Close to Neustadt, Naggaroth, pre-dawn, Markttag 29. Vorhexen
Silvar Bloodcrest would have liked to see his target, yet the whirling snow cut off all vision. He was on the reverse slope of one of the hills that ringed Neustadt which lay dark and cold below him. He knew from the last days that even without the snow it would be hard to see the German fastness which seemed to be mostly underground. Only the few blockhouses would be visible and the strands of barbed wire, but even to his fine true Elven eyes they would be visible best for the dead which were entangled in them.
The swirling snow reminded him of the beginnings of the disaster that had befallen him. He could still not move his right armwell, despite the healing magic and the bandages. His shying horse had saved him when the shot burned itself into his limb and in the confusion of the first seconds he had been carried a few meters from the fighting. Some bullets had cracked uncomfortably close to his head, yet when he had regained control of his horse the Germans had already retreated and the groups had not met again. His troops had tried to force their way into the Germans settlement only to be greeted by the devastating fire from several machine guns. After two failed assaults things had settled into an uneasy siege, yet both sides knew this could not last.
Silvar Bloodcrest was well aware that Malekith did not tolerate failure and his attempt to disarm the Germans on his own recognizance would count against him too. There was one way to save at least something from this fracas and even that was not sure to work, neither with the Germans nor Malekith. But not trying would mean that he would best fall on his own sword as a quick death was preferable to any other outcome he could imagine in case of more disaster.
He went back to the big tent that had been erected at the foot of the hill. The sounds and smells that emanated from the tent grated even on his hardened senses, yet his only hope for survival dwelled within. Inside a number of barely clad hags tended a huge cauldron that contained the remains of some of his best followers. They had been tortured to death in ways that even Silvar found hard to stomach but that supposedly pleased Khaine. Sirhar was the head of the Witch Coven of the Pierced Heart and Silvar had promised her far more than he could really afford for what she was about to attempt.
What she did should normally be a quite straightforward spell that the Druchii used regularly against their enemies. Yet at this range and against a target that could not be seen it needed far greater resources than otherwise. Even so it would not work against a target with even the most basic of magical defenses, but the Germans lacked this at present. The Witch was normally the ideal of Dark Elven beauty, slender, deadly and able to inflame the lust in any male she chose to. Yet at present she was so covered with blood and other substances that she resembled a skinned sacrifice ratherthan a powerful mage.
She was mouthing words of power while putting both of her arms into the boiling mass of blood and meat, screaming in joy of the pain. It did not take her long to come to a complete stop and freeze into a stance that combined great pain with a predators smile.
Silvar did not need to ask, he knew that Sirhar had been successful and ran to his troops as fast as the slippery ground would allow him.
About an hour later he dared to hope that all the expenditure and risk had been worth it. Nobody had shot him when he neared the German blockhouses, nobody had provided real resistance when his warriors broke down the entrances. He made his way down the corridors and saw the Germans and their slaves contorted in various positions of cramps, moaning with pain. Sirhar`sspell was working as she had claimed, the pain overwhelmed the bodies of the affected and now Silvar could lead the subdued Germans to Malekith as ordered. This would still end well.
He was feeling lightheaded with relief when he entered another room, this one a bit bigger than the rest he had seen. It contained a big table and many mismatched chairs but only one inhabitant.
The bald, slim leader of the Germans was barely holding himself upright on his seat. Silvar was impressed, only the most strong willed could perform even the simplest acts when under the influence of the spell. Why this Claus, Son of Tolles used his willpower to hold up a hand above a box Silvar had no time to puzzle out in his last seconds.
The voice he heard was under great strain and barely above a whisper.
"You are welcome to..nothing, asshole" . The hand dropped and then there was nothing any more.
The Black Company had always known that they had made their camp among the wolves. They knew very well that it would be a really bad idea to be captured by their employers and had ensured that it would not happen easily.
When Claus Tolles` hand touched the switch a current ran to several charges that were distributed under the German bunkers. Upwards of 5 tons of the best explosives that Manfred Hartig could cook up detonated, blasting the mercenaries to bits together with their would-be captors.
