Fritz slowly went through the steps of loading a rifle yet again, as his unit prepared to fire another volley at the simple earth berm. The point was less about accuracy, and more about being able to smoothly load and then discharge a rifle under the stress of combat. Today was the first day.
Even Sergeant Wulfhart had insisted that today be slow and steady, working on form and familiarization. Learn how to fire slow smoothly, then increase speed until one can fire 3 rounds a minute, the European standard.
Tear Cartridge, Pour, ram, ball, ram, cock, cap, and fire!
"Ready to discharge!"
A Corporal quickly walked up, doing a quick inspection to ensure the rifle had no major infractions. "What, no ramrod in the barrel? You're getting better. Discharge."
Fritz looked down in embarrassment. The first time he had loaded the rifle, he was so caught up in the motion that he had completely forgotten to remove the ramrod from the barrel. Had he fired, he would have sent the ramrod hundreds of feet down range, leaving him incapable of reloading.
He shook the embarrassing moment from his head, aiming the rifle and squeezing the trigger. The rifled musket discharged, sending the lead ball down range, impacting the berm. He smiled, as he had gotten considerably better since he had begun.
"Platoon, Attention!"
Now a disciplined man, Fritz snapped to the position of attention, in this case being order arms. The unit fell into the formation in mere seconds, before freezing solid. Their Company Commander, Captain Raeksen had arrived, inspecting the progress of his men.
Everyone had grown to hate the Captain. The Nephew of a General on the General staff, he owed his position only to money and nepotism. He loved to lord his superiority as an officer over the men, and was known to cane men who had as much as glanced at him, attention or not. Men like him were common on Kurzheim. Too stupid, cruel, or incompetent to be trusted to lead "real" formations, they had been dumped on Kurzheim to satisfy their egos, while not incurring the wrath of their benefactors.
Sergeant Wulfhart gave a swift salute, before resuming the position of attention, unmoving. The Captain gave a half-hearted salute in return. Not a major offense as all officers did this after their 1000th salute or so, but it was just another little thing that they hated about him.
"How goes the training, Sergeant?"
"Slow, but well sir."
"Slow?"
"Yes sir. Today is mostly learning the basics, and ensuring the men can load and fire a rifle safely."
"How is their speed?"
"Speed sir? Today is about form and safety sir. They-"
"WHAT IS THEIR RATE OF FIRE, SERGEANT!?"
"Most have trouble firing two rounds a minute, sir."
"Then you must be going too softly on them, Sergeant!"
He took a quick glance down the line, before settling on Fritz. "You there!"
"Yes Sir!"
"You are to fire 3 rounds in a minute. Fail, and you will have Guard duty every night for a week!"
Fritz's heart sank. There was no way he could do that! But he had to try. He was exhausted after only one night, let alone a whole week.
"Yes Sir!"
The Captain produced a stopwatch, flipping the switch so it opened. "Get ready!" Fritz stepped forward, mentally focusing on the task at hand. "Now!"
Fritz's hands trembled as he opened his cartridge box, withdrawing a single wax paper wrapped ball and powder, but causing another to tumble out. He shakily poured the gunpowder into the barrel, before stuffing the whole thing in, pulling out his ramrod and ramming it home, withdrawing the ramrod and placing in back beneath the barrel.
"20 Seconds"
Fritz panicked even more so, nearly spilling his percussion caps as he placed one in its proper place below the hammer, before aiming and firing.
"27 Seconds." By now, the Captains face was one of glee, as he loved to torment men under his command.
Fritz tried to race through the steps, taking shortcuts. He didn't wait till the powder fully emptied into the barrel before loading the cartridge and ball, and violently threw the ramrod into the barrel in a desperate attempt to save time.
"40 Seconds."
Fritz tore open his cap case, send a number of caps flying as he stuffed one into the hammer assembly and fired. The Rifle made and odd noise when he fired, causing Fritz to look in puzzlement at his Sergeant, who was shaking his head. He had messed up, bad.
"You shot your ramrod downrange, Dumkopf." Wulfhart said in a tone or more disappointment, then anger. "Rifle over your head, now go retrieve it." Fritz turned red as a beet as he promptly did as he was told and began sprinting downrange.
"What was that?"
"The Private shot his ramrod down rage. I'm making him go get it while discouraging him to not do it again."
