Kihlgun turned to the other Moscorians and said, “Go quickly. Explain to all of the southern Vechengschaft patrols that they must immediately go to Arbeitplatz. They know where it’s at. Tell them in no uncertain terms that they must do so at full-speed and not ask any questions. Everything appears to be in place. The war is about to truly begin!!”
Tristan was ecstatic when the news reached him that the Sodorfians had successfully escaped across the border, all except for Polunk, and that, as far as the Moscorians could tell, Polunk had never let the Sodorfians know that the escape had been rigged.
“Excellent!” Tristan said, after Feiklen brought him the news; “We must now set the trap. Get everything ready.” And that was exactly what Feiklen did. With almost the entire army—both Vechengschaft and Moscorians—working jointly on this single project they were making progress at incredible speed shipping thousands upon thousands of missiles to the northern side of a certain hill.
A hill that stood between Arbeitplatz and anyone traveling from the south.
Chapter 6
“FORWARD!!” the Sodorfian officers kept shouting as their men marched down into the valley. It was a beautiful, sunny day. Their armor and weapons gleamed in the sunlight like thousands of tiny mirrors as the Sodorfians marched down into the valley towards the large hill. They were arranged in crisp, neat rows, organized by the kind of weapon they used. In front were the pikemen. They were usually kept in front for defensive purposes. Behind them, bowmen and crossbowmen. Behind them, spearmen and swordsmen, and behind them, the cavalry. General Fuhdor liked to keep the cavalry in the back so that they would be hidden and could come around and flank the enemy. The majority of the troops had on leg armor, a breast plate, chain mail, and a helmet, and most of the cavalry were even more heavily armored. The majority wore helmets that covered their entire head, including their face, while the majority of the infantry’s helmets only covered the top, back, and sides of their head, with a thin piece coming down to protect their nose. The Hugars were the most heavily armored foot soldiers, covered from head to toe with glistening armor, not a square inch of exposed skin to be seen.
Their spirits were high as they plodded onward across the valley and towards the hill.
They were all now exactly in the trough of the valley.
All seemed well—they were great in numbers, great in spirit, and well-equipped with the best armor and weaponry Sodorf could provide. They were all hell-bent on personally killing at least one Dachwaldian, such was their hatred towards them. Then . . . seemingly out of nowhere . . . a few noticed a faint, yet powerful sound up ahead.
SHOOMM!! SHOOMM!! SHOOMM!! SHOOMM, SHOOMM, SHOOMM!!
“What in Uchinweld is that bloody sound?!” roared one of the Sodorfian regulars, his tough-guy voice not completely successful in covering up a tinge of fear. Looking up into the sky, he nearly wet himself. Hundreds upon hundreds of what appeared to be large, flaming arrows were roaring across the sky. Within seconds every soldier was starting to slow his pace and look upwards to see what all the excitement was about. They were as mesmerized as a gang of children watching a well-done fireworks show. Some started to feel afraid, but not overly so.
Not yet.
“KEEP MOVINGGGGG!!” shouted the Sodorfian officers, sensing the decrease in pace.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!!! Suddenly, explosions could be heard behind them at an ear-deafening volume with a rapidity rivaling an insane woodpecker pecking wildly against a tree with all its might and with a power that rivaled the most legendary of earthquakes. The ground shook beneath them, giving them all the sensation of a well-trained opponent trying to trip and throw them to the ground. Despite stern warnings from their officers to keep moving the hell forward, nearly everyone, including many of the officers themselves, couldn’t help but turn around and look at the devastation behind them. They saw an uninterrupted wall of fire over a hundred feet tall and at least several miles long. It roared and blazed, and the heat coming off it made them feel like they had stepped into a bath too hot for comfort.
“IT’S A TRAAAPPPPP!!” a soldier shouted out in terror.
“KEEP MOVING FORWARD, OR I’LL RUN YOU THROUGH!!” shouted an officer in a vain attempt to keep up morale and maintain discipline.
They were also beginning to feel fear.
