Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) (13 page)

The men traded amused looks at this. Captain Stiger was an incredibly active and intense man. Napping was the last thing they expected him to do. Perhaps order additional training, but take a nap? No.

The captain was a troubling mystery. The men were torn. They respected the captain—some even liked him—but they all feared him. No one believed the story that he and Bennet had been sparring on that fateful morning. Though he had not uttered a word on the subject, it was clear Bennet had made an attempt on the captain’s life. Any other officer would have strung the large legionary up. Not their captain, though. He had given Bennet a second chance, while at the same time sending a subtle warning to everyone else.

Bennet’s life aside, he was still one of those bloody Stigers and nothing he had done or said could change that simple fact. The captain’s family name ran deep with the legions. It was said that wherever a Stiger went, hard fighting was sure to follow, which is what made them more than a little uncomfortable. They were afraid of what the captain’s posting truly meant for them.

To complicate matters further, the men now knew where they were headed, the rebel-infested Vrell road. Lieutenant Lan’s men had freely passed around the nightmare they had experienced on the last supply run. They had told tale of screaming rebel madmen striking suddenly, viciously and without warning, and the unexpected terror that lurked behind each tree.

A few weeks prior to setting out, the men of the company would have been in mortal fear of marching to Vrell. Yet something had changed in these last few weeks. Their job was fighting, and a fight was what they now craved.

The captain, the men noted, seemed untroubled by their mission to Vrell. In fact, Captain Stiger was as confident as ever, so much so that many concluded that the stories told by the troopers had been exaggerated. Perhaps, they considered, the rebels were not so tough after all?

There had been the shocking ease with which the scouts and Lieutenant Eli’Far had taken down the rebels watching the main encampment. Such actions spoke of a competence and ruthless efficiency they were proud to be a part of.

Despite their unease at being under the command of a Stiger, they were beginning to believe that they were different or had somehow changed. Yes, they had begun to believe in their captain and themselves. As they shot each other amused looks over their captain, who napped quietly under an old oak, they were quite convinced that the tables would be turned on the rebels. It was the rebels themselves who would learn to fear the legionaries, who now saw themselves as vengeance incarnate coming to collect on past debts. The 85
^th
Imperial Foot would make them pay the bill.

As the men waited, lounging about and talking, gaming or sleeping, the sun climbed higher in the sky. The air grew warmer, humid and more uncomfortable. Insects buzzed about. The sergeants and all of the other corporals had gone with the main body. Only Corporal Beni had remained, though he would have preferred not to. He was new to his rank and responsibilities. Beni was more than a little nervous to be under the direct supervision of the captain, without a sergeant in sight to run cover.

To make matters worse, the paladin, Father Thomas, had also decided to join the escort. He was praying in the shade a few feet away from the captain. The two had spoken little. Beni had the feeling the captain disliked the paladin.

Superstitious, but not particularly a religious man himself, Beni had always felt uncomfortable around holy men. At least Father Thomas did not seem to be the kind to ask for money along with faith. The paladin was a powerful cleric with a strange mystical power that was to be feared. Corporal Beni had accordingly steered clear of him at every opportunity.

The corporal turned his thoughts to the orders Sergeant Blake had given him. He was to keep his men disciplined, under control, and make sure that they maintained their kit and provided an effective watch during camp. He was to check on the guard regularly as the train moved toward Vrell. In addition, as ordered, the corporal had also reinforced in stark terms to the men not to eat the extra rations they had been issued. He had been afraid that while the men waited, idly passing the time, they would become bored and pick through their rations. To prevent such an occurrence, he had threatened to thrash any man who violated this order. A thrashing by the corporal, one of the largest and strongest men in the company, was a serious threat. It also helped that Beni excelled in unarmed fighting. When the sergeants had begun instruction, a natural brawler, he had taken to it like a fish to water. As he stood along the road, waiting impatiently, the corporal smiled at the thought of what he could now do with his hands.

