If you live among wolves, you have to act like a wolf.
-Nikita Khrushchev
"There is a savage beast in every man, and when you hand that man a sword or spear and send him forth to war, the beast stirs."
― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
May 25th, 1810
Confederation of the Rhine
Johann stared out the window of the carriage as it clicked and clackered down the winding mountain road, as the young boy sighed loudly as a form of protest. However, both his father and older brother didn't seem to hear, or were deliberately ignoring him. Annoyed, Johan propped his chin down onto his hand and tried to keep himself preoccupied and more importantly behaved by studying the alpine. Before long though, the ten-year-old noble boy's patience was spent.
"Where are we going father?"
"I told you before we left, Johann. We are going to the Westphalian Court to lend our services to the Confederation and Bonaparte."
"But why are we going, I mean, me and Ulrich?"
"Because, you are my sons. It is important that you learn the ins and outs of court life, especially considering our family's legacy."
Johann's face remained sullen, still too young to use higher concepts to justify being cooped up in a carriage for days. Reading said expression, his father continued.
"Johann, I know you don't like leaving our estate, especially since it's the only home you remember. But we belong up north, in the Rhineland. That's where you were born, your brother was born, I was born and your grandfather was born. And for us to go back, we'll need to help the people that occupy it right now."
Johann's face went from sullen to confused, as he still didn't understand a few things. "But I thought Napoleon destroyed the Holy Roman Empire, which you and grandpa fought for. Why are we helping him then?"
His father smiled nervously, before trying his best. "Johann, our family and our city may have fought for the Emperor for centuries, but we also always fought for many others along the way. For example, your Grandfather, who died for the Empire in battle, also fought in America for the British as a young man. But did you know his father died fighting the British in the 7 years' war?
"No. Then why did he fight for the men who killed great grandpa?"
His father smiled sadly. "It's what our family has always done. We started off as mercenaries, and we never stopped being them, not really. We were loyal only to the Empire, and sadly it no longer exists. Besides, your Grandpa and Great Grandpa died in battle, against honorable opponents. There was no malice, it was just… business."
Johann recoiled a little bit at the thought of dying being made so casual, which was picked up on by his older brother, Ulrich. Two years older but seemingly much older and mature.
"Don't worry Johann. It's the eldest son that goes into the business, not the younger brother. I mean, Uncle Dietrich went on to achieve his wish, so could you!"
Johann returned his gaze back out the window, answering with an unenthusiastic "I guess…"
To be honest, all discussion of adult duties and responsibilities left a bad taste in his mouth. After all, it'd be years before he'd even begin to decide what'd he do with his life. All he knew now was that he wanted to be home with his mother, and younger brothers and sisters.
"Don't worry too much about it Johann, it'll only be a few weeks at most, and you'll be back home. Who knows? You might make some friends at court, maybe some girlfriends?" His father had a very patronizing smile on his face as he finished.
Before Johann had a chance to make his disgust known, the carriage drew to a less than smooth halt as angry shouting was heard outside. The smile fading from his face, his father prepared to poke his head outside when the door flung open, revealing one of his father's men.
"Please keep inside, my lord. There are some boulders blocking our path and-"
Gunfire rang out causing all of them to hunch down and flinch. Unfortunately for the soldier who opened the door, it did little to stop two musket balls from punching into him, causing him to collapse onto the floor of the carriage, still and lifeless.
It was the first time Johann had seen a man die.
A little shaken, his father turned to both him and his brother and with seriousness of the grave speak with them. "Stay here boys. Under no circumstances are you to leave this carriage. Understood?"
Without waiting for a response, his father pulled a pistol from his side and dashed outside, leaving both boys only the company of the sounds of a gunfight outside. Being obedient, Johann sat still for a moment, but before long the walls of the enclosed carriage exploded in several spots as shot smashed their way through. It did no damage to either of them, but it left Johann shaking.
Suddenly developing an overwhelming urge to flee, Johann opened the door on his side of the carriage and bolted, even as he heard his brother shout at him to stay put. Bewildered, Johann threw his head around, before finding a nest of rocks and brush on the very precipice of the cliff they were on. Sprinting towards it with tears in his eyes, before long he flew into the bush, oblivious to the scratches inflicted to him by branch and stone. Still hyperventilating, Johann began to look around, seeing the battle he was blind to until just now.
To call it a battle was a poor description however. All around, his father's small escort lay dead or dying as the last resistance flickered out. And his father was nowhere to be seen. Shortly after, a small group of men made their way down from the rocks flanking the road, all of them dressed in black or dark clothing, most bearing a skull on whatever cap they wore. As they fanned out, one began to speak up, giving orders to the others. Wearing a simple black tunic and peaked cap bearing the Totenkopf, he appeared to be a no older than the teenage farm boys that tended to his estate. His strawberry blonde hair and eyebrows, combined with his lack of even peach fuzz reminded Johann in particular of Peter, their stable boy. Any similarities ended the moment the teen boy spoke.
