The back hatch of the mech in front of Tapio opened, the driver vomited into the road, two riflemen jumping back to avoid being hit.
"For the love-" grumbled Tapio, but he did not finish, instead blowing a bone whistle he was given three times in short succession, signaling a stop.
The middle mech had already stopped, but the other two came to a stop and the soldiers took the chance to take a break.
Oscar, who had been riding on the back most mech, leapt down and ran for the bushes, adding his own vomit.
"This is unacceptable," came the angry voice of Larson.
A path was made, and sure enough Hersir Larson followed closely by the blacksmith Moller.
"Another?" asked Larson.
"He almost didn't make it out of the thing," answered Tapio.
"These things are a mess!" said Larson, yelling and Moller, "These are impractical!"
"This pace is impractical!" defended Moller, "It's true they could use some more design, but they are faster and more maneuverable. The ride is smoother if they were allowed to increase their speed. Keeping pace with the foot soldiers is just taking... practice."
"This wasn't a part of your prototype tests?" grumbled Larson.
"I... no." said Moller, "But it's a small hiccup. Neilson! Hey! Softer on the hydraulics. Anticipate the step. Also keep your body down further, like a crouch. It'll jostle them less."
"Aye, Moller."
"Look, I have had it up to-"
"Hersir Larson, if I may. We have been at a full march all day, the sun is setting," said Moller.
"Has set," added Tapio.
"I think we are well overdue for a rest," finished Moller, "And I can use that time to adjust some of the leg motors. We will get to Hammakko in no time."
Hersir Larson turned away from Moller, anger evident on her face. Her eyes ran over the weary faces of the troops, and her anger softened slightly. She walked to Tapio, who removed his helmet to better hear her.
As he anticipated, she spoke in a lowered voice, "What do you think? Can we afford to rest?"
Tapio looked to the sky and looked around at the men, "In all honesty? Can we afford not to? The men are tired. Those who want turns riding the mechs are not getting rest, they are getting motion sickness. And the mech operators have been miserable. The closer we get, the more likely it will be that we will come across Rusviet soldiers. We may not have another chance to rest."
"If we can make it to Hammakko, we will have plenty of time to rest."
"If we make it to Hammakko," Tapio said.
The soldiers were weary. The mech operators looked green around their collars. Tapio recognized many of their looks. If he had a mirror, he assumed he would look the same. Judging by Hersir Larson's face, Tapio figured his assumption was correct.
"Alright," said Larson, "But we need to find a suitable spot."
"Excuse me, my Hersir," said a soldier not far off, he removed his helm and moved the hair from his eyes, "I actually used to live around here. Up ahead is an old lumber yard. It was abandoned midway through the Great War, and it was still abandoned since returning home. It's just up ahead."
"Alright," said Larson, "We make for that site and camp for a few hours. Moller, you don't close your eyes. I don't want to deal with this again. You. You will lead the way."
It took only a few moments, but they were back marching down the road. It wasn't long until the soldier leading them turned off the road and they found themselves in a clearing not easily spotted from the road. There were some mossy log piles and the remains of a small cabin which most likely acted as an office for the logging company.
The group set up camp, and the thrumming of the Stridsvalkers' engines finally ended. Moller set to work, and small fires were lit. Tapio found himself with nothing to do. There were volunteers for any task he came up with.
He found himself deciding to stay close at hand to Larson. However as he approached he found her deep in talk with Captain Liam MacLean.
"Absolutely not," said Hersir Larson, "Over my dead body."
"Your people are tired and I want to do my part,"said MacLean, "You are being ridiculous. I can sleep on a Mech tomorrow. This could be-"
"There is no way," said Larson, "This is not for discussion. You will not be on a watch tonight."
"Watch? I can organize that," said Tapio as he approached, "I'll take first watch."
"You?" asked Larson.
"Sleep and I haven't gotten along in a long time," said Tapio, "I will be fine. I will organize enough watches."
