Blazing Devils: Vive la résistance
Chapter 2
Muret Village
Francois looked apathetically at the small group of villagers he currently had for an "Army" and said to himself "This is Valley Forge all over again."
With about 120 men armed mostly with pitchforks, woodcutting axes, a handful of hunting rifles, and a few of the pistols Francois had brought with him, he knew his small "army" was no more than a local militia than anything else. Francois' thrill for combat was flamed higher when one of the villagers told him that the local garrison was made up of 450 heavily armoured and elite mage knights. For Francois, on the other hand, most of his men were simple farmers who's closest combat experience was running a fox out of their chicken coops.
To make matters worse, Francois knew guerrilla warfare was out of the question due to the lack of supplies and the coming season. With Winter setting in, Francois knew that the bitter cold and starvation would do more damage than any pitched battle could. Despite their odds, Francois was confident he, Valentina, and Katina could turn this band of misfits into a formidable fighting force, strength and skill of arm could make all the difference.
The very morning after the battle, Francois wasted no time in preparing his men for battle. He ordered the villagers to strip the dead soldiers for their swords and armour while Francois skinned, gutted, and cleaned the dead dragon, doing what he could to preserve the meat and then curing the hide so it could be used to make leather. With roughly 30 sets of armour total, he picked the most fit men in the village and spent the morning teaching them swordsmanship. Brice, by default, had become Francois' second in command in all but name. He led 15 men with hunting rifles, Brice carrying Francois' AW50, into the forest to teach them marksmanship.
Francois was suitably impressed when Brice shot a small tin can from 300 yards off. With the AW50, Francois expected Brice to begin picking off targets from much greater distances and transform into the first true special forces sniper in Albion's history. The others were also busy, gathering the necessary supplies or creating makeshift weapons such as the Molotov cocktail, which was a deadly and effective weapon despite it's simplicity.
Francois had changed his clothing. He now wore an armoured version of his longcoat with armour on the shoulders and forearms, under it was a cuirass with white pants and black field boots while his gloves remained the same. He wore a custom-forged combat harness for his arsenal of weapons, 3 holsters on the back for his swords and a rifle and a series of holsters both under his arms and along his thighs and the back of his waist for his pistols along with holsters built into his coat. All of his clothes and even his cuirass now had an inner lining of Kevlar to further protect him from enemy attack.
As Francois watched his men train with their respective weapons, he knew that, in time, his men would gain proficiency and be more of a match for any armed forces organization in the world. However, he knew he had neither the time nor the equipment to turn his small band of misfits into an effective fighting force. With each passing hour, the lord of the local garrison would grow suspicious as to why Sir Marius' patrol never returned and would send out an even larger party to hunt down those who dared raise a hand against the Reconquista aligned forces.
With perhaps two or three days until the imminent battle, Francois knew that they needed more men, though his true form could wipe out entire armies singlehandedly in seconds if he had to. They would need allies in order to keep casualties to an agreeable minimum, what good is freeing the country if everyone is dead, so he brought the matter up to Brice after giving the men a lunch break.
Brice took a moment to ponder the predicament thoughtfully and after several moments said "Well, there's always Cahors."
"Cahors?"
"Cahors Village," Brice began, "is a neighboring sister village to Muret. They're only about twenty miles away and we're practically like family."
"Is that so?" Francois asked coldly.
Brice nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, in fact the village chief is my cousin and, trust me, no one wants to rebel against Reconquista more than he does. Though," he added. "I have to warn you, one of his townspeople, Brynjar Dahl, is a sadistic son of a bitch and nobody knows where he came from. The guy is damn big and loves to hurt things when it comes to Reconquista."
"I see" Francois began. "Why do we not pay this cousin of yours a visit and see if we can not get this Brynjar to join us as well."
As it turned out, convincing Cahors to join the revolution was a lot easier than Francois or Brice could have anticipated. While Brice's cousin was many things and Brynjar was sadistic as hell, neither was a fool. When Francois and Brice followed by their small force of rebels brought news that an army of 450 mages was in the process of marching on Muret, they knew that the contingent of so-called knights would not hesitate to discriminate between the rebels and their village. Furthermore, there wasn't a single villager in Cahors who hadn't been affected negatively by Reconquista's regime. Harsh taxes left many peasants close to starvation and on the streets. Like the rebels of Muret, the villagers of Cahors had had enough of Reconquista's despotic rule. So it wasn't surprising when almost all of the healthy males of Cahors, more than 150 villagers combined, volunteered to join Francois' revolution. However, despite their obvious enthusiasm, none of their spirits could even compare to the heated fervor of Brynjar Dahl.