“LET’S TAKE THE HILL BEFORE THEY LEARN HOW TO AIM!!” one of the officers yelled.
General Fuhdor himself was beginning to grow quite worried. He was at the head of the most heavily armored cavalry unit, which was located towards the back of the troops. He could feel the heat from the wall of fire as if he was standing right next to it, even though the flames were actually hundreds of yards behind him. Thinking it best to lead from the front, and perhaps the only way to even have a chance of restoring order, he shouted to his fellow knights, “CHAAARGE!!”
Not wanting to let their general down, and encouraged by his show of bravery, his cavalry unit charged with him towards the front of the troops. The troops, having been trained to accommodate this, immediately created empty columns through which the cavalry galloped forward at full speed. Then, suddenly, they all heard the dreaded sound again.
SHOOMM!! SHOOMM!! SHOOMM!! SHOOMM, SHOOMM, SHOOMM!! This time, the sound was no mystery, however. They knew what it was. The only question was where the celebration fireworks would land this time. Seconds later they saw more flaming missiles traveling through the air with unbelievable speed. Several Sodorfians soiled themselves on the spot—it looked as if this time the missiles weren’t going to miss.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!!! This time the missiles landed about a quarter of a mile in front of them. Before their very eyes they saw a wall of fire spring from the ground like a living, breathing organism and travel horizontally, both east and west, at the speed of an arrow shot from a longbow. Nearly all of them stopped dead in their tracks. The horrible truth quickly sank into the minds of even the most optimistic Sodorfians: the volleys of missiles had not missed by accident—had not missed at all. The Dachwaldians were entrapping them.
At that time none other than General Fuhdor secretly enrolled himself into the club of those soiling themselves. He cursed himself for being so rash and not sending a reconnoitering party ahead. Hoping against hope he could somehow avoid the consequences of this horrid lack of foresight, he shouted, “RETREAT EAST OR WEST—WHICHEVER IS CLOSEST!!!”
He didn’t have to repeat himself. The command was as necessary as instructing a fat kid to stuff himself with a cake sitting unguarded right in front of him. Although neither he nor his army had ever trained for such a scenario, everyone was already retreating wildly like antelope trying to evade a huge predator. They began stampeding either east or west, depending on which direction would get them away from the walls of fire quickest, and within seconds, chaos broke out. Men were being trampled and crushed to death underneath the boots of their panic-stricken comrades, and just when the officers were starting to regain some semblance of order, the dreaded sound came again.
SHOOMM!! SHOOMM!! SHOOMM!! SHOOMM, SHOOMM, SHOOMM!! Although few of them actually stopped running, most knew where these missiles were headed . . . and they weren’t mistaken. Within seconds the wooden missiles smashed right into the compact masses of fleeing soldiers like the business end of a hammer striking a pile of beetles. The impact alone of the missiles smashed many people instantly, and as the missiles exploded, hundreds of people anywhere near the vicinity of the blast were immediately ripped to shreds, in spite of their armor. Those that were not faced an even more terrifying fate: fire.
The naphtha with which the wooden missiles had been filled was spread far and wide by the explosions, just as it had been with the two walls of fire north and south of them. The fire immediately began roasting thousands upon thousands of Sodorfians. They screamed out in agony, but there was no hope. The heat from the fire grew so hot that many looked in horror as the very armor covering their bodies began to
melt. Of course, by the time that had happened most were soon unable to see anything else, as their eyes were boiled in their sockets by the flames.
General Fuhdor’s heart broke at the sight of this destruction. “IT’S ALL MY FAULT!!” he shouted out angrily, furious with himself for his stupidity and rashness. Seconds later, he saw coming towards him a huge flaming missile. Far from being terrified, he was relieved that he would not have to live much longer with his horrible shame and guilt. He only hoped his judgment in the next life would not be too harsh, given his lack of intentionality in causing this fiasco to befall his men. Seconds later the wooden missile landed only feet from him, and the explosion quickly sent him into the next life.
