CHAPTER 1
"Steady your bows...and Fire!"
Spencer observed the new archer recruits as their arrows soared gracefully over the rally spot and into their targets.
"Again!" he commanded. He saw the improvement in these young lads in only a few short days, their callused fingers used to working plows quickly adapted to the taught bowstrings.
"We will fire 100 more arrows apeice today, and then we shall dine. Our King will address us at the Feasting Hall, and therefore all soldiers will be limited to two flagons of ale."
In time, Spencer thought, we will attack the large barbarian outpost 5 miles away. Spencer had not yet been given the command by his Lord, MegaDethX92, but the experienced general knew what was coming. Food and iron had been stockpiled over the preceeding weeks, legions of new archers being trained around the clock. War was coming, Spencer could feel it.
The aging General stood 6'2", but appeared even larger; partially because of his boots, and partially because of his broad shoulders and boxy chest. At 45 he maintained his physical condition like that of a young recruit, regularly riding and shooting in the grasslands bordering the castle in the early morning hours before morning mess.
He was hungry from the days' work, drilling the 18 year old boys until they became hardened soldiers. Spencer had to oversee the evening farming raids before he could retire to the Feasting Hall, however. He rode his 9 year old mare, Melissa, over to the Rally Spot to assign the squads to their targets.
"Yale!"
"Yes sir!" the colonel replied.
"You will attack the Barbarian village to the northeast. Godspeed."
"Blake!"
"Reporting as ordered, sir!"
"You will be attacking due north, 7 miles."
Spencer continued on until all of the ballista, transporters, and their crews had been dispatched. He rode quickly to his quarters to change into his dress uniform, and then met the men at the feasting hall. Spencer donned his decorative sword and several of his finest medals. He affectionatly ran his thumb across the surface of his Justice Medal, remembering the thousands of barbarians he had slain to get it. For some reason, he filled with passionate loyalty for his King when he held that medal, and he eagarly awaited earning another.
Hearing the bells sound in the Beacon Tower, Spencer hurriedly finished and quickly strode to the Feasting Hall. He could smell the wafting odor of the rare meat being prepared even before he reached the great oak doors. Spencer greeted the current training class and proceeded to the front of the room, where he joined the other high-ranking officers. Hundreds of soldiers packed the hall, eagarly eating the delicious roasts, which had been prepared.
Spencer began eating with vigor, after he had greeted some of his highest ranking fellow officers. Diner consisted of roast beef, raw vegetables, and dark crusty bread. A thick, dark ale was served to all, with the high ranking officers getting the superior ale from the Westvleteran monastery.
Spencer had hardly began when The trumpets sounded at the entranceway. Lord MegaDethX92 had arrived. Everyone immediatly rose to attention out of respect for their sage leader. MegaDethX92 strode to the front of the room to accompany his Generals for the meal, gesturing to the troops that they may be seated as he walked.
"Awww...fuck this shit!" MegaDethX92 exclaimed. "MOM! I said I want FUCKING CHICKEN NUGGETS! Jesus fucking christ its bad enough I have to eat with these noobs."
Spencer thought to himself that it was odd how Lord MegaDethX92 still required his mother to prepare his dinner for him, and how he refused to eat vegetables, but he knew better than to question his King. Spencer wondered what the mystical nuggets tasted like as he slowly drank his beer, letting the bitter flavor wash over his tongue and coat the inside of his mouth. "Only the highest royaly gets the privilidge of tasting the holy nuggets," Spencer thought to himself.
After eating, MegaDethX92 rose and signalled for the attention of everyone in the hall. Spencer had been anticipating this announcement, and keenly watched his troops' faces for signs of fear.
"OK so me n the other members of the Devastation Alliance have been talking, and I'm totally gonna hit that large barbarian castle 5 miles to the east. So...we're gonna do it next week because Friday there's no lessons at the academy so I'll have more time to oversee the attack. These barbs are total fucking noobs, so I expect you to win. There might even be medals involved. That is all."
MegaDethX92 left the feasting hall shortly after speaking, and Spencer followed shortly after. He no longer stayed out with the men late, as his aging body could no longer handle the party schedule of a young soldier.
