Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ but it would be a lot cooler if I did...

AN: This chapter was the one I was working on before I realized I hadn't posted in a bit. So it took a little longer to put out. Kind of toying with the idea of releasing the next arc all at once when it's done or doing periodic updates, rest assured though, there should not be as big of a gap as last time.

Turles stood in the midst of battle. All around him men and women were fighting and dying. He could smell the unmistakable odor of flesh, blood and excrement. The wails of the dying filled the air along with groans and grunts of combatants. Yet through it all, he truly felt alive.

A brown haired young peasant approached him. He was lightly armored and poorly equipped. He wore an ill-fitting uniform that was clearly not fit for him. He only wielded a simple spear. Turles almost felt sorry for him. Sending farmers and stable boys to fight his men was so unfair. Matter of fact he thought it was downright criminal.

He let out a sigh and waved the man on. The man let out a feeble battle cry and charged at Turles. It almost hurt Turles's ears to hear it. His voice was that of a man child whose voice had not completely matured yet.

Turles merely side stepped him and cut at his legs as he passed severing the connecting tissue. It was a move taught to him from an early age to disable his opponents. The man boy let out a shriek of pain and fell to his knees dropping his spear. He struggled to raise himself but could not due to the injury.

He looked up at Turles with tears in his eyes. Turles merely shook his head. He knew the man boy could not see his face behind his helmet. However he would not grant the boy mercy. He probably foolishly came to the battle field with dreams of glory like so many boys do. Now it all ends here.

Turles raised his sword. The man boy was waving his arms and crying out for mercy in his native tongue. Turles sliced the boy's throat in one quick swipe. The boy simply didn't understand war. This was a mercy. Better to die now than be tortured for information or imprisoned. At least here it was quick.

The man boy clutched his throat and crumpled over. His eyes went still. Yet he was not alone. Not a three feet from him another man had met his fate there too, and another behind him. The ground was stained a crimson hue with all the essence of life spilled from their bodies.

Turles kicked the body of the man to be sure he was gone. Another poorly fitted warrior rushed him with a dull single handed axe. He honestly barely caught a glimpse of the man. Turles merely dodged his first swipe. Once he got a good look at it, the axe looked better suited for chopping firewood than battle.

He merely let out a laugh. Surely whatever noble sent this idiot to his death could have spared a little time to give him some basic training. Or at least give him a decent weapon or armor. These peons had neither. It would have given them a fighting chance at least.

The man tripped on his former comrade and stumbled over. Turles knew it was over now. To fall in the heat of such combat is deadly. Turles took a few measured steps with his sword and shield at the ready. He would make this quick too as much as for the man's sake as for his own.

As Turles raised his blade in a killing motion, he was interrupted by a familiar sound. Men cried out all around him. Some sort of impending danger was coming. Perhaps it was reinforcements or a cavalry charge. He looked around and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Then a familiar dark shadow appeared overhead.

Turles bellowed out for all to hear, "Shields!"

The deadly rain struck all around him as he raised his own shield just in time. It struck friend and foe alike in a symphony of agony and pain. The enemy commanders were merciless. They actually loosed their arrows into their own men. Sure they were fighting mercenaries, but good men should never be wasted like that.

Turles's thoughts were interrupted as his helmet was stuck by a massive blow. His thoughts blurred. The world seemed to stand still for a moment. As his mind cleared he realized that he was on one knee. He was surrounded by his own men. They appeared to be cutting down who ever came near.

Something also impeded his vision. He shook his head to clear out the cobwebs. A few seconds later he realized it was a bolt. Someone had struck him in the helmet with a crossbow. And somehow, by some miracle it had pierced his armor but did not wound him, though the tip of the bolt was dangerously close to his left eye.

Turles rose to survey the scene. His men were holding up well despite the suicidal enemy barrage. The peasant conscripts on the enemy side, had stopped rushing them. They now only engaged his men when they had to. It looks like they too were shaken by the heartless tactics of their commanders.

The time was ripe. Just one more push and these men would break and run. Now was the time for bold action. It was the difference between a fat gold purse and the wasting away in some dungeon.

Turles ripped off his helmet so all around him could see his face. A commander needed some flair from time to time. The bolt traced a red line of fury that split open his brow. Tiny droplets of blood began to fall down his cheek like tears. He let out a battle cry so all eyes were on him in this moment.