Chapter 7
Tristan felt anxious as he watched the nearly eighty-thousand-man army approach his own. He was greatly outnumbered, and he knew this battle would decide whether Dachwald would rise again or whether its growing flame would be extinguished before it could become a bonfire. Man-to-man his army, although it would likely inflict heavy casualties on the Sodorfians, would ultimately be defeated in open combat. After all, save his Moscorians, none of his troops had any actual combat experience. They didn’t know what it was like to receive a wound in battle and have to keep fighting. They didn’t know what it was like to cut a man’s head clean off and be drenched in blood and not pause to stare because that one second of staring would be enough time for an enemy from behind to cut them down to size, figuratively and literally.
It was for this reason, Tristan believed, that no matter how much training an army had done, no matter how good its equipment was, no matter how well conditioned it was, an army that hadn’t seen actual combat could never be fully counted on. This was why, as he watched the large mass of Sodorfians move closer and closer, he grew more and more nervous. He was risking a lot simply by having come to observe the battle. With the exception of General Sivingdon, he hadn’t been seen by anyone other than the Moscorians for centuries. Nonetheless, his dislike of being seen in public was far outweighed by his desire to ensure that this battle was a success. Although he did not introduce himself to the Dachwaldians, the deference that was shown to him by the most high-ranking Moscorian officers quickly let the Vechengschaft know that they were to follow suit. Furthermore, one of the chief things that the Moscorians had instilled in the Vechengschaft during their months of harsh, rigorous training was that they were on a need-to-know basis when it came to “Vechengschaft” higher-ups. Hence, they did not dare ask any questions about the mysterious, white-haired man that received such deference from their superiors. Tristan stayed at the top of the hill, ready to watch the whole battle unfold through a large telescope. He gave Feiklen the order to fire, and then Feiklen passed the command on to the soldiers on the hill.
Tristan watched with glee as the Sodorfians descended right into the middle of the valley. “You naïve fools!!” he exclaimed under his breath. His heart could not have been happier when he watched the huge walls of fire rise up from the ground. Through his telescope he could even see the look of dismay on General Fuhdor’s face. Once it was plain that the entire Sodorfian army had been nearly annihilated, he quickly shouted to Feiklen, “STOP FIRING! STOP FIRING!” Feiklen passed on the command, which was quickly obeyed. Curious as to what Tristan was planning, he asked, “Why stop firing—we’re so close to annihilating them?!”
“Exactly,” Tristan replied; “Perfect chance for our soldiers to get some real killing experience without risking defeat!”
Feiklen smiled; he now knew exactly what Tristan was thinking. “Tell me your orders,” Feiklen said.
“Have the men split up into two units: have one attack from the west, and one from the east. I see some Sodorfians who have escaped the flames and are running like mad to go around those two walls of fire and hightail it back to Sodorf!”
“Yes, master,” Feiklen responded.
Feiklen’s order was met with glee. The troops immediately broke up into two groups and began sprinting around the ends of the northern wall of fire so they could go inside and finish off everyone trying to escape. Some of the Sodorfians were completely uninjured. The fear they felt—not to mention the disappointment— upon seeing the thousands of fresh troops rushing towards them after having so narrowly escaped the carnage behind them was unimaginable.
Some broke down and began to sob like babies.
Some, however, embraced death, and decided to go down fighting—the Vechengschaft happy to accommodate them.
As the surviving Sodorfians rushed towards the oncoming Vechengschaft they were gravely disappointed once again—this time because they quickly found out that the Vechengschaft was still not going to play fair. As soon as the Sodorfians—at least those that still had enough spirit left to fight—came within thirty feet of the oncoming Dachwaldians, the Dachwaldians began sending spike-covered balls flying towards the Sodorfians.
WHACK! WHACK! The spike-covered balls slammed into the Sodorfians. Those hit in the head were either killed instantly or knocked unconscious. At this point even the bravest Sodorfians realized resistance was futile, so they began to flee with whatever energy they had left, which wasn’t much, but their adrenaline was making the most of it. The Vechengschaft succeeded in hitting many of the fleeing Sodorfians in the back or even in the head.
