47 YBP:
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The Bay of Gold more than lived up to its lofty make: the sun transformed the clear waters into a shimmering pool of molten gold.
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“The Bay has extra gold today” was a single thought in the storm of ten thousand more raging in the mind of Grand-General Worce.
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A duo of black and gold clad young officers walked up to me. I struggled to place their faces, their insignia identified them as a Captain-Commander – three stars arranged in a triangle - and Ego Lieutenant – a single lonely star - respectively.
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“General!” The Captain greeted me with a broad grin paired with a flashy salute. I knew this man.
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“Ego Lieutenant Solaris of the 480th Platoon?” The grin broke. Evidently, he had wanted me to point out he was wearing a Valkyrie officer uniform.
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“Actually it is Acting Captain-Commander Solaris of the one thousandth, four-hundredth, and forty-first Ölŕun Company” is what my former aide grumbled at me.
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“I thought thou were at Corru Née?” I asked to give the man the chance to feed his ego before it burst.
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“I was approached by a Valkyrie War Brigadier was offered temporary a temporary appointment at Esto for some reason.” The grin had been reborn as a smirk that threatened leap off his face to march all the way to Narcester to apply to the Officer Academy.
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“I see. Art thou aware of my plan?”
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“Hide here, so if any Knights of the Bloody Order appear, then we can encircle and destroy them?” It would seem that the Valkyries of the 1,441st Company had already informed their acting captain of the plan.
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I retorted in a slightly mocking but nonetheless authoritative tone.
“Very good, Solaris, but thou missed the part where we send the GNA Gamba on its merry way up to the Jewelled Peaks Outpost to bring our friends in the sky out to play.”
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Just then, the three Grand Warlords present at Esto finally showed their faces.
The one in black saluted me impeccably with frightening speed, while the two regular officers scrambled to do the same thing hald as well.
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“Are the men hidden? Spotters on the lookout? What about the Gamba? Is it ready to leave?” I asked them in a quick burst of questions.
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The Valkyrie officer beat the other two to the punch for the second time, Yes Sir!”
I nodded. The Valkyries didn’t gain the epithet “Winged Death” with idle talk.
Solaris - still a lieutenant at heart – clearly disliked the silence and tried his best to shatter it with a sledgehammer of words.
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“What doth the high and mighty Grand-General Worce plan to do if the Ceruleans decide make an appearance with some Southeastern mates in the troposphere plus some of their Sorcerers?”
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I spotted an easy way to shut him up. The spirit of his Eminence, the Earl Ego, must have been looking down at me with pity. The War Brigadier of the 360th Winged Brigade was passing by inspecting the choke points that had been set up at Esto. “War Brigadier Fryro Noyan, present arms!”
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Fyro spun on his heels, cleared the gap between us in less than five strides, and drew the silver lacquer sabre with a winged hilt on his side for me to inspect. The man was greying and had a coarse salt and pepper beard. However, his most striking feature was his eyes, or rather eye as his left was covered with an eyepatch. The remaining eye was almost orange in its colouration, but not quite.
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As predicted, Solaris lost all spine the moment the commander of the Brigade his Company fell under appeared. He tried to slink away but failed to avoid the War Brigadiers' roving eye. “Where doth Acting Captain-Commander Solaris think he is sneaking off to?”
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I tried my best not to smirk at my Ex-Aide.
“I-I am just going to speak to the Quartermaster about acquiring a Diamond C12, Sir!”
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If the excuse had been a musical note, it would have had the Aquilorian Sub-Artisan of Music in tears due to how flat it was.
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“Oh really? Fancy a Xyrolith made sidearm doth thou? I think not.” The Valkyries hand – inorganic I noted - shot out and pulled a pistol from Solaris's holster: it was a custom Diamond C12 semi-automatic handgun.
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“Get back to thy post!” the man bellowed at his subordinate. Solaris scurried off with his metaphorical tail between his legs and a gaping wound in his pride.
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The sun had reached its zenith by the time the bugles and Alphenhorns began to sound to alert everyone of the approaching enemy. The spotter tasked with keeping an eye on the Escort Destroyer GNA Gamba confirmed that it had flown over the Jewelled Peaks.
