Thank you again everyone! Things are starting to heat up.

Onward we go...

Chapter 5

Mud splattered as the horses stepped forward. They arched their necks, walked with their knees high and proud, and they chomped at their bits, feeling the tension from their riders. Rain continued to fall and caused ripples in the puddles that continued to grow. The clouds continued to move, but the winds had settled, providing only a subtle breeze that was barely perceptible. The branches of the trees stilled and movement was relinquished to the fighting men and their horses.

General Thorell pulled his mount to a stop as he watched General Sanchez arrive. He was mounted atop a tall bay stallion who snorted and swished his tail as Sanchez's lieutenants and captains followed a short pace behind. His armor was embossed with the Spanish seal, and he wore a wide-brimmed hat and a long cloak that draped over the rump of his mount. Two riders behind him held the Spanish and regimental flags.

Both Generals nodded to one another and urged their horses forward. Their men stayed behind, observing the enemy. Spanish soldiers in the distance stood at the edge of the border in a wall formation. They held their weapons and waited.

Porthos cleared his throat, pulled on his horse's reins as the animal tried to step forward, and then looked at d'Artagnan who kept his eyes on the regiment behind Sanchez, and then Aramis, who watched and tried his best to listen as the rains patted the ground and water continued to ripple and splash. Porthos glanced over his shoulder at the Musketeer Regiment, and the regiments of the other captains and realized the significance of their numbers. Had Thorell not arrived when he did, it would have been only a matter of time before the Spanish organized themselves enough to breach the border, and overtake those who had fought them.

Porthos clinched his jaw, proud of the men he fought beside, grateful for the opportunity to serve under a leader who knew and understood the complexities of war. A leader who protected, inspired, and served his men. Porthos felt his chest still, his heart grow in size and the seizing pain that followed.

The potential for a battle lingered as the early morning hours gifted the day with the sun's rays. The red hue of the horizon had faded, but with it, more clouds appeared in the distance. Winter's last effort to leave its mark would be fierce.

Thorell's and Sanchez's voices rose, their horses shifted uncomfortably beneath them, and then Thorell kicked his mount's right side and spun him around. Sanchez's mount reared, and the general raised his hands, but kept his seat. He shouted in Spanish and then galloped back toward his men.

Thorell nudged his horse's sides, squeezed his calves, thighs, and leaned forward. "Prepare for battle," he shouted as he galloped past the musketeers.

The men followed. A roar of men shouting filled the air and the regimental line of Spanish soldiers rushed for their positions. Porthos shook his head, looked at d'Artagnan and Aramis, and urged his mount forward

"Let's prepare the men," Porthos said as he looked at Levi and Marc, who quickly followed.

"What happened?" d'Artagnan said as he raised himself in the saddle as his horse galloped back toward camp.

"Apparently they didn't agree," Aramis said. He relaxed the reins, allowed his horse to extend his neck.

Thorell's ride into camp was enough to let his men know that the fighting would soon begin. Food was abandoned, weapons were grabbed, horses saddled, and boots frantically pulled on. It was a rush for what needed to be done. Thorell dismounted, tossed his horse's reins toward his page, and then entered his tent. He grabbed a map and then stood behind his desk. Captains and musketeer lieutenants entered out of breath and expecting their orders.

"Frederick Henry is not yet in position," Thorell said, and pointed to the map. "Sanchez still thinks he can win this."

"What did he say, General?" Captain Comtois asked and shifted his stance next to Levi.

"He wanted to give us a chance to surrender," Thorell muttered in disbelief.

Levi snorted, and then quickly muttered an apology.

"He's outnumbered, but I'm assuming he has either replaced his cannons or he will continue to use his version of Greek Fire — which I find difficult to believe." Thorell pointed to the map and quickly outlined where he wanted his infantry, his cavalry, and the musketeers. "Sanchez is desperate, which makes him dangerous, but it also makes him vulnerable." He looked at Aramis. "Once he's in your line of sight…" he raised his eyebrows.

Aramis nodded.

"Like I said, he's a snake in the grass. It's time to remove his head." Thorell leaned forward, pressed his knuckles onto his desk as he extended his arms and looked at those in the room. "I did not come here to lose — Go." He pushed himself from the desk and nodded to Porthos and several of his captains. "Let's finish this."

The men shuffled from the tent and were quick to take action. Orders were shouted and soldiers fell into step as the fighting began.

The first cannon roared. Smoke billowed, the projectile exited and pierced the air with an impressive speed. It landed short of its target, but mud, debris, and stone splattered and spread wide as the ball landed. Two other cannons roared, both fell short. Muskets were fired, horses screamed, danced, and snorted as the battle began.