"Search the bodies! Weapons and shot first, loot second! Make it quick comrades, we don't know how long we'll be alone."
The next minute or so passed quickly, with the ambushers sweeping over the site like a smooth ballet of banditry, before one of them went to the far side of the carriage.
"Uh, Agnarr? We have a problem."
The teen boy snapped his head in the direction of the voice, making his way over while speaking. "What is it, Erling?"
"This wasn't some cash wagon we hit, this was a nobleman. The Baron of Söldnerstadt, to be exact."
The teen froze, pausing a second before coming to a decision. "Change of plans, comrades. This draws too much heat on us, we have to make it look like an accident, or it'll look like an assassination."
At once the raiders nodded, and quickening their pace, all disturbed for reasons that didn't dawn on Johann. Before long, they opened the door to the carriage with guns drawn, relaxing a little shortly afterwards. After a minute of quiet coaxing, they managed to draw out Ulrich, clearly terrified. One of the ambushers turned to the one called Agnarr.
"We found a boy, no one else. No loot we can see. What do you want to do with him?"
"I'll handle it." At once, the teen slung his musket, taking the quietly sobbing Ulrich by the hands while kneeling. In a quiet voice, he began to speak.
"Shhhh, listen to me very carefully. Me and my friends, we don't mean you any harm." Ulrich began to whimper a response, before Agnarr cut him off. "We thought you were a banking carriage, and we only attacked the guys who shot back at us, understand?"
Ulrich nodded quietly, before Agnarr stood up. Taking him by the hand, he began to walk Ulrich around the to the other side of the carriage, towards the cliff edge. As he did so, he began to talk.
"Now, your father is still alive, so I'll take you to him. Understand?"
Again, Ulrich nodded, as Agnarr gently walked the boy around, to where he could see their father, who had been propped up against a wagon wheel, and was breathing heavily, with several chest wounds. Once their father was in sight, Agnarr squatted down, placing his left hand on Ulrich's shoulder, and his right Ulrich's waist.
"Now, I want you to wait by your father until help arrives, and calmly explain-" His voice rising, Agnarr suddenly jerked up, grasping Ulrich by his belt and scruff of his jacket before throwing the younger boy over the ledge of the cliff screaming. Close enough to the edge himself, Johann could only watch as his older brother plummeted at least a hundred feet onto rocks below, his screams abruptly stopping with a sickening thump.
Turning to the stunned onlookers, Agnarr spoke with a chilling tone. "We just mortally wounded the Baron of a Free Imperial City, who will be dead in minutes. If anyone, including that boy, linked us to this attack, the French and their dogs would not stop until everyone of our heads was on a spike. And no one, Prussian or Austrian would give us sanctuary. Kill all the wounded, and send them and the dead over the cliff top along with the carriage. And then let's get the fuck off this road!"
The others quickly affirmed, before moving to do their damnable work. And Johann could only watch, petrified as one by one, all of his father's men where pitched other the cliff, along with his father. Finally, they spooked the carriage horses over the edge, dragging the carriage with it. And after that, the men clad in black clamored back into rocks from which they came, and disappeared.
…
June 18th, 1815
Waterloo, Belgium
Baron Johann von Söldnerstadt rode forward on his horse sullen and exhausted, doing his best to keep a dignified bearing. But everything was over for him and his men. Napoleon's return was the last chance to undo the ceding of his ancestral land to Prussia, and now Napoleon was finished. Outflanked and outgunned, the only hope for his men to survive was to surrender in good order. As he was doing now.
Silently, Johann and his aide, who bore the white flag, road towards the Allied force, devastation all around. Waterloo really had become a hell on earth, over the course of one day. And now, his pride would be sundered to save his men from it. Drawing close to the enemy lines, he was greeted by a small party of horsemen, unlike him bearing their national colors instead of white banners.
Not counting the banner bearers, there were 3 officers who came to greet him and accept his surrender. The first to their right, and therefore the senior, was a short thin man with balding blondish hair and spectacles, wearing the uniform of a Weseltonian Brigadier. His demeanor seemed sour, leading Johann to hope that the Weseltonian would let his subordinates negotiate for him. The second from their right bore the white and blue uniform of the Southern Islands, an independent Danish province. With blond hair and youthful face, Johann could tell he was young and therefore easier to coerce, but the cold look in his eyes, and the shattered prosthesis in the place where his arm should be indicated this one a veteran of many battles.
And then there was the one on the left, the one out of place. The banner representing him was that of Arendal, a small nation in Norway. But, yet he wore a Prussian uniform, not the Green and Purple of his nation.