Brynjar is a massive specimen of a man, towering over everyone else in the room and had close-cropped, almost buzzed dark brown hair and blue/green eyes. He appeared to barely possess a neck due to the sheer size of his upper back muscle while his forearms were a little smaller than other men's necks. He wore ripped blue jeans that had a chain for a belt with a form-fitting black and red bodysuit on his otherwise bare upper body alongside boots and fingerless gloves.
"Let's rock 'n' roll!" he yelled when he heard about Francois and Brice's situation. "I've been here wasting my time with mine carts, give me a place in your forces and I'll show you some blood." he reached under the table and, to Francois' surprise, he seemingly pulled an RPG-29 from thin air and cradled it in a relaxed position. "Give me something to kill."
All in all, Francois had to admit that, to the average man from his world, watching a 7 foot tall walking mountain of a man expertly cradle a rocket-propelled-grenade would be pretty damn intimidating. Brynjar was built as if he'd pushed those carts up and down hills by himself for years and handled that RPG as if he'd been a professional soldier at some point. Francois was a little alarmed at Brynjar's zeal as the chief stood nearby. "You may want to wait a short time and prepare."
"Ah, and here I mistook you for a young man, with all of the reckless insanity of youth." the chief commented.
"This war is something we cannot win without planning and preparation."
The chief smiled as Brynjar's lips were pulled back in a malice filled smirk at Francois' rebuke. "Right you are. I'm not as mad as Brynjar here seems to be. After I started hearing rumors about your little revolution I sent scouts to watch the provincial garrison."
At this Francois inwardly smiled. The chief was turning out to be a better ally than he could have hoped for. Suddenly, as if on cue, a pigeon carrier dropped into the room. The chief untied the small letter from the pigeon's leg and began reading the contents intently. Francois had already guessed the nature of the message. "The garrison is moving out."
The chief nodded as Brynjar smiled like a kid in a candy store. "The scout saw a column of knights leave the castle about 2 days ride to the south."
"How many?"
"He says no more than 450, mostly cavalry and mage knights."
"Excellent." Francois said as his eyes became slits and began to glow. "Most excellent."
The group heard the sound of wagons pulling up outside and a woman's voice calling "My Lord, Lord Laurent!"
The four went outside to see a woman Francois recognized, only now she was donned in Lamellar armour and her boots were replaced with a fur-lined pair that had armor over her shins while a battle axe sat beside her on the lead wagon. She led a series of wagons, wagons that Francois knew instantly held his entire arsenal of weapons, from 1770s era muskets all the way to 21st century assault rifles and anti-material rifles, complete with tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition alongside grenades of various types.
Looking over at his three companions, Francois smiled inwardly as they gaped like a trio of fish and Brynjar had a look of attraction on his face as he gazed at the woman leading the wagons.
"Gentleman." Francois began, "Say hello to Sinmara, my personal servant, dear friend, and now Quartermaster. I however, am the Devil of the Black Wings." he finished before turning to Sinmara and saying "I thank you for coming, Sinmara. I trust the journey wasn't too difficult?"
"Not at all, My Lord. Your personal armoury is now at yours' and your army's disposal." Sinmara replied, her voice such a melodic tone that Brynjar's jaw snapped shut, though the look never left his eyes.
Brynjar remained like a statue with his RPG in his hands as Sinmara seemed to get a kind yet understanding look on her face centered on Brynjar as she hopped down and went over to the second wagon. She pulled the tarp back and opening one of the cases, pulling out an identical RPG to the one in Brynjar's hands as well as a set of fragmentation grenades. Holding the RPG and grenades in a non-combative stance, she walked over to the giant of a man and seeing her that close snapped him out of it, allowing her to hand him the second grenade launcher, his face turning a light pink hue as he held both launchers akimbo with their barrels pointed towards the ground and Sinmara clipping the grenades to his right hip via a belt designed for them.
Brynjar gulped before saying saying "Thu-thank you, Lady Sinmara", receiving a kind smile and a light-hearted giggle from the woman in question, making his face turn even redder before he finally calmed down and looked at the horizon with a fire blazing in his eyes.