Sturm front musket men b.., p.21
Sturm Front (Musket Men Book 2), page 21
“There are a lot of civilians fleeing into the city as well,” the man said. “They know you’re coming and they’re afraid. They’re going to get in the way.”
“Thanks for telling me,” Sturm said. “We’ll deal with them when we get there. For now,” he raised his voice. “Let’s get moving!”
General Lionel Pom looked up from his breakfast of steak, eggs, and toast when his aide rudely rushed into the room. “Monsieur general, Kriegsturm troops are in the city. I’ve just gotten the news. They have secured the East Gate and are advancing toward the bridges.”
The general rose to his feet so quickly that he caught the edge of his plate with his hand and knocked it onto the floor. “What? How is this possible? Marshal Duval wiped out their resistance west of Overzien. General Montague is sitting just outside the city with three regiments. How could they be here without any warning?”
“I am told General Montague and his men have been wiped out, monsieur general. In fact, it is soldiers fleeing from his regiments that are carrying this news. Marshal Duval must have been defeated. This is a disaster!”
“What forces do I have left in the city?” Pom demanded.
“Just two battalions of pikemen, Monsieur General, and the usual city militias.”
Pom made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “That rabble will be no help against real soldiers. Send word to the battalions to stand to arms and secure the bridges across the Markt. We must not let the heretic Krags cross the river.”
“Yes, monsieur general,” the aide said.
“Then get the town council in session and summon the damned militia captains. They may not be much use, but I’m probably going to have to send them in anyway. When are the next troops scheduled to arrive from Brest?”
“Tomorrow, Monsieur General,” the aide informed him. “They are not scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s not a damn lot of help, is it?” Pom complained.
He looked down at his breakfast on the floor with some regret. His cook was excellent as befitted the general serving as imperial governor of the city.
He noticed his aide still staring at him. “What are you waiting for?” he snarled. “I gave you your orders.”
The aide fled.
A cannon fired from one of the towers on the city wall as Sturm led his regiment toward the gates, but the ball buried itself in the roof of a building that loomed over the road without injuring any of Sturm’s men. All of those buildings would have to go and quickly if he succeeded in taking over. There was no excuse whatsoever in letting residences block the firing lines of those towers. It was another sign of how contemptibly confident Anjou had become that Kriegsturm would never find the balls to attack this city again.
He smiled grimly.
There was a new lord in town—or, technically, a new earl—and he was going to make them regret their arrogance.
The gate loomed before them and as he had been warned, the crowd of fleeing people grew thicker the closer they got. Sturm’s column marched six abreast on the road and he ordered them to use the butts of their muskets on anyone who didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
What was wrong with the civilians anyway? Why didn’t they go to their homes and get out of the way of the army? He was coming to liberate them! Why were they clogging the streets like they thought he would shoot them down?
Another cannon boomed and this one cut into the crowd killing people—the damned Angies. He had to get people to those towers, but first he had to get into Hekt.
“Get out of the damned way!” he yelled, but it was doubtful if anyone heard him over the shouts and screams of the crowd. There was nothing to be done but keep pushing forward.
Captain Cobus Viser led his two companies through the streets of Hekt running into absolutely no opposition. His only problems at this time were keeping the crowds out of his path and finding his damn way. Why weren’t the roads straight? Why were they so narrow? Didn’t the city planners know they needed clear wide routes to move armies about in defense of the city?
He finally got so frustrated that he strode away from his column, grabbed a fourteen-year-old boy by the ear and pulled him out into the street with him. “Where is the damn bridge?” he shouted.
Rather than looked frightened the boy bubbled with excitement. “Are you really from Kriegsturm? Are you really going to kick the Angies back out of the city?”
Almost no other words could have made Viser as happy. This boy wasn’t old enough to have been alive when Kriegsturm lost Hekt and yet he was clearly thrilled that the army was back. There were loyal citizens here. Sturm had been right all along—pretending to the men that it was almost an accident they were at Hekt’s walls while all the while looking for excuses to bring the regiment closer and closer.