Nagarythe, Ulthuan, at night, 30. Brunntag
Herleas Kultur slithered forward on the cold muddy ground. He ignored the wet cold that seeped through his clothes and the mud that had found its way through several openings of his garment. It was easy given the fact that he had to control every sound he made if he wanted to continue breathing. Pausing his crawl at random times in order to listen better he heard very little -and that was more alarming than at least some voices. The cold, wet and still air conducted sound very well yet still he could hear far too few of the sounds that an army camp even at night produced. Even from here, hundreds of meters away, he could see the few fires, the tents that were lit by them and a couple of lone figures lit by them. But there were too few whispered conversations , too few curses of soldiers who stumbled in the mud on the way to the privy and not enough clamor from the workshops where the artisans would make good on the wear and tear of the last days.
Herleas was pretty sure that the enemy was so quiet as he lay in wait for exactly what he and his fellow Asur were about to do-he would just have to be better at sneaking than they at guarding. Given that Herleas had survived for more than two hundred years in a school where the reward for good sneaking skills was continued respirations he had few doubts about who was better at what. Judging the distance to be about right he pulled another stake from his belt and pushed it into the soft round. Tied to the stake was a dirty-white bandage that would allow his "civilized" brethren to find their way in the dark if they managed to follow the lines of stakes he and his fellow Shadow Warriors were planting in rows like breadcrumbs. The last stake was 200 meters from the enemy lines and this was where the game became interesting.
He now would have to sneak up close to the enemy camp, ignite a strip of cloth and throw the earthenware jug full of oil far enough into Druchii lines that the elven archers would have something to aim for. A few full salvos of good Asurian arrows, the sudden appearance of his Shadow Warriors in their midst and finally the assault of all Spear Carriers and dismounted Dragon Princes that Tyrion could muster-that should do the trick if nothing else would. A good plan-if nothing went wrong. In Herleas' experience something always went wrong and then all the experience, training and hate of the warriors would show the mettle of the combatants.
Herleas took the next hour to crawl a little more than a hundred meters forward. More than once he cringed when he could hear some clumsy fool behind him make more noise than a brass band, at least to the heightened senses of a Shadow Warrior. It was funny that these days a lot of Asur looked tothe Shadow Warrior way of conducting war when usually everybody else saw them as poor relations. But usually you did not get your head shot off when you appeared nearly a kilometer from your enemies, so not being seen had acquired increased value.
He was still mentally sniggering when the ground in front of him gave way and pulled him forwards and downwards in a mini-avalanche. He did not swear loudly, but turned on his back with commendable speed and waited for the blow that would kill him-and waited some more. Nothing. He found himself in one of the trenches that the mercenaries liked to dig wherever they made camp to protect themselves from the archers and it was empty. He crawled around in it for a while before nearly bumping into one of his fellow Shadow Warriors. He had not encountered anybody either and a suspicion emerged in Herleas` mind. He was far too clever to act on it immediately and so he and his fellow warriors did their level best to sneak into the enemy`s camp. As he had thought more than an hour ago it was empty. The few tents held no sleeping Druchii, the few fires had been carefully built to burn slow and long and the figures around them were just a few spare clothes, pieces of armor and a helmet held up by handy pieces of wood
The mercenaries were gone.
Camp "Heide", close to Lüneburg, same time
Sleenek could not sleep again, the same as many nights previously. There were few ways he could give his body a decent workout and he missed the sound of many Skaven around him. The Germans had promised to put him back into a camp where the Skaven could meet freely within its confines, provided that he could keep his cool for a few more months around them and his fellow Prisoners of War.
He had few memories of the terrible weeks after something had happened. Whatever had hit him, it had robbed him of most of his mental faculties. His minders told him that he had been without speech-and probably without much intelligence for at least a month and from the way they had spoken to him he had been barely above the level of a Giant Rat-and a bloodthirsty Giant Rat that had killed several Germans at that. Then, on the same day the Germans claimed to have banished the Horned Rat he had fallen into a coma they said, only to awake a week later and making a slow recovery ever since.
He now faced numerous hardships. He could meet his fellow Skaven only for a few hours each day and then under heavy guard, but the rest of his days he spent alone. The boredom was bad enough, but even worse was the emptiness that he felt inside. From his conversation with his fellow prisoners he knew that they felt the same, the feeling that that something had been taken from them thatthey had never known it was a part of them before. Whatever had been taken from them, it had left a hole in their minds that was always there and that could not be ignored. Like a tongue might probe countless times for the tooth that was no longer there so their minds went back to the feeling that no longer was and missed what they had never felt before they lost it. Like most Skaven he had talked to, Sleenek suspected that "it" was the presence of the Horned Rat that was no more. Sleenek was pretty sure that if he were engaged inthe day to day struggle that Skaven life consisted of normally he would be less affected, but currently that was not to be.