Perhaps a mercenary or foreign advisor?
And the mysteries did not end there. He too was young, with hair a strawberry blonde color and no facial hair to speak of. But unlike the eyes of his blonde Southern Island comrade, this one's didn't indicate a veteran, they indicated a predator, with cold, dead eyes. Eyes that gazed at him up and down, especially after glancing at his uniform. Eyes that never ceased to rest. Johann had melt killers before, but this one troubled him more than most, for a reason that he couldn't put his finger on.
Attempting to dispel the dread those cursed eyes brought, Johann introduced himself and stated his business, all in one go.
"Good Evening, I am Colonel Johann von Soldnerstadt, rightful Baron of the Free City of Soldnerstadt. I have come to seek parlay and end hostilities between my men, and the forces of the Coalition."
The Arendaler gave a short, sharp laugh, one more confirming a realization than finding anything humorous. Shortly afterwards, his Southern Islander comrade spoke up for the party.
"Greetings, Colonel. My name is Colonel Frederick av Tågeøen, the man to my right is the Duke of Weselton, and to my left is Lieutenant Colonel Agnarr Vorgjafara av Arendal. We serve under General Blucher – "
A horrid realization struck Johann, one that shattered him down to his core. Zoning out the words coming out of this Frederick's mouth, all he could think of was the name of the man in the Prussian Blue.
Agnarr.
Now he knew why this man troubled him so. Memories from five years ago came flooding back, memories that had been buried by his troubled mind. Memories he thought of as mere nightmares when he was found days later, and was told his father and brother died in an accident. What the grown-ups said made so much sense after all. Animals had gotten to them, but otherwise they were broken and battered like victims of a fall. So he tried to bury his nightmare from the day they put the two closed caskets in the ground.
But it was no nightmare at all.
The monster from it stood before him.
"… and such, it has been a long day for us. We have no wish to slaughter your men. Tell your men to come out in good order, and we'll accept their surrender and take their arms. We'll have to take your city's colors I'm afraid, but I see no reason to take your Regimental standards. Do these terms sound agreeable?"
Johann blinked, before remembering where he was, and nodding. "Yes, of course."
"Very well. See to your men then, Colonel."
Johann paused, contemplating going for his pistol and killing the monster in front of him. It seemed so tempting, so obvious, so necessary. But while he of course reasoned that as an officer he had to look to the welfare of his men and shooting an enemy officer in negotiations would bring slaughter upon them, there was another reason he turned about.
The monster himself.
For the beast saw through him, and his expression had turned predatory and confident, almost daring him to make a move while his right hand shifted close to his pistol holster. And something told Johann that Agnarr could draw and aim quicker than he. No, he'd have to find another way to kill this beast. As such he wheeled his horse around and trotted away.
Not long after he did so, Frederick spoke to Agnarr as they too returned to their units.
"Agnarr, that kid was scared shitless of you. What's he to you?"
Agnarr smiled. "A half-baked job."
…
Arendal,
August 6th, 1840
Anna clenched her teeth due a mixture of cold and adrenaline as she rode her horse up to point she had been ordered to, her heart racing. This was it, she was about to be in battle again. Both scared and excited, she dismounted her horse as her battalion streamed into position, her officers and sergeants doing a fine job of creating a firing line, even as routed Landwehr fled past.
Despite all the chaos around her, Anna knew better than to lose her mind and become reactionary. Instead of leaping into action, Anna instead listened to her gut, closed her eyes and breathed.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
In.
And out.
She reopened her eyes, still limiting herself to controlled, deep breaths. Despite her heart pounding away, she forced herself to calmly look about her chosen ground and observe. As she did so, things that were all but invisible moments ago became clear. Two critical things. The first was that this was damn good ground. They stood in an old market square, with only one wide street leading back to the enemy, the others being alley ways that would chop formations into piecemeal. A perfect bottleneck. The second thing she noticed was not as good. It was the sound of hooves on cobblestone, fast approaching.
Training took over.
"Battalion fix, bayonets!"
An echo was heard leaders repeated the command, followed by the rattle of metal on metal as the battalion drew and then clicked their bayonets onto the muzzle of the Dreyse breach loaders. Anna could not in words describe how happy she was that her green troops were issued simple breach loaders as compared the much more elaborate muzzle loaders. In any case, that thought had to wait.
"First rank, kneel!"
Again, echoes where heard as the entire first rank dropped to a knee, before silence returned.
"Fire by ranks, on my command!"
Anna made sure to adopt a confident stance before giving that order, for she knew that even now, the eyes of her subordinate officers were upon her. Firing by rank was not an easy command to give to poorly trained and green soldiers, and it invited chaos. But there was no time to form a square, and there was cavalry inbound.
