? We just stood there, waiting to be killed from the hills while you hid behind our walls! Would it be too much of a 'kindness' to actually lead our forces on the front lines?!"
"Monsieur Pasche, this disrespect will be written into my report to The Convention-"
"FUCK YOUR CONVENTION!"
Pasche throws a punch at Malmo... One which I weakly attempt to catch, which mercifully convinces Pasche to stop. Berating a senior officer is grounds for disciplinary action, striking one is definitely a court martial offense. And I’d prefer to not see Pasche in a Grove of Steel, a sacrifice for traumatized young military officers.
Instead, I think I want to see her in my army. "General Malmo, I believe I have a solution to your... Terse relationship with Mademoiselle Pasche here. If I take her into my army then the two of you will no longer feud, and I believe you will both be happier for it. Besides, I require capable cavalry officers like I require air."
Malmo grits his teeth at my admittedly rather disrespectful offer, but he gives a little bow. "I am always happy to do a favor for a Pollineux, as you know... I would hope your brother would know as much as well."
"I'm sure he'll learn one way or another, General... I need to see to my infantry."
"You need a bath."
"The bath can wait, the soldiers can't. I need to know what state my troops are in... I need to know what became of my cavalry, re-establish unit cohesion, ensure the supply train is intact so the men have a meal after this hard-worn battle, need to ensure the dead are buried, need to-"
"These are jobs for junior officers and priests, General Pollineux." There’s something intensely slimy about how he says my family name. "A general's job is to look inspiring for the men, and to execute the will of The Convention."
I consider a counterargument, before not making one. Not because I can't think of one, I can think of several, but giving any of them meant talking to Malmo any more than I have to. I take my leave, Pasche in hand, and went to my duties as an actual general.