But one of the German minders had tried something new with his charges and to nearly everybody`s surprise it worked and had started to fill the gap. Knowing that sleep would not come if he did not do something Sleenek turned on his mattress till he faced the wall on his knees and folded his paws into each other.
Closing his eyes against the ever-present light he started to recite the words he had been taught.
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth, as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Nagarythe, Ulthuan, Markttag 31. Vorhexen, Morning
The sky was full of grey clouds that chased one another at great speed and the light did no favors to the sparse vegetation that barely emerged through the snow that had finally hit this part of Ulthuan. Malus Darkblade had no eye for it, he was far more interested in the orderly rows and blocks of true Elven Warriors who had stood ready since dawn to await an uncertain fate.
Patting his Cold One, Spite, on its muscular neck to calm it down he was far more interested in the army that was on the other side of the depression that until a few hours ago had contained his German-tainted mercenaries. They were gone and had left only the skeleton of a camp that had been sufficient to fool him and probably the Asur during the hours of darkness. On the other hand the Asur must have marched in the night to be here so soon-did they know something about the traitors that he did not?
And yet the Auxilia was not to be seen in the ranks of the enemy-thank Khaine for small favors, as then things would have been dicey indeed. The way things stood now the Asurian army was smaller than his own by a bit, yet not small enough to make any battle a foregone conclusion. Malus might have thought the High Elves effeminate and soft before, but the months in the trenches in front of the Dragon Gate had taught him otherwise. Any victory would be hard-fought and costly and the victor would probably be left with the ghost of his army. Malus knew that he was no slouch when it came to commanding armies, yet Tyrion was probably playing in a different level. And yet exactly as Tyrion was a good general he did not attack, he had seen the same things than Malus had seen.
He positioned his troops to charge-while the Druchii kept formations to receive it-and yet nothing happened.
And nothing would happen for the next two hours. The armies watched each other to make the first move and did not. Malus was contemplating attacking to break the sheer boredom of it when the great Ulthuan army started to leave formation. Instead of charging forward into the fields of fire Malus had prepared, they started to counter march and then to use a path that led into the wilderness. Malus was sorely tempted to attack them when they were out of formation, but the distance was too great and the Asur would have reformed. They could chase that blasted Auxilia instead, if they kept to form they would cut that army down to size before they went under. And they had given Malus Darkblade one last service-their treason gave him one more excuse that Malekith might accept-or not.
More than 20 kilometers away Wolfgang Böhler hoped that his behind would reach the desired level of numbness soon, cared far more for a sure grip on his binox that he used to look at the way they had taken during most hours of the night and the morning. So far he could see nothing and started to believe that the Auxilia might make it. He had another look at the trio that marched close to his place in the column and could not fully suppress a smile. A Black Dragon looks downright stupid when it moves long distances on foot and here Hartmut Klawitter had somehow managed to talk his Dragon Rider to join them in their march from the fighting.
Adry chuckle close to him reminded the sniper of his other responsibilities. Turning to the seemingly frail mage he pulled the closest thing to a salute he had performed in quite some time.
"Good job Specialist Hellebane. I have heard about such things before, but always only for small units, not a regiment."
"Ah, old age and treachery will beat youth and beauty every time General Böhler-as you should well know."
Beach, Saratosa, roughly same time
The couple walking down the beach was a handsome one. A man who sported the slim muscles left by long aerobic exercises, brown hair that tried to outgrow a buzzcut and even features walked arm-in-arm with a beautiful redheaded woman who`s rugged outdoor clothes could not hide a nice figure. They did not speak for a long time, being at peace and taking in a breathtaking nature. The long sandy beach that stretched in front of them gave way to a hinterland that was hilly, arid and full of small bushes and trees. In the background a set of mountains topped all of that pair put a towel and some snacks at a likely spot and sat down for a small picnic, which they consumed in amicable silence."You know that this is nearly the perfect finish for this leave Joakim?""And why is that love-I could stay here nearly forever.""Ah, come on. Three weeks is quite nice for a camping trip, but sooner or later I would like to visit a good restaurant or watch TV-not to speak of being connected to the net more than once a week. Don`t get me wrong, this was a perfect trip and I enjoyed it immensely, but everything has its time.""You are right Sophie. And I have to get back into the saddle-any longer and I go stale.""Didn`t feel like it last night. But I know what you mean.""Well, for me it is more training and rebuilding the unit. So what will you do?""Actually when we are back I will write a piece about this island. I mean we got here because you called in some favors-but wouldn`t this place be great for tourists? Great Landscape, really nice beaches and we do not tread on the feet of any locals. And ever since the Princes decided that it would be best if Saratosa remains German no problem with local laws and law enforcement. Once they build up some infrastructure here it would be perfect.""Hm, you might have something there."
