Metrobius
05-20-2006, 09:02 AM
Alright, don't be to hard on it. I was in a cynical mood.
"Dress those ranks you fools!" the Line Serjeant screamed, in the same frantic, enraged voice that he used to scream things like "Strike camp and cover the privvies you dogs" or "To the tack! I want to see those kits polished and sharpened before the stew is out of the pots you whores!"
This time not a soul among the thirty boys and men that the Serjeant commanded chuckled or grumbled.
Over the low rocky hills, less then a mile distant, the enemy formation had began to move, and they seemed to carry the momentum of a rockslide. Thousands of armoured men stretched far to the north and the south, the white painted faces of thier shields creating a solid line of brilliance before the foremost rank. The tips of thier spears sparkled above thier heads like deadly birds and every fifth step they cried out in unison. The sound carried across the intervening distance like a roll of thunder, low and menacing. Though no blood had been shed, the battle had already began.
Gehr could see the mounted forms of commanders moving between the blocks of men and the line searjeants, on foot moving back and forth in the very front of the formation, like his own Serjeant, Ulfar, screaming commands, waving his long spear, insuring that the pace stayed steady and the lines straight and the ranks tight; instilling the discipline that would keep as many of his men alive as he could manage. Gehr wondered suddenly if the enemy soldiers, like himself and his mates pretended to hate, but secretly worshipped thier Serjeants, then disreguareded the thought. These were not men like himself -these were the enemy.
A sharp rap to the side of his helm brought Gehr out of his thoughfulness.
"Attend! Attend to the battle you curs!" Ulfar bellowed as he struck a second, then a third soldier with the haft of his spear. " Remember the drills! First rank, hold the line! Let no breach open and you may see your whore of a Dam again before the worms crawl in your guts! Keep your eyes on the damned enemy! If you must puke, dont look to the ground to do it! Second rank: use your damned spears over the shoulders of the first rank, but dont cut off their ears! If a shieldbearer should fall, you know what to do; Let the men in the third file drag him back for the butcher to handle, and hold on to any limbs they lob off! We may yet eat well this eve!"
The line erupted in laughter, just as a horn sounded the advance.
"Forward! Single pace!" Ulfar echoed the command that was shouted up and down the line. The formation lurched forward.
A cheer began from the north end of the ranks as the commander rode down the line screaming "For the King! For the King! The Grey Stag will prevail!" Gehr joined the cheer as the Commander passed, beating on the face of his shield with the flat of his shortswords blade, and for the first time since they had appeared, the mass of enemy troops did not seem so deadly.
The two armies continued to bear down on each other, step by step. When thay were just more then a bows shot apart, Ulfar took his place in the formation beside Gehr. "Mark the sky!" he screamed.
Gehr looked up into the morning sky. It was crisp blue, and the flight of arrows stood out in stark contrast. Gehr raised his shield over his head, covering both himself and shieldless Serjeant Ulfar as best he could.
The arrow hit him low in his left breast and he began to fall, making what seemed to him a slow, lazy progress toward the ground that seemed to mime the path of the arrow that had struck him. As he fell, Gehr did not think of the battle, or Ulfar, or the arrow. He could only think of home. The home that he had fought for. The home that he loved. The home that he would never see again.
Gehr remembered the frantic hunts in the winter-bare forests, when he had ridden pell mell beside his brothers in pursuit of deer, or boar. He remembered springtimes, when walls were repaired and the calving was done, how he had secretly loved the tiny calves. Thier soft wool and thier pink, innocent faces. He remebered summer days spent at practise with sword or bow or with spear. He remebered summer afternoons when the young men would sit on the banks of the slow moving river making arrows, or repairing tack while the girls waded into the water to do the washing, naked to the waist, laughing and splashing each other.
By the time Gehr hit the ground, he remebered no more.
"Dress those ranks you fools!" the Line Serjeant screamed, in the same frantic, enraged voice that he used to scream things like "Strike camp and cover the privvies you dogs" or "To the tack! I want to see those kits polished and sharpened before the stew is out of the pots you whores!"
This time not a soul among the thirty boys and men that the Serjeant commanded chuckled or grumbled.
Over the low rocky hills, less then a mile distant, the enemy formation had began to move, and they seemed to carry the momentum of a rockslide. Thousands of armoured men stretched far to the north and the south, the white painted faces of thier shields creating a solid line of brilliance before the foremost rank. The tips of thier spears sparkled above thier heads like deadly birds and every fifth step they cried out in unison. The sound carried across the intervening distance like a roll of thunder, low and menacing. Though no blood had been shed, the battle had already began.
Gehr could see the mounted forms of commanders moving between the blocks of men and the line searjeants, on foot moving back and forth in the very front of the formation, like his own Serjeant, Ulfar, screaming commands, waving his long spear, insuring that the pace stayed steady and the lines straight and the ranks tight; instilling the discipline that would keep as many of his men alive as he could manage. Gehr wondered suddenly if the enemy soldiers, like himself and his mates pretended to hate, but secretly worshipped thier Serjeants, then disreguareded the thought. These were not men like himself -these were the enemy.
A sharp rap to the side of his helm brought Gehr out of his thoughfulness.
"Attend! Attend to the battle you curs!" Ulfar bellowed as he struck a second, then a third soldier with the haft of his spear. " Remember the drills! First rank, hold the line! Let no breach open and you may see your whore of a Dam again before the worms crawl in your guts! Keep your eyes on the damned enemy! If you must puke, dont look to the ground to do it! Second rank: use your damned spears over the shoulders of the first rank, but dont cut off their ears! If a shieldbearer should fall, you know what to do; Let the men in the third file drag him back for the butcher to handle, and hold on to any limbs they lob off! We may yet eat well this eve!"
The line erupted in laughter, just as a horn sounded the advance.
"Forward! Single pace!" Ulfar echoed the command that was shouted up and down the line. The formation lurched forward.
A cheer began from the north end of the ranks as the commander rode down the line screaming "For the King! For the King! The Grey Stag will prevail!" Gehr joined the cheer as the Commander passed, beating on the face of his shield with the flat of his shortswords blade, and for the first time since they had appeared, the mass of enemy troops did not seem so deadly.
The two armies continued to bear down on each other, step by step. When thay were just more then a bows shot apart, Ulfar took his place in the formation beside Gehr. "Mark the sky!" he screamed.
Gehr looked up into the morning sky. It was crisp blue, and the flight of arrows stood out in stark contrast. Gehr raised his shield over his head, covering both himself and shieldless Serjeant Ulfar as best he could.
The arrow hit him low in his left breast and he began to fall, making what seemed to him a slow, lazy progress toward the ground that seemed to mime the path of the arrow that had struck him. As he fell, Gehr did not think of the battle, or Ulfar, or the arrow. He could only think of home. The home that he had fought for. The home that he loved. The home that he would never see again.
Gehr remembered the frantic hunts in the winter-bare forests, when he had ridden pell mell beside his brothers in pursuit of deer, or boar. He remembered springtimes, when walls were repaired and the calving was done, how he had secretly loved the tiny calves. Thier soft wool and thier pink, innocent faces. He remebered summer days spent at practise with sword or bow or with spear. He remebered summer afternoons when the young men would sit on the banks of the slow moving river making arrows, or repairing tack while the girls waded into the water to do the washing, naked to the waist, laughing and splashing each other.
By the time Gehr hit the ground, he remebered no more.