Sure enough, soon what had been a faint tremble became a loud thundering as dozens if not a few hundred horsemen became visible down the long and wide street, bearing down on them. Despite the mist and smoke, Anna knew exactly who these men were. No banners, irregular armament, lack of formation: these were the Sons of Muspell. Ironically, she had yet to be told she had killed their leader. And figuring out the name was far from her mind at the moment.
"Steady, boys! These are thugs and thieves, no match for Grenadiers and Nationalists!"
Silence from her men greeted her as the horsemen drew closer and closer. But despite the noise coming from the enemy, Anna and her men kept their cool, as Anna waited, waiting till the horsemen were moments away from exiting the bottleneck.
"… and FIRST RANK, FIRE!"
A rippling thunder sounded up and down the line as over a hundred rifles sounded near at once, causing a hail of leaded to slam into the irregular cavalry. Tens of horses and men crashed into the ground, slowing the cavalry behind them, just as planned.
"Reload! Second rank, fire!"
Again, murderous fire slammed into the now stalled irregulars, unused to such resistance. Anna wasn't keen to let them recover.
"Reload, Third rank, fire!"
Everyone funneled up and under far more fire than they planned for or were willing to tolerate, the surviving bandits wheeled their horses about and struck a high tailed retreat. A cheer went up and down the line in response, as Grenadiers and the Nationalists found common ground in sending an enemy reeling. The later so much so, that they raised their surprise for all to see.
A small banner in the style of the Nordic Cross with a red of Norway and Denmark as a base and the golden cross and blue highlights of Sweden. The three brothers, united. Anna was nearly distracted by a stray, catty remark that there was nothing on the banner to represent Arendal, when another sound was heard, despite the ongoing cheering.
Drums and hobnailed boots.
"Here they come again!"
The men of her battalion quickly snapped out of their euphoria, sobered by what they saw. Coming at them in perfect order was not some band of bandits, but disciplined mercenaries. With black uniforms and gold trim, they bore the banners of Söldnerstadt, each bearing a golden German cross with a black base.
Anna felt a very cold chill run down her spine, before she quickly gave her orders.
"Battalion, reload and make ready!"
Though it took mere seconds for her men to echo and load their simple breach loaders despite their inexperience and fear, it seemed an eternity as the German column kept advancing as their drums pounded louder and louder. Finally, seeing that what seemed to be all of her men were in position, she gave her next orders.
"Present!"
Fear squeezing her heart tight, Anna wasted no time in giving the next order to fire, as the enemy had already quickly marched to the mouth of the bottleneck. As she screamed "Fire", the line once again thundered as several hundred discharged their rifles.
But unlike the undisciplined cavalrymen with their also unconditioned horses, there was no stoppage or pause as the mercenaries took casualties. Even as their comrades fell onto the snowy ground, Anna could see the soldiers of Söldnerstadt simply step over them, as the enemy battalion began to spread out into a firing line.
Knowing what was about to happen, Anna wasted no time. "Reload and make ready, Reload and make ready!"
From there, Anna could only wait with extreme tension as her men desperately raced to reload their rifles, while their German opponents finalized their firing line. As it so happened, both finished their preparations at almost the same moment.
As such, when Anna gave the commands to prepare to fire, she saw her opponents do the same, almost like looking into a mirror. As such, it was with great subconscious dread that she gave the final command.
"Fire!"
Both sides discharged their weapons, and for the first time this day, Anna's men took casualties, and it was horrifying. Anna could only wince and hope she wasn't the one hit as she saw the fire from the enemy side, even more so as all up and down her line solid lead shot tore into her men. But unlike the mercenaries they fought, the bulk of her men were not well trained soldiers, and she could already see panic in the ranks. It was all the Grenadiers could do just to keep order.
But whereas the volley had devastated her battalion, the mercenaries took their volley with stride, and began advancing once more, reloading as they went. She wasn't going to break them with single volleys.
"Fire at will!"
From there, all classical elements of a Napoleonic style battle ceased, as both sides began to exchange potshots at each other as the Söldnerstadters drew closer and closer, keeping up an astonishing rate of fire, as they matched nearly shot for shot against her troops armed with must faster and simpler breach loaders. Anna didn't want to think how this would have gone if her men had the same clunky muzzle loaders her foes had.
Even now, almost every enemy shot took a toll, and she could not say the same of her men's shots, even as the enemy had come so close that she could tell if a soldier was clean shaven or bearded as they fell. She had no choice now. They were moments away from crossing bayonets, and without momentum, her men didn't stand a chance.
Drawing her sword with and audible rasp, she screamed at the top of her lungs. "BATTALION, CHARGE!"