CHAPTER 2
John awoke at 06:00 when his Sergeant strode through the barracks clanging two shields together. He dressed quickly along with his training classmates, applying the heavy mail and leather armor they were required to wear at all times while they were recruits. The group marched to Mess as a unit, thankful that Lord MegaDethX92 always had enough food for all. John had heard stories of entire armies starving from lack of food.
John brought his rough clay bowl up to the servers, who filled it with hot sat with his fellow recruits at the Mess table, as the Senior Drill Instructor announced the day's training schedule. Having had 10 minutes to eat, the recruits were hurried outside.
The day began with shooting from 100 meters, John's favorite part. He found the focus required to shoot accuratly very calming, and he excelled at accuracy drills. Next was several hours of marching in formation. John had no difficulty keeping step with the commands, but he found marching drills tedious and preferred to work as an individual. As his instructors explained, however, John knew that a single archer was worthless, and that they all must work as a unit.
Breaking for a quick lunch of dark bread and milk, the Instructor announced that afternoon drills were cancelled for the archers.
"Quiet!" the instructor bellowed as murmors quickly started. "General Spencer has announced that instead of drilling, we will be capturing a small forest about 10 miles out. With the upcoming attack on the Barbarians coming up, we need all the lumber we can get."
John was excited, this would be his first test in battle. The forest was small, and lightly defended. There would be few casualties on their side, as Spencer was sending a very large force to allow all the trainees to gain experience. Ten thousand trainee archers against less than 100 assorted barbarian troops.
The new archers were marched quickly to the rally spot to receive instruction. Yale, a Lieutenant Colonel would be leading the troops. He met the archers at the Rally Spot and explained the plan to them.
"We'll be coming across this swamp over here, which is held by a member of the Alliance. There should be no resistance coming through there. As soon as we see the treetops we'll fire, using the high arching shots you all worked on last week. We'll overwhelm them and claim the forest for Lord MegaDethX92.
The army set out immediately at fast march. Without transporters to bog them down, they arrived quickly at the forest. John spoke to a friend and fellow Archer-in-training.
"So, this is it, huh! First time in battle, gonna kill some barbs... man I can't wait!"
"Dude, we're gonna launch 10,000 arrows at 100 subhuman barbs...not a big deal."
"Yeah but it beats the hell out of training."
"Eh, every day we march and shoot, march and shoot; doesn't matter much if we're marching here or at the Rally Spot."
The recruits did not know it, but General Spencer was observing the entire exercise. Clad in a scout's uniform and riding a straw colored mare instead of his Chestnut Melissa, he observed his troops discreetly.
The archers quickly closed in on the forest, closed in, and fired. There were a few losses: one barbarian pikeman played dead while the archers entered the forest and speared an archer from below. Two lucky barb archers managed to fire off shots and scored hits. Overall it was an easy victory for the troops, however.
Spencer observed from some tall hills adjoining the forest.
"Chester," he remarked to an older scout, "What'd you think of all this?"
Chester was honored that the commanding general of a million man army would ask his opinion, and he eagerly responded.
"Well sir, the marching was good, the shooting was good, the officers are doing their jobs well. But I don't have to tell you, its not being of good performance in drills that's important. When these guys get into the shit, when they got folks dyin' all around 'em...well you don't know how a man's gonna hold up. Whether he'll still fire true and trust his leaders..well that's something' remains to be seen."
"Well put. So how does a scout know all that stuff about what battle's like?"
"Sir, I'm dating myself here, but before you were even in the service I was in the Cataphract division. I seen stuff there..man even you wouldn't believe. Those horse boys, they think there's no God, no right and wrong, just them and their horse and whatever they step on."
"So why did you become a scout? Cataphracts are some of the most respected soldiers in the land?"
"Well after a few years taking valleys and hitting the small barbs, MegaDethX92 started getting a desire to hit the big barb castles. Now I love my king, but no way I was gonna end up hangin' off the business end of an abatis. No sir."
"Hm."
CHAPTER 3
General Spencer awoke before the men as usual the next morning. Donning his tunic, pants, and tall leather boots he stepped outside into the cool morning air, the sky at the horizon beginning to turn a firey red. Spencer walked down the the stables, tacked Melissa, and set out towards the large lake south of the castle. As he approached, he dismounted and tied Melissa to a tree, removing his bow and quiver from her saddle. He walked for several minutes to some tall brush near the north edge of the lake. Assuming an upright position on one knee, Spencer stalked his prey, ducks swimming in the lake.