Turles pointed his bloody sword and shouted, "Forward!"

He lifted his blade above his head and ran. His men roared to life all around him. Some ripped off their helmets just as he had. Others just bounded toward the enemy with him. As one, a massive wave of steel and death crashed into the enemy.

0-0-0

The sun was high in the sky above the clouds. The ground had been soaked crimson with today's struggle. The blood of friend and foe alike christened the earth. Birds began to circle overhead.

The enemy forces were now in disarray. Some units were retreating while others struggled to hold their ground. On the right flank, Turles's mercenaries had broken the militia unit before them. They hit them at just the right time and now they were in full retreat. While it's true that they were shaken by their own commanders, it all came down to Captain Turles's instinctual battle awareness.

Vegeta could only smile with a big vicious grin. This had gone extremely well today. At least twenty men had fallen to his sword already and that was before they started running away. He felt good. He felt confident. He had more than made up for being overpowered in the port.

While he fought today all his opponents underestimated him. This was likely due to his only average height. He was hardly an imposing figure compared to the likes of Jenounes and Biorr. Even Kakarot was taller than him. Luckily he was slightly taller than Adrestia, which gave him some comfort. Still would it be too much to ask for Zelus to grant him another inch or two?

Vegeta ran after the retreating foes. He cut down a man he caught up with. A simple cut to hamstring was all it took to seal his doom. Though it was likely not fatal. It was enough to bring him down. Now he would either be trampled to death or stabbed by one of his comrades in the mercenaries. Either way didn't matter to him.

He was caught up in the moment. Not even thinking about slowing down. He could practically feel the tide he was a part of rushing over the enemy. This was a crucial moment he knew. Putting the enemy into retreat was a small victory. Turning their retreat into a rout was always the real goal of a commander.

In front he could see that none of the militia had chosen to stand and fight. It was a good thing too. A stalled offensive like they were a part of could be easily turned into encirclement if the enemy had enough time to react. It was always a risk.

A he looked right and left, he could only grin. This was just as he was taught. The enemy units to their right and left began to retreat as well, less they be flanked by the mercenaries. This was something he had heard happened in battle, but had never seen in person.

"They are running!" He called out to his squad. "Let's drive them from the field!"

He caught up with another man and simply stabbed to his side as he strode past the man. He was rewarded with a squeal of pain the sound of a body falling. Yet he did not look back. His focus was on what was in front of him.

He spotted a man in a finer uniform. He was in a green and blue tabard with golden trimmings. He was shouted as the men ran past him. He actually had a sword in his hand. An officer, Vegeta thought to himself with a smile. Just what he was looking for, hopefully by killing this one the rout would be complete.

A few men were had fallen in behind him as his squad caught up. Not many, there was maybe just ten of them. But these ten were giving courage to the others. The enemy retreat had slowed and they were starting to look back at the mercenaries.

Vegeta looked to his right and left. Kakarot on the right was simply bore a determined look on his face as he stared the others down. He stopped to rub his headband for luck before resuming his fighting stance. Adrestia nodded to him in understanding. Her single braid had broken down to wild and free locks as the hours of fighting dragged on.

His blade was held in high above. He could see the terrified looks on the militia. He could hardly blame them, his squad must have appeared to be armored demons. They were all now stained red from head to grieve, covered in the blood and gore of Marteans.

"Let's go!" Vegeta shouted as he rushed forward. Each of his steps echoed was echoed by the war cries of his companions.

0-0-0

The skies blackened over the field of battle. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The wind picked up with the sweet smell of water to cool the body after such a long day of effort. Then as if the heavens mourned, a downpour drenched earth.

Vegeta wiped the blood and gore off his blade. It had seen a lot of use this day. As he looked at the edge he knew it would need to be sharpened. He sheathed his blade and gazed around for a moment after his first battle.

Bodies of men littered the ground as far as the eye could see. He supposed there could be a few women out there, but it was hard to tell from his vantage point. Blood, bowels, limbs, and body fluids stained the earth into a miasma of crimson. Then the offensive smell hit him. He couldn't quit place it. It was nothing as simple as excrement or urine. However it curled his nose just the same. He nearly gagged right then and there.