…
Elsa could only watch with bated breath as she stood on the ramparts of her castle, observing the outcome of the battle as it played out, visible but out of her hands. As a bit of a perfectionist, this was not within her comfort zone. Besides her was Colonel Marcks, who seemingly was able to read her mind.
"The lack of control troubling, your Majesty?"
Elsa responded with a curt nod, leading Marks to give a short laugh.
"Ah, well, that's the way of it, I'm afraid. You can send orders and the most detailed battle plans imaginable, but at the end of the day its always in the hands of others whether or not you win or lose a battle."
Elsa frowned, before replying. "It would seem unbearable, at least to me."
"Well, that's the thing. If you over rely on plans and orders, they never seem to go exactly the way you wish. But if you develop and rely on people, you'll be amazed what they can do."
Elsa's expression grew sour. "Colonel, was it not relying on outlying military elements to stay true and loyal that led to this battle to begin with?"
The Colonel gave a pained, sheepish grin, before growing serious. "Perhaps. But also perhaps Arendal's Army was not as developed as it needed to be. Perhaps for decades now."
Elsa paused, fully understanding the insinuation. However, her shocked expression quickly grew to a demanding one. One that demanded a satisfying follow up to the expression of her father's legacy.
Marcks read the Queen's face before proceeding lightly. "With all due respect to your father, of course. He was great soldier. In terms of Regimental Commanders, I've seen few equals, if any. And as King, he was just and wise. I was proud to march beneath his colors. But I must say, the Soldier-King of Arendal was set in his ways when it came to building his army. Some of those ways good, some of them bad."
Elsa's face grew less demanding, and instead became curious. "In what ways, Colonel?"
Marcks gave another slight smile, that could be almost described as sad. "Well, he was an irregular. First the Freikorps, then the Rifles. Hell, he fought for 4 years before he fought in his first line battle. As such, he always stressed a much more flexible and independent army, based around riflemen rather than line infantry. And while I was skeptical at first, I grew to agree with him."
"So it was my father's plans to build an independent army that led to ruin?"
The old officer shook his head. "It wasn't the independent army that did this, it was King Agnarr's handling of the officer corps that did this."
Elsa face remained unconvinced, leading Marcks to elaborate.
"You see, your father wanted a large army, because, well, he was security minded. A large army needs a large officer corps. Which meant that in one way or another, officer standards had to be reduced. Myself and a few others felt that political reliability was key, your father disagreed."
Elsa looked a little baffled. "He did?"
"Yes. He firmly believed that anyone who showed capability should be able to become officers. He didn't believe only a few good families should provide the officer corps of the entire army. And well, we got more capable officers. But whereas King Agnarr was able to keep them in line, when crisis hit with your coronation and the winter, the traitors showed their true colors."
A quiet moment passed between them, before Marcks broke the silence.
"My apologies for the rambling, your Majesty. I've just always believed that with mentoring and discipline, you can get a better officer out of a loyal idiot than a self-serving savant."
Elsa took a moment to think on that thought, but before she could reply, a messenger came sprinting up the stairs, stopping just before Marcks and Elsa. Breathing heavily, he still wasted no time in getting out his message.
"Your Majesty, Colonel. The right flank is under great pressure, and Colonel Fjellmanis requesting reinforcements. He also would like to report that Söldnerstadter troops are spearheading the attack."
"I see."
Elsa interjected, less as a given order and more as a suggestion. She knew better than to interfere with a seasoned commander's decision in battle. "Can we transfer forces from the left flank? They've been repelling the enemy with ease all morning."
"No, that lunatic Surtrsen has been throwing men at it all day, regardless of the losses he takes. If we overly weaken it, he might succeed."
"But that just leaves the Royal Guard and the two training battalions-" Elsa paused, as she realized with a horrible sinking feeling that when she glanced over into the tactical reserve, only one battalion could be spotted.
Panicked, she ripped the field glasses out of Marcks hands, and immediately scanned the entire right flank, before finding a loyalist formation engaged in heavy fighting, sporting a nationalist Scandinavian banner in addition to the Arendaler one. Only one battalion had a sizeable number of nationalist troops.
With lightning speed, Elsa's hands latched onto Marcks' uniform coat with surprising force, ice spreading across the wool. With eyes blazing blue, Elsa dressed down the officer in a voice that even the veteran soldier found unnerving.
"WHY IS MY SISTER IN COMBAT!? I made it clear that her battalion was only to be used as an absolute last resort, with my blessing only! So why is she fighting fucking German Mercenary shocktroops!"
Marcks face bore only confusion as he responded. "Your Majesty, I gave no such order! I don't know why she left her position!"
Elsa stared into his eyes a moment longer, before feeling satisfied that he was telling the truth. Releasing him, she launched into a series of orders, wasting no time.