Beni glanced in the direction the supply train would come. The road was deserted. Lieutenant Lan and his troop had ridden before sunrise to meet and escort the supply train to the rendezvous. That had been hours ago. After weeks of constant activity and training, it felt odd to be doing nothing other than waiting alongside an abandoned crossroads. He wondered for the thousandth time about the holdup.

In irritation, the corporal kicked a stone. The stone rolled several feet before coming to a rest in the grass to the side of the dirt road. The bulk of the company was by now miles ahead, while the escort stood waiting and wasting time.

Beni glanced over at the captain, who was snoozing quietly against the tree. The corporal chuckled softly at his stupidity, as it suddenly occurred to him that if the captain was unconcerned, perhaps he should be as well. He had been with the legions long enough to know that waiting for someone else to do their job was perfectly normal.

It was his new rank and responsibilities that were getting to him. He had never thought to make corporal. He was profoundly grateful to the sergeants for recommending him and the captain for approving the promotion, which also meant an increased retirement pension. Corporal Beni was determined to live up to their expectations and exceed them.

Taking the captain’s example to heart, the corporal selected a tree, sat down and leaned back. He doubted he could sleep, though he could at least make it look like he was unconcerned, like the captain, if only for the men to see. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.

The corporal awoke with a start. He blinked several times and glanced up through the leaves. The sun was well up in the sky, meaning it was sometime around noon. He was surprised to have actually fallen asleep.

Frowning, he was not sure what had woken him. Looking around, he realized it was the sound of hooves approaching. A rider was galloping up. He stood to see better, stretching as he did so. It was one of Lieutenant Lan’s troopers. BeniHeBeniBB approached as the rider pulled his mount to a stop. Half the company also stood up in anticipation. The corporal glanced over at the captain, who had not moved. He was still sleeping.

“The supply train is about ten minutes out,” the trooper reported to the corporal.

“I will inform the captain,” Beni responded. The trooper nodded and dismounted to wait, leading his horse over to the grass and shade.

The corporal approached his commanding officer. “Captain,” he said tentatively.

“Yeah?” the captain asked, cracking an eye and squinting at the corporal.

“The wagon train is ten minutes out, sir.” Corporal Beni struggled to keep his voice under control. Beni had seen serious action during the first few years of the rebellion, though not much in the last few. Very little frightened him, but he was man enough to admit to himself that the captain unnerved him plenty.

“Is it now?” Stiger said tiredly. “They sure took their sweet time. In twenty minutes, have the men fall in then.”

“Yes sir,” Corporal Beni said, as the captain leaned his head back against the tree and promptly went back to sleep. Beni breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he stepped away.

It took fifteen minutes for the lead wagons to arrive. The train, comprising fifty heavy covered wagons, was strung out in a line that stretched out for more than a half mile. The lead teamster, Arnold, was a grizzled old legionary sergeant from supply. With difficulty, he climbed down from the lead wagon. The sergeant hobbled over to the captain, limping very badly. He had been wounded at some point in his career. Unable to march, he had been transferred to supply rather than being discharged as a disabled man. Either he had performed some impressive feat, or an officer had taken pity on him by securing him the position.

The sergeant frowned at the sharp look of the legionaries drawn up alongside the road. They did not have the typical look of legionaries here in the South. They were much too clean and competent-looking for that. Idly, he wondered if this was a newly arrived company. Give them time, he thought sourly, and they will look and act like all the rest of the fools in this sad tragedy. Hobbling up to the captain, he saluted sloppily and introduced himself as Sergeant Arnold. A large and dangerous-looking corporal stood slightly behind the captain. The corporal did not look friendly. Arnold would have to keep his eye on him.

Without introducing himself, Stiger briefly outlined his expectations for Arnold.

“My men only travel six hours per day, sir!” Sergeant Arnold protested in a wheezy voice that cracked with irritation. “You can’t ask more than that.”

“I can and am,” Stiger said firmly, irritation growing. “Your wagons will roll from sunup till sundown.”

“The mules won’t last,” Sergeant Arnold protested again.