"Fine, but don't be up the entire time," said Larson, "You look like Ox shit and I don't need you passing out on me. I'll take last watch."
Larson shot one more harsh glance at MacLean before marching off towards a campfire. Tapio sighed, but walked off from the camp.
Tapio sat against a tree and faced the road. He removed his Spangenhelm and set it down beside him. His feet were actually throbbing. He had walked often since the war, but marching to an objective is not the same.
However, it wasn't until he had a moment of peace and rest that the Ghosts came back. Sitting and listening to the campfires and hushed voices. One soldier began to sing. It was a low pitched marching song. Tapio remembered when those were allowed. From when he was a child.
In the distance, Ghosts of artillery cannons boomed. He heard the jingling of metal in the trees. With each blink, the darkness around him morphed into corpses and puddles and trash.
Not far off, the whimper of some wounded teenager. Nordic or Rusviet, Tapio would never know. They were too scared to scream. Too terrified of gunfire to call out for help. Or maybe too weak from blood loss to even move.
Tapio closed his eyes. Trying to block out the sound. He knew he couldn't risk it. There was no way he could make it out to help him. Even if he could reach the boy, could he manage to save him? Get him back in time?
The whimpering changed, in the darkness, "Tapio."
A chill ran down Tapio's spine. It must've been a nordic soldier. He was calling out-
A hand rested on Tapio's shoulder, "Tapio?"
Tapio startled awake. His heart was in his throat. He peered into the darkness surrounding him. The forest was cast into darkness and shadows. The campfires behind him towards the others were throwing the shadows into motion all through the trees.
Tapio jerked away from a figure to his right. Looking up, he saw Captain MacLean. He stepped back, but still held out his hand.
"Are you alright, Tapio?" said the Captain, "I'm unsure you were meant to sleep."
"I am fine," said Tapio, "Can I help you, Captain?"
"Yes, I am not allowed to keep watch," said MacLean, "At least alone. I was wondering if you would mind the company, sir."
"I suppose not," said Tapio, adjusting and sitting straighter, "More eyes are better."
"The name is Liam MacLean," said the Captain, settling down next to Tapio.
"Tapio Virtanen."
They were quiet for some time. Tapio watched the shadows move and dance between the trees. His knuckles cracked with the pressure he gripped his rifle.
"So, you are changed as well," said MacLean.
Tapio turned to him, "Hmmm?"
"By the Great War," said MacLean, "I have seen it before. In those who returned."
Tapio nodded, "They are just Ghosts. They can't hurt you."
"They are scars," said MacLean, "They already have."
Tapio glared out into the shadows, "Know many veterans of the Great War?"
"Indeed I do," said MacLean, "My brother and father. I never made it to the linemyself. But we come from a long line of warriors for Clan Albion."
"Do you mind if I ask a question?"
"By all means."
"Why are you here?" Tapio adjusted his grip on his rifle, "What does Clan Albion gain by you coming with us?"
"Clan Albion is attempting to negotiate," said Liam, "We are hoping the Nordic Kingdom will provide us minimal support for a landing site for our next operation."
"Next operation?"
Liam looked behind him, before leaning a little closer to Tapio, "Can I speak frankly?"
"I suppose."
"There are those in Albion who… whisper. They go behind closed doors and whisper in secret. They shake hands and make deals. When they emerge, they fight in public. They make promises. They do interviews in newspapers. However, they vote in radical, sometimes counter-productive ways. Our parliament cannot be trusted and keeps letting down our people. The Clan Chief has lost faith."
"Politicians," said Tapio, "Nothing changes."
"It's not like that," said Liam, "It's more… Look, they talk, right? Well you have the same ones, and they get along a little too well. They know too much, and they only reveal the information for a reason. Take what is happening in St Petersburg."
"What about it?"
"Your people got that from my people," said Liam, "And our Clan Chief is furious. These politicians appear to be correct, but where is this information coming from? If we didn't know better, we would say it was a plot to undermine the Clan Chief by parliament."