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I moved myself into the house designated as the command building. The calls from instruments of war had stopped by this time. “What has the Coalition sent?” I asked of the Spotter, the recovered Sergeant Nova.
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Sergeant Nova diligently studied the skies with the standard issue telescope before he replied with, “Fleet of twenty airships with livery consistent with the Aquilorian Air Fleet in addition to around ten medium transports bearing the Star of Cerulea.”
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“The Dragoons art smart enough not to end their Archers. They will have instead brought Knights and Sorcerers...we shalt find out if armour and magic stop bullets.”
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Valkyrie War Brigadier Fyro emerged next to and blew a little silver whistle that I had failed to spot earlier. It was impressively loud and shrill for its comparatively small size.
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All the men turned to stand at attention facing its point of origin.
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Fyro was not a man to mince his words. What he said to them all was blunt, direct, and straight to the point: the Valkyrie officer had begun to grow on me.
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“Right, thou all know Grand-General Charles Alexander Worce's brilliant stratagem, for the maggots too foolish to understand it, I shalt summarise: IF THOU SEE ANY SHINY BASTARDS THEN GET IN A RING AND SHOOT THE BLOODY DRAGOONS! UNDERSTOOD?”
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He switched tone when he turned to address me. He now sounded at least paternal, perhaps even grandfatherly. “I apologise for all the shouting, sir, but they need to have fear in order to have respect.”
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“Keep it up. It works.” I said simply.
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A faint clinking noise could be heard, I drew my revolver and new sabre, a general must fight as well to win the loyalty of the enlisted soldiers – winning the trust of the Valkyries was not a necessary undertaking as they were both infallible and unwavering loyal to whoever lead them to such an extent that every single one would vivisect themselves with the bayonet attached to their YB-51 Semi-automatic sharpshooting rifles with perfect technique if they ordered to.
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The walls built around villages like Esto were temporary but could take sustained punishment for a while. The Ceruleans would not have to knock them down as we had left the gates open to lure them in. The clinking noise had grown louder, but a far more thunderous overture smothered it with laughable ease: the steady thrum of Steam powered engines had mated with the eardrum shattering boom of the guns with the result of this terrible union being the din that was aerial warfare. Grand Wing A of the Grand Narcissian Fleet had flanked the Aquilorian Flotilla to bombard the vulnerable rear of the airships, and a few dropped out of the skies like stones from the first couple of volleys.
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The shiny armour of Dragoon Knights was passing through Esto. They were joined by frail men with long beards and robes – presumably Dragoon Sorcerers. The shill scream emanated from a certain little silver whistle, and men lunged out to surround the oh so noble and chivalrous Knights of the Order of the Dragoon, Gaurdian of Celestial Balance, and Protectors of Cerulea.
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“FIRE!” I yelled. The bullets hit the armour with delightful tings. I saw all but one of the knights drop with armour riddled with more holes than cheese. It occurred to me that only the Valkyries had weapons that could penetrate that armour. The mages were less fortunate than their poleaxe wielding brethren.
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More Dragoons poured into the gate. The Theocratic Confederacy of Cerulea could very well have told the Order to drown us in bodies. The regular infantry backed off nervously as the knights charged fearlessly. They were not prepared in the slightest for what the most elite soldiers in the whole of Empyrea were about to do. The Valkyries formed a wedge and threw themselves at the enemy with not even a slight thought of survival. The manoeuvre cut the wall of knights in half.
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I personally led the officers into the battle, but was concerned to notice the instantly recognisable blue and gold armour of the Celestial Cavaliers and Hussars entering the battle – would the elite force of our enemies outclass my own? – there was no time to dwell on this as one Cavalier was barrelling straight towards me. I shot the revolver at the Cerulean, but it merely dented the Thuamaturgical Plate no better than if I had hurled stones at the oncoming foe. Tossing the revolver to the side, I slid into a combat stable with the sabre in my right hand ready, I was prepared to die for my region as long as I went down fighting.
