Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) (14 page)

“Know that the gods gave me patience … but only so much,” the corporal added. A chuckle ran through Third File. The captain could tell the men liked and respected their corporal. It was a good sign for the future.

“Now, how ‘bout that inspection,” the corporal continued. The corporal moved forward to look each man over. There was a little grumbling. That was also a good sign; legionaries always grumbled about something.

The captain watched for a moment more before he turned away and walked over to his horse. He had saddled Nomad and packed his gear earlier. He gave Nomad a friendly pat on the neck as he untethered the horse and led him back.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Ikely said as he approached, leading his own horse. “All being present and accounted for, the company is ready to begin the march on your word.”

“Very well, Lieutenant,” Stiger responded. “You may begin the march.”

“Company,” the lieutenant shouted, turning to face the men. The company was drawn up in a line of two abreast in the clearing, where they had spent the night. Several of the files were stacked up behind each other, as the clearing was not large enough for one complete line. “Right face!”

The company as a whole pivoted to the right.
Gods
, Stiger thought,
they look good
.
Is this the same company I inherited a few weeks back?

“Fooorwaaard!” the lieutenant shouted. “Maaarch!”

The column stepped off, with Marcus in the lead. The cheerful scout had returned late into the night with one of Lan’s troopers, bearing a report on the train’s progress. Lan had reported that there had been no problems so far with Arnold and his teamsters.

Leading the men back to the road, Stiger saw Marcus disappear into the trees. Eli had trained his scouts well. They were exceptionally conditioned and motivated, seemingly tireless. Once back on the road, the scout slipped into a slow jog and disappeared up ahead, around a bend in the road. Marcus would be miles ahead of the column before mid-day.

The captain waited patiently for the column to move by. Sandals crunched rhythmically in the soft forest bed. Sergeant Blake once again had elected to bring up the rear. Ranl was somewhere near the front with Ikely. Blake nodded to his captain, who began walking with him once the last file passed them by. Stiger walked his horse, working out the stiffness, a result of spending the night on the hard ground.

“Lovely morning for a march, sir,” Blake offered cheerily as the two stepped from the woods onto the road. The morning had brightened considerably, though the sun had not risen high enough to break through the canopy of leaves. It was still chilly, which was a relief from the ever-present heat, rain and humidity that had plagued the region for the past few weeks.

“Lovely morning for a march,” the sergeant repeated. Stiger spared the sergeant a glance, frowning. The captain was beginning to like the sergeant. The man was efficient, knew his business and showed good judgment. He was also fair and a good hand with the men. Stiger said nothing by way of reply and the two walked in silence together.

The road could not be described as much more than a simple dirt track that cut through the forest. If the captain had not known better, he would have decided it was a long-abandoned logging path. The road sometimes ran straight for a stretch, while other times meandered madly like a stream. It was just wide enough for a single wagon to pass. The trees that crowded in on the road were young and much smaller than those further back in the woods. A good amount of underbrush grew on both sides of the road, making it impossible to see further than a few feet into the woods. It looked as if within the last twenty years or so someone had cut back the tree line, only to have it once again begin encroaching closely on the road. The captain suspected that another cutting in the coming years would be required to keep the road open.

As the march continued through the morning, with the rhythmic crunch of more than a hundred and fifty sandals, the underbrush slowly receded and grew thinner, as the trees became harder, taller and older. The canopy of leaves moved higher and became thicker with the change in trees.

Stiger understood the pace was a hard one, made more so because the men were wearing their armor and carrying their shields and full kit. When on the march, legionaries always wore their armor. In hostile territory, a surprise attack could come at any moment. It was better to be prepared to meet an attack than not. It was a practical solution, which, when needed in those rare instances, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the sound reasoning behind the practice.

The men’s shields were secured in canvas weatherproof bags, which they had strapped to their backs. The shields would only be removed from their protective bags in the event of a battle or for maintenance purposes. The men purchased their own armor and kit, with the shields being their most expensive and valuable possession. Sources of personal pride, they were lovingly cared for.

While marching, helmets were typically not worn, unless it was raining. In a rain shower, though heavy and uncomfortable, a helmet kept water off the head and out of the eyes. Under fair weather conditions, the helmet hung on the chest from the neck by a simple leather strap. This was much easier than wearing the heavy metal helmet day in and day out, which on the march, was literally a pain in the neck.

