in a total Terra Incognita, A Proper Empire of light over darkness
Night was almost over, cold... Late September. Silence...., stars blinking high above, a dim light. Hills, worked in spring, were ripe with another payload of work ; harvest and sweat .
The road cut through a gentle valley and at the horizon one could make the shadows of Lille, the citadel,... and some light : night watch was almost over. Slow but certain the Sun began to win over the night. Mist raised bit by bit. Cold.
Cadenced steps and the clinkering of metal were the only evidence of a presence to witness the upcoming glory of another day.
The 17th division. A small army corp. actually , finding its way up the road, marching as they always did , for years , when not fighting, camping, die ...Most were back from the warmth of homes , but the time of peace was over....
In the leading Regiment, the 57/85th fusilièr de ligne , Lt.-colonel Jean-Marc Mourion , rode quietly at the left flank of his men . The regimental standard was still asleep , no wind, and its colours lost in the night
They started early at three hours in the morning: four Line regiments, one Grenadiers, one Voltigeurs , two eight cannon strong batteries of six pounds plus the 18th light cavalry. Along came the 6th heavy demi-brigade of one Dragoon and one Lancers and the 2nd brigade of the 24th infantry div. with two line regiments.
A small army carrying a long regimental train, one of many supplies for the Army of the North.
Oh, that fog! It brought more and more cold and although the day was near but not yet there, it enveloped the country side like a serene sea of calm and unknown, ...and so bright.
But he knew better. Another invasion , another struggle, everything was as it was before, all factors in place to have another war. And men will die, his men ....
They loved him. He knew it, and as it was, God willing, he will lead them into battle to victory, once again.
Perhaps was eight a clock or more; he didn't bother looking though.
Day just broke! ....echoes of the cadenced march, and the mist all over. September.
“Well Sir, it seams that we’re almost there” . Sergeant Bastiôn, his standard guard .
“Yes , almost”
“Damn this fog Sir” , a harsh cough of quite an old age and lots of pipe smoking , “Mind You Sir but you better dismount, we barely see where to put our feet... Sir?”
Smiling ,the Lt. Col. did just that, and then he felt his nose wet. But on his glove was blood, or so he could figure. So much mist, white and bright, so dense he could barely see two or tree foot in front of him.
And lights, lots of lights... a strange feeling . He could faint; his mount behind him, scared, but he held the stirrups tight.
Some screams in the back of the column. Curses , echoes of lost words and he could feel a panic spreading.
“Hold together men!” was that his voice? .... lost in a wall so dense... like wool, yes so woolly , like that time when mother ....five years ?
“What” he turned to the mist: “Hey!” Echoes.
Then he fell on his knees.
“I'm here Sir, take my shoulder” Bastiôn, “You are alright Sir”, worried....“Sir?” cough , harsh, “Are You Sir?”
He didn't answer. he turned and could barely see the Sergeant’s hat, and his eyes.
“ I am ...”
Like thunder it stroke . As breaking the foundation of the Earth. Lightings , and a high whistle , a wind of ages...
Shaken, they all felt it. All bleeding, ears, nose, and everything hurting. More than seven thousand men, soldiers of France, powerless at the mercy of Nature... or God ...
Holding each other tight both Officer and NCO , were lost in senseless posture; not surrender; ... acceptance ...?
All over the column ..., fear, and almost the certainty of death....darkness....
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Warmth. The Sun radiating gentle on his cheek. He opened his eyes, and held his hand high to shadow...He rose. Astonished, he looked around . The entire 17th division; spread wide, with men still on the ground like asleep , or already up and not knowing what to do. Headache... yet not as he remembered, the fog!. And was hurting, but like a dream fading away.
He looked around for his hat.
“Here You are Sir”
“Thank you, Sergeant”, he straightened up, worried.
“Sir if you don't mind, what just happened?”
For the first time in more than ten years he saw his standard guard Sergeant scared, he did his best to hide it, but...
“I do not know yet, but we will look into it”
It was midday. His watch stopped at eight forty five .