“Yes,” Viser told him. “But we will kick them a lot further if I can get to the bridge. Where is it?”
“Which one?” the boy asked, reminding Viser there were two.
“I don’t care!” Viser told him. “Just get me to the closest!”
The boy saluted. “Yes, sir! Can I join up afterward?”
“We’ll see,” Viser told him. “Now which way to the bridge?”
“You’ve come past it,” the boy explained. “It’s that way.” He pointed vaguely to the northwest. “But you can’t go straight. I can show you!”
“Let’s get moving!” Viser said.
Breathing hard, Lieutenant Bloyer led his pikemen up onto the Arc du Ceil, relieved to see that none of the enemy soldiers had reached it yet. He didn’t understand how that concern had even reached his head. The largest and grandest imperial army raised in many years had marched into Kriegsturm to reclaim Oosten Graanland. How was it possible that Kriegsturm had defeated it and was now invading Hekt?
He spoke to his sergeant. “Let’s get the bridge shut down so all of these civilians are out of the way. Then we can try and find some carts or wagons to barricade the east side so we can—”
“Too late, sir,” the sergeant said and pointed to the east where the crowd was screaming and shouting even more loudly than they had before. They also went from hurrying west across the bridge to running full out as a green-and-black column marched toward the eastern end of the Arc.
“We have to get over there,” the lieutenant said, but the sergeant put a hand on his arm.
“Let the people pass, sir! What’s important is that that army doesn’t get over here to this side. We’ll have reinforcements soon. There’s no need to rush.”
The sergeant made sense, except that the Krags didn’t seem to be listening to him. They were in a terrible rush, approaching in a column eight men across. They were musket men, which was a blessing because that meant that Bloyer’s platoon would have a solid chance to hold them back with their longer weapons once the Krags began their charge.
They stopped at the middle of the bridge which, because of the gentle arc gave them a solid view of Bloyer and his lack of defensive preparations.
The last civilians finally got past him and he quickly ordered his men to form a hedgerow at the western end of the bridge. Eight men across and six men deep, it was a formidable obstacle that should give the musket men pause even though they badly outnumbered him.
“Here comes another platoon,” the sergeant told him just moments before the first line of Krags opened fire.
Bloyer had never imagined anything like this. Like his men, the heretics had lined up eight across and their numbers went back as far as the eye could see. There had to be more than one company there. But after that first rank fired, it knelt and the second rank fired over their heads. Then it knelt and the third rank fired and his men broke and fled.
Ten seconds and Bloyer’s platoon shamed him even as it left twenty or more men dead at the entrance to the bridge.
The enemy didn’t immediately pursue him. Instead, they paused to reload—a task they were so proficient at that they completed it before Bloyer’s reinforcements arrived,
Then they started marching forward again even as the new platoon tried to set up where Bloyer’s had been.
The Krag commanding officer called another halt and once again volley after volley of fire shook the bridge and then there were no more Angevins but the two lieutenants and one sergeant left willing to fight them. All the rest of their men had either died or fled.
“I think we should retreat, sirs,” the sergeant told them. “The three of us cannot stop that.”
Reluctantly, knowing he was shaming his ancestors, Lieutenant Bloyer turned with the other two men, and fled.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Betrayal
Hekt, Disputed Territory
The Sturgeon Moon, Day 12, Year 1196
“Order!” Militia Captain Puck Baer shouted. “We must have order!”
“But they’re in the city!” another captain, Jari Caes, yelled. Unlike Baer, Caes had begun to panic. He obviously couldn’t face the prospect of leading his men against Kriegsturm muskets. “They say it’s the Butcher of Steil Pass leading them. His men chant his name like they’re proud of it. ‘Sturm Front! Sturm Front! Sturm Front!’”