“They will be fine,” Stiger said, glancing at the team pulling the sergeant’s own wagon. He judged them as well-fed and capable, though on the heavyset side. They appeared more accustomed to a sedate lifestyle than pulling a wagon. Had they been on a near-starvation diet, it might have been a different matter. In this case, he concluded, the extra exercise would not harm them. “You can take a twenty-minute break every three hours.”

“Twenty min—” the sergeant sputtered.

“Lieutenant Lan,” Stiger called, cutting off the sergeant.

The cavalry officer cantered up and saluted. Stiger noticed he looked rather put-out and irritated. The captain guessed the source of the irritation was Sergeant Arnold and his slow-moving train.

“Sir?” the lieutenant asked calmly, carefully keeping the irritation from his voice.

“I have informed Sergeant Arnold I expect the wagons to roll from sunup to sundown, with a twenty minute break every three hours. If his men tire, we have men in the escort who have experience handling wagons.”

“Yes sir,” the lieutenant responded as Stiger called for his horse. The sergeant made to protest, which Stiger pointedly ignored.

“Keep in touch and send a rider forward with any issues you may encounter,” Stiger ordered as Legionary Teg led over his horse.

“A few files of men and his troop for the trip to Vrell!” Sergeant Arnold exploded, turning red. “I was told we would have a full company! Where are the rest of your men? We will be cut to ribbons!”

“I am leaving you forty capable men and your troop,” Stiger continued, addressing Lan, though the statement was really for Arnold’s benefit. “You are in direct command of the train. See that you make good time.”

“Forty men?” the sergeant asked again, simply aghast. “You are condemning all of us to death!”

“I will deal with the rebels,” Stiger growled menacingly as he grabbed the reigns of his horse and mounted up in a smooth, practiced motion. He ignored the sergeant’s insubordination and disrespect. “I am taking the bulk of the company well ahead. We will strike at the rebels and take them apart before you even get close to their camps.”

Stiger kicked his horse forward, leaving the sputtering old sergeant behind. He motioned for Lan to join him as he guided his horse onto the road to Vrell.

The irritated sergeant looked over at the corporal, who smiled thinly at him. Then they both turned to watch the captain and lieutenant ride up the road a ways before coming to a stop.

“Who is that officer?” the irate sergeant asked the big corporal.

“That,” corporal Beni responded with a wider smile, “is Captain Stiger.”

The sergeant looked sharply at the corporal. Beni nodded in silent reply.

“A Stiger in the South?” Sergeant Arnold spat on the ground. “May the gods help us.”

Further up the road, having stopped his horse, Stiger turned to look back at the train of large, heavily-laden covered wagons. They stretched out as far as the eye could see. The captain felt the full weight of responsibility, as if it had suddenly landed heavily upon his shoulders. His orders were to resupply the garrison at Vrell. Not only were his own men relying upon him, so were the teamsters and though they didn’t know it, the entire garrison at Vrell. Should he fail, he wondered, how many would suffer?
I will not fail
, he swore silently.

“If the sergeant causes trouble, relieve him,” Stiger ordered after a few moments. “Send word immediately and I will dispatch additional men to help manage the wagons, especially if the teamsters protest.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” the lieutenant said confidently. “I believe I can handle Sergeant Arnold without having to relieve him or his men. I should think the threat of losing their pensions should prove a sufficient motivation. We may be a little slower than you are expecting, but I will get the train to Vrell.”

“Your orders.” Stiger pulled a sealed envelope from a pocket and handed it over. “Nothing we have not previously discussed.”

“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Lan said, pocketing the orders. He would make a point of studying his orders later that evening, after they had set up camp for the night.

“Very good, Lieutenant.” Stiger leaned over and offered his hand, which Lan took. “I will see you at Castle Vrell in a few days.”

“You can rely on me, sir,” Lieutenant Lan replied confidently. “Have no doubt.”

“I know I can,” Stiger said, and with that he kicked his horse forward into a fast trot, leaving the supply train behind. It was time to catch up to the main body.

