Chapter 3

Dusk was fading into night with the last light of day being chased away by the dark clouds rolling in from the north. The clouds gathered quickly, borne on a chill wind which swept over a battlefield littered with corpses and broken weapons. Orc corpses lay heaped together on pyres ready to be put to the torch, weary soldiers labouring to collect the fallen beasts. The Imperial dead were treated with more respect. Many of the fallen were friends and comrades so despite their tiredness the surviving troopers laid the bodies out in rows ready for the priests of Morr. The armour and weapons were stripped and piled into wagons brought up from the army's baggage train. The empire had constant need of both and those items which could be salvaged would soon be re used in the fight against the enemies of mankind. Wounded were carried to the hospital tents to receive what little help could be offered. The lucky ones were tended to by the Sisters of Shallya but the wounded were many and the Sisters were few and most had to make do with the attentions of the battlefield surgeons.

As darkness closed in the camp fires were lit, illuminating orderly rows of tent lines. The quartermasters had been busy since the battle's end, organising each unit to where it was billeted and ensuring that the tired soldiers were directed where to go. Cooks began the evening meals and the smell of cooking food briefly dueled with the stench of burning flesh as the pyres of orc dead were set alight. Sergeants moved through the camp selecting those for sentry duty and calling the roll. The dead and the wounded were recorded by the corporals and the information would make it back to the paymasters in due course. The wheels of the military bureaucracy move slowly but inexorably as the army took stock in the aftermath of the battle. All of this activity was lost on one soldier sitting hunched by a fire, a coarse woollen blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The wind bit at his exposed skin as he reached to throw more wood on the fire and he quickly retreated back inside the warm confines of the wool. The flames flickered and danced in the cold wind throwing strange shapes and shadows across his blank face as Stefan stared numbly at the burning embers.

….

With the corpse of the large orc still twitching in its death throes the knight turned and lifted his visor revealing the hawk like nose and royal features of the regiment's captain.

"Well fought trooper, now on your feet and find a weapon!" the stern voice of the captain stung like a whip jolting Stefan into action.

Scrambling forwards Stefan grabbed hold of the nearest spear he could see. The large orc's rampage meant that there was no shortage of weapons, their previous owners either dead or dying.

"Reform on me trooper, hold this line".

Catching his breath Stefan looked around trying to get a sense of the fighting. The scene was one of complete chaos. The regiment had broken and troopers were fleeing from the fighting but many had been cut off by the gleeful rampaging orcs intent on continuing the fight. Those soldiers now fought back to back grimly trying to stay alive with the ferocity born of men who have nothing left to lose. It was a losing struggle. Men were being cut down and with each fallen man the knots of resistance were shrinking. The sheer numbers of the orcs and the momentum of the battle ensured that it was only a matter of time before they would be overwhelmed.

Yet even as he watched something strange occurred. Two orcs stood over a downed imperial trooper, the trooper had taken a blow to his shoulder losing his weapon and forcing him down on to one knee. The man looked doomed the nearest human soldiers all either fighting for their own lives or too far away to lend aid. One of the orcs raised his weapon for a killing blow but before it could strike the other larger orc caught a hold of its arm and pushed it away brandishing its own axe to deliver the lethal blow. In a rage the smaller orc barrelled into the other driving them both to the ground where a fierce scuffle broke out. Temporarily forgotten the soldier scuttled away, getting back to his feet weapon in hand. With a snarl of triumph the larger orc brought its axe down on its smaller brethren. Its victory was short lived however as the human trooper drove his spear through its throat.

A similar scene began to play out across the battlefield. Where before the orcs had been in the ascendancy, trapping and slaughtering the isolated pockets of human defenders, now more and more were turning their weapons on each other. Despite their confusion the embattled imperials were quick to take advantage striking down the distracted orcs. Stefan didn't know it yet but this was a curious quirk of the orc psyche. Orcs by their nature live to fight the strongest among them imposing their will on their lesser brethren. The death of the leader had left a void and the orcs now took the fight to each other, as much as to the humans around them, their lust for battle overcoming them. Still the orcs fought but the momentum had begun to swing in the humans favour. The imperial troopers began to rally forming up on the inspiring Captain who continued to strike down greenskins with his shining blade. Stefan stayed alongside the Captain making sure no orc got behind him. Taking advantage of the orcs infighting the imperials began to reform their lines. Those sergeants and corporals still alive were shouting and pulling men back into something resembling a formation all while the battle continued around them. Slowly Stefan felt the shift in the flow of the fighting. No longer were the imperials desperately holding on. Now as the defenders linked up they began to hold their ground pushing back against the greenskins. The orcs around Stefan began to give ground unwilling to take on the Captain and his deadly blade. The goblins were the first to flee. As the human lines had broken the goblins had rushed forward eager to exploit a broken foe. Now however faced with a wall of spears they panicked and ran, hacking and slashing at their own kind in their haste to get away. Their panic was infectious and soon the entire orc army was edging backwards away from the vengeful imperials who pushed forward eager to take a measure of revenge on the hated beasts. Stefan finished off a wounded orc by his feet and looked up to find no enemy in front of him the entire horde was breaking and fleeing, streaming back towards the far tree line. The imperials were too tired and too few to pursue the fleeing beasts but as they fled many were overtaken by black bolts which sped through the air to hammer into the unprotected backs of the broken greenskins. The imperial crossbowmen, free to fire once more, exacted a heavy toll on the beasts before they finally reached the tree line and the safety of the foliage. A ragged cheer went up from the human lines as the last of the beasts fled from the battlefield.