A currier in gallop. The hussar stopped sharp:
“General staff meeting Sir. The General wants all commanders in his presence at their earliest convenience , ...Sir” then on he went , like the wind .
Lt. Colonel Jean-Marc came at the officers gathering looking for answers but there were none. Even more questions.
“...Keep your men in a daily routine , and the scouts to report as soon as they are back. You are dismissed Gentlemen”. An worried General, a Hero of the Army, yet quite young. He did care, but must appear strong and in control, for he knew that he was not...
The entire Army Corp. was lost. No roads, no villages or towns at the horizon not a single sign of ground work of any kind , civilian or military, for as far as the eyes could see. And no gentle valley; but large flat land with some bush-like forest at South and strange nameless mountains at north and north-west. The green grass was a relief for the cavalry though.
The conclusion was clear. Somehow they lost the road and , travelled North-East to the Belgium Ardennes ?
Although every one could say assured that those mountains were unknown and unmapped...and to big to be the Ardennes...
The question remained: What happened, and where is the Army of the North, the towns, the people ?
Scouting parties returned in the evening with the news that a river was like fifteen kilometres far south-west, but was already dark, so the column will march the next day.
The night went quiet , and although some soldiers still felt some discomfort most of them thought it was over, whatever it was....
And the next morning , Lt. colonel Jean-Marc Mourion rode quietly at the left flank of his men as he always did, leading the 57/85th fusilièr ....
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....the growling was unbearable. In horror, without resistance, she felt herself dismembered, and in a last look her lifeless eyes reflected those long yellow teeth biting raw bleeding flesh from her severed arm.
“oh growuws , these huamans are so tasty when they young and female hra hra “
Thro’dar , an almost two metre tall Barick of the tribes of the Southern Shores, looked at the prey. More than one thousand “huamans” this time.
Several thousands strong, his Hra' Barick , one of the largest hunting party of the tribe, was spread along the left bank of the river, resting after a glorious hunt.
With strong shoulders and armour-like clothing they all look mean and terrifying.... for those puny huamans. Herded in one compact circle and guarded by hra’wardogs the huamans looked so pitiful. But tasty! All female and children! the best meat on the Southern Markets. Males were quickly disposed, no such a good meat..., and trouble if kept alive.
As always a scouting group encounter some Awtra’Nei nuisance. But after a small skirmish they run away. Cowards. Strange beings though. Some heretics believes saying that they were an admixture of Barick and those huamans hundreds of hundreds of sun-long-circles ago. What a nonsense!
Thro’dar, shook his head an walked careless past them huamans, his mohra-blade hanging, still bleeding, from the waist; Content with the terror he inspired, he smiled, if one could cal a smile the expression of his beast-like face.
A tribal rider came in a hurry down the slow slope of the banks and rushed through the river. Has was shouting, exited if not quite full of joy (!?)
At the rear a large commotion. Some Awtra’Nei prisoners, were just brought in the camp. Male and female, a good sale on the slave market.
An other Barick he did not know strolled past him.
“A really good hunt this one huh”
“Yeah the gods really grimed at us lately “
When close enough he heard the rider repeating over and over;
“Lots of huamans heading this way, in the thousands! More hunt, more meat. I could smell them from a mirla’y away ! Prepare to hunt, prepare to hunt !!!”
Thro’dar grinned, and he start running to his Hra' Barick group. But slowed to spent a moment to wander at those Awtra’Nei: strong as a Barick but to a fine skin almost as a huaman.
He could hear some strange noise coming from north-east, it sounded like a kind of drums, but the noise was different. Huamans biting at drums the location of their hiding place? That was really disrespectful. Or they just didn't know how close they were from their hunters, but huamans and drums? Strange.... And they were heading this way. Very strange indeed....
The big Hra' Barick drums begun to call the gathering; the hunt has begun!
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Spread on a large front, in regimental formations, five ranks deep, the 21st Division moved at a slow pace towards the river . At both flanks, the Cavalry screened their advance. The canons at the rear ready to deploy were needed.