Baer slapped Caes hard across the face. “Shut up and get control of yourself.”
He turned to the other men—each a captain of a militia in a different ward of the city. “We don’t have a lot of time,” Baer told them. “The Krags are in the city and unless we act now, they’ll be tearing our militias apart before lunchtime. Now, I’m going to be blunt with you. I have never liked the Angies, but if they’d held up their part of the bargain, I would have manned the walls as bravely as the rest of you to keep Kriegsturm out and protect our families.”
“What are you saying, Puck?” Faas Griffel asked.
“Exactly what you think I’m saying,” Baer said. “General Pom dropped his part of the bargain. He didn’t even shut the fucking gates as the Butcher of Steil Pass approached. And now he wants us to fight the Butcher and have muskets and cannon going off in our streets and the enemy raping our women and killing our children?”
“But what else can we do?” Jari Caes asked.
“I think it’s time to remember that this city has belonged to the Kingdom of Graanland for hundreds of years and that Graanland is part of the High Kingdom of Kriegsturm. I think we have to all become patriots to save our city and switch sides in this war.”
“We can’t do that,” Jacque DeRose said. He was the only militia captain who was a newcomer, and from Anjou at that.
Baer drew his pistol and shot DeRose in the chest.
Everyone stared at him as if he’d gone mad.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Baer reminded them. “If we want Kriegsturm to believe us, we have to take an action that will prove we’re loyal to them.”
“What kind of action,” Jari Caes asked. His voice still trembled, but his panic had given way to curiosity and hope.
“Here’s what I have in mind,” Baer told them.
General Lionel Pom left the Governor’s Mansion on horseback, desperate to get to his battalion at the Arc du Ciel while there was still a chance to turn defeat into victory. He couldn’t understand how this had happened to him. General Montague had had three regiments outside the city and he couldn’t get a warning to him to shut the gates? It made no sense at all. But fortunately, Pom was made of stronger fiber than Montague. He would put matters right again.
Ahead of Pom and his aide, someone pulled two wagons across the street, blocking it off as if they thought the enemy was already this deep into Hekt and they needed to set up a barricade.
“Move those wagons!” Pom shouted. “Move those wagons!”
“Right away, sir!” a familiar voice responded.
Pom turned to see one of his militia captains, Puck Baer, approaching him a pistol in his hand.
“What’s going on, Baer?” Pom growled. He never could bring himself to use a rank with a militia captain. “Why aren’t you and your men at the bridges fighting?”
“Because Monsieur General Pom,” Baer told him. “The enemy is right here.”
Pom watched in shock as Baer lifted his pistol and shot him in the chest. His armor was of no use whatsoever at this distance and the lead ball smashed its way directly into his heart. As he fell off his horse, he saw his aide bravely try to draw his pistol to avenge him, but more militiamen pulled him from his mount and then his screams abruptly stopped.
Baer knelt down beside him.
“Why?” Pom forced the word out of his dying lips.
“Scripture tells us that Wotan’s arrival on this world in the guise of Wode was preceded by a great storm.”
Pom’s eyes widened. “You…can’t…think…”
“I don’t know,” Baer admitted. “But is it a coincidence that Hekt has fallen to a man named Sturm?”
“What is going on here?” Mayor De Haan screamed the words more than he shouted them. “Has the entire world gone mad? There are heretic Krag forces in the city. They say they are led by the Butcher of Steil Pass. Where is our army? Where are our militias? Where are—Captain Baer! It’s about time you got here. I summoned you an hour ago! Where were you?”
“I apologize for my tardiness, monsieur mayor,” Baer said as he led a group of a dozen men with bayonets fixed to their muskets into the City Council Chamber. “I was with General Pom.”
“And what is General Pom doing about this disaster?” De Haan demanded.
“Well, nothing, sir,” Baer explained. “General Pom is dead.”
“Dead? How? What happened?”
Baer drew his pistol. “I shot him like this.”
