Casualty of War
Chapter One
The air was cold in the mountains at dawn. Athos sat up, pulling his cloak tighter around his body in a vain attempt to generate some warmth. He looked over to Aramis who was also stirring. After days of travel over arduous terrain the marksman was almost grey with fatigue. Too little sleep and inadequate rations had affected the whole regiment to the point that morale was at its lowest level since they had left Paris.
"The scouts should be back today," Athos said.
"Perhaps then we can get out of this god forsaken wilderness," Aramis replied.
"Perhaps." Athos grunted with the effort of standing. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. He looked around the camp. The fires had burned to ash ensuring that they were fully aware of the chill and the early morning mist. Ironically once the sun rose to its full height they would be sweltering in their heavy leather uniforms. He reached inside his doublet for the barely adequate map of the region, studying it as he had many times over the preceding days.
"It isn't goin' to tell you anythin' you don't already know," Porthos said, untangling himself from his blanket.
Athos sighed in irritation. "We know the Spanish have strongholds in this area. I just wish we knew where."
Not having any comfort to offer Porthos just shook his head before stumbling off to relieve himself.
Lack of reliable intelligence was the bane of a commander's existence and they had been waiting for two days for the scouts to return. During that time he had sent out small patrols to keep the men occupied and to ensure that they weren't flanked by a Spanish raiding party. So far they had seen no signs of the enemy. That didn't mean they were safe. These mountains belonged to Spain and her troops would know their way through the treacherous passes.
He nodded his thanks to d'Artagnan when the young man brought him a bowl of thin porridge and a hunk of hard bread. It was unappetizing but was necessary to keep up his strength. He dunked the bread in the gruel and took a bite.
"Riders approaching, Captain," one of the sentries reported.
"To arms," he ordered, his breakfast immediately forgotten.
The camp immediately came to life as every man drew sword or pistol and took up his pre-arranged position. Aramis took the high ground, lying down with his musket primed. Porthos and d'Artagnan stood steadfastly beside Athos, swords ready. They waited for agonizing minutes in a state of high alert until Aramis waved at them to indicate their visitors were friends.
Athos let out a relieved breath and sheathed his sword. Moments later the two scouts rode into camp, handing their horses over to the care of their colleagues and looking around for Athos. He beckoned them over and hunkered down to receive their report.
Aramis brought them food which they accepted gratefully. Athos gave them a few minutes to refresh themselves, conscious of the hardships they had endured.
"What news?" Athos asked once they had eaten.
"There's a small fortress guarding the pass," Henri said before taking a final mouthful of porridge. "It's about ten miles ahead. After that the way is clear, at least as far as we traveled."
"How many men does it hold?"
"Hard to say. We only watched it for a couple of hours. We could see men on the walls, no more than a dozen, but it's big enough to contain a sizeable force."
"Is there a way past?"
"There is although it's a difficult route and means leaving an enemy at your rear."
"Thank you, gentlemen. Get some rest and then prepare a full report."
"What do you think?" Aramis asked.
"We need to know how many men are in that fortress. I propose to send out a small patrol to watch it."
"Under my command," d'Artagnan said hurriedly.
"It is dangerous to be so close to the enemy," Athos cautioned.
"War is dangerous. I'm ready, Athos."
"Very well. Pick half a dozen men and take Aramis with you. Your task is to watch, not to engage the enemy. Report back in two days. We can't delay any longer than that." He had to work hard not to smile at the look of pleased surprise on d'Artagnan's face. This was his first command although he had tempered that novelty by assigning Aramis to the force. If it came to it d'Artagnan would listen to the seasoned soldier.
While d'Artagnan readied his men Athos walked around the camp talking to as many of the soldiers as he could and keeping them informed of developments. There had been no shortage of men volunteering to accompany the young Gascon and no grumbling about his youth or inexperience. D'Artagnan was held in high regard by the rest of the men and not just because of his close ties with the Inseparables.
"Remember your mission," Athos said an hour later. He held d'Artagnan's horse's bridle while looking up to address the young man. "Make sure you are not seen. That means you will have to make a cold camp. You can't risk any fires."
"I know," d'Artagnan said patiently. "Stop worrying, Athos."
Athos bowed his head and stepped back. When he raised his eyes to meet Aramis' steady gaze he was comforted by the fact that their marksman understood his role. He would follow d'Artagnan's lead, offering advice only if absolutely necessary. Athos raised a hand in farewell, confident that he would see his brothers safely returned in two days.
TMTMTM
The patrol was guided to its destination by one of the scouts. When they were within a mile of the fortress they all dismounted and led their horses across the uneven granite hillside. D'Artagnan could hear the sound of rushing water off to his left and glanced in that direction.
"There is a waterfall not far from here," the scout told him. "You should leave the rest of the men here with the horses. It's a steep climb from now on if we are to avoid the road."
D'Artagnan handed off his horse and gestured to Aramis to join him. "Post a guard. I'll be back soon."
Aramis nodded, not entirely happy at being left behind. The ground underfoot was treacherous as they scrambled up the steep bank. There was some cover provided by pine trees that clung precariously to the thin soil between the rocks but they quickly found themselves exposed as they climbed beyond the treeline. After they had been walking for fifteen minutes the scout indicated that d'Artagnan should drop to hands and knees. The remained of the journey was agonising as they crawled over the pebble strewn ground, the sharp edges digging into knees and palms.
"Lie flat," the scout instructed. "We are almost at the cliff face. The fortress is straight ahead."
