An axe hacked and struck the core of a trunk, with every shock lifting a veil of mist from a tree that was gradually worn away. Its undercut was deep, and from its notch, sap seeped. Rain pattered on the foliage like a shining film of polish reflecting the subtle glow of the clouds’ underbelly. A storm washed by overhead, and to think that mere hours ago, they had wished for salvation from the heat, the gust was ghastly cold and was strong enough that it could topple the canopy above. The giant beneath charged his strength, sensing that it would be his last blow before the tree would finally fall. Digging his feet into the soft earth, he adjusted the axe in his hands when he spun and swung its blade into the heart of the tree. The strike rang through the roots and rattled branches. Tearing his axe from the wood, Miklós stepped back and looked up at the swaying but resilient tower of life. It stubbornly stood. With his axe held to one side, Miklós took in a breath of the clear woodland air before unleashing his demonic power through a kick into the core of the tree. The behemoth was falling, snapping, tilting over. He stood to one side and watched it collapse, crashing through saplings and ripping a hole in the canopy that let the torrent cascade through the opening. Its landing quaked the ground around the giant’s feet but before it was ever allowed to settle, the work of a blunting blade began to chop away at the log’s branches and needless limbs. But he was not the last to swing his axe. His squad and foreign comrades toiled, each to their own duties. Like a sawmill, they churned out the products of their factory, timber dusted and readied for their engineers. From stakes for trenches, to logs for palisades, every piece of the transformed forest was rolled down the hillside to be collected and ferried away by the everlasting cycle of men and wagons. The cogs of wartime industry turned unendingly when even the wounded put themselves to work.
Over the brow of a hill, a lieutenant emerged, hiking up a path along the ridge, he appeared in the forest where his calling did not belong. His walk was brisk, holding onto his belt, he weaved past the stumps which remained and carried himself deeper into the trees, further than he would go on an evening stroll. On reaching the end of his journey and where the woodland began again, the young officer could not help but admire how the land had been shaped within hours, no less by hands and axes alone.
Stunned by their progress, he approached the squad paying no heed to any distractions or passersby. “Heck, you could build a city wit’ this.” Adam remarked, his eyes restless before the marvel.
The final strike of an axe sounded. Wiping the sweat on his forehead, Arminius lifted his blade, tearing a slab of bark from its wood, and stood upright. Their backs soured, his comrades paused alike on hearing their lieutenant’s voice, loosening their arms and resting their blood. But they did not throw down their tools, assuming that there was need to deforest acres more of land after Adam had said his part.
Set on his squad, the lieutenant pointed and mentioned three words that they least expected, “The general called.”
Unsure of what it entailed, the nine looked at each other. But hearing it was an order, they laid down their axes beside a tree stump closest and swung their jackets, soaked and unwearable, onto their arms. As they rallied around their former instructor, the lieutenant pivoted on his heel and led away, gathering that they were ready for anything but a night wet in the wilderness. With axes falling silent, the heavens relented. There was a break in the clouds and the rain weakened. Violent gales that blown by the forest were reduced to breezes. But with lessened action, with every inch of their body drenched and heavy, they hurried to avoid the cold. Passing by the graveyard of trees that they and their allies had shaven, to the edge of the woods they emerged from, the squad followed a narrow path winding downhill. As they walked, along the side of a ridge, their eyes became slowly distracted not by the obstacles and hazards beneath them, but the picture that they had ever dreamed since young.
It was the sight of an encampment sprawling. Hundreds of thousands participated like spots on a canvas which did not fit their sight. Engineers directed regiments of troops, erecting shelters near fire pits that squads huddled around before laying out tents for their officers. Palisades and wooden battlements were raised by the league and trenches were dug around them. Sentries formed and patrols marched around the perimeter of the camp. As scouts streamed in and out, forces of hussars rode. Some twenty thousand of veterans were entrusted to the general’s juniors, spilled into the wild and were split into northern and western detachments. But whilst the grandness of the army was indeed a spectacle, a flash of unnatural light stole their attention. Black smoke flowed down the valley and debris was scattered. There was a loud bang that came soon after and those who knew, had just witnessed the explosion of an eifer of a scale that they had only seen on television. Splintered planks, wood and stone, were flushed downstream by the raging currents that cleared away the shadows of where once a bridge stood. All that was happening, they could not track with two eyes alone. Within daylight, the evacuated village had become a wooden fortress. It was already some hours into the evening and just then, did the sun begin to set. Casting a filter over the sky, blood orange, the half-shrouded light was reflected onto the puddles and streams in their path, broken by a train of young soldiers approaching the heart of the army.
