Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1)

by Marc Alan Edelheit

  “Berry picking, sir,” Sergeant Blake admitted sourly, after a slight pause. “Seems it is berry season, and many of these farms grew berries.”

  “Berry picking?” Stiger growled with a deepening frown. The captain’s blood boiled at this lapse in discipline. Sure enough, one of the men emerged from the bushes carrying a handful of what appeared to be end-of-summer jayberries. The man was smiling happily at his rich bounty.

  “This is a march into hostile territory,” Stiger snapped at Blake, beside himself with irritation. “I will not lose men because they are berry picking!”

  “Yes sir,” Sergeant Blake said, casting his captain a careful look. Blake thought himself a tough man. He had survived and prospered in the harsh world of the legions. He had risen to the coveted position of sergeant, the highest position possible for the common-born. Blake had encountered many officers during his twenty years of service. One of those might have not cared enough to notice the men stepping off to hunt for berries. Captain Stiger had noticed. Sergeant Blake hid a smile. Despite his own personal distaste and distrust of the nobility, he found himself beginning to not only respect, but like his captain. “I will put a stop to it immediately, sir.”

  “Make sure they know not to wander off by themselves,” Stiger ordered. “Once we are in the forest, if they need to step off, they are to do so in pairs and notify their corporal. We need to hammer this habit into them now. Should the rebels prove competent, they will know this forest. We will not.”

  “Yes sir,” Blake acknowledged. Captain Stiger knew his job and if he said there was a real risk, the sergeant believed him.

  “In the forest, it will be extremely easy to become turned around. Losing a man or two because he gets himself lost is the same as losing one to the enemy. We will not be able to stop to look. Do you understand me, sergeant?”

  “I understand, sir,” the sergeant said seriously. “I will make it so the men understand, too.”

  Sergeant Blake hurried forward, calling for the corporals and sending a runner up to the front of the column to fetch Sergeant Ranl. The captain watched the sergeant for a moment, thinking furiously. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose men he would be unable to replace to such thoughtlessness.

  In short order, there were no more forays into the brush in search of berries. The sky was slowly beginning to darken with the arrival of dusk. Continuing to lead his horse, Stiger was left alone with his thoughts. The road climbed a gentle rise. Once at the summit, the Sentinel forest came into view. Like a veil drawn across the land, the boundary of the forest stretched out to the left and right as far as the eye could see. In the gathering dusk, the tree line looked more like a dark, foreboding wall of impenetrable darkness.

  Stiger stopped. Nomad nuzzled his shoulder as Stiger stared at the tree line. The Sentinel forest reminded him very much of Abath. The captain’s gut clenched as he felt his nerves wavering ever so slightly. Clamping down on the fear, Stiger started forward once more, leading his horse down the hill and toward the forest line. This time it will be different, the captain vowed silently, eying the forest. This time I will conquer you!

  One of Eli’s scouts, Legionary Marcus, met the company at the tree line. The road cut a path right into the forest. Stiger had since moved to the head of the column, more out of an effort to control his fears and memories than by setting an example.

  “Sir, the lieutenant sent me to guide you to a campsite he selected,” Marcus reported, saluting. “It has plenty of open space and a fresh stream with water, and even a few crawfish.”

  “Is the lieutenant waiting at the campsite?” Stiger asked.

  “Uh … no, sir,” Marcus replied. “He is scouting ahead.”

  “Lead on, then,” Stiger directed. He nodded for Ikely, who had just ridden up, to follow the scout. Stiger waited impatiently for the end of the column to come up. Once it did, he joined Sergeant Blake, who had once again stationed himself at the rear. As the column moved off into the outer edge of the forest, the sergeant made sure there were no stragglers.

  Stiger said nothing as he walked his horse into the forest. The forest smelled deeply of pine, moss and wet earth, dredging up memories the captain wished would remain buried. With each inevitable step forward, the canopy of leaves became thicker and made the early evening hours seem that much later.