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A Valkyrie swung his Rifle at the man’s helmet and knocked it clean off, the Celestial Cavalier did not even slow down as he speared the unfortunate man straight in the heart before ripping the poleaxe out again. I aimed a slash at my foes unprotected face, but he simply stepped backwards. If I wanted to kill this man, I needed a rifle. The nearest was lying beside the dead Valkyrie a few meters away, If I could just reach it....
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The man lunged with the poleaxe held straight with the intent of spearing me next. I threw myself of the ground and rolled to the left while a tanned Valerium born Sergeant swung a huge double-headed axe at his leg, causing the men to wince.
"You owe me, Worce!” he shouted before rejoining the main fray.
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The blow from that axe had penetrated the leg armour judging by the fact that the Celestial Cavalier had paused to discard the plates on his leg: a huge mistake as my golden sabre cut a gash in an already hurt leg.
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I now had a decent opening to grab that Rifle, I ran towards the fallen soldiers' body while trying my hardest not to gag at the smell of blood and smoke filled air. I dived on that Rifle as if my life depended on it – mainly because it did – and reloaded it before pointing it at the limping enemy. Unexpectedly, he moved in unpredictable patterns, and my first shot went wild. With the distance rapidly closing, I shifted my aim to the already injured leg. I squeezed off another shot. This time, I scored a hit that caused the man to collapse to the ground, writhing in agony from a probably shattered femur.
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“Coward” the man spat, “Is that sabre for show Narcissian? Thou dishonour me!”
Alas, the inherent pride in those hailing from the Northeast of Empyrea took ahold of me in that moment. I threw the gun down in disgust and instead drew the golden sabre of a Grand-General in the Grand Narcissian Army.
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I circled him, searching for an opening to cut his throat that was out of range of his poleaxe. To my frustration, there was a distinctive shortage of those.
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I moved in and slashed him across the face. The Celestial Cavalier's face could be mistaken for worn leather. This was thrown into stark contrast by the weak smile that seemed extremely out of place there. “What is there to smile about Cerulean? My plan has worked stupendously: all of thy comrades are dead, dying or captured, I can see that the Aquilorian Flotilla has lost most of its airships, and thou art about to die!”
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The Celestial Cavalier coughed and spat blood, the grimace on that toughened face told tales of a few broken ribs. “This would not have been thy first battle, but thou doth not understand the remarkable sway that the lust of battle has on one’s body, thou dost feel nothing....but look down General.” I was puzzled by the apparent lack of injury – until I saw the blood behind staining my uniform's trousers at the back of my left leg.
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The Cerulean man looked amused as he was saying his final words, “I cut the tendons, General. Good luck walking far without a mechanical leg and a cane, sir.” He mockingly saluted me. Clearly, the Code of the Dragoon did not extend to the enemy in times of war.
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I felt a cold rage envelop any logical thoughts about my own safety. The sabre stabbed through his throat.
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It was my turn to fall to the ground. My white uniform was torn as if it was older than me in addition to the pinkish bloodstain slowly reddening as it grows. To add insult to an injury that was becoming more painful with every passing moment, it was dirty as well. The one upside to being on the ground was the superb view of half an aerial Battle unfolding in the skies above me and the sun beating down on my face was not all unpleasant as it kept thoughts that were indeed not so pleasant at bay. “P-Please do not make me Marshal of the Grand Army, Your Eminence, Marshal Worce sounds ridiculous!” I muttered to myself, delirious and also light-headed with the pain before it all went black.
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__________________________________________
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3 YAP:
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Lance Corporal Harvester continued to write swiftly but neatly. He was startled when Worce stopped talking. The nib of the pen hovered over the paper very much like the airships that had hovered over the Bay of Gold in 47 YBP. “How bad was the injury?” he asked at last.
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“Quite. The combat medics were part of the Sapper Divisions that did not take much part in the actual fighting, they were able to get into Esto soon after I blacked out because the fighting at Corru Née, Nordoste and Glänzeno was not as fierce as that which took place at Esto. Indeed, I later found out that Nordeste only had to fight a handful of Mages and a section of very confused Aquilorian Marines once the fighting began there.”