The officer sighed, shaking his head. "You see, Sergeant, that's why your men are not meeting standards, you are simply too lenient to them. The harder you are, the better they perform. They are not unlike horses. The harder you whip, the faster they run."
By this point, Fritz had returned, rifle and ramrod in hand, panting from running 100 yards. Wulfhart, annoyed that a spoiled brat was giving him, a 5 year veteran of the Prussian army, instruction on discipline intended to make the soldier hand him the ramrod before chucking it downrange again. This was his standard response to firing a ramrod, as it made a soldier useless in a line battle.
However, the Captain preempted him. Pulling out a simple notebook, he asked calmly. "Soldier, rank and name."
"Sir, Private Fritz Snavsfelt, Sir."
A quick scribble, and then the Captain gave out the verdict with the same emotion one would order an appetizer.
"Private Fritz Snavsfelt, by the authority granted to me as an officer in the Royal Army, you are hereby sentenced to 10 lashes, to be carried out tomorrow. Carry on." The Sergeant gave a bitter salute, as the officer gave a sloppy return salute before departing. Fritz could only stand there, mouth gaping in horror. He was to be whipped.
He turned in desperation to the man he had come to respect as much, if not more, than his father- Sergeant Wulfhart. "Sergeant?" It was plead of mercy to the grizzled man, as well as asking for reassurance, an explanation to make all right in the world. Privates will move mountains if a good Sergeant or Officers explains why.
But Wulfhart could give no reassurances, or explanations. This was not discipline. This was cruelty. You did not whip a man for a rookie mistake when he was only an hour into training. Not even back in Prussia. Criminals and Cowards were whipped, not mistake-prone privates. He turned to the terrified young man, mustering the most human expression he had ever given a recruit, a look of genuine sympathy for the man. With a simple hand on his soldier, he gave his response.
"Be strong, boy. You'll make it through. Face it with bravery."
And with that, he left the soldier, as Fritz began to weep.
…
The Next Day.
Fritz was led to the wagon wheel as the entire Battalion was formed up to watch the flogging. The entirety of the Battalion watching was supposed to bring shame on the man being flogged, as well and to discourage others from carrying out the crime in the future. However, as Fritz had done little wrong, and everyone knew it, it only meant the entire Battalion was with him in solidarity.
The two escorts removed his uniform jacket and undershirt, displaying his bare back, ready to be whipped. The two escorts had been relatively civil, only following their orders. As the two departed, Sergeant Wulfhart approached Captain Raeksen, saluting him properly, as a whip was tucked in his belt.
"Sergeant, carry out the punishment!"
"Jahowl, Herr Hauptman." Another salute, followed by an about face. Oddly, an orderly followed the Sergeant, which was strange as Wulfhart usually preferred to go without one. He quietly approached Fritz, leaning in. He produced a cowhide bridle, sticking it in Fritz's mouth.
"Bite down, Kammerad. It helps, trust me." He paused before whispering. "Be strong, kinder. Don't give that bastard satisfaction."
He walked past to the appropriate distance, turning to face Fritz's back. What he did next was against all regulations, but made him a hero. He wiped sweat from his brow, turning to his orderly.
"It is too hot to do this in uniform, Ja?" He then proceeded to take off his Prussian blue tunic, Cap and undershirt, leaving him bare chested. But it wasn't his chest that drew attention. As he drew the whip and did a few "stretches," his horribly scarred back was plain as day for every man in the battalion. Any man that knew Sergeant Wulfhart knew that the man was one to drill tirelessly in full kit on much hotter days. It was an excuse to make a statement. A statement of solidarity. He had clutched the wagon wheel, he had been flogged. And only flogged men should flog men.
"What is he doing!?" Captain Raeksen screamed. But before he could act, Oleg clutched his arm, stopping him.
"I don't know what you are talking about Captain. The Sergeant must be hot, that's all it is."
"You fool! He is clearly undermining discipline in the Battalion!"
"You would be wise to give me courtesy, Captain. It may be your flogging, but it's my Battalion."
The officer commanding the actual flogging, a young Lieutenant spoke up, following his own orders. "Sergeant, 10 lashes."
"Yes sir." Wulfhart let the slack drop, before drawing the whip back. He sent it forward, with an audible crack.