  The campsite was a short fifteen-minute march from the tree line, ten minutes along the road and five following a narrow game trail. A stand of much older trees had created a leaf-covered floor, bereft of brush and undergrowth. It was a pleasant enough spot, Stiger decided, studying the large clearing with a good-sized stream bubbling through.

  Worn out from the heat of the day, the men fell out, some simply sitting down where they had stopped. Others made for the stream to refill their canteens. The men were allowed a few minutes of rest before beginning work on the camp.

  Stiger hoped that it would not rain that evening. The forest air was chilly, and with every passing hour would grow colder still. With the wagon train several miles behind, the men would be sleeping on their arms, without tents. Stiger looked around at his men. Those serving in the empire’s legions were accustomed to such hardship.

  “Marcus,” Stiger called to the scout, seeing him across the camp. The scout jogged over. Stiger expected Lan to send a messenger updating him as to the train’s progress. The campsite was pretty secluded, and it would prove difficult for the trooper to locate.

  “Would you find the wagon train and lead one of Lieutenant Lan’s troopers back to our camp, so they know where we are?”

  “Yes sir, I will,” the scout said cheerfully, saluting. Grabbing his kit where it rested against the base of a nearby tree, the scout jogged off in the direction of the road. Several legionaries offered the scout a wave or backslap as he headed out. Everyone liked Marcus.

  After a short break, work on the camp began. Had an entire legion been making the march, camp setup would have been very different. A legion would have carried their fortifications with them, each night constructing a temporary encampment, complete with dug trenches and fortified walls. There would be none of that for a simple company march, especially without the wagons on hand.

  Stiger was taking a risk by not fortifying his camp. He needed to move fast to catch the rebels unaware. Setting up a minimally-fortified camp would take at least two hours each evening and another two in the morning breaking it down, limiting the amount of time his men marched. The captain would rather spend that time on the move. He was relying heavily on Eli and the scouts to be his eyes and to keep the company from danger. In this, Stiger had complete confidence in his friend. Once Eli found evidence of enemy activity, Stiger would order more vigilant measures. Until then, a simple sentry and a picket system would do.

  The men worked rapidly to clear the camp of sticks and brush. Wood was gathered and a fire was started, pushing back the deepening darkness. Additional fires were built throughout the camp. Having brought along a couple of mules with supplies, Cook set about preparing an evening tea while the men were ordered to clean up and maintain their equipment. Their precooked rations would serve as the evening meal.

  Stiger spent time caring for Nomad, removing the saddle and carefully brushing him down. He made sure Nomad had some time watering at the stream, and left the horse securely tethered to a tree, happily munching on a bag of oats. A couple handfuls of hay, hauled in by the mules, had been tossed at the horse’s feet.

  The captain cleaned up at the stream, washing off the sweat. He rinsed his hair and face in the ice-cold water, changed his tunic, and carefully washed the one he had worn. Once clean, he hung it from a low-hanging tree limb near the spot where he had decided to bed down for the night. One of the sergeants had made sure the captain had his own fire, which crackled happily. Stiger set out his bedroll and stifled a yawn. They had traveled far today, and he was ready for sleep. However, there was still camp business to attend to. When the general camp work had been completed, Stiger order
ed the men to gather around the large central fire.

  “The forest we have entered is dense. Not only are there rebels, but there are also man-eating cats that roam these woods. It is a dangerous place, and should be respected.” Stiger gestured around at the dark woods. “If you wander off the road … trust me on this, it is extremely easy to get turned around. You will become lost. By the time anyone thinks to look for you, the company will be miles away. Worse, nobody will be coming back for you. We move and we move fast. It is that simple. Nothing can be allowed to slow us down.”

  Stiger paused to gather his thoughts, pacing a little as he did so. “Our scouts are out looking for the enemy. Consider also that it is possible, though unlikely, that rebels could be watching us, hoping for the chance to jump one of us. If they catch you alone … well, let’s just say that you don’t want them to catch you. Never go off by yourself. Understood?”