D'Artagnan wriggled forward on his belly until he reached the edge of a steep drop. The fortress lay across a deep canyon, built into the rock. It was a rectangular building with towers at each corner. D'Artagnan could see the roadway as it meandered up to a solid wooden gate. There was the glint of sun off metal as the guards patrolled the walkway on the walls. From his position it was impossible to see into the structure.
"Are there any other vantage points?" he asked quietly.
The ridge they were on continued round to the west in a crescent shape, at times looping closer to the walls of the fortress. The scout pointed to an area of higher elevation several hundred feet away.
"It would give a better view but is very exposed," he said. "You might be able to get someone up there at night without being seen but that man would have to stay there the entire day."
He didn't have to tell d'Artagnan how dangerous that would be given the fierce heat of the sun and the lack of any breeze at this elevation. D'Artagnan nodded to show he understood and began to back up.
"We will leave a man here to watch the gate," he said. "He will be relieved every two hours. Tonight we will get someone into position on that ridge."
When they arrived back at the camp d'Artagnan sought out Aramis and explained the situation.
"I will go," Aramis said.
"I'm not asking you to do that."
"I know but I am the obvious choice. My vision is excellent and my proficiency with a musket is unrivalled. If I am seen I will have a fighting chance of escaping because of my marksmanship."
"You will be trapped there for the whole day. You risk heat stroke."
"As would any man given this assignment. The risks are great but so is the reward if I can see into the compound. If we find that their force is small Athos can risk by-passing them. If they are more numerous we will have to find a way to tempt them out to fight us."
"I wish there was another way."
"You have made the right decision; the decision any commander would be forced to make. The health of one man is nothing when compared to the survival of many."
"I know," d'Artagnan whispered.
"You must not show your doubts to the men," Aramis cautioned. "Give your orders and accept the consequences."
They waited until the darkest hour of the night. The crescent moon provided little light and even that came and went as wisps of cloud crossed the sky. Aramis filled two flasks with water and shoved a handful of dried meat and biscuits into his pockets. He had already stripped, cleaned and loaded his musket and a brace of pistols and sharpened his sword and main gauche.
"Take care," d'Artagnan said, coming to offer his hand.
"Always." Aramis grinned. "Don't worry little brother I will see you tomorrow night."
TMTMTM
By the time the sun rose Aramis was in position. He couldn't see the gate but had a clear view of the interior of the fortress. He kept low to the ground while he systematically surveyed every inch of the compound. Whatever was close to the front wall was hidden from him but he could see a small courtyard with stables and a blacksmith's shop to the left. To the right appeared to be the barracks and a kitchen. At the rear of the courtyard was a sturdy stone building, access to which was up a wooden staircase. He couldn't see behind the building and so couldn't tell if there was another gate at the rear of the fortress. He was close enough to see the men walking to and fro but too far away to make out their features. It made it hard to reach an accurate count of numbers but he eventually concluded that there were no more than twenty-five Spaniards occupying the fortress.
As the sun rose higher he began to sweat heavily. He had chosen to wear his coat and hat to protect his face and neck and to provide a measure of camouflage. Slowly and carefully he unstoppered one of the flasks and took a sip of the tepid water. It was not yet mid-morning and he was already feeling the effects of the oppressive heat. He lowered his head, allowing the sun's rays to beat on his hat and sighed heavily.
Several hours later and the sweat was running in rivulets down his back. He was feeling light-headed and sick. His water was now too warm to provide any comfort but he continued to force himself to take regular small sips. His muscles were cramping from hours lying in the same position and he had to hold back his piteous groans for fear of the sound carrying to the enemy. His only consolation was that no-one had spotted him although he was beginning to feel severely exposed.
When he stopped sweating he knew on an intellectual basis that this was a bad sign. However, he was having too much trouble staying conscious to be more than mildly concerned. His head ached and he found it hard to take more than shallow breaths. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and then stuttering before rising in tempo again. His thoughts wandered and he began to mumble incoherently. He kept enough awareness to know that he needed to stay hidden although why he was lying on a sunbaked slab of rock utterly escaped him.
Night brought blessed relief from the virulence of the sun. He dozed restlessly and, on those rare occasions when he roused sufficiently to notice his surroundings, he was plagued with the feeling that he should be doing something. He woke to darkness and the realisation that he had to move. If he was still there when the sun rose again he would not survive. Coaxing his rebellious muscles was a challenge that almost undid him and, when he did succeed in crawling backwards, it was ungainly and uncoordinated.
He knew that he was desperately unwell but comforted himself with the knowledge that someone would come to find him. He managed to move far enough away to be out of sight of the fortress and rolled onto his back. He lay, staring at the moon and stars while the world tilted and revolved around him. It wasn't until the moon started its slow descent to the horizon that it occurred to him that help should have arrived by now. Panic gripped him and he struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily. He managed no more than a couple of steps before his stomach lurched and he was forced to his knees so that he could be sick. The retching lasted a long time, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He fumbled for one of the flasks. The temperature of the water had cooled and it slid down his parched throat like the sweetest nectar. He rinsed his mouth and spat before sinking back on his haunches to wait for the dizziness to pass.
Giving up on the idea of walking he lowered himself onto his hands and knees and began to crawl. Even that was almost more than his sun battered body could tolerate. As he crawled slowly and painfully towards the Musketeer camp his mind kept asking him one question. Why had no-one come to find him?
Tbc