At the fourth stop of the day, the company reached a small stream, which intersected the road. Lieutenant Ikely had called a stop early, so that the men would have an opportunity to refill their canteens. Marching was thirsty work. There had, at one time, been a small bridge over the stream. It had long since been washed away, leaving only the remains of the rotten, termite-infested wooden supports.

Taking a look at the small stream, Stiger could see that the men and mules would have no problem crossing. The flood-lined banks indicated that had there been more rain, the crossing might have proved difficult. At this low level, his men would have no trouble crossing. Only their calves would get wet. The supply train, however, would have to lay planking to pass, which they carried for such a purpose. It should take Lan no more than a half hour to lay a makeshift bridge.

Having satisfied himself with the knowledge that neither the company nor the supply train would have any difficulty crossing, the captain decided that this would be a good spot for the men to take an extended break for lunch. He passed the orders to Ikely, who then promptly passed them down the line. They would remain here for thirty minutes to rest and eat their precooked rations.

Stiger secured Nomad, then selected a tree next to the stream and sat down against it. He quietly munched on his ration of hard bread and salt pork. The men gave him a respectful space, which allowed the captain to think and watch them. Though tired, the men chatted amiably. He noted laughter. Morale was good and spirits were high. They were responding well to the challenging march.

“Sir.” Lieutenant Ikely approached. “Time to march, sir.”

“Very well.” Stiger put his mess kit and the remainder of his rations away in a small canvas travel bag. “Have the men fall in.”

“Yes sir,” Lieutenant Ikely responded, passing the order to the sergeants and corporals, who began barking out orders.

The men fell in and roll call was taken. All were found to be present and accounted for. Within minutes, the march began again. Stiger could have easily ridden, instead of sharing the miles on foot. Most officers would have taken the easier path. The captain, on the other hand, felt that marching was good exercise. Besides, he was an infantry officer and as he saw it, an infantry officer belonged afoot with his men.

Shortly after their next break, a rider galloped up from behind the column. Stiger was still walking his horse. He turned and watched the rider approach. It was one of Lan’s troopers. The man was road-dusty.

“Sir, Lieutenant Lan’s respects,” the trooper said, dismounting. Once his feet touched the ground, he offered the captain a smart salute and handed over a dispatch. “He wishes you to know that all is well with the wagon train.”

“How far back are they?” Stiger asked. He had been marching along the center of the column. As he stood speaking with the trooper, his men continued to tromp by.

“Around twenty-five miles, sir,” the trooper answered with a gesture back down the road.

“Very good,” Stiger said, pleased. His men were marching hard indeed. The wagon train seemed to be making good time as well. “Please convey my compliments back to the lieutenant and tell him to continue to proceed as ordered.”

“Yes sir,” the trooper said. He offered another snappy salute and then mounted back up. Stiger watched the young man as he rode off, turning at a bend in the road and disappearing from view. Everything seemed to be proceeding well. Coldly, Stiger wondered how long it would be before something went wrong. Sighing, he turned back toward Vrell and began marching. They had a long way to go.

That evening the company once again found Marcus waiting patiently along the roadside. The scout looked chipper and cheerful as always.

“I hope you have a nice spot picked out for us,” Stiger said from his horse. He had mounted up several hours ago, deciding Nomad needed exercise. Expecting to find one of Eli’s scouts waiting, he had ridden to the head of the column.

“A wonderful place, sir,” Marcus responded. “There is a natural spring-fed lake just a couple of miles off the road. We found the remains of a farmstead alongside the lake with ground that is mostly open space on one side. It is a perfect place for a camp.”

“Lead on,” Stiger ordered, dismounting to better lead his horse. The scout led Stiger, followed by the column, off the road and down a small path. The men were forced to walk single file. When they emerged into a large clearing, another scout, Davis, was waiting. He was tending to a pair of deer being roasted over an open fire. Stiger actually smiled at the sight. Marcus grinned, enjoying his captain’s reaction. The men gave a hearty cheer, many hustling forward and eagerly slapping Davis on the back. Two days of nothing but precooked rations were at an end.

“Lieutenant Eli’Far felt the men would appreciate a hot meal, sir,” Marcus said.

“The lieutenant is one smart elf,” Stiger responded, taking a look over the lake’s placid surface and then at the campsite. The men would bathe, clean their clothing, and eat well tonight. The scouts had even gathered a meager supply of firewood, which the men would soon expand upon.