Fritz let off a muffled scream as the leather slashed his back open.
"One Sir!" He drew it back again, once again sending it forward. He hated it, but a flogging was a flogging. It'd be done right.
Another scream. Fritz eyes watered from the horrible stinging sensation of an open wound.
"Two Sir!" He drew back yet again, before lashing again mercilessly.
Fritz was sobbing now, as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Three Sir!"
…
"TEN AND COMPLETE, SIR!" Wulfhart turned to the Lieutenant, standing at attention.
The Lieutenant, sickened by the display, was eager to be done with this affair. "Punishment carried out, Sergeant, carry on." Wulfhart saluted, before handing his orderly the bloody whip and retrieving his uniform, which he quickly donned.
He approached the gasping soldier, drawing a flask of liquor. He glanced at the patchwork of yet to be scars on the boy's back, as two of Fritz's comrades helped him off of the wheel.
"You did well kammerad, Here." Wulfhart unscrewed the flask. "In the Prussian army, he have a half and half method to help get over floggings. Half in the mouth…" He poured the drink down Fritz's mouth, several shots worth, enough that he would be intoxicated shortly. "… And half on the back." He poured the alcohol on the raw flesh of his back, nearly causing him to yelp in agony for half a second.
"Go to the infirmary. Get patched up. I don't expect to see you tomorrow. I'll try to get you a week. But no promises with that Dumkopf around, Ja?" He patted him on the shoulder, as his two comrades helped him walk to the infirmary.
…
"My Lord, we need to address the crisis in the garrison Battalion."
Hans sighed, as he stood up from his desk, where he was working on his economic plans. Economic reforms would have to wait.
"When I gave you command, I was under the impression that you dealt with thing like that, Oleg."
"I held back from major reforms to wait on your specific plans, My Lord. And even so, this requires your attention."
"Well?"
"The officers here are morons. They hand out floggings like greetings and wonder why the rank and file are near revolt." He paused, walking over to the chair, bracing on it. "Don't get me wrong- whipping is a great tool to combat cowardice and minor crimes like theft or insubordination. But these fools whip a man for a minor mistake on his first day of rifle training?" He shook his head.
"So fix it, Oleg!" Hans was a power hungry madman, but he knew the key to successful management was delegating tasks to subordinates. He was no great commander, but Oleg was.
The lower born man sighed. "That's the problem my lord. Captain Raeksen and his ilk have friends in high places. I need you to back me up when I kick their asses off the island."
"I see. Arrange a surprise inspection…" Hans opened his date book, checking for scheduling. "…the day after tomorrow. I'll find an excuse to dismiss them for. I also want replacements- good replacements for their posts. Any other recommendations or plans of actions as well."
"Of course my Lord." Oleg had a number of ideas and plans in mind, he'd use the time to flesh them out and put them to paper. He was going fix the cluster fuck of a battalion, even if it killed him.
"Dismissed, Colonel."
Hans watch the man click his heels together, before turning and depart. He sighed, returning to his work. Budget figures weren't going to calculate themselves…
…
"Fall in, FALL IN!"
Fritz dropped his wood axe and sprinted towards his company's drill area, grabbing his white tunic and Kepi as dozens of men on other tasks did likewise. The NCOs and Officers screamed at them to hurry up, as arms where unstacked and clueless Privates were tossed and thrown as NCOs moved men into their proper positions in Company Formation. Whatever it was, it was unplanned.
Sergeant Wulfhart put Fritz in formation, passing him a Rucksack and his rifle from stacked arms. As he buttoned his tunic and threw on the black Leather Ruck, causing him to Grimace. As foretold, yesterday Captain Raeksen had ordered Fritz back onto duty, to the protest of the Doctor and Sergeant Wulfhart.
Even putting on the Wool tunic in the morning hurt, let alone a heavy rucksack. But unbeknown to Fritz, Captain Raeksen had little to do with this. Three minutes prior at 2:50 a messenger arrived with orders for the Company to prepare for and to receive Lord Hans and Lieutenant Colonel Schwarzkopf as they conducted an inspection. They berated the messenger who as ordered informed that there was a mix-up and orders meant for the morning had been delayed.