“AFTER THEM!!” one of the Vechengschaft officers shouted. The chase was on. It really wasn’t a fair chase, however, because the Vechengschaft was closing in from both sides. Seeing that close-quarter combat was now inevitable, their officers permitted them to use their swords. Within about twenty minutes, the few remaining Sodorfians were cut to pieces—in many cases, literally. After they had done that they went around to check all of the fallen Sodorfians. Anytime they were not completely sure a Sodorfian was dead, they decapitated him. They weren’t taking chances. Those that were alive and conscious and begging for mercy had their throats cut.
The battle was over: all 79,500 Sodorfians lay slaughtered in a field of carnage so horrific words could not do it justice. The Vechengschaft suffered ten casualties.
The war is all but won!!, Tristan thought, nearly shaking with joy and excitement, a feeling of surreality gripping him.
He knew that about fifteen miles south of their position were approximately six thousand Sodorfian soldiers, but he was now confident it wouldn’t be overly difficulty to slaughter them to a man. He outnumbered them nearly seven to one, and he was now convinced his troops were immensely superior to their opponents. He was not yet ready to reveal himself to the Vechengschaft, but he decided that it was now time for the Moscorians to reveal themselves. He knew full well that by this point the Vechengschaft would more or less worship them. He summoned Feiklen and General Sivingdon and explained all of this to them.
General Sivingdon summoned all of the Moscorians to the top of the hill and then ordered all of the Vechengschaft beneath them to listen. Addressing the large audience, he began, “Comrades, congratulations on VICTORY!!!”
“YEAHHH!!!” the soldiers shouted in triumph.
“This was a well-planned, well-executed slaughter of our most perfidious foe! Today, you have earned my trust fully and completely. I have something to tell you right now that only months ago I would not have been able to do. Why? Because I knew you weren’t ready to know. I knew you weren’t yet ready to BELIEVE. But now I know you are. Brave soldiers, the men beside me that you have come to admire over the last several months are not really part of a special Vechengschaft unit that I trained. They are my superiors. They are none other than . . . THE MOSCORIANS!!!”
The soldiers’ enthusiasm reached a frenzy. They shouted, “We should have known!! Such godlike fighting abilities could exist amongst no other!! No one can stop us now!!”
General Sivingdon waited a few minutes for the clapping and hollering to quiet down.
“It is proper that you rejoice at this wonderful revelation! And you are right: NO ONE CAN STOP US NOW!! Together we shall take Sodorf and attain
the greatness we once knew—the greatness the gods demand that we have!! It is the gods’ desire that we shall rule THE WORLD!!” General Sivingdon announced triumphantly.
“WHO CAN STOP US?” General Sivingdon asked.
“No one!”
“WHO CAN STOP US?!”
“NO ONE!!”
“I can’t hear you!! WHO . . . CAN . . . STOP . . . USSSSSS?!!!!”
“NOOOO OOOOONE!!!!!”
The majority of Sodorf’s army had been slaughtered. Dachwald was stronger than it had been for centuries. Only four thousand green, unsuspecting Sodorfian regulars and two thousand Hugars stood between forty thousand militant, fanatical, bloodthirsty, well-trained, well-armed Dachwaldians and the Sodorfian border. Sodorf was about to enter her darkest days.
Chapter 8
Boommm . . . .
Boommm . . . .
“Captain Ochsendorg, do you hear that sound?” asked Colonel Osinduhr.
“Yes, I do, in fact! It sounds like some kind of artillery, which isn’t good because General Fuhdor didn’t have artillery with him.”
“Exactly,” Colonel Osinduhr replied, frowning. Exactly what I suspected. I tried to convince that hothead not to just go barreling northward thinking he was invincible, but did he listen to me, a mere colonel? No!!! Now what has that reckless fool gotten himself into? And what do I do? I am supposed to stay here and watch the rear flank? It sounds like he has walked into a perfect ambush. There’s no telling what weapons of mayhem and destruction those savage Dachwaldians have come up with now!
Rise of Dachwald (Boxed Set, Books 1 through 2) Page 28