Watching the ducks for 10 minutes, he studied their every move. He knew the ducks intimately, from years of hunting, but still every time he watched, his cold blue eyes intently focused.
Drawing his bow, he held the bowstring extended for a full minute, feeling the cord pull against his fingers, feeling the rough end of the wood against his skin, his left hand gripping the familiar places in the leather wrap.
He inhaled deeply and slowly, held his breath for a split second, and released the arrow. It struck a duck, impaling the animal with enough force to push it several feet across the water, tumbling awkwardly as the tip end of the arrow, now extending through the other side of the duck, dipped into the lake.
Spencer retrieved his mount, climbing on and urging the beast into the lake so that he could collect his kill. He would drop it off at the feasting hall to be roasted for his supper. Spencer loved the fatty, gamey flesh of duck, but more important than the taste was the satisfaction of eating his own kill. He urged Melissa quickly back to the castle gate for morning mess.
Spencer occasionally ate with the men in the morning, but he usually preferred to have breakfast alone in his quarters while he began reviewing administrative documents and writing training procedures. He was chilly, however, and decided to indulge in hot grits with the men.
Spencer ate with the pike division this morning. As he ate, he stroked his trimmed beard and wondered if the pikemen were making a noble sacrifice. They did their job well, and they all died, that much was certain. But can a death be noble if the person doesn't realize all pikemen die? The pikes were always drafted from the lowest classes of society, teenagers stupid enough not to realize why there were no middle aged pikemen as there were archers and cavalry. Still, they were eager to go to war, and war always has inherent risks, even for the relatively safe ballista operators.
Spencer had an idea.
Marching to the front of the mess, he addressed the pikemen in training.
"Listen up! There are a few openings in the ballista divisions. We had some trainees who were unable to hack it, and so I'm offering the positions to you pikes first. Any takers?"
Spencer was greeted with boos and the banging of spoons and bowls on the long wooden tables.
"Sir we got pikes stead of pitch forks for a reason now! If we was farmers, we'd have pitchforks, but we here are horse killers!"
Spencer returned to his meal, satisfied that the pikemen's death was indeed noble, because none of them had chosen the safer career path of a ballista operator.
Finishing his grits, Spencer began walking around town to tend to his many chores of the day. First, to the embassy to collect the most recent list of Alliance members, and to see if anyone needed supply reinforcements. Finding that no one needed reinforcements from the clerk, Spencer reviewed the list of Alliance Members for any significant changes, then bade the clerk a good day.
Next, Spencer approached the Town Hall to speak with MegaDethX92.
He passed through the entranceway, returning the salutes of the sentries, and entered the great room. Walking towards his Lord, Spencer bowed slowly and approached the throne.
"Greetings, your majesty!"
"yo what the fuck Spencer. Fuckin; douchebag in chat says PS3 is better than XBox and I'm like dude thats fuckin retorted Xbox has way better games so he said his parents are rich and can buy him both so i said our harassin me I'm reporting your fuckign faggot ass."
"Sir, as always I am confused. I do not know the alchemy of the PS or the box...I came only to speak to you of battle plans."
"OK well lets hit the barbarian village next week like I said."
"Yes sire, I was just reviewing some of the pikemen at the mess hall. They are salty and ready for battle."
"Why not just send archers? Or can't we do it with ballista?"
"Sire, I must remind you once again that ballista are outranged by these monstrous barbarian towns, and we need the pikemen to reduce archer losses."
"OK right, whatever do what you wish General."
"Thank you, my liege."
Spencer walked to his office at the rally spot to plan out the attack. As frustrated as he was that his King did not understand simple warfare concepts, he was pleased that he had the autonomy to plan the attack himself. Spencer always sent the same number of troops, exactly 100,000, plus himself. 95,000 archers, 1000 pikemen, swordsmen, and warriors, and 2000 transporters to haul the goods back.
"Shit," Spencer said out loud. Forgot to send out the morning ballista run. Not wanting to waste any more time, he called for a scout to run down to the ballista and tell time to attack the same places as they did the previous night.
Spencer then returned to his work for the remainder of the morning.