He pulled the trigger and Mayor De Haan flew back onto the floor, a great red flower of blood blossoming on his chest.
To either side of Baer, his most trusted militiamen aimed their muskets and fired. Then they moved in with their bayonets to finish the job.
Baer watched with a quiet sense of satisfaction. There was no going back now. Anjou would never forgive the murder of General Pom and the City Council. He had committed the militias to Kriegsturm.
Epilogue: Liberation
Hekt
The Sturgeon Moon, Day 12, Year 1196
Sturm watched as the Hekt militia captain saluted him. “Major Sturm, sir, I am Captain Puck Baer. I and my militia have taken control of all the city gates and cannon tower and are prepared to turn them over to your men at your command. General Pom is dead and so is the City Council. I stand awaiting your orders.”
Sturm really wasn’t certain how he was supposed to react to this news. “How many men do you have under your command, captain?”
“Under my personal command?” Baer clarified, “three hundred and fifty men. “All told the militias number two or three thousand. Normally we are responsible for keeping law and order in the better parts of the city. In times of war, we fill in for the regular army on the wall and in the towers defending Hekt. That explains why it was so easy for us to take control of those spaces.” He offered a conspiratorial smile. “We were already in them.”
“Very good, captain,” Sturm said, because, again, what else could he say. “Why did you execute the general and the City Council? Why not simply arrest them?”
Baer frowned. “It was an unpleasant task,” he admitted, “but I needed to make a gesture that would prove to you that our commitment to Kriegsturm is sincere. By killing these important Angevin officials, we have made it impossible for us to switch back to support the empire in the future.”
Sturm nodded. They certainly had accomplished that. Anjou could not forgive the assassination of its officials.
“I hope you understand that I need to verify what you have done,” Sturm told him. “Assign a man to show us the bodies. Captain Viser, take your company and verify these deaths. In the meantime, I want to put men on the stores of powder, weapons and all the city gates.”
“The main stores of powder and weapons are at the Governor’s Mansion,” Baer explained. “That name makes it sound like a house, but it is really a fortress which, fortunately, was not prepared for my militiamen to turn on it. I assume you will want to make it your own headquarters until your superiors arrive.”
Sturm nodded, not bothering to mention that to the best of his knowledge, no superiors were coming.
“And if I may suggest, sir, we should raise the chains across the river to prevent the Angevins from invading by boat.”
“Excellent!” Sturm said. “Captain Baer, your superior knowledge of this city is going to be of great use to me. Until we get reinforcements, I’m going to be heavily dependent on you and your militia.”
“And when do you expect those reinforcements, sir?” Baer asked.
“Difficult to say,” Sturm told him with utter truthfulness. “We got a bit ahead of the main army there in these last couple of days, but make no mistake—I will hold this city until my superiors arrive. Come hell or high water, Hekt has been liberated! It belongs to the high kingdom again.”
An Excerpt from Steel Gray Eyes
The Blurb
Before he became the greatest knight in Winterhaven, Willem, the future Lord Tavistock was a seventeen-year-old half-orphan determined to claim his father's patrimony. The only thing standing in his way was every greedy and faithless man in the honor. The only support he could find was his two teachers, his naked sword, and a pair of Steel Gray Eyes. This is the story of how Willem set out on the road to become the most respected man in the Duchy of Winterhaven.
The Opening Pages of Steel Gray Eyes
Willem led his small party of horseman into Barrow at dusk on the penultimate leg of his long journey home. Word of his arrival had clearly preceded him as most of the little town’s inhabitants had come out to gawk at the young man as he passed. A scattering of men-at-arms were in the crowd as well, apparently as curious as the rest, but there was no sign of Sir Edric.
Willem nodded curt greetings to the few faces he remembered but stopped to talk with no one. He led his party straight to the town’s single inn and dismounted with the easy grace of an accomplished horseman. His actions were mirrored by all but one of his party. The final man hesitated, sitting uncomfortably in his seat, but not yet ready to get down and test his legs.