For the second time that day Stefan felt as though he might throw up but found he didn't have the energy to care. The adrenaline and nerves of combat that had fueled him since the battles start had run their course leaving him feeling spent and exhausted. The men around him sagged wearily on their spears some loudly giving thanks to Sigmar for the victory and their survival. Despite his exhaustion Stefan forced himself to stand straight and search the faces of the men around him. After anxious minutes searching he spied the weathered mustachioed face of Kurt nodding back at him. Biting his lip to hold back the tears that suddenly sprung to his eyes Stefan sucked in a deep breath and nodded back.

What followed was blurred in Stefan's mind's eye. The regiment had stood at arms until the scouts had returned to report the orcs were broken and fleeing into the foothills. Stefan had watched as the Captain had traversed the lines giving orders to sergeants and corporals and taking reports in turn. Twice he had passed close to Stefan in the ranks but gave no indication that he had recognised him. Having been in the thick of the fighting Stefan's regiment was ordered back to camp, the job of policing the battlefield given over to others. Stefan had trudged wearily back, numbly following the man in front of him. Once there he had no sooner sat down on his bedroll and removed his helmet before exhaustion overcame him and the world went dark.

….

"Well now cheer up laddie you did survive the battle you know!"

With an exaggerated sigh Kurt sat down heavily beside Stefan, hands outstretched to warm them against the heat of the fire.

"Sigmar ease my aching bones! You know there was a time when I could fight in a battle, have a sleep and feel right as rain the next day. Now I feel as though a herd of cows have trampled all over me!"

Getting no response from the youth, Kurt looked up from warming his hands.

"Are you alright youngling? He asked, not unkindly.

"Does it always feel like this Kurt?" Stefan asked uncertainly.

"Well that depends, how do you feel lad?"

"I…..I'm not sure. During the battle I was scared at first but then….."

"Aye I saw you lad, nothing to be ashamed of perfectly natural first reaction. It's what you did after that counts and I saw a good bit of that too. You fought well out there, real well, held the line when grown men around you fled and took a piece of the orc war chief too for good measure. Not a bad day's work for any boy's first battle, make no mistake!"

Letting the blanket slide from his shoulders Stefan made eye contact with Kurt,

"But now Kurt…now I feel...sick. I mean I'm glad to be alive but there is more. I feel…like I have a sense of shame."

For a long time Kurt said nothing and the silence stretched. Stefan began to feel self-conscious and was regretting sharing his thoughts with his old friend. He was just about to open his mouth to ask him to forget what he'd said when suddenly Kurt spoke.

"Today was the first time you ever took another life, am I right Stefan?"

Taken aback Stefan was at a loss for words, simply nodding his head in reply.

"To take another life is not something any normal decent folk should take lightly. To watch good men die and to take life in turn does have an effect on you. Your life will feel different after today", Kurt paused for emphasis, "But, and mark my words young Stefan, those orcs today are not worthy of your shame. Left unchecked those beasts could destroy everything we hold dear in this life. They have no compassion, no empathy for us. For them life exists to fight and to destroy. It is our duty as soldiers of the Empire nay as men to fight against that which would see us dead and gone, be they orc, beastman or heretic. So no more moping son, what you helped do today saved the lives of your fellow soldiers and Sigmar knows who else. Be proud of that."

Stefan found his mouth was hanging open. Never before in the time he had known Kurt from the day he had joined the regiment and was assigned to his billet had he heard the older soldier speak so much at one time.

"Now enough of that, how about we go get cleaned up and get something to eat. The sergeant will have a fit if he sees your kit covered in gore like that this long after the battle."

Rising to his feet Kurt reached out his hand and Stefan stared at it dumbly for a second before grasping it and pulling himself to his feet. For a second he thought about what to say in reply but in the end simply nodded and said,

"That's the best idea I've heard today."

An hour later found them sitting around another campfire but this one was covered with a cooking pot big enough to fit a man inside. The pot was being tended to by a large bellied trooper wearing an apron, who ladled out servings of food to the men as they queued up with their mess tins. Stefan had thought he had no appetite but as the aroma hit him he found his mouth watering and he eagerly tucked into his serving. Stefan had spent the time cleaning himself and his kit. Only once he began did he realise just how much grime and muck he had been covered in. A good hour of scrubbing later he might not pass a barracks inspection but he figured it was good enough for now.

"Nothing like the hunger after a battle lad, it makes any old slop taste like it's from the Emperor's own kitchen!" enthused Kurt. "Not that there is anything wrong with this fine stew Bruno!" he hurriedly added as the red faced chef began to turn angrily in his direction, "I'll be up for seconds when I'm done!"

Kurt's good humour was infectious and Stefan found himself chuckling into his stew. With a hot meal and the conversations of his fellow soldiers around him, the stress and tension of the battle slowly started bleeding away to be replaced with a sense of contentment. Stefan's new found peace was to be short lived however as the loud voice of the regiment's sergeant rang out.

"Mueller, Von Kleist on your feet! You're ordered to attend the Captain, on the double."

With a reaction born of discipline both men sprang to their feet all thoughts of second helpings forgotten.

"This can't be good lad," whispered Kurt as they hurried after the sergeant who was already striding away heading towards the centre of the camp.

Gulping down a sudden surge of anxiety Stefan tugged down his uniform tunic and suddenly wished he had spent that bit longer cleaning up earlier.