There was little left in a war that could surprise a man like Lothar Mott. He was a veteran of both battles of Sodden, of Maribor, of Brenna and more skirmishes than he could remember – A career soldier Mott had tried his hand at other things but he lacked the patience to be a farmer and the manners to be merchant. The day began the same as any other of its kind. The usual smell of sweat, shit and bad cooking filled the air. The barks of captains and sergeants taking their fury out on clumsy recruits echoed throughout the camp, equalled only by ringing of the blacksmiths' as they went about their morning business. The whores made a killing as damn near half the army waited in queues to get one final plough before they braved the gates of La Valette Castle. Others knelt before the Priests and Priestesses joining the growing sound of hymns, others simply bowing their heads in silent prayer. Lothar Mott did what he always did before a battle – cleaned his armour. His chain mail hauberk had to be put through a barrel of sand and rolled, the stains had to be taken out of his surcoat and the mud had to be wiped from his boots – If Mott was going to die, he would not do it looking like some five groat sellsword. A shout broke the Temerian from his ritual.
"Up, you lazy whoresons!" Captain Giselbert bawled his men. "The King wants us up early, we're going to gut those La Valette bastards while they're taking morning shits." Mott quickly brushed off the final boot and pulled it on as those around him gathered their weapons. "Willit!" Giselbert shouted for one of the sergeants.
"Yes, Sir?" Answered Willit, a square jawed bull of a man who was midway through donning his mail.
"Get the lads out of the whores legs and ready to move within the half hour." Giselbert towered above Willit by at least two heads. The sergeant saluted and strode off to the back of the camp.
"Mott, you're leading the ram squad." Giselbert turned to the sitting sergeant. "So get up off your arse and get your boys ready." Lothar nodded and got to his feet, getting into the leather gambeson, mail hauberk and cloth surcoat with a speed that came with experience. Using his best parade ground voice Lothar searched out his own men.
"Dick, Glen, Simon!" He roared. "Go to the quartermaster and get the extra padding for the helmets. If he turns you away tell him he owes me for the Hawkers." The three men saluted and sprinted off. The troops always obeyed Mott with speed, especially the green ones. He lacked pure size of Giselbert and the lungs of Willit but he more than made up for it in other areas. He was a tall, wiry, gaunt man with more scars than his soldiers had years. His left ear was partially missing, a red scar running from it, across his cheek and to his chin. It had been given to him by a Knight leading a company of the Impera at Brenna, though as a trade off Mott now wore his winged helmet as a trophy. Those scars and that helmet inspired more fear and loyalty in his men than any skill at arms could.
"Jarek!" He roared at a decurion. "I want your arbalists keeping the La Valettes occupied so much that they can't even fart at me or mine."
"I'll try my best." The crossbowman promised as he set about stuffing several dozen quarrels into the linen bag at his waist. Before long all of Mott's men were assembled. Thirty soldiers in total, they all wore a mix of padded leather and mail like Mott himself. They were of too low rank and birth afford any kind of plate. They stood to attention where under less terrifying commanders they might have slouched. They stood as a solid unit, forcing waves of running soldiers to go around like a rock in the middle of a stream. Each one wore the lilies of Temeria upon their chests and a silver fist graced their shields.
"Boys!" Mott paced before them. "We'll be taking the ram." There were some sighs and more than a few curses from the soldiers. "Shut it!" Mott barked. "Yes we will be at the front, but we'll be the first through the gates and that means the most glory, best loot and you'll be the first to get to the women!" They gave a small cheer at that. Soldiers are fickle with their emotions and easily swayed to cheering – money and women being the easiest way to bring them to it. "Right now lets go kill some bastards!" They cheered even louder at that and followed Mott through an ocean of red and black tents. Other units of soldiers formed up in the open ground between the camp and the Castle, each one bearing the symbol of their lord or unit upon their shield. Giselbert along with Willit and the other sergeants stood by the ram talking to a young knight in plate armour.
"Your unit along with two others are to take the gate and ground level of the fort. After that you are to push through to the harbour and take boats across to the town." The knight said as he handed Giselbert his orders. The giant took the paper and scanned over it several times before nodding.
"You're in command?" Giselbert questioned. The Knight nodded.
"I shall lead the charge." He said proudly., puffing up his chest.
"So be it." Giselbert muttered, he was used to being under the command of young, vain nobles who had yet to face anything more dangerous than a sparring partner. Mott and his thirty moved into place behind the talking officers. The Knight rode off to tell the other unit commanders their orders as Giselbert beckoned Mott over.
"Try to make sure that idiot doesn't get himself killed." The Captain flashed a smile full of broken or missing teeth. The soldiers waited for the signal to be given, doing their final preparations: checking straps, putting padding in their helmets and discarding scabbards for a iron rings or simply sliding their swords into their belts. Mott took the time to observe the ram, which like everything made by the royal engineers was a work of art. The head was carved to look like the royal lion that could be found on some of the older Temerian shields. The ram itself was suspended from a wooden frame by several thick ropes. It was sheltered by a wooden roof that was covered with layers of both leather and metal – It would neither catch fire nor break under a rain of stones and bricks.