"Colonel, send orders to the other reserve battalion to prepare for battle. I will rendezvous with them shortly at the head of my Royal Guard Cavalry. I'm collecting my sister."
Collecting himself and dusting the ice off his uniform, Marcks responded tactfully. "Of course, your Majesty."
As the queen turned and sped towards the stables, the old soldier could only smile.
Royal Guard Cavalry and Gaelic Infantry? This will be one hell of a battle. Better not miss it…
…
Johann von Söldnerstadt staggered about near the edge of the melee, bewildered and exasperated. This was not supposed to happening. By all accounts, it was impossible. But it was happening nonetheless.
His assault was stalling.
But that made no sense. His men were some of the most battle hardened troops in Europe. They were well fed, well equipped, and highly motivated. But somehow, they were being checked by schoolboys.
Schoolboys.
He shook his head in derision, as his mind raced to figure how this was possible, let alone happening. Perhaps his troops tired enough after the day's earlier battles, and fresh troops squeaked in the difference? Or perhaps the enemy Grenadiers mixed in bolstered the troops, acting has sergeants bolstered the lines? Maybe. Perhaps. But still highly unlikely. There had to be more.
Then he saw her.
If he hadn't studied portraits of the two Royal sisters, he might have mistaken her to be a young male officer, with her hair done up and beneath a peaked cap, with her curves hidden beneath her furs and coat. But more than that, even without the study, she would have stood out all the same for one simple reason.
She looked like him.
Chills ran down his spine, as he drew his sword, casting his sheave aside as he ignored the protests of his aides and marched forward. He knew that they would not follow him, and he didn't expect them too. He didn't pay them to be bodyguards after all. No he would be alone in this.
As he weaved his way through the melee, dodging and dispatching the occasional enemy soldier, his primary focus remained on his prey, the Princess Anna. He would reach her before long.
…
Anna skillfully deflected a spirited bayonet thrust, before countering and bringing her ancestral sword down onto the German mercenary she was locked in combat moments before. This one's death rattle, as well as that of the several before, didn't bother Anna as much as she thought it would. She didn't know if it was due to them being mercenaries or her still chock full of adrenaline, but either way she didn't ponder too much about it in the moments afterward.
Still wet with sweat, melted snow and some blood, Anna looked around the chaotic battlefield trying to take in the situation and understand her surroundings. To her dismay, the organized battle had ceased and chaos had begun as both battalions had intermingled in a bloody fray consisting of dozens of small vicious fights between single digits of men. Amazingly the Scandinavians were holding on against all odds against the Mercenaries, but were getting slaughtered doing so. All the spirit in the world was going to let a schoolboy beat a highly trained soldier in a bayonet fight. And that was assuming it was that civil. No, even bayonet fighting was more civil than the clubbing, strangling, pummeling, stabbing, and even drowning and trampling that was occurring all around her.
And despite the bleakness all around her, she couldn't mistake the tingle she felt run down her spine as she sensed another soul approaching. It was excitement. Having no time to ponder that troubling thought, she turned about, still haggard in breath with sword in hand. Before her was a fairly unremarkable man in a remarkable uniform, one befitting a high ranking officer in Söldnerstadter colors.
Bearing what was an obviously well-crafted yet brutally utilitarian sword, the mercenary slowly circled around her, looking her up and down. Yet despite her identity as a princess or a woman, which would have been unmistakable to any that was looking at this short a distance, there was no look of pity, patronizing or underestimation. No, instead what she saw was a mix of disgust and hatred combined with another emotion, one she only knew from the time she spent with Elsa.
The look of hidden fear.
After a period that Anna both thanked for its respite and dreaded due to its anticipation, the man spoke. "I suppose that it would hardly be suiting to my purposes if you didn't know my name. It's Colonel Johann von Söldnerstadt, rightful Baron of the Free City of Söldnerstadt."
Anna shook her arms in an effort to stay loose and nimble in the biting cold, before responding. "I never took mercenaries to be beacons of chivalry, yet look at you, all 'pistols at dawn?' with me. That's… sweet, I guess?"
The Baron gave a chuckle, one that could almost be described as nervous. "Sweet? Far from it. Revenge is meaningless if your enemy doesn't know who delivered it. Your father destroyed everything that I held dear. I couldn't get him, but I can sure as hell get you and your sister."
Anna gritted her teeth, her inner social butterfly lacking a witty retort. It is difficult after all to hold a conversation with a man with pure murder in his eyes. Instead, empty awkward silence filled the air before the mercenary finally made the first move.
The Baron was not like Muspell, who made simple telegraphed blows that struck like sledgehammers. Nor was he like the soldiers she defeated earlier, who tended to stick to easily learned bayonet drill that could be countered by a skilled and trained swordsman. No, he was something altogether different. Obviously trained for years in a way that only the landed nobility could afford, yet ruthless and thuggish in a way that only a killer could properly utilize. Even as she parried his first few blows, she felt a very real fear overcome her. Fear that she was over her head, and was facing her death. However fatalistic was not a word you could use to describe Anna.