“Thanks for telling me,” Sturm said. “We’ll deal with them when we get there. For now,” he raised his voice. “Let’s get moving!”
General Lionel Pom looked up from his breakfast of steak, eggs, and toast when his aide rudely rushed into the room. “Monsieur general, Kriegsturm troops are in the city. I’ve just gotten the news. They have secured the East Gate and are advancing toward the bridges.”
The general rose to his feet so quickly that he caught the edge of his plate with his hand and knocked it onto the floor. “What? How is this possible? Marshal Duval wiped out their resistance west of Overzien. General Montague is sitting just outside the city with three regiments. How could they be here without any warning?”
“I am told General Montague and his men have been wiped out, monsieur general. In fact, it is soldiers fleeing from his regiments that are carrying this news. Marshal Duval must have been defeated. This is a disaster!”
“What forces do I have left in the city?” Pom demanded.
“Just two battalions of pikemen, Monsieur General, and the usual city militias.”
Pom made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “That rabble will be no help against real soldiers. Send word to the battalions to stand to arms and secure the bridges across the Markt. We must not let the heretic Krags cross the river.”
“Yes, monsieur general,” the aide said.
“Then get the town council in session and summon the damned militia captains. They may not be much use, but I’m probably going to have to send them in anyway. When are the next troops scheduled to arrive from Brest?”
“Tomorrow, Monsieur General,” the aide informed him. “They are not scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.”
“Well, that’s not a damn lot of help, is it?” Pom complained.
He looked down at his breakfast on the floor with some regret. His cook was excellent as befitted the general serving as imperial governor of the city.
He noticed his aide still staring at him. “What are you waiting for?” he snarled. “I gave you your orders.”
The aide fled.
A cannon fired from one of the towers on the city wall as Sturm led his regiment toward the gates, but the ball buried itself in the roof of a building that loomed over the road without injuring any of Sturm’s men. All of those buildings would have to go and quickly if he succeeded in taking over. There was no excuse whatsoever in letting residences block the firing lines of those towers. It was another sign of how contemptibly confident Anjou had become that Kriegsturm would never find the balls to attack this city again.
He smiled grimly.
There was a new lord in town—or, technically, a new earl—and he was going to make them regret their arrogance.
The gate loomed before them and as he had been warned, the crowd of fleeing people grew thicker the closer they got. Sturm’s column marched six abreast on the road and he ordered them to use the butts of their muskets on anyone who didn’t get out of the way fast enough.
What was wrong with the civilians anyway? Why didn’t they go to their homes and get out of the way of the army? He was coming to liberate them! Why were they clogging the streets like they thought he would shoot them down?
Another cannon boomed and this one cut into the crowd killing people—the damned Angies. He had to get people to those towers, but first he had to get into Hekt.
“Get out of the damned way!” he yelled, but it was doubtful if anyone heard him over the shouts and screams of the crowd. There was nothing to be done but keep pushing forward.
Captain Cobus Viser led his two companies through the streets of Hekt running into absolutely no opposition. His only problems at this time were keeping the crowds out of his path and finding his damn way. Why weren’t the roads straight? Why were they so narrow? Didn’t the city planners know they needed clear wide routes to move armies about in defense of the city?
He finally got so frustrated that he strode away from his column, grabbed a fourteen-year-old boy by the ear and pulled him out into the street with him. “Where is the damn bridge?” he shouted.
Rather than looked frightened the boy bubbled with excitement. “Are you really from Kriegsturm? Are you really going to kick the Angies back out of the city?”
Almost no other words could have made Viser as happy. This boy wasn’t old enough to have been alive when Kriegsturm lost Hekt and yet he was clearly thrilled that the army was back. There were loyal citizens here. Sturm had been right all along—pretending to the men that it was almost an accident they were at Hekt’s walls while all the while looking for excuses to bring the regiment closer and closer.
