Born a Monster

319 219 – Skirmish

Plotline: Main

Chapter Type: Military, Social

There was much discussed that night, almost none of which had any relevance. Come the dawn, the camp was packed, and we turned right back around, leaving town by the east road.

“Why camp to the west, only to head us east? The ground is no warmer or less dirty where we slept.” sergeant Mau complained.

“Spies.” I said. “Even if the enemy knows we have to go up the Rice Road, they may receive reports that we are instead engaging the main force.” I had a thought. “Is there anyone engaging the main force?”

“Why ask me?” he replied. “I’m surprised we have as many with us as we do. Guess towns do train surplus militia, just in case. But no, the best that I know is we’re it. Outnumbered something like six of them per one of us. They have about the same equipment, more training than us in how to use that, and the incentive of knowing they’re all doomed if they lose.”

He broke out in laughter then. “But what do I know? I’m only a First Commanding Sergeant.”

“It’s closer to four to one since the elementals claimed the rebel camp near the Rice Gate Bridge.” I said.

“Ay-ya, that is an actual truth? Here I thought it was propaganda, that some lounge singer or other was collecting royalties.”

.....

“I won’t tell you they aren’t. But yes, the elementals tore some two to three thousand souls from the world to express their anger at violations of the ancient treaty.”

“But... why? We have no treaty with them. That’s a mainland thing. These spirits have no such arrangement.”

“That is something for the local people to discuss with the earth spirits.” I said. “I assure you, the earth spirits believe there is a treaty.”

“Well, then they are dumb as rocks. Ah-ah. Is that your assessment as well?”

I blinked. “They seemed intelligent, well informed, and to have a moral code. Not people, per se, but definitely a folk.”

He scratched at his jaw. “Eh? Talk to me like I was born soldier caste.”

“People may have different forms, but they tend to think alike. Systems, classes, skills, sins. Maybe different values and expectations of what is normal, but they are people. Folk... think differently. Maybe they shun tools for magic, or reproduce with spores rather than sex, or...”

“Who the fuck would live like that?”

“Command Sergeant, ...”

“First Commanding Sergeant. It means there is no sergeant above me, just officers.”

“My apologies, First Commanding Sergeant. But yes, folk think people are just as insane for acting the way they do.”

“Ugh. I’ve decided I don’t care. I have enough problems with feeding and supplying soldiers, and promising myself that I’ll flay the next person who tells me about their broken bootlaces. If they aren’t citizens of the Empire, I just don’t care about them.”

I shrugged. “At least you’re honest about not caring. Thank you.”

“Isn’t about you, but okay, you’re welcome.”

“First Sergeant, I have a question about the Regiment.”

“Ask away, we’ve got two days of marching.”

“A regiment is four companies?”

“Four platoons, yes. Each platoon is three companies, sometimes four. So twelve companies.”

“And each company is four squadrons of ten soldiers, plus officers? Around fifty or so soldiers?”

“Roughly, yes.”

“So that’s roughly six hundred soldiers, yet I count a thousand here.”

“One large regiment is better for morale than two smaller ones. Besides, most of these folks come from militias. The majority of our actual soldier caste joined the Liberationist cause.”

“Wait, so the militias are what caste?”

“Merchant, of course. Mercenaries whose loyalty is to coin rather than caste. Without the training and discipline a real soldier has.”

“You make it sound like they’re not worth as much on the field of combat.” I said.

“A sword is a sword, a spear is a spear, but a soldier is only as good as their health and determination. A man or woman convinced that their failure disgraces their bloodline will hold a line longer than someone who is only there for the coins afterward.”

“Okay, so why use them as troops?”

“There is strength in numbers, and little of choice. To hear the Lord General speak of it, we need a victory, and quickly, or else we are lost. Desperate times, it is said, call for desperate measures.”

“Well... I guess I’ve survived worse plans.”

“Have you?”

“Oh, most certainly.”

“Well, crap. Two days before the battle where I’m doomed to die, and now there’s hope of survival. That is depressing.”