“That he is, sir,” Marcus agreed with a nod.

“Do you know where the lieutenant is?” Stiger asked, turning to the scout.

“Last I heard, way up the road,” Marcus said, a frown briefly crossing his face. “He apparently found something interesting and went to investigate. None of us know what he found.”

“I would not worry too much about it,” Stiger said with a slight sigh. “If it was important or led to potential danger, he would have passed word back.”

“You think so, sir?” Marcus asked, a hopeful look on his face.

“I’ve seen the lieutenant become overly excited about a rare flower,” Stiger said with a chuckle, in an attempt to keep the scout from worrying. Though to be perfectly honest, the captain was more than a little concerned over what his friend had found interesting.

“I am sure you are right, sir,” Marcus said, seeming relieved. “He does love to point out the exotic plants.”

“No point in worrying,” Stiger said, and led his horse further into the clearing. The evening rays of sun glinted like orange fire on the placid surface of the lake. Stiger actually found himself smiling. Though the lake was no substitute for an imperial bathhouse, he was looking forward to taking a plunge and scrubbing off the accumulated dust and grime of the march. First things first, he thought, and set about looking after Nomad.

Eleven

It was the fourth day of the march and the company had covered a great deal of ground. Stiger figured that they were likely two to three days ahead of where they should have been. Shortly after the noon break, the lead elements of the column found four of Eli’s scouts waiting along the roadside. Stiger had been walking his horse when the column abruptly stopped and word was passed back for the captain to come forward. He mounted and cantered up, past the men, who, weary from the hard pace, had dropped to the ground and were enjoying the unexpected break.

The captain found scouts Marcus, Davis, Todd and Bryant waiting, along with Ikely, who had halted the column. Having parted with four of his ten scouts, Stiger understood immediately that Eli had found the enemy. He had been expecting something like this for the last day or so. They were approaching one of the villages marked on the map provided by General Mammot. The scouts saluted with clenched fist to chest.

“You have located the enemy?” Stiger asked as he dismounted from his horse. He handed the reins to a nearby legionary, who scrambled hastily to his feet.

“Yes sir,” Marcus replied, gesturing in the direction of the company’s march. “They have lookouts on the road two miles up and are encamped near the remains of a small village, about six miles away from this spot.”

“What are their numbers?” Stiger asked. He had been slightly concerned that the enemy might outnumber them, but he knew from experience that providing for a large force so deep in a forest, far away from a supply source, was extremely difficult.

“They number about forty,” Marcus answered matter-of-factly. Stiger breathed a small sigh of relief as the scout bent to pick up a stick that was lying in the road. He scratched out a crude map in the dirt. “Near as we can tell, we feel they have an ambush point … about here, just beyond the ruins of the village, say about five miles away. The village has been completely razed. There is not a single building standing.”

“What type of village was it?” Stiger asked, wondering what the ground was like. If it was farming-based, there should be a patchwork of neglected fields. If the village had been hunting and trapping-based, there would be much less cover.

“It seems to have been a small farming community, cut right into the forest. The fields are completely overgrown with brush and run on both sides of the road for nearly about a mile here. The brush is so thick that it is a perfect spot for an ambush. The enemy camp is here,” Marcus pointed with the stick, “off the road and south of the village, at an old farmstead. Much of the farmstead seems to have escaped the destruction that ravaged the village. The enemy uses a footpath to get to and from the farmstead. It is a pretty secluded spot.”

“Have you seen them personally?” Stiger asked.

“We all have, sir,” Marcus responded. The other scouts nodded. “A pretty ragged lot, if you ask me. I don’t think they will be much trouble. They look half-starved.”

“How are they armed?” Stiger asked.

“Poorly, sir,” Davis spoke up. “Some bows, old swords of various kinds, and no armor.”

“Do they watch the road at night?”

“Not that we were able to determine,” Marcus answered, “but they have it watched from dawn till dusk. They do not seem terribly disciplined. Lieutenant Eli’Far told me to tell you he will have a complete report for you.”

Stiger nodded. Eli’s report would be more thorough. Rubbing the stubble on his jaw thoughtfully, Stiger studied the map that Marcus had drawn in the dirt. Forty ragged, half-starved men did not seem like enough to wreak havoc on the previous supply train. There must be more about, perhaps another group up the road.

“Did you find any evidence of additional enemy forces?” Stiger asked, looking up from the map.