“Yes,” Viser told him. “But we will kick them a lot further if I can get to the bridge. Where is it?”
“Which one?” the boy asked, reminding Viser there were two.
“I don’t care!” Viser told him. “Just get me to the closest!”
The boy saluted. “Yes, sir! Can I join up afterward?”
“We’ll see,” Viser told him. “Now which way to the bridge?”
“You’ve come past it,” the boy explained. “It’s that way.” He pointed vaguely to the northwest. “But you can’t go straight. I can show you!”
“Let’s get moving!” Viser said.
Breathing hard, Lieutenant Bloyer led his pikemen up onto the Arc du Ceil, relieved to see that none of the enemy soldiers had reached it yet. He didn’t understand how that concern had even reached his head. The largest and grandest imperial army raised in many years had marched into Kriegsturm to reclaim Oosten Graanland. How was it possible that Kriegsturm had defeated it and was now invading Hekt?
He spoke to his sergeant. “Let’s get the bridge shut down so all of these civilians are out of the way. Then we can try and find some carts or wagons to barricade the east side so we can—”
“Too late, sir,” the sergeant said and pointed to the east where the crowd was screaming and shouting even more loudly than they had before. They also went from hurrying west across the bridge to running full out as a green-and-black column marched toward the eastern end of the Arc.
“We have to get over there,” the lieutenant said, but the sergeant put a hand on his arm.
“Let the people pass, sir! What’s important is that that army doesn’t get over here to this side. We’ll have reinforcements soon. There’s no need to rush.”
The sergeant made sense, except that the Krags didn’t seem to be listening to him. They were in a terrible rush, approaching in a column eight men across. They were musket men, which was a blessing because that meant that Bloyer’s platoon would have a solid chance to hold them back with their longer weapons once the Krags began their charge.
They stopped at the middle of the bridge which, because of the gentle arc gave them a solid view of Bloyer and his lack of defensive preparations.
The last civilians finally got past him and he quickly ordered his men to form a hedgerow at the western end of the bridge. Eight men across and six men deep, it was a formidable obstacle that should give the musket men pause even though they badly outnumbered him.
“Here comes another platoon,” the sergeant told him just moments before the first line of Krags opened fire.
Bloyer had never imagined anything like this. Like his men, the heretics had lined up eight across and their numbers went back as far as the eye could see. There had to be more than one company there. But after that first rank fired, it knelt and the second rank fired over their heads. Then it knelt and the third rank fired and his men broke and fled.
Ten seconds and Bloyer’s platoon shamed him even as it left twenty or more men dead at the entrance to the bridge.
The enemy didn’t immediately pursue him. Instead, they paused to reload—a task they were so proficient at that they completed it before Bloyer’s reinforcements arrived,
Then they started marching forward again even as the new platoon tried to set up where Bloyer’s had been.
The Krag commanding officer called another halt and once again volley after volley of fire shook the bridge and then there were no more Angevins but the two lieutenants and one sergeant left willing to fight them. All the rest of their men had either died or fled.
“I think we should retreat, sirs,” the sergeant told them. “The three of us cannot stop that.”
Reluctantly, knowing he was shaming his ancestors, Lieutenant Bloyer turned with the other two men, and fled.
Chapter Twenty-Two: Betrayal
Hekt, Disputed Territory
The Sturgeon Moon, Day 12, Year 1196
“Order!” Militia Captain Puck Baer shouted. “We must have order!”
“But they’re in the city!” another captain, Jari Caes, yelled. Unlike Baer, Caes had begun to panic. He obviously couldn’t face the prospect of leading his men against Kriegsturm muskets. “They say it’s the Butcher of Steil Pass leading them. His men chant his name like they’re proud of it. ‘Sturm Front! Sturm Front! Sturm Front!’”
Baer slapped Caes hard across the face. “Shut up and get control of yourself.”