Nagarythe, Ulthuan, Königstag, 32. Vorhexen
Lurhel Blackheart watched the 3rd Company stream by his position, running all out. They had the best of reasons for that-a troop of Cavalry was hot on their heels. Lurhel had heard General Böhler well when he spoke to the Auxilia. "Give me one tit before you run, that is all I ask of you." Lurhel had not understood at first. The "tit" was not the problem-that were the five rounds fixed with loops to the Auxilia`s rifles which could be shot very fast. But this business of keeping one company back, having them fire off a few shots and then running till the legs seemed to drop off and the lungs burned just to rejoin the Auxilia`s march he had not gotten till he had seen it in action a couple of times.
The only Asur that had a decent chance to catch up with the Auxilia were the Cavalry. Every time they found a company line they had to deploy from marching formation into combat spread and then assault an enemy who was gone when they finally reached the line. It slowed them down considerably and allowed the main body of the Auxilia to stay ahead of their pursuers.
The only problem was that the Asur were not exactly stupid and they wanted the Auxilia badly. From the narrow front of horses and riders that the Dark Elven machine gunner could see the Dragon Princes had not changed formation but charged directly from the column. Against the whole Auxilia that would have been suicide, against a rifle company it would probably work. Actually the riders were getting very close to the slowest rear guard members. The age old hatreds of Druchii and Asur had combined with the one between infantry and cavalry-he suspected that the rifle company had stayed too long. Which was exactly why Lurhel and his crew occupied the small hillock a couple of hundred meters behind the line held by the company a few minutes ago. The last couple of times a rifle company had to slow down the Asur machine gun teams had been there to play backstop-looked like this was the first time to do it for real.
He watched the first riders pass a bush he had noted down and turned the crank on his machine gun. The 47 shots went out in one long burst, hitting a group of riders that were about to catch up with his comrades. He was not alone-two German teams fired their famed weapons. The trails of light they called "tracer" looked like pure magic-the results at the other end like a slaughterhouse. It was enough to stop the hated High Elves-nearly. The cavalry was fast, there were a lot of them and the Germans had to let their guns cool down after the first bursts. Lurhel did his very best-and that was quite good these days-and yet a squad would not make it, trying to pull one soldier back that had somehow injured a leg. They seemed to run off in the last second, thought better of it, turned and threw something at the onrushing doom in a final gesture of defiance.
The explosions that blossomed between the riders had terrible effects. Detonation from the ground they opened the horses bellies and dropped the entrails on the ground. Broken legs were flayed by fragments and riders tumbled from their dying mounts . There were too many survivors and the squad went under in a pile of horses but the resulting pile-up gave the machine guns a target they could hardly miss and the Asur sufficient motivation to halt their advance. Normally Lurhel would have liked nothing more than to shoot at the back of the retreating Asur, but that would have been suicide. Turning the crank a last time he jumped up and helped to hitch the gun to the waiting Pony. The crew did its level best to shove the gun even faster and managed a speed very close to double time. On their way back to the marching column they passed the next Company that formed a firing line and two other machine gun teams.
The Auxilia`s main body had never stopped marching despite the fight to its rear. Lurhel`s crew and the other survivors of the skirmish had to double time it for quite a distance. It was hard, very much so. The snow and mud clung to their boots, making every step that much harder. They had to shove the gun they all served so that the pony could keep up in the muddy spots, sapping further strength. And in the end they were running with combat gear which was not making things any better.
In the end they made it with burning lungs and legs that seemed to be made out of rubber, but made it. The problem was just that the Auxilia never stopped, just marched so they had no time for a real rest. So no matter how fatigued the machine gunners were they had to keep the pace, the only alternative was a heroic battle with the Asur that could end only one way.