"This sounds…"
"A little crazy," said Liam, "And yet… Rusviet forces marching on the Factory? Rusviet forces marching into Nordic Kingdom? Silence from Dresden? Silence from St Petersburg? What kind of Europa is this becoming?"
"What does this have to do with-"
"Everything. Our Clan Chief has lost faith in Europa. Everywhere we go: whispers about Tesla and that blasted figgertonni."
"Hmm? Figgertonni?"
"Tesla's… base."
"Factory," corrected Tapio, "Tesla's Factory. Yes, everyone appears to be obsessed with it. They say the Rusviet's are making a run for it."
"And what happens if they win?"
"Infiltrate the factory?" Tapio chuckled, "Impossible. Tesla was besieged by every nation on the face of the Earth during the war and he survived, thrived, and killed thousands. I very much doubt anything has changed."
"And yet they try," said Liam, "And if they succeed, Rusviet will have access to weapons, technology, and engineers the likes Europa has rarely seen. Do you want that power in the hands of Rusviet?"
Tapio adjusted where he was sitting. He looked at Liam with a questioning glance.
"Do you really feel that power would be better in the hands of Clan Albion?"
"Absolutely not," said Liam, "That is what I am saying. Rusviet. Clan Albion. Nordic Kingdom. Saxony. The Shogunate. It does not matter. Can any nation be trusted with Tesla's power?"
"Can Tesla?"
"I do not know," said Liam, "But from what I understand, we are very lucky he chose to lock himself in his little Factory instead of marching an army into every capitol in Europa."
"I suppose you are right," said Tapio, "But a single man cannot live forever. At least, word has not reached us that Tesla has invented immortality."
"Immortality? This word…"
"Uhm…. cannot die. Will not die."
"Ah, I see," said Liam, "Well that is part of my point, Tapio. Tesla can not live forever. When he dies, his… everything. It will be a new war."
"What are you suggesting?" asked Tapio.
"My brother has been… assigned a mission," said Liam, "Our Clan Chief knows Tesla's inventions are not safe in the hands of any nation who plans to wield them. His factory cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of any one nation. So… we are going to destroy it."
Tapio blinked, shaking his head in confusion. He watched Liam for some sign of laughing or joking. However, Liam looked serious.
"You… expect me to believe you don't intend to use what you would find there?"
"I don't expect you to believe anything," said Liam, "I am here with a purpose. A goal. I am sitting here next to you to gain favor with your King. Albion helps you reclaim your homeland, your King helps us secure and hold some land to assist our mission for my brother to lead. After that, Connor MacLean will march his forces to the Factory and... Destroy it."
Tapio returned his glance to the forest around them.
"Well. I suppose life would be simpler without all this technology. If you can, I guess I can see how destroying it would be better than trying to claim it. Let's hope it is easier."
"I think it will be hard enough securing your land, first," said Liam, "One impossible task at a time."
Tapio returned his gaze out to the darkness. Looking intently. He was actually happy for the company, now. Liam Maclean's interruptions kept the Ghosts at bay. Tapio knew they weren't far, but they were at bay. For now.
By the time the sun rose, Tapio was already sitting on the back of a walker as they continued down the road. The ride was only slightly smoother than previously, but they had fewer interruptions of motion sickness, at least from the crew inside, so Larson was happy with the new pace they were setting.
Tapio was testing out the riding on them so they might take it in shifts, being able to cut down on breaks needed so they could move ahead faster.
Oscar sat next to him. He was smiling awkwardly, no doubt struggling with his stomach and the feeling of excitement he was feeling. He hadn't stopped talking about the Stridsvalkers since he had settled beside Tapio.
However, he got quiet once the procession entered a small village. Civilians stepped aside, windows were cast open, and everyone stopped what they were doing. Some of the villagers were loading carts with belongings. Others were gathering pigs and sheep together into pens. Some stood solemnly by the road, a hunting rifle in hand.