Before long the knight rode back, his armour glinting in the sunlight. Far to the left of the ram a great horn rang out, reverberating throughout the camp and over great host of Temerian soldiers. At the sound of it Mott whistled to his men and chose ten who promptly threw themselves against ram, pushing with all their might. The Knight drew his sword and waved it around above his head as the ram began its slow advance to the gates.
"Those rebels have defied us for too long!" He shouted to all those who could hear him. "They have betrayed their god-anointed King for a harlot! Now charge! Charge for Foltest, for Temeria, for glory!
The Knight died well before the ram reached the gate. His horse was hit by an arrow some thirty paces from the walls, though he climbed free from the kicking and screaming animal and continued the charge with a cry of "Temeria!". He was the first to touch the wall and the first to die at its base. A rock hurtled down from the high walls and caved in his skull as he called for the ladders. There was a hole in the side of the guard tower, made by one of the engineers' trebuchets, that some unlucky soldiers would have to climb through and attempt to open the gate if the ram faltered.
"Get your arses moving!" Mott roared to the ram crew as he hid behind his shield as best he could. The arbalists did not deliver on the promise, the La Valettes were doing much more than fart at their attackers. Arrows, quarrels and rocks slashed down like rain. One man-at-arms carrying the sigil of Lord Swann manage to deflect a rock the size of a gnome off his tower shield only for another on land on his foot. There was an audible crack as the bones in his foot fractured, though he was not in pain for long. An instant later an arrow took the soldier in the throat and he fell to his knees, clutching at his throat and choking on his own blood.
"Push!" Mott shouted them on as the men strained up the incline before the gate. Everything the defenders could throw bounced off the roof of the ram, leaving the men pushing it unharmed. "Help them!" He ordered his remaining men, who slung their shields over their backs and rushed under the protection of the ram. With close to thirty men sharing ten handles the ram made it up the final stretched and touched the gate. The extra men moved back out to give the crew some room, once more being forced to hide behind their shields from the defenders' rain. Dozens died every minute as those at the front tried to hug close to the walls and those at the back and middle were left with only shields.
"Heave!" The ram was pulled backwards and then with momentous effort, thrust forwards. The gate shook under the force of the blood. "Good! Again!" The ram was dragged back yet again before swinging forwards into the wooden gates. "Harder you lazy cunts!" Mott snarled at his men. Groaning with effort them men pulled the ram back as far as the ropes would allow before throwing themselves forwards. The gate shook yet again and part of the wood splintered. They dragged back yet again as death rained in from above through the murder holes. Those standing beside the ram fell to the ground, crying in pain as scalding water was poured through, Mott was safe however, half his body being covered by the ram's roof and the rest by his shield.
"Who are we?" He bawled at his men.
"Foltest's Fist!" They answered back with one voice as they once more heaved on the ram.
"And what are we going to do?" Mott did not flinch as a rock bounced off his winged helmet, whatever else they might be the Nilfgaardians made good armour, though the extra padding took its own share of the force away.
"Batter this fucking door down!" They roared back, pushing forwards with even greater vigour. Giselbert pushed his way through the throng of cowering soldiers.
"This is taking too long." He barked across the noise to Mott. "Those ploughing nobles will get to town before us." Mott spared a glance to his left. The great tower had finally reached the walls and the knights and lords finally charged across the bridge and into the defending line. Giselbert snarled at the sight of it and spun around to face the host behind him. "Willit, Tyrek!" He pointed to two of his sergeants. "Up the ladder!" Willit tightened the strap on his kettle helm and drew his sword.
"Come on boys, let's show those nobles how to do it." His men gave a small cheer and sprinted to the ladder. The first one up was an eager recruit from Vizima and like every first man up he died. His body came tumbling back down, an axe buried in his skull. The second man died too but the third made it over the edge, his spear forcing the defenders back long enough for his comrades to join him and a bulkhead was created. The fighting was fierce and every few seconds another body would tumble over the edge and come crashing down onto the roof of the ram. Willit hacked and slashed with the ferocity of a werewolf, snarling and screaming and his blade chopped into the neck of a La Valette man-at-arms.
"Harder!" Mott turned back to his own men. The gate was splintered and cracked in several places, the centre bending inwards. "Come on!" The men gave one final heave and push then with a great crack the locking bar snapped. Hearing it all the nearby Temerians rushed forwards and began to push against the gates. Under their weight the gate slid open to reveal the great fortress of the La Valettes. Giselbert stepped up, pulling his great mace from its harness.
"Lets go and kill some whoresons!" He cried, his voice easily carrying across all the men who bore silver fists upon their shields. The men gave a blood curdling roar and charged with him through the gates.