“No sir,” Marcus answered without hesitation. “We took a looksee a ways up the road and found nothing.”

“How far?” Stiger asked, eyeing the scout.

“About twenty miles, sir,” Davis answered.

“No other signs of anybody about,” Marcus added, “but this sorry bunch of scum.”

“I see,” Stiger said, sparing Davis and Marcus a quick glance before looking down once again at the crude map drawn in the dirt. He committed it to memory before kicking the map to dust.

“I expect we will strike before dawn,” Stiger announced, looking over at Marcus. “Do you have another spot for us to camp? Preferably near their camp?”

“Another wonderful spot, sir!” Marcus suddenly smiled. “Though I must admit, there will be no venison this evening.”

Stiger flashed a rare smile at the hard-working scout. Marcus seemed like a natural leader. After they reached Vrell, he would speak to Eli about having him promoted to scout corporal.

“The lieutenant suggested no fires tonight, sir,” Davis added. “Our camp will be close enough to theirs that they might get a whiff of our campfires.”

Stiger had suspected as much. Eli would put them within easy striking distance, and, knowing his friend, that would likely be rather close indeed. Stiger glanced back at his men. Those nearest had been listening. They hastily glanced away.
Well, this is it
, Stiger thought. All of his work and training would be put to the test.

“The lieutenant also asked me to inform you he will join you in a couple of hours,” Marcus added, drawing the captain’s attention back. Stiger nodded in reply as the sergeants came up. Marcus gave a repeat of the report. Once they were done, Stiger turned to Ikely and the sergeants.

“We will hold an officers’ and sergeants’ council when Lieutenant Eli’Far joins us,” Stiger informed them, “and plan our assault. Now … let’s get the men moving to the campsite.”

***

Moonlight filtered through the tree canopy as the men quietly worked their way up to the enemy camp. Their bulky shields had been left behind. This was one of those rare occasions when legionary infantry would go into action without them. Keeping their swords sheathed, lest someone be accidently stuck, the men still wore their segmented armor. Stiger had considered ordering personal armor left behind, but in the end had opted for the protection it offered over any gains through stealth.

The captain had his hand on Marcus, who guided a long string of fifty men toward the enemy camp. Another man behind the captain had his shoulder, and so on. The line shuffling through the forest sounded alarmingly loud. Though moonlight filtered through the leafy canopy, it was not nearly enough to clearly see by. There was the occasional muffled crash, followed by a curse, as someone tripped or a branch, pushed aside, smacked the face of the man behind. The need for silence was critical for the element of surprise to be achieved. As the line moved into position, it sounded to Stiger as if the entire company was crashing through the forest, though in reality they were being very quiet. The captain, with effort, forced himself to calm down. He knew from experience noise in the forest became muffled and would not carry very far. The brush around the enemy camp was quite thick, which helped to muffle and conceal their approach.

As they neared the enemy camp, Stiger could smell smoke from fires drifting through the brush. It became stronger with each step. A general flickering glow soon began to show on the surrounding trees, brush and canopy above. They were close … extremely close.

They crept to within a few feet of the enemy camp. Stiger could see one main fire going, which meant at this early hour someone was actively feeding it. A watch stander, perhaps? Through the brush, the captain could see other fire pits, which had been reduced to glowing embers.

The captain took a moment to rapidly scan the enemy camp. There was not much left of the old farmstead. The barn had long since collapsed in on itself. The farmhouse was in little better shape, but still stood, barely, leaning slightly to one side. It had a tired old look that Stiger had come to expect from the South. It had likely been abandoned rather than overlooked, before the legions had razed the village, which was why it was probably still standing, he surmised. There were a few tents and a handful of small huts that had been hastily constructed around the decaying building. Everything had a ramshackle look to it. Eli had explained that a stream flowed through the clearing. In the gloom, Stiger could not see it.

The captain turned to look back. Marcus, having stopped, used hand motions to, direct those who followed to spread out in a line both to the left and right of the captain. Two other groups, one under Eli and the other under Ikely, were doing the same on the other sides of the encampment in the form of a triangle. As they moved into their final positions, the men seemed to make even more noise. Stiger knew that in his mind it was louder than it actually was. Once in position, the noise ceased almost immediately and Stiger strained to hear any hint of alarm from the enemy camp. Nothing stirred.