CHAPTER 4
Spencer remained cool on the inside, although his nerves were tingling with anticipation. He had pillaged many large barbarian castles before, but it always got him nervous. He rode past the front of the battle formation, surveying the troops. Three thousand pikemen, swordsmen, and warriors in the front, eager for their first major battle. They were always eager. The experienced archers in back knew that not a single pikeman had ever survived a raid on a castle of this size, but all archers were forbidden under penalty of death to tell any of the pikemen or swordsmen about this. Spencer recalled his drill instructor telling him nearly thirty years ago "The pikes and swords have to die. It protects the archers, and they take longer to train. A strong leader knows when to make sacrifices for the whole army. It's just something you must learn to do."
Spencer then turned his steed toward a break in the formation and rode to the back, passing through the ranks of nearly 100,000 archers standing poised for the attack. Each man only carried 100 arrows in his quivers, and so they must win in 100 shots or they would all die at the hands of the barbarians. Spencer nearly shuddered when he thought about what capture by a barbarian would mean for a man of his rank, but he calmed himself by recalling the excellent intelligence gathered by his scouts. They were ready.
Spencer announced to the subordinate officers to ready their troops. The men all had a small flask of grog that they carried into battle. The sour mixture of rum, water, and lemon juice allowed the archers to fire more steadily and the footsoldiers to fight more bravely in the heat of battle. The men all drank their small portion of grog, knowing it could be their last, and readied their weapons.
Spencer coerced his mount into a gallop, as he unsheathed his weapon and prepared the charge. As he quickly lowered the heavy sword, the men began to march towards the castle, preparing for battle. Spencer noticed as the first of the pikemen and warriors stumbled into foxholes dug by the barbarians. Anyone who stumbled would be quickly trampled to death by the marching army. As the troops got closer, Spencer observed from the rear of the formation as the Barbarians became aware of the attack and started to climb into their Archer's Towers. The arrows would not strike down many of his men, as Spencer's archers were more accurate and well trained.
John began firing when his platoon leader gave the signal. They were careful not to waste arrows until they were definitly in range. "Aim for the towers" he remembered from the briefing. John knew the army had to fell the towers before the warriors left the city gates in order to be safe.
John arced his first shot high into the air, simultaneously with thousands of other archers. As soon as he released the bowstring, John reached into his quiver to ready the next shot. He quickly looked around his platoon, knowing roughly 1 in 12 archers doesn't make it home from a battle like this. He put thoughts of death out of his mind, and forced himself to focus on the gold he would pillage from the disgusting barbarian town. Mechanically, he fired and reloaded on command until the signals to fire stopped coming. Due to the size of the formation, John could barely see what was going on, but he trusted the officers would know when all the enemy warriors were dead.
CHAPTER 5
Spencer followed the large army down to the city gates when his advisors assured him it was safe. About 50,000 troops had already gone through the gates, ransacking the cottages closest to the entrance. Spencer rode through the streets, Melissa trampling the mangled corpses of dead barbarians under her hooves as she walked.
The blood of the wounded had mixed with the packed earth of the streets, forming a thick black mud that coated everyone's feet and legs as they ran about, searching for stockpiled gold and other valuables. Spencer saw the archers loading gold jewelry and bullion on to the Donkey-pulled wagons they used for heavy transportation. Occasionally an archer would slip a coin or ring into his trousers, but Spencer always looked the other way. "These men earned a little extra" he thought to himself. As he rode further from the gates he saw a shodily clad barbarian peasant woman clutching her baby outside of her pathetic shack. A dozen or so Archers were raiding her home, smashing her furniture for fun as she and her child cried outside, begging for their lives.
Two archers came outside. One brutally kicked the woman in her head with his bloody boot, probably breaking her jaw, as the other bent down and ripped the still-crying infant out of its mothers arm. The second archer held the baby by dangling it from his arms and shaking it while mocking both the child and mother:
"Who's my little barb-y? You are! You're my little barbarian! You're my good barbarian!"
The second archer then tossed the child onto the road to die under the foot traffic as more soldiers marched through the streets. The mother let out a bloodcurdling cry, which the first archer returned with another hard kick, this time to the woman's ribs.
A third archer joined the first two outside upon hearing the scream. He immediatly questioned the first archer
"Why does this bitch still have her rags on?"
The third archer crouched down over the woman's head, sitting in such a way that his knees pinned down the woman's upper arms, and the first archer began slashing off the woman's clothes with his small dagger. He cut indiscriminately, cutting the barbarian's torso and legs as he removed her coarse dress. Then he picked up her left leg by the ankle, straightening the limb and smashing down with his boot on her knee, breaking it.
