by RW Krpoun
“Yes, Bridget released her back to the scout section. A night march and dawn attack, then?”
“Might as well, it’s tried but true. Besides, these Goblins off the Blasted Plains haven't had to deal with Imperial punitive raids the way their cousins on the Northern Wastes have; I bet they don’t practice good camp security. Anyhow, get the Company mustered and in ranks, two day’s rations, full water issue, double issue of missile weapons, you know the drill. Oh, and two sacks per Badger, too, there ought to be plenty of loot. We’ll take Kuhler, and leave the carts and drivers back here.”
“That reminds me, our five recruits are begging to be sworn in and see some fighting.”
“How are they coming along?”
“They’ve nearly two months of being drilled by Kroh a couple hours a day. They ought to be ready in a couple weeks.”
“Good. Tell them we’ll swear them into the ranks in three week’s time, or perhaps a little less as events warrant. I’m off to brief Starr and her section; plan to march within the hour. I know everyone’s tired, but the sooner we strike, the better our chances.”
The Scout Section slipped out of camp thirty minutes later, charged with ensuring that the path the Badgers would take was clear of any enemy patrols. Starr wasn’t too worried about making contact; the Hand forces would be tired after their pursuit, especially the Eyade and Goblins who would have ridden five or six times the distance between Apartia and Salcie in the last couple days as they looped and circled along the line of retreat.
The Company’s main body followed, marching in battle lines, ready to form square or charge, depending upon the size of the force they should meet, but their night-march was uneventful.
It was two hours past midnight when the Scout Section rejoined the main body in a copse of trees. Durek ordered a rest break and the officers gathered to discuss the situation. “The Goblin camp is a mile to the southeast,” Starr reported, keeping her voice low. “As reported, it’s in a farmstead, and the base for a Lardina. We haven't scouted it too closely just yet, but it doesn't look too active; I imagine a high proportion of the Goblins are either drunk or asleep. The farmstead is done in the ‘box’ style, and I believe it was abandoned before the Goblins got here, although it’s hard to say.”
“All right, good work, Corporal,” Durek nodded. “We’ll rest here, four members of each line platoon on guard at all times. Two hours and we’ll move out. How close can the main body get without being seen, Starr?”
“Close, say four hundred yards without much trouble,” the short Badger drew on a handy shield with a piece of chalk.
“Good. How close can your section get?”
“Right up to the buildings, and I could get inside without much problem.”
“Could we get a platoon up to the buildings using Bridget’s silence spells?”
“If the scouts are in place first to deal with sentries, yes sir.”
“Blue Platoon would like the honor,” Janna interjected. “Give me a wizard as well as Bridget, and we’ll sort the whole matter out post-haste.”
The Captain frowned into the darkness, thinking. “How many Goblins do you think are in there, Starr?”
“Hard to say without getting close; maybe half the Lardina. Say three hundred at a minimum.”
“What about the wolves?” Henri asked. “I know dread wolves aren't all that keen at smelling, but there will be a bunch of them, more than the Goblins, what with remounts.”
“By this point in the campaign there won’t be any remounts,” Janna shook her head. “Goblins don’t have as many mounts as horse cavalry will have, and any cavalry unit loses more mounts than riders.”
“In any case, that won’t be a problem,” Starr shrugged. “The Goblins have driven flocks of sheep and goats into the pens around the south end of the Steading, then released their mounts to feed. The entire area stinks of blood and death, and any dread wolf which isn’t gorged and sleeping will have trouble smelling anything but the blood. Certainly there are no mounted patrols or prowling wolves watching the perimeter.”
“All right,” Durek stroked his beard, a decision made. “The Scout Section will move in and get as close to the steading as it can, and the main body will advance twenty minutes later, moving to this point here in the creek bed. Blue Platoon, supported by Bridget and a wizard will advance to join the scouts at the steading walls; as dawn arrives Scout Section and Blue Platoon will infiltrate as deeply into the steading as they can. Once the fight starts the main body will support the attack. Axel, where do you want to be, with the main body or with Blue Platoon? Henri will be with the other force.”