…
For minutes the two trading blows as what started as cautious and tepid blows testing each other's guard and defenses grew into an increasingly bitter and vicious fight as both grew frustrated with lack of a decisive moment. But the duel couldn't go on forever.
The Baron found the slightest opening after minutes of grueling fighting, and finally managed to deflect Anna's sword and lashed at her. Anna was quick and dodged most of the blow, but not enough to keep his sword from slicing open her left forearm. Anna screamed in pain as she fell back and retracted her injured arm in, keeping her sword arm out. Staggered by not yet done, Anna lurched defiantly, not yet accepting defeat.
Johann paused, finding himself in a unique position, one he'd given up on years before. Before him was no longer some remarkable likeness of the man he hated. No, this young princess with her long hair concealed, pushed to the brink of savagery and pure instinct by fear, hatred and pain, no this, this was the same man who murdered his family decades before. And he'd now finally get to kill him.
Johann came in with his sword, while expecting the princess to counter. As such he was prepared, be even still, his opponent landed a grazing blow on his deltoid as she was disarmed. As such, the experienced swordsman recoiled instead of following through, extending the fight a few moments longer. But if Anna wished for a reprieve, she was not in luck. As she dipped down in an attempt to retrieve her sword, the Baron stabbed forward with his own blade and slashed the web between Anna's thumb and index finger, leading her to recoil with a whelp.
This was it, it was over. Disarmed and cornered, the young woman stood no chance against him, just like his brother stood no chance against the murderous Agnarr. Justice would be served. But as he looked his opponent up and down, he realized that any final words would be lost on her. Frightened, cornered and running in pure survival mode, Anna was more savage animal now than rational human being. A fitting state for the daughter of the Wolf of the Rhineland. A fitting end, now that he thought about it.
But as he lunged forward, he was startled by a jolly voice ringing out in German. "My god sir, that's Princess Anna you disarmed! Her ransom would make us rich!"
Startled, Johann turned to see the source; one of his more youthful Corporals, one that somehow had the idiotic idea that there was any end for the Royal Family here but Regicide in a rebel victory. But before he could dress the soldier down, he was knocked off his feet by a charging opponent. Turning his head back forward as he was slammed into the cold earth, his eyes widened in terror as his eyes fell once more on the still savage Princess Anna, who must have charged past his sword.
Any hope of help was quickly dashed as he saw in his periphery the young foolish Corporal engaged in combat by a Arendaler Grenadier, an opponent that there was no hope of swiftly dispatching. As such, he struggled against the Princess. As before, he held the advantage, but somehow he found himself unable to push the vicious young woman off of him. By now, both Johann had bared their teeth and widened their eyes in sheer exertion as both struggled to kill the other with their bare hands.
Failing to push the woman off of him, Johann desperately punched at the Princess' body, failing to have any effect besides her screaming even louder as slammed and palmed his chest in retaliation. However, she escalated things by shifting her assault upwards and struck his face and ears, causing terrible concussive pain. In agony, he elbowed her arms away leaving an opening for him to retaliate. A minute ago, he would have thrown Anna off of him and went for his sword, but his own mind was now in a savage and primal state as well. As such, he lunged his hands forward, seizing the Princess by the throat, throttling her. Her screaming suddenly stopped, he knew he was on the right track as she turned a bright red and her eyes began to bulge. Determined to end this, he squeezed as hard as he could, intending to crush her throat rather than simply suffocate her. It was the only thing his mind could process at that moment.
Thusly, when Anna's fingernails drove into his forearms half-way to the first joint, he screamed in pain, and ever so slightly loosened up his stranglehold due to an involuntary reflex to pull his hands away from the pain. As such, one of his index fingers brushed over Anna's mouth as his left hand pulled away, and she took her opening. With savage ferocity, Anna bit down and ripped over half his finger off. Screaming and recoiling in pain, the Baron broke the stranglehold as he clutched his left hand in agony. Chocking and coughing but wasting no time, Anna slammed her forehead into the Baron's mouth and nose, causing considerable damage to both parties. Johan felt his nose crack and teeth loosen, while the Princess had her forehead lacerated for her trouble. But despite the blood now streaming from her forehead, the Princess now had an opening to launch her own attack. In this regard, the Baron wasn't that far off when he described Anna as the daughter of the Wolf of the Rhineland, and a wolf in in her own regard.
Because after all, a wolf always goes for the throat.