Ten

“Are the men ill?” Stiger asked Sergeant Blake as a man broke ranks, darting into the dense, man-high brush that lined both sides of the road. The captain was walking his horse at the end of the column. The sergeant was walking alongside him. Dusk was fast approaching and with it, the heat of the day was thankfully beginning to abate. The company had not yet entered the Sentinel forest. The road to Vrell cut straight through its heart.

The company was marching past abandoned farmland as it approached the forest. The countryside on both sides of the road was littered with burned-out farmsteads. The once cultivated lands had grown wild with grass and brush. The region at one time had been rich and prosperous; a breadbasket, shipping grains back to the empire. Now devoid of inhabitants, it was an abandoned wasteland.

The captain watched as another man, further ahead than the last, darted off the road to disappear into the brush.
Bad food?
He wondered. The men had been eating well the past few weeks, but perhaps something in their game-rich diet was causing stomach disorder.

“Berry picking, sir,” Sergeant Blake admitted sourly, after a slight pause. “Seems it is berry season, and many of these farms grew berries.”

“Berry picking?” Stiger growled with a deepening frown. The captain’s blood boiled at this lapse in discipline. Sure enough, one of the men emerged from the bushes carrying a handful of what appeared to be end-of-summer jayberries. The man was smiling happily at his rich bounty.

“This is a march into hostile territory,” Stiger snapped at Blake, beside himself with irritation. “I will not lose men because they are berry picking!”

“Yes sir,” Sergeant Blake said, casting his captain a careful look. Blake thought himself a tough man. He had survived and prospered in the harsh world of the legions. He had risen to the coveted position of sergeant, the highest position possible for the common-born. Blake had encountered many officers during his twenty years of service. One of those might have not cared enough to notice the men stepping off to hunt for berries. Captain Stiger had noticed. Sergeant Blake hid a smile. Despite his own personal distaste and distrust of the nobility, he found himself beginning to not only respect, but like his captain. “I will put a stop to it immediately, sir.”

“Make sure they know not to wander off by themselves,” Stiger ordered. “Once we are in the forest, if they need to step off, they are to do so in pairs and notify their corporal. We need to hammer this habit into them now. Should the rebels prove competent, they will know this forest. We will not.”

“Yes sir,” Blake acknowledged. Captain Stiger knew his job and if he said there was a real risk, the sergeant believed him.

“In the forest, it will be extremely easy to become turned around. Losing a man or two because he gets himself lost is the same as losing one to the enemy. We will not be able to stop to look. Do you understand me, sergeant?”

“I understand, sir,” the sergeant said seriously. “I will make it so the men understand, too.”

Sergeant Blake hurried forward, calling for the corporals and sending a runner up to the front of the column to fetch Sergeant Ranl. The captain watched the sergeant for a moment, thinking furiously. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose men he would be unable to replace to such thoughtlessness.

In short order, there were no more forays into the brush in search of berries. The sky was slowly beginning to darken with the arrival of dusk. Continuing to lead his horse, Stiger was left alone with his thoughts. The road climbed a gentle rise. Once at the summit, the Sentinel forest came into view. Like a veil drawn across the land, the boundary of the forest stretched out to the left and right as far as the eye could see. In the gathering dusk, the tree line looked more like a dark, foreboding wall of impenetrable darkness.

Stiger stopped. Nomad nuzzled his shoulder as Stiger stared at the tree line. The Sentinel forest reminded him very much of Abath. The captain’s gut clenched as he felt his nerves wavering ever so slightly. Clamping down on the fear, Stiger started forward once more, leading his horse down the hill and toward the forest line.
This time it will be different
, the captain vowed silently, eying the forest.
This time I will conquer you!

One of Eli’s scouts, Legionary Marcus, met the company at the tree line. The road cut a path right into the forest. Stiger had since moved to the head of the column, more out of an effort to control his fears and memories than by setting an example.

“Sir, the lieutenant sent me to guide you to a campsite he selected,” Marcus reported, saluting. “It has plenty of open space and a fresh stream with water, and even a few crawfish.”