The Lieutenant was silent for several seconds. “The main body,” he said reluctantly. “Much as I would rather be with Blue Platoon,” everyone present knew that it was Bridget, and not Blue Platoon he was referring to, “I’m still not up to sword-play, and it could very easily get down to close work before the main body takes the pressure off. Besides, no one likes Henri anyway.”
That got a chuckle. “Fine, I’ll go with Blue Platoon, then,” Durek nodded. “No point in both of us being with the main body, you can command an attack as well as I.” That wasn’t true, especially as Axel had spent over five years out of the field, but the wizard recognized and appreciated the vote of confidence. “Any questions? All right, let’s cover the details and then get some rest; two hours isn’t much, but it’s better than no sleep at all.”
Chapter Thirteen
The sky to the east was beginning to gray as the Scout Section slipped to the northeast corner of the farmstead, having crossed noiselessly over the trampled fields of leeks and garden vegetables that surrounded the complex. The farmstead was laid out in the ‘box’ style that was popular in both the Border Realms and the Eisenalder Empire consisting of a two-story rectangular farm house set with the long sides facing north and south, the farm house making up the south wall of the ‘box’. An angled plank wall connected the farmhouse to the barn, which was the west side of the ‘box’, the barn door opening into the large yard. To the east of the house (and likewise connected by a fence) was the farm’s forge, workshop, and worker’s barracks; to the north were coops for chickens and other fowl, and a row of brick storage silos for storing the harvested crops. There were gates in the center of the north plank wall, and in both angled sections of wall at the southeast and southwest corners, and stock pens for goats and sheep were built against the outer south wall of the compound.
The concept behind the ‘box’ style farmstead was that it turned a farm into a miniature fort; in time of trouble, the livestock could be driven into the central yard and the gates barred while every adult member of the steading manned the defenses. In a properly laid out steading the walls connecting the buildings would be of mortared field stone with an archer’s catwalk, there would be a timber tower or a watch platform on the tallest building, and every window on the outer walls would either be an arrow slit or barred and shuttered. This steading had used the ‘box’ style out of tradition rather than function: the windows were of the ordinary sort, there was no watch tower, and the connecting walls were made of planks nailed to a timber framework barely six feet tall.
All the windows stood open, as did the gates, and the Goblins had kicked gaps in the plank walls to facilitate coming and going; there were several hundred gorged dread wolves sleeping in and around the pens to the south, and the surrounding garden and leek field was churned up by the passage of many feet. If any sentries had been posted they had long since quit the duty for bed, and better still, the chickens and geese were gone, either carried off by the fleeing farmers or killed and eaten by the Goblins or their mounts; the fowl made the best sentries anyone could have required.
Starr gestured for Milo to flash the signal back to the main body and eased up to a gap in the fence as she waited for Silver Platoon to arrive. After having looked over the situation, especially the lack of precautions on the part of the Goblins, Durek had modified his plan: Bridget would
use her spells (which could dampen sound within an area centered upon an item) to allow the entire Company to be brought up to the walls of the Steading; it would mean draining the advocate’s abilities for spell-use, including Healing, but the Company had two other Healers so the Captain was willing to take the risk.
She would have liked to slip in through the gap and scout around, but Durek’s orders were clear: no one entered the steading until the platoons were in position; when the line troops were ready to storm the farm, the scouts would enter and get as far into the compound as they could.
Silver Platoon trudged silently out of the darkness, accompanied by Bridget and Doctor Kuhler; the latter two would remain outside to treat wounded. Axel and Gold Platoon were heading for the open north gate, while Durek took Blue Platoon, Henri, and the unit standard to the southeast gate.
The eastern stars were dimming when a hooded lantern flashed three times from Durek’s group. One of Silver Platoon repeated the signal to Gold Platoon, who flashed back twice; again, Silver Platoon relayed the signal to Durek, who acknowledged the signal with a single flash. All three platoons were in position and ready; Arian tapped Starr on the shoulder and turned to supervise the positioning of his platoon’s fire-pots.