  “Yes sir,” the men shouted.

  Stiger looked at his men. The heat from the fire was hot enough to almost singe, but he paid it no mind. He said nothing for a minute. It was known that the rebels did terrible things to captured legionaries before they allowed their prisoners to die. The rebellion in the South was a fight without mercy or kindness.

  “Good work today,” he continued, softening his tone a bit. “You marched well. Tomorrow we rise early and do it all over again. The enemy has no idea we are coming. Speed will bring us victory.”

  “Company dismissed,” Sergeant Ranl hollered, taking his cue from the captain, who had nodded to him. Stiger stood for a moment, watching as his men moved off. Sergeant Blake approached with a slight trace of a grin.

  “Very inspiring, sir,” Sergeant Blake said drolly as the men departed. “It nearly brought a tear to me eye.”

  “Let us hope it saves a life or two,” Stiger replied heavily, feeling every ounce of the responsibility that rested upon his shoulders.

  “It might at that, sir,” Blake added, the grin slipping from his face. “There is always one who thinks he knows better, though.”

  Stiger frowned, but said nothing in reply. The sergeant was right, of course. Stiger looked him meaningfully in the eye and nodded. Breaking eye contact, he glanced toward the trail that led to the road. Lan’s update had not yet arrived. It had only been two hours since he had dispatched Marcus. The slow-moving train was miles back. Stiger knew there was nothing to be worried about … yet.

  Bidding the sergeant a good night, Stiger made his way to the tree, where he had set out his gear. His fire had burned low. He threw on two more logs and poked at it with a large stick to flare it up. He unbuckled his sword and placed it within easy reach. He sat down on his bedroll and leaned back against the tree. He could see Ikely with sergeant Ranl and the corporals across the camp, setting pickets and checking on the sentries.

  The lieutenant’s bedroll rested only a few feet away. The sergeants had ensured that the men had given the officers a little privacy. The nearest man was about twenty feet away. Stiger pulled his cloak out of his saddlebag and draped it across his legs. It promised to be a cold night. Looking up at the sky through the dense canopy of leaves, he hoped once again that the rain would hold off. Sleeping in the rain was a miserable experience, even if you had some tree cover. He closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the camp. It felt good to be on the march again, he decided, even if he was in a forest much like those in Abath. The captain was asleep within moments.

  ***

  The sergeants woke the camp before sunup. Cook had prepared a hot meal of mush, a tasteless oatmeal that the legionaries had become accustomed to. The company mules had carried in some basic cooking implements and supplies for him to use. After a chilly night spent sleeping on their arms, the hot meal, though plain, was more than welcome.

  The men were allotted thirty minutes to eat, clean up and pack up for the march. The sergeants eventually called for fall in, after which a quick count began. Stiger had ordered that at least four times a day, roll call be taken. The captain was doing all he could to keep from losing his men to the forest.

  “Third File all present and accounted for, Sergeant,” Corporal Durggen reported to Sergeant Blake after concluding his own count. The sergeant nodded and moved on to the next file. Stiger was standing off to the side, near Third File, patiently waiting for roll call to be completed.

  “You sorry sums of bitches better stay on that poor excuse for a road,” Corporal Durggen barked at his men. “Any of you need to wander off to pass water or the like had best check with me first. You then take a friend with you to hold it as you piss and then git right back. Only bears shit in the woods. You make me have to explain why you got lost and you will be plenty sorry. You got that?”

  “Yes, corporal,” the men of the Third File answered in unison.

  “Know that the gods gave me patience … but only so much,” the corporal added. A chuckle ran through Third File. The captain could tell the men liked and respected their corporal. It was a good sign for the future.

  “Now, how ‘bout that inspection,” the corporal continued. The corporal moved forward to look each man over. There was a little grumbling. That was also a good sign; legionaries always grumbled about something.