As Spencer watched the archer perform the same procedure on the other leg, he recalled when he was a young soldier and he first saw the technique.
"It's sos they don't kick as much when yer givin' it to them," Spencer recalled the older cavalryman explain to him. "Plus, you know it makes a nice crunch" he added.
Spencer watched as one archer began raping the helpless woman in front of her own home, violently thrusting into her matted, bloody pubic hair. The other two archers beat her if she tried to resist, but were careful not to knock the woman unconscious. The three archers had their way with the peasant before killing her by stabbing her in the eye with a spare arrow. Spencer dismounted and strolled up to the Archers.
"Hey now! Use a knife, will ya? Those arrows require lumber to make!" he said, half joking. While the Kingdom did require a great deal of lumber to maintain its army, raiding the barbarian town would result in enough supplies for the time being.
"Now, you boys have had your fun, head on over to the forge and the workshop and start loading any iron you find onto a Transporter. You're doing real well on the raping, but you gotta work on pillaging" Spencer said with a chuckle. The archers laughed as well, following with a more serious "Yessir!"
Spencer remounted and began riding towards the town hall when a young Captain ran up to him, very excited.
"General sir! Great news! My battalion has found a Justice Medal hidden in the town's barracks!" The Captain bent down onto one knee as he raised up a mahogany box to Spencer. The General quickly dismounted, almost slipping in the mud as he removed his foot from the stirrup.
"My God..." Spencer said slowly, his eyes growing wide. He took the box from the Captain, excited to behold the prize. Opening the lid he saw the glimmering silver medal, speechless with joy.
"Fine work, son, fine work. This won't go unnoticed. I want you to gather your men and find some horses, ride back home and deliver this to my quarters, then remain on guard outside until I return. I will deliver this personally to Lord MegaDethX92 when I return."
"Yes sir!" said the Captain. Spencer noticed the Captain beaming as he excitedly gathered his troops. Quite an accomplishment for a young officer, finding a valuable medal like that.
Spencer entered the Town Hall, where several archers had already found the king and held him in a small office. The archers knew better than to strike the king, that was the exclusive privilidge of their General.
"Well well well," said Spencer."Look what we have here."
Turning towards one of the archers, Spencer commanded him to run outside and fetch a pike from a fallen soldier and to bring it back to him.
"Its a shame this has to end this way," Spencer said. "But operating a castle outside of the Alliance heirarchy is serious."
"No, please!" cried the king.
"Have some respect for yourself!" Spencer thundered. "Don't whine like a woman."
Spencer taunted the fallen King for a few more minutes until the archer returned with a pike.
"Someone gag this peice of shit." Spencer ordered as walked around the office to the large desk.
"Bring him over here, face down on the desk," Spencer ordered. "Hold his arms, you...get down on the floor and hold his feet in place."
Spencer grabbed a dagger from one of the archers and cut off the King's trousers, exposing him as he struggled against the archers."
Grabbing the pike, Spencer walked back behind the man and placed the pike's iron tip right on the King's anus.
"How's that feel, buddy? The cold metal against your asshole...like that?"
The King replied with a muffled scream as Spencer shoved the pike about a foot into the man's colon with one powerful motion. He quickly retracted the barbed pike, tearing out a great deal of intestines along with it. Spencer walked out of the officer and beckoned his Archers to follow, leaving the fallen King to bleed to death on the floor.
CHAPTER 6
John was one of the last people ti reach the castle. He and his battalion had the job of cleaning out the farms outside the castle walls.
CHAPTER 7
Back in the castle walls, Spencer quickly went to his quarters to retrieve the medal from the Captain's guards. One he had the precious box in his possession, he proudly strode to the Town Hall to give the medal to MegaDethX92.
"My lord, I am pleased to report the attack was hugely successful. We killed all enemies, pillaged their food stores, and were able to salvage quite a bit of iron and lumber from their castle. All with only 7,000 archers killed or missing on our side. More importantly, I am pleased to present you with this Justice Medal that one of my Captains found hidden in the enemy city. It is a valuable prize indeed, and I wanted to present it to you personally."
"Many thanks, good General. I would chat longer but Mom is making Mac n Cheez."