In the gloom of the early pre-morning, Stiger tried to study the camp further. Despite the fire burning brightly, no sentry or watch stander could be seen. Perhaps the man was on the other side of the camp. Sloppy and careless, Stiger thought. It was about to cost this nest of rebels dearly.

Nothing about going into a fight was normal. He could feel the tension building. In Stiger’s experience, most men dreaded the day when it finally arrived though some bragged they were eager for it. In reality, a legionary’s life was generally pretty regimented and boring, only punctuated once in a great while by the occasional skirmish or battle. No sane individual ever looked forward to the opportunity to be potentially skewered or carved up. A normal person longed to run and find some safe place to hide at such times, which is what made legionaries so unique. They were known for standing and fighting, despite the terror. Discipline, drill, and duty were what kept the legions moving on such days. Stiger mentally repeated the oft-used mantra, “Battles are just additional drill with more blood.”

The captain, as was his custom, bowed his head. He offered a brief prayer to the High Father asking for a blessing of success and a personal request to spare as many of his men as possible. He then made sure to commend his spirit into the hands of the High Father.

Prayer complete, the captain looked back up and resolved to do his duty to the end. The enemy camp slept, unaware that the emperor’s hammer was about to fall heavily upon them. Stiger reached for his sword hilt in anticipation and gripped the rough handhold tight. He sensed it was almost time.

Stiger had directed that Eli’s force would begin the assault, whereupon the other two groups would move into the camp and attack. Eli, on the other side of the enemy encampment, had the benefit of superior vision at night, a blessing of his race that humans could only envy. In the early morning gloom, the elf would be able to easily observe the two other groups moving into position, which was why Stiger had tasked him with beginning the assault. Not for the first time, Stiger felt thankful that his friend was on their side.

Marcus silently moved up and down the line, checking each man to make sure everyone had been accounted for. Night actions were particularly dangerous, as accidents and blunders were commonplace. It was almost an unwritten rule that night actions were never undertaken unless under specific and desperate circumstances. The average commander avoided conducting any and all night actions. Stiger, having Eli, felt this was the exception. He was willing to risk a little to gain a lot.

The suspense was beginning to weigh heavily on Stiger as the minutes wore on. Nothing was assured by even the best-laid plans, and the what-ifs were running through his mind. The tension and anxiety he felt were not over his own safety. He worried that they would be discovered before the assault began. He worried that he would make a mistake in leading them in and he would lose men as a result. He worried that once the men went in, in the heat of the fight, they might panic and forget their training, costing lives. What if he missed something critical? He worried …

Despite this, he had not once reconsidered carrying the assault home. It was natural for a commander to worry. The captain was careful to project a sense of calm and resolve to the men around him, and not betray fear. He had trained and worked his men hard. He felt they were ready for this. The enemy was before him, and he meant to destroy them. It was as simple as that.

Stiger drew his sword with a soft hiss. The man next to him did the same, and like a spring up and down the line, his men drew their swords one after another. From what he could see in the gloom, the men were grim and determined as well. This was what they had trained for, and they knew the butcher’s bill had come due.

There was a sudden shout from across the camp, which ripped shockingly across the quiet night, followed by a massed battle cry as Eli’s men pushed forward out of the brush and into the enemy camp.

“Advance!” Stiger shouted, standing up. Something similar happened from Ikely’s side, which was drowned out as Stiger’s line stood, roaring a battle cry of their own, and began to push through the last layers of brush.

The camp was far from impressive, Stiger thought as he emerged from the brush. With that last thought, the captain had no more time for additional observation, as the enemy began stumbling out of their tents and ramshackle huts. One suddenly appeared before the captain, half-dressed, unarmed and wide-eyed. Stiger’s sword flashed out, stabbing the man through the gut. The man let out an anguished cry of agony as the sword went home, grating terribly against bone. The captain gave a savage twist of the sword to free it, lest it become stuck. He shoved the man roughly back with a stiff arm, pulling the sword out in the process and spilling the man’s guts on the ground. The body followed shortly. The captain stepped by it, looking for his next opponent. His arm and hand were covered in the man’s blood. The rough cord grip on the hilt of his sword prevented him from losing his grip, despite the slickness of the man’s blood. He gave it no thought as he left the disemboweled man to die. He stepped forward and chopped another who had just emerged from the same tent, catching this one in the side of the neck as he was starting to stand up. The man fell heavily with a massive spray of blood, neck almost completely severed from the vicious strike. A sword fell from limp fingers as the man died.