Much later that evening Wolfgang Böhler was thankful for the Ritual of Blood he had received for the first time. It had been a horror to see the slaves butchered to death, their memories and feelings had for a time mingled with his own andhad made him swear never to be forced into this again. And yet he doubted that he could still be functioning at the level he did despite the cold, the bad food and the general exhaustion if it had not been done to him. As far as he could see he was still making good decisions and that was one of the few things that stood between the Auxilia and their demise at the hands of the High Elves.
How much longer that was to last was everybody`s best guess. He had marched the Auxilia hard from midnight last night till past midnight today. There were no fires, no tents, no warm food-only jerky and vinegar to keep everybody under some semblance of function.
He got up from the place where he had taken a rest and went over to the small group of Germans and Druchii that made up his staff.
"Ladies and Gentleman, now that we have enjoyed our lavish meals, can you tell me where we stand at present?"
Manfred Richter, the 29-year old Captain of Artillery was the first to go.
"We lost 54 today, including Rudi. Currently we have 20 wounded in the wagons, but I am pretty sure that half will not make it if we continue to march."
"If we stop we all die. Very low ratio of WIA."
"Yes Sir. Most wounded did not make it back to our lines. We lost at least one squad trying to carry back one of theirs."
"Fuck. Supplies?"
Wolfgang Schwarz had taken over the Auxilia`s "lean" logistics arm. "Currently we have ammo for two more days like this and one major engagement, maybe a little less. We are better for the mortars, but they seem quite useless for now. Emergency rations will last for this week, then we really need to stop and cook."
"Next week we are dead or gone"
"Gone where if I may ask."
"Sorry, let`s not spoil the surprise there, shall we?"
About ten kilometers from the Auxilia another Group of beings were making an equally miserable camp. There were some fires, but only very few. There was food, but very little of it was hot as the Cavalry was long on mobility and lethal arms and low on supply chain.
One of the fires lit a small depression into which the leaders of the Asur huddled. Normally of elegant appearance and graceful gesture they all just tried to get the smallest possible outline not to lose body heat. Splendid coats and tabards had been soiled by flying mud, skin had not seen water for days and exhaustion lined the beautiful faces. Steam rose from every breath and the small bowls of some soup were emptied with undignified hast lest they become cold.
"We have one more day to catch them. If we do it tomorrow all is fine, if not then we have to slow the chase."
"You cannot mean that Tyrion, we are chasing them down and killing them bit by bit. Soon they will be exhausted and will succumb to our weapons."
"Morvael, I have not seen the usual signs of a force that is on the verge of exhaustion. There were no stranglers, no discarded equipment but for some packaging and a broken cart, nothing more. Pinning our strategy on that is very risky"
"So, they are still infantry-we can outmarch them."
"Maybe if it were summer Morvael. But it is not and our horses need far more time to find sufficient fodder under this snow-actually in this tundra we will not find food for all the horses, period. And in this cold they need far more of it than normally. Either we catch the mercenaries by tomorrow or we will never catch them."
"I will tell the Princes then Sire, they will win this battle for us, they must."
"Make it so Morvael."
Forest, Middenland, Angertag 33. Vorhexen
The animal standing in the former field was unperturbed by the soft snowfall all around it. The beast probably had ancestors that had been Great Aurochs. These animals had given the farmers of the Empire a start to breed their cattle while the original species was too territorial, aggressive and powerful to be useful as a domestic animal. Weighting nearly two tons they were feared for their attacks when enraged.
The beast that stood on the clearing that had a year before been part of a small farm that had been abandoned during the Storm of Chaos was far from such humble beginnings. Having probably more than a few Beastman genes and multiplying under the mutative power of warpstone its breed had been subject to selective pressures of a different kind. Much bigger than its ancestors its eyes reflected an intelligence that should be unknown to a bovine and its teeth suggested a diet that consisted of things that could run and maybe feebly fight back.
The beast was not the only predator in the field. In front of it a human looked unflinchingly into the bulging eyes of the monster. No ordinary human would do such a stupid thing but closer inspection revealed that the man was far from ordinary and closer inspection would shed some doubts on the moniker human. The eyes had amber irises and pupils hat seemed slightly too big and black. The human was clad in a carapace armor and some clothes of undefined color. Hair and beard had not seen much grooming for a while, the clothing was dirty and showed bulges where muscles had grown faster than they should. But the most inhuman thing about the man was the fact that he tried to stare down a being that weighted 30 times his mass and who had bloody murder in its mind. Even the most cursory observer would conclude that only one of the two would walk off this field alive.