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“Uh sir? Your injury?” Harvester asked once he noticed that Charles was avoiding the question.
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“Get my cane!” The Ex-Officer snapped.
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The cane was nearby. It was an elegant piece of craftsmanship even to the Lance Corporals' untrained eye. It had a golden head and was carved from a glossy, matte black wood that Harvester had not seen before. He passed it over carefully.
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Worce pulled up the leg of his long housecoat before he uneasily stood up, the hand holding the cane gripping it firmly, but the other shook. He turned to reveal the golden brass prosthesis that started from just above the knee. Cogs of varrying sizes could be seen turning as Worce walked around the room as a demonstration. He moved in such a way that betrayed his military service: First came the click of the polished shoe on his right foot, then a quick tap of the cane followed by a louder click from the artificial part of the left leg. The rhythm was almost like a marching step hindered by the cane that forced poor Worce to walk in an unnatural 3/4 rhythm. It was additionally a bit slow, but could one really expect an eighty-eight year old man to move swiftly?
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“How long did it take to be fitted?” Asked Harvester in a voice barely above a whisper.
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“I have no idea, but it can’t have been as long as it took to get used to walking with the blasted thing.” Was the response.
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“Who was the Sergeant that hit the Cavalier with the axe?”
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Worce paused to pretend he had not heard or had forgotten before he relied, “Sergeant Axel Harvester, your father as it would happen. He can’t have been twenty in 47 YBP. Is he still alive?”
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Harvester shook his head solemnly.
“One of the first things I did was to have him promoted to Lord Sergeant-Major. I had Fyro made Lieutenant General of the Second Assault Army as the position was vacant. I also had Solaris removed from the Valkyries and put in with the Sappers, though he got to keep his rank after I was told he was the one who lifted me onto a stretcher.”
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“I was next to a wounded Lord Sergeant-Major – his name was Lancewood, I don’t know what his command was because we chatted so much I made him my aide so it was taken away from him."
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Harvester seemed to be working up the courage to ask something while Worce sat back down with a loud sigh.
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“I need a favour... I took the exam to become a proper non-commissioned officer in the future and passed with a high mark. But I lack a recommendation.” Harvester pulled out a crisp looking form, a form which worce looked at with contempt.
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“That bloody new Earl and his interfering Countess who definitely doth not hail from any region in Empyrea are lucky I shalt not live to see the next Empyrean Games or I would go find my old uniform, have High-Exarch Quill give me emergency powers over the Regional Army and storm Château Ego to remove him by force, even though he lacks an hier!”
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Worce broke into a coughing fit, the comment about being dead before 5 YAP (2 years away) was not far fetched, Charles Worce was one of the oldest people in Empyrea and his forced retirement seemed to have been detrimental to his health. Had he been allowed to retire when he was ready to, would he have been in good enough health to live to ninety?
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The man who had been dubbed by Empyrea historians as the "Grandest-General" realised he had gone off on a tangent and not of the mathematical variety.
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“Yes i will sign it.” Worce pulled a fancy looking pen out. He gave the form his signature.
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“Is that...” Harvester was suspicious of the elaborate pen.
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“A pen from the office of the High-Exarch of Worcestershire? Indeed it is, I had a set in my house before my forced retirement, and they haven’t asked for them back.:
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“Thank you, sir. I will go hand this in and will return when I can.”
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“Bring Azure. I was ordered to march to Nyctrae when I was able. They wanted me to invade the East and let the 2nd Infantry Army Group under Grand-General Valour deal with the battles in Valerium. So I missed everything in 46 YBP. I was not physically present for all the battles as the 1st Infantry Army was sent to take Settlements on my orders, we shalt not discuss The Battle of Nirtse Bay, the minor Skirmish at Zephyr, or the brilliant three pronged attack on Xyrin, Cystin and Hestyn. Nor will talk of the Bombardment of Aurin despite its importance because I was negotiating with the revolutionaries. Understood?”
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“Yes.”
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“Good.”
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