"Sire?"
"General are you fukin retorted? Mac n Cheez...its like ....goddamn porridge. Why don't you know anything but old fashioned shit?"
"Many apologies noble king, please enjoy your Mack in Cheese."
"MOOOOMM!! When's dinnnnerr?? You better not have gotten store brand this time!"
Spencer bowed and exited the great room, puzzled as always about MedaDethX92's strange dining habits.
CHAPER 8
All troops who participated in the successful raid were invited to dine in the feasting hall, and the party was grand. As the King was not in attendance, the troops were allowed a healthy ration of 10 flagons of ale each, with a fine assortment of meat and roasted potatoes. Spencer normally did not get wild with the men, but he was feeling especially good that evening and did succeed in becoming quite drunk and fraternizing with officers as well as soldiers.
He spoke to one group of Corporals regarding their exploits.
"That's nothing," Spencer boosted, "I remember one of my first big raids, we set them all up in a cottage, maybe 30 or 40 barbarian civilians, and we just torched the fucking thing. Went up so fast....a few actually managed to get out in time; we stoned them to death of course..." Spencer reminisced.
"Sir, I wish you could have seen this one guy we grabbed. He took an arrow through the chest but it was only in about an inch or two. So anyway, Corporal Taylor here finds his wife and says OK barb, you either push that arrow all the way through your chest and die like the fuckin scum you are, or we're all gonna pound your wife's little barb pussy here. So he gets all upset and he actually fuckin pushed the thing clear through his chest, but the fucker is still alive! He's down on the floor wheezing and shit but he's not dying. So Then Taylor says, well I guess we can't fuck her in the pussy then, so then Taylor starts fuckin her in the ass! So this guy's fucking having a heart attack with an arrow in his chest, the bitch is screaming, Taylor starts riding her like she's a fucking horse.. good times."
After the feast Spencer retired to his quarters. He pulled off his boots, hung up his uniform, and pulled on a loose tunic for bed. Lighting a candle, he pulled his worn copy of "On War" from the shelf to read a few favorite passages. Spencer had 18 copies of the book, all given to him by MegaDethx92, which he never understood. All copies were identical, but for fear of insulting his King he kept them all in a neat row on the shelf.
He was always confused, as the first page said "Published in 1832," and yet the current year was only 1320. Spencer had always reasoned that Clausewitz used a non-standard calendar system.
Leaning back in his chair, he began:
"We are convinced that there are no rules of any kind for strategic manœuvring; that no method, no general principle can determine the mode of action; but that superior energy, precision, order, obedience, intrepidity in the most special and trifling circumstances may find means to obtain for themselves signal advantages, and that, therefore, chiefly on those qualities will depend the victory in this sort of contest."
As he read, he heard a knock upon the door. Putting down the hefty leather bound tome, Spencer put down the book and opened the door to find a petite young courtesan at his door, dressed in an embroidered silk robe.
"Well, well!" he exclaimed
"I sent here by Colonel Osborn," she said in a delicate Chinese accent. "He say he want you sooo happy, and I say I make you happy."
"I'm sure you will," Spencer replied, a slow grin creeping across his face. "Come in."
As the courtesan entered the room, she allowed her robe to gracefully slip off of her body. Spencer saw the gentle curve of her buttocks in the flickering candlelight, and instantly felt himself getting aroused. Her skin was soft and delicate, and her hair straight and shoulder length, leading down to her firm but not overly muscular back. He watched her walk to to the bed, her toned, athletic legs moving her body gracefully across the room.
When she reached the bed, she turned around to face the Great General, revealing her small but well-shaped breasts, her nipples hard and erect. "Come play, my Lord," she softly said. Spencer walked over and laid down on the bed, allowing the courtesan to skillfully take him to pleasuretown.
CAHPTER 9
Spencer awoke the next day, invigorated by both of his victories the previous day. Looking up at the wall of his Officer's quarters he saw the creed he swore to defend good citizens and clear barbarians from the land. Forgoing his morning ride and hunt, he leisurely strolled down to the mess hall to have breakfast.
Despite the festivities the night before, soldiers were not granted extra time for rest. The city was always under threat of attack, and hangover or not, all troops must exercise daily. After Spencer finished eating, he briefly stopped by the Embassy to ensure there were no items requiring his attention, and then he went to the Rally Spot to oversee the daily farming. The ballista had only one round of farming the previous day, since attacking the large barbarian city had provided as much food as 6 or 7 of the smaller camps.