“I don’t understand why.” I said.

“If we win this upcoming battle, it means my duty has surpassed my caste. It is a reversal of how the world is supposed to work.”

“Wait, so you’d rather die than win this battle?”

“It is terrible; I would rather die than win, and I would rather die than lose.”

“Okay, I admit I don’t understand.” I said.

“Eh, it is a battle that raged in my heart, and I don’t understand it. In inevitable death, there was release from my emotional turmoil.”

He wiped his face. “Oh Heavenly Emperor, how do I reconcile my honor if we win? In choosing duty and loyalty over my caste, have I damned my soul to dishonor?”

“Why would you ask an outsider like me?” I asked.

“Why indeed?” he asked, “Just leave me with my thoughts. I have only two days to resolve this.”

Okay, so we had worse soldiers, probably worse heroes. So...

Cripes, we were doomed.

It was no better the next day, when their scouts spotted ours. We knew because our scouts started finding their dead fellows. Morale plummeted, except for the first commanding sergeant, who returned to being happily destined for the afterlife.

On the next day, there was a brief archer’s ambush. Fewer than three squads of ours were killed, with perhaps an equal number riding in the medical carts.

“How are you doing?” First Command Sergeant Mau asked.

“Oddly, I’m most of the way to full health. For tomorrow’s battle, I’ll be at full. I have two shields, a sharp blade, and ...”

“And the battle is this afternoon. Soon, all of our anxieties and worries will be in the past. Whatever horrors await us, it will soon be done.”

“Wait, uhm, there are still arrows sticking out of people.”

“Blood flows in all battles.” he replied. “And there are medics to take the arrows out. But the rest of us must march.”

“I think these roads are not an ideal battlefield.” I said.

Mau shrugged. “They will want to fight us in an open field, not where the ranks behind force the ranks ahead into battle.”

“I don’t think they have the numbers to do that.” I said. “Not divided into three camps the way they are.”

“I think their scouts will let them organize as they wish.”

And he was right. Both about letting us spread out, and about them massing into a single force. They kept archers in the fortresses to the left and right of the road, which our forces sieged while the later units filled out onto our side of the battlefield.

Was this... all of them? It had seemed like double this many soldiers when I had been here, just a few days ago. Both sides posed, and shouted and menaced with melee weapons from a good sixty yards apart.

But neither side attacked, at least not at first. Their line looked thin, but the edges were closer than their center. Clearly, they were prepared to catch and hold our charge. Our lines... radiated fear.

Oh, laughing gods. Had these merchant-soldiers ever fought in a pitched battle before?

Lord General Ding Mu came to the fore, surrounded by eight other soldiers in what looked like stylized metal armor. “Fellow Loyalists! Look before you. Those are soldiers, true and tested. And look at how scared they are! They are half our number, and yes, they know that now could be their last day alive. Let us bring their fears, make them reality! Keep to your teams, and even those, hardened soldiers, know that victory is ours! March forward, to victory!”

Their leader also inspired his forces, who moved their lines into wedges. Armored people in the front, overlapping shields, arrayed spears.

And they marched forward to meet our march. There were no surprise twins, no ambush by a fu dog, and from both sides surprisingly little magic.

The intention of a wedge formation is to break a line into smaller groups, which one then crushes in smaller groups. And, against levy troops, it works.

That day, there was a difference between mercenaries and mere levies. They filled the deep spaces, and fought like demons. One of ours fell dead for every one of theirs that fell at all. But war is not entirely a matter of numbers; it is a matter of will. Their line began breaking at the back, where it was thinnest. Soldiers walked or ran. Only a few at first, then more, and then, suddenly, there were no more soldiers before us.

“The fortifications! Take all the fortifications!” the lord general called.

It was a second commanding sergeant who relayed those orders. First Commanding Sergeant Mau had found his release during that battle, surrounded by enemies, one of whom had Mau’s axe embedded in his skull.

And then, things went wrong.

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