While they had waited Starr had arranged her section to either side of the hole in the fence and briefed them as best she could with hand signals and softly whispered commands. They had discussed it in detail before moving up to the steading, of course, but there were always too many variables and possibilities to cover, and never enough time to prepare. Adding in the fact that they had been marching and fighting every day for the last four days on a couple hours of sleep each night gave the little Threll pause as well, but she was veteran enough to know that fatigue would vanish when the fight started; luck, the Eight, and their training would have to cover the rest.
Snow Leopard in hand, its blade blackened, the little Badger slipped through the opening like a shadow and paused just inside, her night-keen eyes busy. She stood in a twelve-foot-wide alcove created by the fence behind her, the north wall of the barn to her right, and a brick storehouse to her left, an alcove she shared with three sleeping Goblin sentries. More than just sleeping, she realized as her nose picked out the sharp taint of ale over the wolf-stench of the Goblins, spotting tankards and three empty buckets nearby. She eased forward into the yard as her section slipped in behind her; while she studied the scene before her she heard the sentries die behind her, knifed in their drunken sleep.
The square yard enclosed by the ‘box’ was not the usual cobblestones to be found in the Empire, but rather was bare dirt much rutted by carts and feet, the kitchen-house jutting into the area from the center of the farm house boasting the only paving in sight, an encircling walkway of river-stone. Not that much of the yard’s dirt could be seen, however, for the ground was covered with sleeping Goblins, two hundred or more of the short humanoids sprawled wherever the urge to sleep had struck them. Nearly all were using their saddles for pillows, with arms and armor to hand. What ground that wasn’t occupied by sleepers was littered with wine bottles, buckets of ale, barrels of ale, furniture that had been dragged from the farm house, and chest, boxes, and cases standing open, their contents (mostly clothes) strewn everywhere. There were no papers, however, as the Goblins had obviously been ordered by their masters in the Hand to safeguard and turn over all written documents they captured. Fires had been made here and there and the stench of burnt feathers and roasted meat marked the elimination of what fowl the farmer had left behind, as well as several goats and sheep. A man had been nailed to the side of the forge with kitchen knives and used for archery practice; from the remnants of his clothing Starr guessed him to have been a civilian.
Starr studied the yard and the gaping openings of the surrounding buildings, which undoubtedly held still more Goblins, and plotted; her orders were three-fold: firstly, position her scouts in such a position that they could support the main body’s assault while preserving a line of retreat for themselves. Secondly, she was to try and locate where the bulk of the captives were held, and thirdly, she should try and locate the primary storage of loot. Obviously only the first task would be possible. The barn’s hay loft was open; putting her archers up there would give them an unobstructed view of the area, and by kicking out a few boards she and her section could jump out onto the ground outside not far from where Bridget and Doctor Kuhler would be waiting.
A tap on her shoulder drew her attention; behind her Duna had donned a Goblin’s cloak and helm, and was holding a lance in front of her. “Let me try,” the girl whispered, her teeth flashing whitely against her dark skin. She pulled the hood forward on the helm to where it hid her hair. “I’m the same height as a Goblin.”
That stung, as at five feet one inch Starr was exactly the same height, but she had to admit that in the dark the helm and cloak should let the girl pass a cursory glance, which was about all she would encounter in the yard. Duna had slopped the dregs from the ale-buckets over the hem of the cloak, which would help hide her own scent, along with the wolf-stench of the cloak itself. The little Corporal studied the yard for a moment, wrestling with the wisdom of the plan, and secretly longing to try it herself. But she was the section leader, and could not leave her people until they were in position, if then. Duna, however, could pursue the second and third tasks assigned to the section.
“All right,” the Lanthrell breathed. “Go look into the buildings across the way, and the kitchen; don’t go inside unless there’s a really good reason, use your head. When the fight starts, go over the fence and dump the Goblin gear, circle around to Bridget.” Starr hesitated, worried because Duna had been very upset at missing the battle at Apartia and that campaign stud. “Be very, very, very careful.”