“Is the lieutenant waiting at the campsite?” Stiger asked.

“Uh … no, sir,” Marcus replied. “He is scouting ahead.”

“Lead on, then,” Stiger directed. He nodded for Ikely, who had just ridden up, to follow the scout. Stiger waited impatiently for the end of the column to come up. Once it did, he joined Sergeant Blake, who had once again stationed himself at the rear. As the column moved off into the outer edge of the forest, the sergeant made sure there were no stragglers.

Stiger said nothing as he walked his horse into the forest. The forest smelled deeply of pine, moss and wet earth, dredging up memories the captain wished would remain buried. With each inevitable step forward, the canopy of leaves became thicker and made the early evening hours seem that much later.

The campsite was a short fifteen-minute march from the tree line, ten minutes along the road and five following a narrow game trail. A stand of much older trees had created a leaf-covered floor, bereft of brush and undergrowth. It was a pleasant enough spot, Stiger decided, studying the large clearing with a good-sized stream bubbling through.

Worn out from the heat of the day, the men fell out, some simply sitting down where they had stopped. Others made for the stream to refill their canteens. The men were allowed a few minutes of rest before beginning work on the camp.

Stiger hoped that it would not rain that evening. The forest air was chilly, and with every passing hour would grow colder still. With the wagon train several miles behind, the men would be sleeping on their arms, without tents. Stiger looked around at his men. Those serving in the empire’s legions were accustomed to such hardship.

“Marcus,” Stiger called to the scout, seeing him across the camp. The scout jogged over. Stiger expected Lan to send a messenger updating him as to the train’s progress. The campsite was pretty secluded, and it would prove difficult for the trooper to locate.

“Would you find the wagon train and lead one of Lieutenant Lan’s troopers back to our camp, so they know where we are?”

“Yes sir, I will,” the scout said cheerfully, saluting. Grabbing his kit where it rested against the base of a nearby tree, the scout jogged off in the direction of the road. Several legionaries offered the scout a wave or backslap as he headed out. Everyone liked Marcus.

After a short break, work on the camp began. Had an entire legion been making the march, camp setup would have been very different. A legion would have carried their fortifications with them, each night constructing a temporary encampment, complete with dug trenches and fortified walls. There would be none of that for a simple company march, especially without the wagons on hand.

Stiger was taking a risk by not fortifying his camp. He needed to move fast to catch the rebels unaware. Setting up a minimally-fortified camp would take at least two hours each evening and another two in the morning breaking it down, limiting the amount of time his men marched. The captain would rather spend that time on the move. He was relying heavily on Eli and the scouts to be his eyes and to keep the company from danger. In this, Stiger had complete confidence in his friend. Once Eli found evidence of enemy activity, Stiger would order more vigilant measures. Until then, a simple sentry and a picket system would do.

The men worked rapidly to clear the camp of sticks and brush. Wood was gathered and a fire was started, pushing back the deepening darkness. Additional fires were built throughout the camp. Having brought along a couple of mules with supplies, Cook set about preparing an evening tea while the men were ordered to clean up and maintain their equipment. Their precooked rations would serve as the evening meal.

Stiger spent time caring for Nomad, removing the saddle and carefully brushing him down. He made sure Nomad had some time watering at the stream, and left the horse securely tethered to a tree, happily munching on a bag of oats. A couple handfuls of hay, hauled in by the mules, had been tossed at the horse’s feet.

The captain cleaned up at the stream, washing off the sweat. He rinsed his hair and face in the ice-cold water, changed his tunic, and carefully washed the one he had worn. Once clean, he hung it from a low-hanging tree limb near the spot where he had decided to bed down for the night. One of the sergeants had made sure the captain had his own fire, which crackled happily. Stiger set out his bedroll and stifled a yawn. They had traveled far today, and he was ready for sleep. However, there was still camp business to attend to. When the general camp work had been completed, Stiger ordered the men to gather around the large central fire.