He turned to the other men—each a captain of a militia in a different ward of the city. “We don’t have a lot of time,” Baer told them. “The Krags are in the city and unless we act now, they’ll be tearing our militias apart before lunchtime. Now, I’m going to be blunt with you. I have never liked the Angies, but if they’d held up their part of the bargain, I would have manned the walls as bravely as the rest of you to keep Kriegsturm out and protect our families.”
“What are you saying, Puck?” Faas Griffel asked.
“Exactly what you think I’m saying,” Baer said. “General Pom dropped his part of the bargain. He didn’t even shut the fucking gates as the Butcher of Steil Pass approached. And now he wants us to fight the Butcher and have muskets and cannon going off in our streets and the enemy raping our women and killing our children?”
“But what else can we do?” Jari Caes asked.
“I think it’s time to remember that this city has belonged to the Kingdom of Graanland for hundreds of years and that Graanland is part of the High Kingdom of Kriegsturm. I think we have to all become patriots to save our city and switch sides in this war.”
“We can’t do that,” Jacque DeRose said. He was the only militia captain who was a newcomer, and from Anjou at that.
Baer drew his pistol and shot DeRose in the chest.
Everyone stared at him as if he’d gone mad.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Baer reminded them. “If we want Kriegsturm to believe us, we have to take an action that will prove we’re loyal to them.”
“What kind of action,” Jari Caes asked. His voice still trembled, but his panic had given way to curiosity and hope.
“Here’s what I have in mind,” Baer told them.
General Lionel Pom left the Governor’s Mansion on horseback, desperate to get to his battalion at the Arc du Ciel while there was still a chance to turn defeat into victory. He couldn’t understand how this had happened to him. General Montague had had three regiments outside the city and he couldn’t get a warning to him to shut the gates? It made no sense at all. But fortunately, Pom was made of stronger fiber than Montague. He would put matters right again.
Ahead of Pom and his aide, someone pulled two wagons across the street, blocking it off as if they thought the enemy was already this deep into Hekt and they needed to set up a barricade.
“Move those wagons!” Pom shouted. “Move those wagons!”
“Right away, sir!” a familiar voice responded.
Pom turned to see one of his militia captains, Puck Baer, approaching him a pistol in his hand.
“What’s going on, Baer?” Pom growled. He never could bring himself to use a rank with a militia captain. “Why aren’t you and your men at the bridges fighting?”
“Because Monsieur General Pom,” Baer told him. “The enemy is right here.”
Pom watched in shock as Baer lifted his pistol and shot him in the chest. His armor was of no use whatsoever at this distance and the lead ball smashed its way directly into his heart. As he fell off his horse, he saw his aide bravely try to draw his pistol to avenge him, but more militiamen pulled him from his mount and then his screams abruptly stopped.
Baer knelt down beside him.
“Why?” Pom forced the word out of his dying lips.
“Scripture tells us that Wotan’s arrival on this world in the guise of Wode was preceded by a great storm.”
Pom’s eyes widened. “You…can’t…think…”
“I don’t know,” Baer admitted. “But is it a coincidence that Hekt has fallen to a man named Sturm?”
“What is going on here?” Mayor De Haan screamed the words more than he shouted them. “Has the entire world gone mad? There are heretic Krag forces in the city. They say they are led by the Butcher of Steil Pass. Where is our army? Where are our militias? Where are—Captain Baer! It’s about time you got here. I summoned you an hour ago! Where were you?”
“I apologize for my tardiness, monsieur mayor,” Baer said as he led a group of a dozen men with bayonets fixed to their muskets into the City Council Chamber. “I was with General Pom.”
“And what is General Pom doing about this disaster?” De Haan demanded.
“Well, nothing, sir,” Baer explained. “General Pom is dead.”
“Dead? How? What happened?”
Baer drew his pistol. “I shot him like this.”
He pulled the trigger and Mayor De Haan flew back onto the floor, a great red flower of blood blossoming on his chest.
