Rusgren Pass - June 3, 1836

Brevet Lieutenant Colonel Ehren Gunther trotted down the length of Rusgren Pass at the head of the II Imperial Cavalry. He had received the brevet promotion when he had been assigned to this foray to find a way around the Gallian lines, if for no other reason than the fact that having an infantry battalion outrank an Imperial Guard detachment in officer seniority did not sit well with the Emperor.

Lieutenant Colonel Zeichmeister of the XIII Battalion rode up to Gunther. "Good day to you sir," he said with a salute

"And to you sir," Gunther said, returning it gravely.

"I would like to speak to you about allowing the XIII to lead the assault," Zeichmeister said. "Since the II Cavalry already has its share of laurels, I was wondering if you'd be so kind?"

Gunther surveyed the other man critically. He had little use for glory hounds, but who led the assault meant little to him. "Very well, Oberstleutnant," he said. "The II shall pull to the side and allow you to pass."

The other man's face lit up. "Thank you sir!" he said ecstatically. "You are most gracious!" With another salute, he turned his horse and galloped away, daylight showing between the seat of his breeches and the horse with every bounce.

Staff Sergeant Czherny rode up to Gunther, giggling like a schoolgirl. "He's not exactly the pride of the Army, is he sir?"

Ehren allowed himself a small smile. "He's not a part of the cavalry, Feldwebel," he said.

"Yes, but we're the II Cavalry. The cavalry division of the Imperial Guards," Czherny said, still laughing. "Next to our boys, he looks even stupider than he normally would."

"Alright, that's enough Czherny," Gunther said sternly. "Now, go tell our men to pull off the road and let the infantry pass us. According to the scouts, there was a force just an hour or so in front of us. If Herr Zeichmeister wishes to lead the assault, he shall."

"Sir!" With a snapped salute, the underofficer galloped toward the head of the column, standing in the stirrups and waving at the infantry he passed.

Smiling, Gunther watched the rotation take place. Why is it that all of my noncomissioned officers are clowns? Sergeant Major Schmidt had not come along, electing to stay with Colonel Franz and the rest of the II, but it seemed that the cavalry officer would not be spared his antics.

Riding up to Zeichmeister and the XIII's color party as the advance resumed, Gunther pulled out his carbine and laid it across his lap. No need to be unprepared just because he would not be in the assault.

Rounding a bend in the pass, the Gallian unit came into view. Gunther reached for his field glasses, surveying the unit. About five hundred men. Not too much of a problem but. . . He paused. Beside him, the other commander dropped his binoculars with a cry of outrage. Pointing at the men arrayed before them, he shouted furiously to his men. "Do you know what those are, men? Those are Darcsen troops!"

Some of the infantry paused to fix their bayonets as they heard. Seeing Darcsens in arms had created an atmosphere of almost palpable fury in among the men. Gunther saluted as he addressed Zeichmeister. "Good luck to you sir," he said.

The infantry commander gritted his teeth as he answered. "I thank you sir. But I doubt we'll be needing it to clear out this filth."

Shaking his head, the cavalryman rode back to the waiting II Cavalry and wheeled to watch the battle. The XIII advanced rapidly across the field toward the Darcsen position, not bothering with skirmishers or flank anchoring. Gunther panned his glasses toward the waiting Darcsens, which deployed into a V-shaped line with the mouth of the V facing the oncoming Imperials.

Gunther's brow creased slightly. The Darcsens had deployed themselves with quiet efficiency, with no fuss or wasted movements. In fact, Gunther had rarely seen such smooth maneuvering outside of a parade ground. He quickly dismissed the thought. Fighting after all, was a different game than marching prettily. Horses could be taught to look pretty on parade.

On the other hand, it had been a Darcsen unit that had broken into his lines at Naggiar. . . His thoughts were quickly cut short as the leading elements of the XIII began to fire. The range was still long, and Gunther would have ordered his men to hold their fire until they were closer, but their opponents were just a lot of Darcsens after all.

The Gallians at least had the discipline to hold their fire until the Imperials closed the distance. When they unleashed it, the report came as a simultaneous blast, with almost no variation in the individual shots. The Imperial advance stopped as if it had run into a solid wall, men toppling like ninepins, their screams barely audible at this distance.

As the XIII regrouped and hurled themselves at the line once more, the Darcsens reloaded and fired smartly to match.

Gunther snarled a curse. Of course. It was obvious. The V allowed the Gallians to put enfilading fire on the advancing Imperials without fear of being flanked due to the narrow pass. Meanwhile the Imperials were advancing recklessly into the crossfire from both legs of the V, without trying to concentrate or use artillery support.

"Feldwebel Czherny!"

"Sir," the man said from his shoulder.

"Oberstleutnant Zeichmeister's glory be damned. If these Darcsens are so cursed smart fighting infantry, let's show them the Schwerpunkt."

"Jawohl!"

As the men gathered, Gunther did some mental plotting. The V was clever, but it also strung the men out into a longer line, making any one part of it thinner. If he concentrated the bulk of his force on a small part of the line, Ehren thought he could get through with minimal losses. The cavalry could probably close the distance before losses became too heavy, and smash the line open, tearing a hole for the infantry to go on through.

"II Cavalry is ready sir," Czherny said with a salute.

"Very well. Use your sabers for this one. We want to get to that line as fast as we can."

"Yes sir," the man said, flashing a grin. "If I may say so sir, it's the first time I've used the damn thing in a real fight."

The lieutenant colonel turned to face the troopers. "Bugler, blow Charge."

Yanking the saber out of its scabbard, Gunther wheeled his horse around and galloped toward the Gallians at the head of his men.

To their credit, the Darcsens stood their ground coolly as any veterans, firing at the cavalry boring down on them. As they impacted the Gallian lines, Gunther hacked and slashed at anything wearing a blue uniform like a demon, hitting one hanging on to his leg with the saber's pommel. Then they were through, on the far side of the Darcsen's line, and into their rear.

Brave the Gallians were, but fighting an infantry assault from the front and cavalry from the rear proved too much, and all resistance quickly collapsed. The Darcsens withdrew stubbornly, firing Parthian shots as they went. The isolated groups fought to the last man, asking no quarter and giving none.

Gunther dismounted and walked slowly over to the Gallian colors lying in the dirt. 57th Auxiliary. Odd. That was the same unit that they had fought at Naggiar. Apparently some of it was still around. He bent over and jerked it out of the dead ensign's hands.

"Feldwebel!"

Staff Sergeant Czherny rode up. "Whew! Those Darcsens fight like mad bastards, that's for sure. What can I do for you sir?"

Gunther held out the colors. "Put this with our other captured flags."

The underofficer looked at him quizzically. "But sir. It's a Darcsen flag. They're not a real unit."

"Are you trying to say they didn't fight like a real unit?"

Czherny paused for a moment. "I see your point sir. I'll see to it," he said, taking the flag.

Gunther looked about until he spotted the XIII's commander. "Oberstleutnant Zeichmeister!" he shouted, waving. The man's shoulders stiffened, but he did not otherwise acknowledge Gunther's hail. Shaking his head, Gunther looked about the battlefield. Whatever else had happened that day, the Darcsens had bought themselves a day or two's respite as the Imperials regrouped.