The group marched, steadily, down the center of the village. The soldiers took on a stern expression. Hersir Larson stopped and spoke in lowered tones to a middle aged man surrounded by villagers. They exchanged some words, and then she continued down the road.
Tapio avoided the gaze of the villagers. Oscar waved to some, but stopped at the cold reception he received.
"Are they afraid of us?" asked Oscar, "Don't they realize we are Nordic?"
"They know," said Tapio, "Do not blame them. The last time many of them saw a group like ours it was a draft team. Sent to collect volunteers, and take conscripts. For many, it was the last time they saw loved ones."
"But we are not here to take anyone," said Oscar.
"It will not matter," said Tapio, "We are a memory of the war. We remind them of what they have lost. An omen that the peace was fragile. We are a warning, Oscar, that the next group to march through their village could be Rusviet, or could be a draft squad."
Oscar looked back and frowned at the villagers. Tapio could see the look of fear in their eyes. The apprehension in the old. He noticed a few people murmuring prayers beneath their breath. Clutching some necklace beneath their shirts.
"What was it like for you?" asked Oscar.
"I... I was a volunteer. We were neutral. I was worried for my family. I figured it would be a few weeks of training, a few months sitting at some outpost, looking at snow."
The line of soldiers and mechs were leaving the village. The villagers did not appear to move. A few walked down the road, standing and watching from the edge of the village. Oscar watched them as they continued down the road.
"You have been called that name you dislike," said Oscar, "The Butcher. Why is that?"
"Because people are trying to build me up as being some sort of hero," frowned Tapio, "I hate that name."
"Can... may I ask you about it?" said Oscar, "How did you get it?"
Tapio sighed loudly, signaling his annoyance at the line of questions. This caused Oscar to look away, his gaze returning to the mech walking behind them.
They walked on in silence for some ways. Tapio began to get annoyed at the mechs, but the constant thrum of the engines and the walking of the troops were beginning to bring up old ghosts of similar marches in his time. Tapio looked to Oscar, who was still avoiding his gaze.
"Fine," Tapio said suddenly, "It was an advance. We took a Rusviet trench, and our Hersir ordered us forward. We could see them retreating to a shelled-out old barn. We feared they were hiding a mech inside."
Oscar adjusted his seating so he could watch Tapio better. His eyes were wide. He looked like a child, excited to be frightened by campfire stories.
Tapio shrugged off the amusement, "Well, my Hersir was covering our approach, and my time engaged enemy forces at the barn. A few of my compatriots were wounded, but we were losing time. I could hear motion in the barn. So, I did not wait. I entered the barn, fired my weapon, but a soldier got the drop on me."
"Without thinking, I had my axes in my hands. So I... fought. I killed everything in the barn."
"Everything?"
"When my Hersir opened the barn door, and I was reinforced, that is when they found me. I was covered in blood, panting on the floor like an animal. I killed two soldiers, but I had... killed an entire barnful of cows."
"Cows?" Tapio's face went from amusement to instant confusion.
"Cows," said Tapio, patting his rifle, "By the time I had finished, every cow in the barn was slaughtered. They named me 'The Butcher of of Rovaniemisk' and they never let me forget it."
Oscar looked away, clearly disappointed, "The Butcher... of Rovaniemisk. Why would a nick-name be why you were chosen for this? I heard people whispering it."
"Because people think it is funny," said Tapio.
"But it isn't," said Oscar.
"I do not think so, either," said Tapio, "It is possible, over time, the name became more than a joke as it spread. It surely seems to follow me everywhere."
Oscar shook his head, sending a glance at Tapio, "Cows..."
"Cows." said Tapio.
Now it was Oscar's turn to sigh. He shuffled aside and climbed down the mech's moving leg until he could leap down.
"Where are you going?" asked Tapio.
"To find some cows," said Oscar, a little upset, "Perhaps we can leave that ox-filth of a story behind with them!"
"Do not be mad at me because it is not the story you want," said Tapio.
"I am mad because it is not the story," said Oscar, who began to walk towards the front.