Lessened of their officers’ presence, the headquarters sat tightly against the hillside. Only those of the administration remained whose expertise in logistics and defense were better used behind the front than before. The lieutenant brought his squad towards an unimposing tent that was dyed a plain, solid red with a flag flying on its spire. Although there was a lack of the general’s usual guards, a peculiar creature, one that was rarely seen in an army, guarded the entrance of the tent. It was a great brown bear, but he was an anomaly for his species. The color of his fur had faded from age and its body was twice the size of the average. Yet, he had twice the softer heart. The passive creature saw little reason for aggression and as Károly came by, he recognized him from his scent and lifted his head to sniff the archer’s legs. The boy rubbed the bear’s soft back, smiling from the feeling of his carpet-like fur, but as his squad continued onward without him, Károly felt a gentle push. Reminding him of his own duties, the bear rested his head on his hands again, giving passage to the young. Before the entryway, the squad prepared to enter when the tarp of the tent flicked awide and a titanic figure appeared from within. Lev jumped from the scare as his comrades cautiously backed away from another giant, only a hair taller than Miklós. His eyes were cold, bearing down on them, giving way to this monster that they had caught a glimpse of eight days ago. But uninterested in stirring trouble, he turned and marched downhill, whistling for his companion to follow. The bear who guarded the headquarters yawned and stood, lazily stumbling on as the squad stared in bafflement. It took another whistle, that of the lieutenant, to summon them to earth again, gesturing for them to enter under his guidance.
Filing into the palace of the general, no more than an office in the field, they first noticed the shelter above their heads for they had at long last abandoned the rain. The tapping on their heads had driven a god mad and they were lucky that they could bear it. In an interior spacious, that was because it was mostly unfurnished and undecorated, aides murmured, gathered around an elder. Moving chess-like pieces on an inked map, pointing and backing their words, they noted strategies those of their own and of their comrades. Though, it was sometimes with dispute, the congress of generals were quietly civil in the presence of one man. The lieutenant traced around a table in the center of the headquarters, raised by a wooden floor, his hand following its edge. Leaning over, he addressed the general and spoke few words. Whatever he said forced the general to consider, pinching his chin as he did, before dismissing the lieutenant. Adam retraced his path to exit the tent and when he passed by his squad, he glanced over and nodded in good faith. Disappearing behind the tarps, into the shower once more, the splashes of his steps vanished. For a good minute, the generals continued, taking no notice of the squad who was behind them. But they waited patiently, watching and listening diligently, as the general’s face tensed. He could not decide between one plan and another and upon spotting his soldiers he had summoned and had mistakenly forgotten about, Warneńczyk excused himself and made a grunt. Waving his advisors away, even without a spoken reason, they heeded and did not question him. The generals retreated hoping that another session would see a decision come to fruition. For the day, they disbanded knowing well that they had made progress except for one colonel who was named to stay. To the left and right of the squad, officers departed, eager to escape the cramped tent. All who were left were the general, the colonel, and the nine of the squad saluting, yet it was no less quieter than it was before.
Noticing a stench only then as it whiffed by, Warneńczyk found them drowned in rain but he never mentioned it. “Lancers. Corporal.” The general addressed, singling one out of the band. “At ease.” Fidgeting with a wooden figure, he ordered.
The squad never knew of anyone who could be of that rank, and knowing that it could not have been the eight of themselves, they turned to Károly who they least expected to be their senior. Hearing a chair’s legs scrape across the floorboards of a platform where the map table was raised, the lancers returned ahead, their arms relaxed, and stood easy.
Pushing himself away from the table, the general leaned back and slouched, asking as he rested his hands on his stomach, “Feeling any better, Reichner?”
“Never better, general.” Arminius responded spiritedly with a grin.
Nodding, Warneńczyk turned to his side where his colonel stood attentive with his hands behind his back. Alert and waiting for an order, Florian rarely diverted his sight from anything ahead but he spotted, on his periphery below, his general spinning a finger over the table. On heeding, he tipped his head and spun away, marching into the backdrop near. He picked up an oft-used mug and press from a tray and laid them on a desk repurposed into a refreshment station.
As his aide sought for ingredients needed to fulfill his command, the elder began, otherwise he would have been further distracted by his thirst, “Well, I did not summon you all for any pleasantries.” His voice deepened when he sank his chin onto his chest. “Know that Vasilevsky is a night’s march away from us.” He revealed openly as he had always done.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ5BxE4zf5RI