“The forest we have entered is dense. Not only are there rebels, but there are also man-eating cats that roam these woods. It is a dangerous place, and should be respected.” Stiger gestured around at the dark woods. “If you wander off the road … trust me on this, it is extremely easy to get turned around. You will become lost. By the time anyone thinks to look for you, the company will be miles away. Worse, nobody will be coming back for you. We move and we move fast. It is that simple. Nothing can be allowed to slow us down.”

Stiger paused to gather his thoughts, pacing a little as he did so. “Our scouts are out looking for the enemy. Consider also that it is possible, though unlikely, that rebels could be watching us, hoping for the chance to jump one of us. If they catch you alone … well, let’s just say that you don’t want them to catch you. Never go off by yourself. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” the men shouted.

Stiger looked at his men. The heat from the fire was hot enough to almost singe, but he paid it no mind. He said nothing for a minute. It was known that the rebels did terrible things to captured legionaries before they allowed their prisoners to die. The rebellion in the South was a fight without mercy or kindness.

“Good work today,” he continued, softening his tone a bit. “You marched well. Tomorrow we rise early and do it all over again. The enemy has no idea we are coming. Speed will bring us victory.”

“Company dismissed,” Sergeant Ranl hollered, taking his cue from the captain, who had nodded to him. Stiger stood for a moment, watching as his men moved off. Sergeant Blake approached with a slight trace of a grin.

“Very inspiring, sir,” Sergeant Blake said drolly as the men departed. “It nearly brought a tear to me eye.”

“Let us hope it saves a life or two,” Stiger replied heavily, feeling every ounce of the responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.

“It might at that, sir,” Blake added, the grin slipping from his face. “There is always one who thinks he knows better, though.”

Stiger frowned, but said nothing in reply. The sergeant was right, of course. Stiger looked him meaningfully in the eye and nodded. Breaking eye contact, he glanced toward the trail that led to the road. Lan’s update had not yet arrived. It had only been two hours since he had dispatched Marcus. The slow-moving train was miles back. Stiger knew there was nothing to be worried about … yet.

Bidding the sergeant a good night, Stiger made his way to the tree, where he had set out his gear. His fire had burned low. He threw on two more logs and poked at it with a large stick to flare it up. He unbuckled his sword and placed it within easy reach. He sat down on his bedroll and leaned back against the tree. He could see Ikely with sergeant Ranl and the corporals across the camp, setting pickets and checking on the sentries.

The lieutenant’s bedroll rested only a few feet away. The sergeants had ensured that the men had given the officers a little privacy. The nearest man was about twenty feet away. Stiger pulled his cloak out of his saddlebag and draped it across his legs. It promised to be a cold night. Looking up at the sky through the dense canopy of leaves, he hoped once again that the rain would hold off. Sleeping in the rain was a miserable experience, even if you had some tree cover. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the camp. It felt good to be on the march again, he decided, even if he was in a forest much like those in Abath. The captain was asleep within moments.

***

The sergeants woke the camp before sunup. Cook had prepared a hot meal of mush, a tasteless oatmeal that the legionaries had become accustomed to. The company mules had carried in some basic cooking implements and supplies for him to use. After a chilly night spent sleeping on their arms, the hot meal, though plain, was more than welcome.

The men were allotted thirty minutes to eat, clean up and pack up for the march. The sergeants eventually called for fall in, after which a quick count began. Stiger had ordered that at least four times a day, roll call be taken. The captain was doing all he could to keep from losing his men to the forest.

“Third File all present and accounted for, Sergeant,” Corporal Durggen reported to Sergeant Blake after concluding his own count. The sergeant nodded and moved on to the next file. Stiger was standing off to the side, near Third File, patiently waiting for roll call to be completed.

“You sorry sums of bitches better stay on that poor excuse for a road,” Corporal Durggen barked at his men. “Any of you need to wander off to pass water or the like had best check with me first. You then take a friend with you to hold it as you piss and then git right back. Only bears shit in the woods. You make me have to explain why you got lost and you will be plenty sorry. You got that?”

“Yes, corporal,” the men of the Third File answered in unison.