  The captain watched for a moment more before he turned away and walked over to his horse. He had saddled Nomad and packed his gear earlier. He gave Nomad a friendly pat on the neck as he untethered the horse and led him back.

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Ikely said as he approached, leading his own horse. “All being present and accounted for, the company is ready to begin the march on your word.”

  “Very well, Lieutenant,” Stiger responded. “You may begin the march.”

  “Company,” the lieutenant shouted, turning to face the men. The company was drawn up in a line of two abreast in the clearing, where they had spent the night. Several of the files were stacked up behind each other, as the clearing was not large enough for one complete line. “Right face!”

  The company as a whole pivoted to the right. Gods, Stiger thought, they look good. Is this the same company I inherited a few weeks back?

  “Fooorwaaard!” the lieutenant shouted. “Maaarch!”

  The column stepped off, with Marcus in the lead. The cheerful scout had returned late into the night with one of Lan’s troopers, bearing a report on the train’s progress. Lan had reported that there had been no problems so far with Arnold and his teamsters.

  Leading the men back to the road, Stiger saw Marcus disappear into the trees. Eli had trained his scouts well. They were exceptionally conditioned and motivated, seemingly tireless. Once back on the road, the scout slipped into a slow jog and disappeared up ahead, around a bend in the road. Marcus would be miles ahead of the column before mid-day.

  The captain waited patiently for the column to move by. Sandals crunched rhythmically in the soft forest bed. Sergeant Blake once again had elected to bring up the rear. Ranl was somewhere near the front with Ikely. Blake nodded to his captain, who began walking with him once the last file passed them by. Stiger walked his horse, working out the stiffness, a result of spending the night on the hard ground.

  “Lovely morning for a march, sir,” Blake offered cheerily as the two stepped from the woods onto the road. The morning had brightened considerably, though the sun had not risen high enough to break through the canopy of leaves. It was still chilly, which was a relief from the ever-present heat, rain and humidity that had plagued the region for the past few weeks.

  “Lovely morning for a march,” the sergeant repeated. Stiger spared the sergeant a glance, frowning. The captain was beginning to like the sergeant. The man was efficient, knew his business and showed good judgment. He was also fair and a good hand with the men. Stiger said nothing by way of reply and the two walked in silence together.

  The road could not be described as much more than a simple dirt track that cut through the forest. If the captain had not known better, he would have decided it was a long-abandoned logging path.
The road sometimes ran straight for a stretch, while other times meandered madly like a stream. It was just wide enough for a single wagon to pass. The trees that crowded in on the road were young and much smaller than those further back in the woods. A good amount of underbrush grew on both sides of the road, making it impossible to see further than a few feet into the woods. It looked as if within the last twenty years or so someone had cut back the tree line, only to have it once again begin encroaching closely on the road. The captain suspected that another cutting in the coming years would be required to keep the road open.

  As the march continued through the morning, with the rhythmic crunch of more than a hundred and fifty sandals, the underbrush slowly receded and grew thinner, as the trees became harder, taller and older. The canopy of leaves moved higher and became thicker with the change in trees.

  Stiger understood the pace was a hard one, made more so because the men were wearing their armor and carrying their shields and full kit. When on the march, legionaries always wore their armor. In hostile territory, a surprise attack could come at any moment. It was better to be prepared to meet an attack than not. It was a practical solution, which, when needed in those rare instances, proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the sound reasoning behind the practice.

  The men’s shields were secured in canvas weatherproof bags, which they had strapped to their backs. The shields would only be removed from their protective bags in the event of a battle or for maintenance purposes. The men purchased their own armor and kit, with the shields being their most expensive and valuable possession. Sources of personal pride, they were lovingly cared for.

  While marching, helmets were typically not worn, unless it was raining. In a rain shower, though heavy and uncomfortable, a helmet kept water off the head and out of the eyes. Under fair weather conditions, the helmet hung on the chest from the neck by a simple leather strap. This was much easier than wearing the heavy metal helmet day in and day out, which on the march, was literally a pain in the neck.