Duna kissed the back of her own left hand in reply and pulled the cloak closed before slipping out into the yard, staggering a bit as she made her way across the open area, pausing by one fire-place to scoop out a mug-full of coals.
Milo passed Starr a Goblin cloak, and had another draped over his own shoulders; the two slipped along the barn’s wall to the wide main doors, the four remaining scouts staying behind in the shadows, one leaning back out the gap to brief Arian on the conditions within the steading. Inside the barn the two pressed themselves against the nearest wall and looked about; although Milo could see only vague shapes Starr could make out the general details. It was a barn in the conventional mold, with the front third devoted to storage and the back two-thirds lined with stalls; a heavy plank ladder led from the center of the barn to the hay loft. Sixty or so Goblins slept in the straw-filled stalls, leaving the main area of the barn empty. Starr put Milo’s hands on her shoulders and led him to the ladder which was stoutly built and not inclined to creak. The loft held only three Goblins as it had only small amounts of hay; strong cider had taken all three into a deep sleep, a depth that was radically increased as Milo clamped a cloak across each’s face in turn while Starr stabbed them to death.
While Milo took up position in the open hay loft window Starr slipped back down the ladder with his cloak and three belonging to the dead Goblins, returning in a moment with the rest of her section. She posted Jephson Plumer at the head of the ladder to keep any Goblins from coming up from below, and set the rest of her section to provide covering fire for the attack.
Duna’s taking the coals gave the little Threll an idea; while her section bound straw to arrows she huddled in a corner under two cloaks, using flint and steel to light a candle-stub, which she used to light three more, leaving the candles hidden under Goblin-cloaks propped over lances.
Clutching her hot mug of coals and the Goblin lance (she had a torch shoved under the back of her belt, as did every scout) in her left hand, and a Goblin knife in her right under the cloak, Duna made her way across the yard, trying to stagger-waddle like a half-drunk wolf-rider, her heart pounding like a berserk smith’s hammer. The first grayness of dawn was just touching the sky over the eastern
buildings, but there was still enough star light for her to pick her way across the yard without stepping on any of the Goblins. Twice wolf-riders and stirred and looked up at her, one muttering something in Ganjon, the sing-song Goblin language; she just grunted and kept moving. She kept reminding herself that she was dressed like a Goblin, she smelled like a Goblin, and in the dark she could pass as a Goblin. While any other Badger would be caught out by their pale skin her own was dark enough to let her not stand out, at least to a casual glance at night. In daylight or at close range she would be as noticeable as Kroh trying to pass himself off as Lady Eithne.
There were a couple Goblins sleeping in the forge, which had been carefully stripped of all tools: the Goblins were inexpert in their iron-working, and the Plains-dwellers had scant access to ores; metal-working tools and any metal which could be melted down and re-worked would be high on the list of desired loot for the wolf-riders, and would be amongst the first items ported out to the Plains. The workshop was likewise stripped of all tools and materials; a keg stood in the center of the shop, dimly illuminated by the guttering stubs of a dozen fine bee’s wax candles thrust onto the rafters, and the floor was littered with the unconscious bodies of a score of Goblin officers while the sharp odor of good brandy and stale vomit hung in the air. Duna hesitated at the door for a moment, eying the helpless Hets (lieutenants) and Serann (captains) as she hefted her Goblin knife, but finally tore herself away: her tasks lay elsewhere.
The workers’ barracks was intended to house the extra hands need during the planting and harvest seasons, and as storage or extra workshop space the rest of the time; the south, right-most for Duna, of the two doorways was open, and through it the dark Badger could see faint flickering light and hear Goblins’ speaking and the sounds of someone whimpering through a gag. Duna hesitated for several seconds near the door; looking across the yard she saw movement in the open hayloft and nodded to herself: the rest of the section was in position. She looked back at the open door; they had real light in there, and it would only take a single glance for a wide-awake Goblin to see she was an imposter.