The moment took each other's measure was short when measured by a watch and seemed eternal to the two opponents. With a speed that belied its bulk the Aurochs extended his head forward and gnashed his teeth in an attempt to bite the face in front of it clean of. Yet the teeth closed on thin air and the human no longer was where it had been. Pain blossomed on the side of its huge head and blood started to flow. Turning first head and then body the animal found itself again facing the human who had an halberd in his arms, end planted into the ground and fixed with a boot, the blade at the top pointing at the great chest. The beast looked like it would take the challenge and charge into the waiting point and then incredibly something like a grin formed on the huge face. Roaring a challenge into the grey sky the Aurochs stated to circle the human who watched him with unblinking eyes. The Aurochs had seen such eyes before, but not in a human. A week ago the winter had left a wolfpack hungry enough to try their luck with him and failed. They had warmed his stomach instead and had had eyes like the man in front of him.
Something about the memory bothered the circling monster. He was getting even more aggressive whilehis mind failed to make a connection was about to throw caution tothe wind when one of the snow mounds at the edge of his vision erupted upwards and another human emerged, brandishing a weapon just like the first one. The animal roared its disdain and retreated a few steps when a sharp pain from its hindquarters erupted. Managing to turn with incredible speed the Aurochs saw even more humans that now backpedaled through the snow. White-hot fury overwhelmed what little sense rested in the mutated head and the animal begun a deadly charge that combined a weight of more than two tons with tremendous acceleration. Anything caught in that rush would be dead, just as always. Just that there was suddenly more pain in the other leg, and this time the leg no longer followed orders. The charge slowed and veered off course, making its way between two attackers who promptly hacked at the monster again. Slowed by its injury it stood its ground, daring all and any to make an assault and threatinga bloody death with hooves, horns and teeth. And yet the humans always attacked where it could not look or kick as it had only one functioning hind leg left. In its fury it turned into the latest attack only to be stabbed from a blind angle again and again.
Once it managed to trap a halberd behind its horns and throw its user across the field, yet the others were redoubling their efforts. There was no killing blow, just more and more burning pain and a fury that masked the loss of more blood till the vision went dim, the air became hard to get and the ground that suddenly just came up to meet the Aurochs` head. It could only lie in wait when the first human it seen came closer,lifted his weapon high, and stabbed with all his force. The human took seconds to regain his breath, changed the grip on his weapon and then delivered a powerful slash across the breast of the dead monster, opening it to the sky. The others assembled around him, dropped to their knees in a semicircle around the open wound and stucktheir right hands into the chest cavity. Lifting the bloodied limbs into the unseen sky their combined howl would have frightened the dead Aurochs if he would have been around to hear it.
The old priest had watched the battle between man and beast from the treeline, unperturbed by boththe bad weather and the violence in front of him. He waited for the howl to subside before entering the clearing proper. Looking into the eight pairs of wolves eyes in human faces he lifted his great hammer-axe above his head with both arms. A deep voice gave no hint of his age and boomed into the sudden silence.
"I hereby declare the blooding complete. You are all Champions of Ulric now. Ulrich Stoiber-you may rise now."
A year ago Emil Valgeir, Ar-Ulric, high priest of the War God had initiated the two tank crews in front of him together with some others into the Cult of Ulric for their killing of Archaron the ever-chosen. They had been the strangest initiates ever and probably the first ever to undergo the rites for reasons of Public relations-whatever that was. Still they were obviously worthy.
A few weeks ago the bedraggled survivors of a great battle in Skavenblight had marched into his temple and asked for guidance. He had fasted, sacrificed and had asked the eternal flames for an oracle. It just confirmed what he had already assumed when he had heard the men and seen their eyes. Ulric himself had used these men as his tool during the great battle with the Horned Rat, had given the tankers the mental fortitude to fight in spite of a terror that should have paralyzed them, despite odds that should have made them give up instantly, and the strength to protect theirs to the fullest of their abilities-and then some.
Such attention by Ulric could not be without consequences. The men now sported the lean muscles of wolves, the eyes of predators, faster reflexes and minds that were even more in tune with the realities of war than before. Yet such changes will not come without a price, paid in confusion, despair and pain. Valgeirhad shown the tankers the way of Ulric, helped them to make peace with themselves and complete the path begun more than a year ago on a battlefield not so far away. He could see that the men were at ease with what they had become now-but whether their fellow Germans would be was a totally different question.