With no humanity left in her mind, Anna lunged forward in a state of pure fight or flight mentality, and sunk her teeth in Johann's throat, before ripping it out. Sheer shock overwhelming him, he could only sit and stare in horror as she slumped back, tossing a large chunk of his throat aside with a twist of her neck. It was over.
He couldn't kill the beast.
And only now, did he have the time to see the beast in detail, as she fumbled for her sword to deliver a coup de grace. Even covered with a mix of her own and his blood, he could see the numerous scars, scabs, and cuts the woman sported, including scar that ran ear-to-ear beneath her chin. That one alone told the old mercenary it was fool hardy to try and kill her with a blade rather than a rifle.
Or a cannon, for matter.
And, before long, Anna found her blade and drove it into his heart, speeding up his inevitable death. And as he faded, the last sound he heard besides of battle was quite strange indeed.
The sound of bagpipes.
…
After a minute or so, Anna wearily stood up from the man she had just so brutally dispatched, as her heart began to slow and her mind began to return to her, even as she was so covered with blood she was nearly blinded by its salty sting. Even so, she looked about her, to see if the battlefield had changed much.
Somehow, it hadn't.
The flag of Scandinavia, representing nothing but an ideal still was held aloft, but it was a miracle it did. Down to nearly the last man and bullet, the Scandinavians, newcomers and grenadiers both, where on the verge of being overrun. Their dead and dying lay thick all about them, and the mercenaries where now all but unopposed. But Anna noticed something else.
Drums and bagpipes.
Slowly turning about, Anna found the source. Approaching at the quickstep, at least a full Battalion of soldiers, a good many bearing Kilts, came dead at them. Above them where a number of banners, bearing many sigils. The flag of Dunbroch, bearing both St Andrews cross and the four emblems of the great clans. The Harp of Erin, made somehow more glorious with the shouts Erin go bragh and Fág an Bealach ringing above even the hammering drums. And naturally, numerous flags bearing the green, purple and gold of their homeland. But one of those banners stood out.
In all other regards, it was similar to the rest, with a green and purple background and a golden crocus. But in one detail, it was different, as the golden crocus was embossed by a large, blue snowflake. But only one person would make such a banner for themselves. And sure enough, next to the rider bearing the banner itself, Queen Elsa rode.
Her attire was at its core, little different than the one she had banned Anna from wearing earlier this day, being a black tunic and peaked cap with blue ice of different shades acting as both facing and trim for both. And despite the addition of a solid cuirass of magical ice and a short rider's cape to act as protection and a dash of elegance respectively, even at a distance, Anna got a familiar vibe from the ensemble.
Anna's opponents in battle however, had more pressing concerns. Now faced with an overwhelming number of new foes, including highlanders with broadswords, more Arendalers and Irishmen with fixed bayonets and Royal Cavalry with lance and saber, the Mercenaries broke into a panicked retreat, leaving the few survivors of Anna's battalion, numbering only in the few dozen, left to meet the arriving reinforcements.
Of those, most lay clumped around the National Colors and the flag of Scandinavia, exhausted, battered and yet triumphant. Tears of sorrow and joy were wept by grenadier and college student alike as the survivors locked hands with their saviors, thanking god that they made it through, and that they held. But perhaps none shed more tears than the Queen herself as she looked desperately for Anna, desperately sifting through the ranks of both the living and the dead in a state of panic. But whereas Elsa damn near tore the battlefield apart to find Anna, the younger sister had no difficulty tracking down the Queen.
As such, Anna approached her older sister before the other saw her, smiling slightly despite aching and being covered with injuries, mud, and blood. A thought came to mind.
"Hey Elsa, I think your attempt to disguise me worked too well, huh?"
Ears perked, Elsa turned to the sound of the noise and her eyes fell upon Anna. But they weren't the eyes of familiarity, the ones she showed Anna so often. Instead, she was greeted with the indifferent eyes Elsa gave only to strangers. She didn't even recognize her.
With a lack of words coming to mind, Anna could only stare at Elsa as the dots began to connect, finally getting a closer look at the clothes she wore. It was only then that Anna recognized them. Prussian insignia, a non-perfect fit, and a Totenkopf well hidden by a snowflake on the cap: it was their father's old Freikorps uniform.
"That's papa's uniform isn't it?"
Finally, Elsa's eyes widened in recognition, context delivering what a blood soaked appearance and a still recovering voice failed to. Elsa's lip quivered in shock at her beloved sister's state.
"…Anna?"
…
Bit of Notes:
Happy 2018 everyone! Sorry it took as long as it did to update, but I ended up doubling the length of this chapter over the last few days, as Anna's and Johann's battle became far longer than I anticipated. Still, I am glad I got it hashed out. However, next chapter is going to take a 'normal' amount of time, so don't hold your breath.
As always, please feel free to review to air your opinions and complaints as always.
See you next time,
O7,
Dragunov