The very troubling reports of the 2nd Lancers squadron, was almost unbelievable and if true, terrifying. The found of a large pit with countless human bones, and the comments of one lancer, a former kook,
“...they were used as food, Sir. The cuts on the bones are just the same as on a dismembered cattle’s remains...”
Further scouts of the 18th light cavalry reported a large group of strange beings, beast like, just south the river. Soldiers in hiding even witnessed something like a hunting party, where humans were the prey; some being eaten alive by those beasts... terrifying reports...
But the army needed the river, and as it became clear, this place was not ! the northern France...
Left, right, left, right, the pace of a highly trained infantry. Veterans with countless battles. Advance in almost a perfect order, aided by the terrain. Drums, but not flutes. Not yet. The four fusilièr inf. regiments formed a long line overlooking the river. Canons at the left, and at their flank, grenadiers, and then lancers. At the right, the light Cavalry, and behind them, the Dragoons and the Voltigeurs. ..
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He saw them coming calm, and without a flinch of fear , and then they all stopped as one. And they had some sticks with cloth hanging and coloured as the sea, he once saw, the mist of harvest’s morning and the blood.
Perhaps they were all on strings...
Eager with anticipation of , what seamed to be, an interesting hunt, Thro’dar watched the Shaman, riding towards than mass of fouls huamans .
The terror of the bag of thunder-fire thrown at them, exploding, will be the sign of total hunt! ...
His eyes open wide, and his jaw almost dropped. The explosion shaken the heavens , but those huamans didn't even flinch !
Thro’dar’s hunting group started moving forward to reach the prey, but then the impossible happened. From tree trunk -like something, death broke loose everywhere, hundreds Barick falling, cut like by a dark magic from afar....
He looked around seeing bodies... and those growls of pain and the noise he never hard before, hearting his ears. He started to feel something here never felt, but witnessed countless huamans have: fear...
The huamans advanced and they were so close: in sprint’s reach. With strange clothing, all caring sticks; then they rose their sticks as looking through them.
.... Fire and smoke , and more Barick dead. More, and more and, then he felt something in his chest. He looked down and saw his own blood coming out of a small hole just above the hart; the shadow of death enveloping him,...
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The general raised and then lowered his hand at the Artillery commander.
“ Batteries, Fire !”
All sixteen - six ponders boomed at once with the precision of a pistol, as in a good French tradition. A gentle wind that just started one hour ago spread the smoke quickly. The damage was terrible. Countless were cut by the canon balls, blood and growled screams, ugly wounds, horror. Second, salvo, third salvo....
Then the order came, cannons went silent. Confident in his men, Lt.-colonel Jean-Marc Mourion draw his sword,
“Regiment, forward march !”
Drum beating, and the flutes filing the heavens with a music of glory and death.
Step after step, forward. The river was reached, with the beast-like enemy just under one hundred meters away.
“Halt..., Present... ,Aim...., Fire!”
The thunder of almost one thousand muskets, delivered a devastating blow, then first line kneed, reloading, second line salvo. Third salvo, first line salvo again...
Smiling with confidence Sergeant Bastiôn looked as his commander,
“Bayonet charge, Sir?” The Lt.Col. noted ,
“Present Bayonet, Forward March!”
His regiment reached the opposite bank of the river first.
“By God these ugly beast are big”
“Keep the line!, slowly forward, men!”
Here and there soldiers of the first and second line, discharged their muskets, close range, at a totally panicked mob. Already at the left flank, the Dragoons emerged splashing from the river in an impetuous charge. Cold steel. Small thick spears and hunting knifes helplessly trying to fight the wall of bayonets.
Then the Hra’Barick broke, running aimlessly and cut without mercy and pause, by the entire "huaman" cavalry. A messy, but total victory in what was to become a Total War....in a dark New World: a Terra Incognita, were A Proper Empire was to be build
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... to be continued.. by a mod?...
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Originally Posted by krixux