Which was bullshit. The order was written and sent less than an hour ago. As the clock hit 3, the young Lord and the Colonel approached on horseback, accompanied by a small escort party of horsemen, impeccably on time. Any experienced soldier would have known something was up, as Officers where never on time with their own formations.
The Captain saluted and greeted the official party, and the two went straight to work. Generally these things consist of a quick walkthrough, before the Lord gets bored and ends the whole thing. But Hans and Oleg were not here as some courtesy. They were here to destroy Captain Raeksen. The meticulously looked for a solid excuse, and it didn't take long.
Oleg had remembered Fritz's face.
"You! Come here, on the double!"
"MOVING SIR!" Fritz fell out properly, before running to the proper distance from the Light Colonel. Snapping to attention, he presented himself, scared that they would find a flaw with his kit.
"Are you Private Fritz Snavsfelt?"
"Yes Sir!"
"Remove your pack, Tunic, and undershirt if you are wearing one Private."
"Yes Sir!"
Still not understanding the game played high above his level, Fritz did what he was told. Within a minute, he stood, bare chested. He hoped the officer would not remember the flogging. Officer's were always harder on flogged men.
"Turn about."
"Yes Sir!"
The young soldier turned his back on the Colonel and Lord with a proper about face. Still Bandaged from daily bandage changes, a few of the cuts had reopened, causing the white dressing to turn red again. Turning slightly to Hans, he gestured with his baton, explaining the situation.
"My Lord, that man was flogged two days ago for a very minor offense. According to regulations, a flogged man is put on bed rest for 3-7 days. It's been two."
Hans smiled. This was perfect. "Captain, why is that man not on quarters?"
The Captain couldn't think of a proper response.
"Are you a sadist? Do you enjoy damaging army property? The Southern Isles needs soldiers, and if fools like you continue, we'll have none left!"
Raeksen tried to deflect blame. "I had nothing to do with it! He's Sergeant Wulfhart's man! He's responsible for him!"
"YOU LIE!" The Battalion Medical officer was visiting to treat various light injuries, and had come out to see the commotion. He could not have been in a better place.
"Private Snavsfelt was ordered to return to FULL duty, DESPITE my, and more importantly at the moment, Sergeant Wulfhart's protest. I even have a written complaint for the two of us."
Oleg had had enough. He dismounted his horse, approaching the Captain, striking him with his Baton.
"YOU LITTLE SHIT! YOU DARE LIE TO A SUPERIOR OFFICER, AS WELL AS YOUR LORD?!" Another strike.
"Men, arrest Captain Raeksen on charges of conspiracy, lying to an officer, lying to a noble, and abuse of power. Lieutenant!"
Lieutenant Schmidt stepped out, saluting. "SIR?"
"Until further notice, you are in command of 1st Company. Carry on."
"SIR!"
As the watched Captain Raeksen be put in chains weeping, and carried off, they all felt a large degree of satisfaction. Fritz was not the first soldier Raeksen abused. Afterwards they fell out, and Fritz once again felt fear as Lt. Schmidt approached him. He had no issues with him before, but the young officer had presided over the flogging.
"Private Snavsfelt!"
"SIR?"
"You are to be on quarters for the next week. I better not catch you doing anything but rest and eat. Am I clear?"
"YES SIR!"
"Sergeant Wulfhart, square this soldier away."
As the Prussian led him back to the infirmary, Fritz couldn't help but smile. Born on remote Kurzheim and barely literate, Fritz could not read the newspapers even if they did arrive here. He had never heard of Arendelle, or of Queen Elsa or Princess Anna. What he did know was that young Lord Hans had arrested a bastard of an officer because a Private was being abused. If that didn't make him a good Lord, he didn't know what would. Some rumors had come down about how he was disgraced and such, but Fritz didn't care.
There's a Lord I'd follow to hell and back!
…
Hans stood in the room, surrounded by a number of officers. All uneasy, they quietly awaited Hans to speak, lest they be targeted. Hans' surprise inspection targeted every company in the battalion, with 5 officers arrested on various charges, and two Company Commanders relieved.
While all were scared, they had mixed feelings as a group. Kurzheim was where undesirables were sent. For some, undesirable qualities meant abusive tendencies, laziness, incompetence or corruption. For others, Kurzheim was their punishment for poor heritage, religious differences, or weakness of character. Some struggled with the drink or the women of the night.