Now that his battle rush was over, he felt tired and wet in the rain. His muscles began to protest with every move he made. His breath finally began to calm. He wanted nothing more than eat and sleep right now. He was even tempted just to clear out a spot here in this blood soaked field.

Vegeta looked down at the officer he had killed. It seemed like a lifetime ago. Yet it could not have been more than ten minutes. Now that he was lying there, bled out, he seemed quite young to Vegeta. Perhaps he was their age, or a year or two younger.

It really was his misfortune to run into Vegeta and his squad. The man had at least some training. He could handle a blade reasonably well. However against Vegeta's men he was a poor match. They had spent countless hours honing their techniques. Even as tired as they were in the final combat, he stood no chance of defeating any of them.

As he looked at the black haired boy dressed in his fine clothes and his brand new sword, he realized that could have been him. Had he never been assigned to Captain Bardock it would have been him. He never took training seriously before he joined his squad. If a war broke out in Saiya this could have been his fate had things only gone a little differently.

He was snapped out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. He smiled a bit. Of course it was her. She was always there when they needed her. He turned to see Adrestia had taken off her helmet. She held out a wine skin for him.

"Thanks love," He joked and brought it to his lips.

"You wish I was your love," She said sweetly with a smile and drank her own wine skin.

Kakarot was drinking as well. He was a few paces away with Jenounes and Biorr. A slightly melancholy look was on his face. However the other two appeared to be insisting that he share a drink with them. They looked content with the results today.

The wine tasted excellent for some reason. He suspected it was because he was thirsty. His mouth had felt like a desert before now. Now the sweet spice of the local wine filled him to the brim. It felt so good drinking it he had to stop and take a breath.

"It does taste especially exquisite for some reason," Adrestia commented.

"That's because we won," a familiar male voice called to the pair.

They turned to see Captain Turles there with an almost giddy grin on his face. His armor and tabard were covered in crimson and gore. His helmet was absent. A half healed wound had split his brow. He stood with the sort of confidence of command that Vegeta had first noticed about him. Though in his element Vegeta could see why he was like that.

"Breath it in," Turles suggested as he loudly inhaled through his nose, "That is the sweet smell of victory."

"It smells like shit," Vegeta pointed out half serious.

"It is shit," Turles informed them and slapped hard Vegeta on the shoulder, "Shit, blood, flesh, piss, and whatever else your body holds all spilled out onto the earth that is what victory smells like. Trust me it's better to be on this side of battle than the other."

Vegeta was simply silent. This man was basically an uneducated peasant. Vegeta wasn't even sure he could read. Most peasants could not. Yet he just said a statement just as philosophical as any of tutors or the scholarly books he had read. Turles certainly was not a man to be underestimated.

"Tonight we feast. We will eat and drink to our hearts content. In honor of our fallen and the victory we earned today," Turles informed them.

"Is this really the time for merry making?" Vegeta wondered as he saw wounded men being carted off.

"Of course it is, this is exactly the time for wine, song and a woman in your bed," Turles responded as he gave Adrestia a wink.

Adrestia glared at that. She hated when men were like that, just assuming that she should fall into bed with them. It went against not only all her teachings, but everything she felt. Not only was it socially inappropriate for her to do such things, it was wrong. Down to her bones she could feel it was not right to let just any man into her bed like that.

There was a reason women with loose morals were the outcasts of society. Despite how unladylike her current path was, there were still some lines she could not cross. If the men really needed the company of women after battles they could find it with some other willing woman or pay one. She would also have to keep a close eye on Iustitia tonight.

A messenger in red and black arrived and said something to Turles in Tiberian. Neither could Vegeta or Adrestia spoke the language enough to follow. They could only make out a few words here and there. Turles simply nodded to them and turned his attention back to them.

"It appears I am needed at a war council soon. But I will see you all back at camp for the feast tonight." Turles told them.

"What do you think our next move is?" Vegeta asked him.

Turles stroked his chin and commented, "I may not have read as many books as you, but I know battles. So we'll most likely lay siege to the town next."

"A siege…" Adrestia wondered aloud.

"Yes most wars come down to whether or not you can successfully lay a siege," Turles pointed out.