Today, Spencer was going to ride along as a ballista operator to ensure their efficient work. The ballista operators were in the King's Service, of course, but they were certainly at the bottom of the totem pole, closer to field laborers than proper soldiers. The problem was that there simply wasn't enough fertile ground surrounding the castle, and the army required so much lumber for upkeep, that the Castle could not be self sufficient in terms of food. Ballista, long range bombardment weapons had grown so advanced though research at the Academy that they could bombard small barbarian camps into nothing, provided the camp had small or nonexistent walls. Typically 400 were sent at a time, with 400 transporters to bring the haul back to the main Castle.
The small ballista runs were not like the brutal attacks by the archer divisions. The ballista were so powerful and overwhelming that nearly every barbarian was dead by the time the soldiers got to the city gates.
Spencer entered the Rally Spot where the ballista operators were checking their ropes and loading up with the heavy darts they fired.
"Greetings, troops!" Spencer boomed.
"Morning Sir!" replied Rodney, a Major who was the unofficial leader of the ballista division. "Fine work yesterday, General. Makes what we do look like a children's game."
"Major Rondey, an army travels on its stomach. Don't you boys forget that."
"Aye aye sir, noted!"
"Actually, I will be joining you fine men today. Fine day for a walk in the country."
"Excellent sir, I will inform the men. I'm sure they will be pleased."
CHAPTER 10
After morning Mess, the archer division gathered at the rally spot to begin the days' drills. Although the new class of Archer's were now full soldiers, they still had to maintain their skills. As John stood at attention, he saw the new recruit class lined up to receive their uniforms and equipment. Most of the early stages of training occurred in the barracks, where the new archers learned basic weapon skills and marching orders, but equipment was dispersed in the Rally Spot, as it was easier in the large open space.
"The following privates will report for beacon tower duty for the remainder of the day: York, Max, Alex, Matthew, and John. The head sentry is waiting for you, MOVE OUT!"
John sighed inwardly, and took off towards the tower at a brisk march. The pike and sword divisions usually manned the beacon tower, but they were all dead until the next training class came through and so the task fell to the archers. Some soldiers liked the time off from drills, but John preferred having a bow in his hand to the tedium of watching the horizon. The way beacon duty worked is that three recruits would man the actual tower, while two walked the outer walls of the castle. John preferred to walk, but he still had to check in with the head sentry at the actual tower.
CHAPTER 11
Spencer walked past the rows of ballista lined up in the rally spot. Each battalion contained 8 rows of 50 ballista, which were then trailed by the transporters. Each ballista was manned with 5 men, 4 corporals or privates who pushed the great devices into battle, and one Sergeant who was the pilot/commander. All in all there were 6 battalions which went out at a time, 2400 ballista in total, manned by 12,000 enlisted men with 6 senior officers. After marking the camps they would hit on the days manifest and giving it to a Colonel, Spencer walked up to the first private he saw and greeted him with a powerful
"You there!"
Private Hayden immediately turned, snapping to rigid attention and saluted the familiar voice with a sharp "Sir!"
"Private you shall report to the Rally Spot to assist the lecturer's who are training the new ballista class. You are relieved from duty for the day."
"Sir, aye aye, sir!"
"Who is the Sergeant in charge of this rig," Spencer said to the remaining 3 crew members.
Sergeant Ansel jogged quickly over from an adjoining ballista, where he was talking to another Sergeant.
"Sir, Staff Sergeant Ansel reporting as ordered, sir!"
"Very good, soldier. I will be replacing Private, uh.."
"Hayden, sir," interjected a Corporal.
"...Private Hayden on your rig today, with your permission of course."
"Sir, it would be an honor."
Asking for permission was of course a formality, but Hayden appreciated the gesture as pilot.
"Sir will you be piloting today? I will assume the position of loader so you may oversee operations."
"No, no Sergeant, I will be loading. I enjoy the physical work."
"Yes, sir. Men, resume checking the ropes and the torsion springs. General, sir, if you wish to work as an enlisted man, you will ensure we are loaded with 100 darts and they are stowed securely."
Spencer grinned and nodded, please that Ansel was following protocol for load out.