To either side of Baer, his most trusted militiamen aimed their muskets and fired. Then they moved in with their bayonets to finish the job.
Baer watched with a quiet sense of satisfaction. There was no going back now. Anjou would never forgive the murder of General Pom and the City Council. He had committed the militias to Kriegsturm.
Epilogue: Liberation
Hekt
The Sturgeon Moon, Day 12, Year 1196
Sturm watched as the Hekt militia captain saluted him. “Major Sturm, sir, I am Captain Puck Baer. I and my militia have taken control of all the city gates and cannon tower and are prepared to turn them over to your men at your command. General Pom is dead and so is the City Council. I stand awaiting your orders.”
Sturm really wasn’t certain how he was supposed to react to this news. “How many men do you have under your command, captain?”
“Under my personal command?” Baer clarified, “three hundred and fifty men. “All told the militias number two or three thousand. Normally we are responsible for keeping law and order in the better parts of the city. In times of war, we fill in for the regular army on the wall and in the towers defending Hekt. That explains why it was so easy for us to take control of those spaces.” He offered a conspiratorial smile. “We were already in them.”
“Very good, captain,” Sturm said, because, again, what else could he say. “Why did you execute the general and the City Council? Why not simply arrest them?”
Baer frowned. “It was an unpleasant task,” he admitted, “but I needed to make a gesture that would prove to you that our commitment to Kriegsturm is sincere. By killing these important Angevin officials, we have made it impossible for us to switch back to support the empire in the future.”
Sturm nodded. They certainly had accomplished that. Anjou could not forgive the assassination of its officials.
“I hope you understand that I need to verify what you have done,” Sturm told him. “Assign a man to show us the bodies. Captain Viser, take your company and verify these deaths. In the meantime, I want to put men on the stores of powder, weapons and all the city gates.”
“The main stores of powder and weapons are at the Governor’s Mansion,” Baer explained. “That name makes it sound like a house, but it is really a fortress which, fortunately, was not prepared for my militiamen to turn on it. I assume you will want to make it your own headquarters until your superiors arrive.”
Sturm nodded, not bothering to mention that to the best of his knowledge, no superiors were coming.
“And if I may suggest, sir, we should raise the chains across the river to prevent the Angevins from invading by boat.”
“Excellent!” Sturm said. “Captain Baer, your superior knowledge of this city is going to be of great use to me. Until we get reinforcements, I’m going to be heavily dependent on you and your militia.”
“And when do you expect those reinforcements, sir?” Baer asked.
“Difficult to say,” Sturm told him with utter truthfulness. “We got a bit ahead of the main army there in these last couple of days, but make no mistake—I will hold this city until my superiors arrive. Come hell or high water, Hekt has been liberated! It belongs to the high kingdom again.”
An Excerpt from Steel Gray Eyes
The Blurb
Before he became the greatest knight in Winterhaven, Willem, the future Lord Tavistock was a seventeen-year-old half-orphan determined to claim his father's patrimony. The only thing standing in his way was every greedy and faithless man in the honor. The only support he could find was his two teachers, his naked sword, and a pair of Steel Gray Eyes. This is the story of how Willem set out on the road to become the most respected man in the Duchy of Winterhaven.
The Opening Pages of Steel Gray Eyes
Willem led his small party of horseman into Barrow at dusk on the penultimate leg of his long journey home. Word of his arrival had clearly preceded him as most of the little town’s inhabitants had come out to gawk at the young man as he passed. A scattering of men-at-arms were in the crowd as well, apparently as curious as the rest, but there was no sign of Sir Edric.
Willem nodded curt greetings to the few faces he remembered but stopped to talk with no one. He led his party straight to the town’s single inn and dismounted with the easy grace of an accomplished horseman. His actions were mirrored by all but one of his party. The final man hesitated, sitting uncomfortably in his seat, but not yet ready to get down and test his legs.