Tapio shook his head. Oscar was going to need to get used to disappointment.
The Stridsvalker jerked and putted with each step. The two riding on it leapt from the walker, while the walker tripped over some debris in the road and lurched forward again.
Tapio already had the whistle to his lips by the time the mech stopped and lowered, locking into place before the engine shut down.
The middle Stridsvalker began to leak some black smoke, and the driver and gunner opened their hatches and attempted to air out the inside. Tapio didn't even have to look around before Hersir Larson and blacksmith Moller were right at it.
"What is it now?" hissed Larson.
Moller quickly scampered up one of the front legs and dove into the driver's hatch.
"It's the engine," said the driver, "Began to belch smog."
"Naw, it is the step-regulator," said the gunner, "I heard it grinding!"
"This is the last straw, blacksmith Moller," said Larson, "We cannot afford to stay here with Hammakko-"
In the distance, small explosions carried on the wind. The words were frozen in the air as all heads shot down the road, weapons raised. Tapio recognized the sound. Artillery, some smaller cannons. Possibly grenades if it was closer.
The unit froze and listened to the sounds. No one dared whisper for a moment or two. The only sound was Moller rummaging around inside.
"I think I got it!" he cried.
"Shh," shushed the driver of the mech.
"It's a battle alright," said Larson, "It's quite a ways away."
"Hammakko?" asked a soldier.
"Hammakko is just over the bend," said another, "Surely that is farther away."
"It could be grenades," said Oran, approaching the group, "Could be Hammakko is under fire."
"We are out of time," said Larson, "The blacksmith stays with the down mech. The other two are with us. We must hurry onto Hammakko!"
"Wait! It's a regulator spring," said Moller, "My modifications earlier plus the added weight of soldiers must have overstrained it!"
"I don't care, we don't have time!"
"If you leave with the others, they could suffer the same fate, or worse," said Moller.
"The gods damn you blacksmiths," said Larson.
"Blacksmiths? Why not just call them engineers like everybody else?" asked Captain MacLean.
Tapio stepped toward him, covering him from Larson's glare.
"Here, blacksmiths are the makers of weapons," said Tapio, "Engineers are more... for buildings and bridges and non war related stuff."
"Silence!" said Moller, "Listen, there is no telling how badly these can break, and if they happen in battle it could be catastrophic. I must be allowed time to fix this one, and make the adjustments on the other two!"
"There isn't time!" said Larson, "The drums of war beat in the air!"
"Hersir, there is no other way," said Moller, "If you must, then go! When the repairs are complete, we will be right behind you! These mechs operate better at full speed anyways. Go! I will not stop you."
"Curse you," growled Larson, before she turned to Tapio, walking toward him, "We are in narrow fjords."
"It isn't so bad, we should hurry," said Tapio, "It might be better for us to travel without the mechs. Might be better to sneak into Hammakko without trouble."
More explosions popped in the distance. Tapio felt his heart beating in his throat. He nervously looked back.
"If they have mech support, you are outgunned," said Captain MacLean.
"Then you can stay with the mechs," said Larson, "Alright, soldiers. We must move out on the double. Let's go."
"I must insist," said Captain MacLean.
"Insist all you want, Captain," said Larson, "I am Hersir, here. That means I am in charge. We will move forward now. Stay here if you must."
Hersir Larson pushed past Tapio and Liam and marched on down the road. The soldiers began to follow her, falling in line quickly. Oran tapped Tapio's shoulder, and Tapio nodded.
They both turned and began to walk down the road.
"Tapio," shouted MacLean.
Tapio turned around, MacLean shaking his head, "Do not go. You are walking into a trap. You may not have proper support to retreat."
"We are Nordic soldiers," said Tapio, "There is no retreat. We charge forth, to Volhol's halls."
"We will be right behind you!" shouted Moller from his mech.
"We shall be right behind you," repeated Captain MacLean.
Tapio was already walking away, following the small group of soldiers that now marched towards battle.