Some wanted things to stay the same, a paradise for bad officers. Others, desperate to escape so they may be of use, welcomed any change. Hans was about to make one group very happy. Facing his office window, he stared out onto the bleak landscape or barren Kurzheim.
"I had been told of how rotten Kurzheim was, but I never expected this. So rotten, so hollow, that a surprise inspection cracks and shatters the whole establishment. If there were newspapers here, there'd be a scandal."
Silence. Hans turned, his hands behind his back, coldly staring the men in the room down. He didn't realize it, but he was channeling his father very much now.
"It ends gentlemen, if I can even call you men that title. You have a simple choice. Leave or stay. I will facilitate your transfers or resignations, there will be no repercussions. I'll even pay for the boat ticket, because I don't want you. You sicken and corrupt the very formations you lead. Officers are examples for the men."
He paused, swallowing.
"Some of you may wish to go back to being officers and gentlemen, if you ever where. If you are sincere, you are welcome. It will be hard, but rewarding. If you stay, but wish to fight me, to keep things the way they are, I WILL destroy you. Think you have friends in high places? My father is the King."
An officer scoffed. "We know what happened, Lord Hans. You no longer have your father's favor." A couple of smirks and chuckles.
"Maybe so, but my Father sent me here to fix this shithole. He won't look kindly on… obstructions. Test me. You know how ruthless I can be."
Hence one of Hans' strengths. He once was referred to by an observer as a "Mirror." To blend in, to get allies, to threaten enemies, he adapted the qualities of his conversational opposite. He was in a room of corrupt, brutal officers who only understood brutality. So he became them.
Hans laughed, shaking his head. "You think you are crueler than me? You think you can outsmart and backstab me? You think you are all such ruthless men." He changed to a darker, more serious tone.
"I planned for years, a ruthless and terrible coup. I attempted to murder my fiancé in cold blood, just so I'd officially be King, rather than be regent. I broke a woman's heart just so I could kill her. And I didn't even dislike them, they just stood in my way. What do you think I'll do to some that I hate?"
They were once again cowed. They shuffled their feet and eyed the ground. Most decided then and there to leave Kurzheim. It wasn't a fight worth fighting. There were other 2nd rate units, other posts that could hide bad officers. And Hans didn't offer a gentle farewell.
Slamming his hands onto the desk, he adopted their utmost cruelty, staring into their very souls. With a voice nearly a growl, he commanded their withdrawal.
"Now get out of my sight!"
They mostly stumbled over themselves as they clicked their heels and turned to leave, with most filing out as quickly as possible. But not all did so. A few maintained a firm glare back at their Lord, calmly and stoically dismissing themselves, leaving the room last. As they left, Hans did his best to remember their faces.
Those men are either going to be my best officers, or my worst enemies. Either way, I'd do well to remember them.
He relaxed, slumping back into his chair. It had been an eventful and good day. The worse Officers were gone, the men's morale has stabilized, and steps had been taken. A slight pay raise. A new training regimen. Better food. And most of all, Oleg had recommended a Prussian NCO for the post of Sergeant Major, which Hans approved. His military was stable, so he could finally return to economic matters, which started tomorrow.
Now the real battle starts.
Bit of Notes-
If you must know, this chapter was inspired when I watched Starship Troopers. A movie I have come to reappraise after watching it again. But you're not here for that. This chapter was half written after the flogging scene, where it stagnated due to work and Faith and Duty. Next chapter has us go back to Hans scheming and making shit work on Kurzheim, with a fun arc coming up. Let's just say I have a fun shout out to past Disney works coming. Even if this now means I have to re-watch said works for "research" so it may take a while.
Luckily though, Hans' Fate is now getting my full attention Fanfiction wise for the next month, with the exception to a short one-shot coming. Hopefully it won't take 3 weeks this time. (You see, coming up with plot instead of piggybacking on Frozen's is hard.) Crossing my fingers.
As for the Mirror bit, I got that from the Frozen/Disney wiki on Hans, which I thought was another clever, if subtle shout out to the fairy tale. If you watch the Movie, you'll notice that Hans basically mirrors whoever he is talking to. Clumsy and Nice for Anna, Harsh and Threatening to the Duke of Weselton, and Regretful and Helpless to help Elsa in Jail. Kinda impressive, ain't it?