A few minutes later, the Colonel announced the camps they would hit, and assigned crews to each location.
"General, sir, you will push on the front right wheel, that was Heyden's spot."
"Aye aye," Spencer replied.
"We will be traveling north by northwest gentlemen, let's remain in tight formation."
The entire battalion knew the General was with them, and maintained extraordinary formation during the 6 mile march. As they closed in on the barbarian city, the battalion commander announced to the troops "5 minutes everyone, shift formation to bombard."
The pilots of the individual ballista skillfully rearranged themselves into 2 rows of 200 units, having done this maneuver every day. As they cleared the grassland adjacent to the barbarian encampment, Staff Sergeant Ansel gave the command to lower the supports and engage the universal joint to prepare for battle.
The two Privates, in this case Private Oxford and Genera Spencer, were typically in charge of loading, while the two corporals in back retracted the slider with the ratchet at the base. Retracting the slider put tension on the torsion arms, which, when released, would launch the heavy dart a great distance. As the corporals began to insert their wooden stakes into the ratchet mechanism, Spencer and Oxford released the first dart from the cargo bay.
Less than a minute later, the dart was in place and the torsion arms were fully tensed. The commander had raised the long red flag in front of the battalion, signaling to get ready. When the flag was dropped, the ratchet would be released, launching the first barrage.
The pilot busily worked the universal joint, ensuring the proper angle and direction for the massive unit. When he was finished, he grabbed hold of the iron release mechanism, waiting for the flag to drop. Finally, the commander gave the signal, and 400 ballista simultaneously fired. A heavy wooden *thunk* reverberated through the air as the torsion arms pulled the sliders forward until they hit the stops.
CHAPTER 12
John, unfortunately was assigned to the Tower, rather than the walls. He settled in at the top of the tower, 20 yards in the air. Surveying the land all around the castle, he admired the work of his King, his fellow soldiers, and the townspeople who labored in the fields.
"No one dares challenge our rule for 20 miles in any direction," John thought. "The finest army Franconia has seen in generations, the strongest walls any ballista has ever seen…"
As the sun rose high in the autumn sky, John's feelings of patriotism began to wane, as boredom set in. Struggling to keep himself focused, his thoughts drifted to Lady Margret.
Margret was John's first cousin, his father's sister's daughter. Fair of skin with strawberry blonde hair, John used to work side by side with her in the stonemill when they were children, grinding grain to make the grits he enjoyed every morning at mess. From the time they were 8 years old, they helped load the wheat into the great stone basin to be ground by the heavy wheel.
John recalled the first time they became intimate...sort of. He was 12 and she 11, they snuck down to the mill after dark to meet and play. John convinced her to remove her light summer dress, and they poked and prodded each other curiously, unsure how to properly proceed.
Two years later they began properly fornicating. Even as young teens they knew how to carefully time Margret's cycles to avoid a situation which would surely be Margret's banishment, and result in deep shame for her family.
John stood up from his seat to walk around the circular top deck of the beacon tower, carefully scanning the fields in all directions. Coming around to the south side of the tower, John ran his hand across the flint rock he was to use to ignite a signal fire, should he spot enemies on the horizon.
CHAPTER 13
Sixy-five shots later, Spencer's arms ached from repeatedly lifting the heavy darts onto the ballista. The barbarian's city was demolished and lie in ruins. The ballista crew members abandoned their weapons where the lie, and walked to the city with the transporters. Already exhausted from the bombardment, the soldiers now faced the task of loading supplies onto the 400 donkey-drawn carts.
An officer commanded a ballista crew to carry two of the long darts down to the demolished town gates. The soldiers dug small holes in front of the gates, inserting the darts and packing in the dirt around their bases to keep them upright. Finding two barbarian corpses among the rubble, the officer hacked through the corpses' necks with his sword, chopping violently at the exposed spinal column until both heads were free. The officer crudely impaled the haggard heads on the tips of the darts as a crude warning to any other barbarians who may try to habitate the encampment.
Spencer surveyed the spectacle as he assisted his crew in loading a transporter with grain. The faces of the dead barbarians were haggard and thin; their mouths hung open and their eyes were fixed in an eerie stare. Their long hair clumped around their heads, caked with half-dried blood. "Only the dead have seen the end of war," Spencer thought.
CHAPTER 14