03 - Call to Arms (20 page)

The two men nodded.

“Good, because there’s more. I’m putting you both on warning. If anything
happens to either of you now, even if one of you dies mysteriously in his sleep,
I’m going to assume the other man killed him. And I’ll hang the survivor. So,
congratulations, you are both now responsible for each others’ lives.”

Bohlen turned to look at the men holding Dieter and Krug.

“All right, release them. And give them back their swords. I won’t ask the
two of you to shake hands and pretend everything is dandy. But remember my
words. I consider both your lives a small price to pay if that’s what it takes
to keep discipline in the regiment. Bear that in mind. Now, get back to sleep,
all of you.”

With that, Sergeant Bohlen turned away and headed back to his sleeping place.
Krug glowered at Dieter for a moment. Then, he turned away himself, Febel
trailing after him like a faithful dog. Soon, the rest of the men had dispersed,
leaving Dieter standing with Gerhardt, Rieger and Hoist.

“I wasn’t lying,” Dieter said quietly. “When I came upon him, Krug was trying
to kill Kuranski.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Gerhardt said. His face was grim. “Before, when I told
you to stay away from Krug, I didn’t envision him doing something like this.
Don’t get me wrong—he’s always been a bastard. Normally you make exceptions
for a man’s flaws when you are in the same regiment together. But I never
thought he’d go so far.”

“It was lucky you came on him when you did,” Hoist said. “Otherwise, Kuranski
would be murdered and no one would be any the wiser. That’s the thing to
remember. You did good here, Dieter.”

“Still, I would take the sergeant’s words to heart,” Rieger added. “Bohlen is
not the kind to make idle threats. Make sure you stay away from Krug. The three
of us will watch your back, so you needn’t worry about Krug or one of his
cronies sticking a knife in it.”

“But what about justice?” Dieter asked. “Krug tried to murder a comrade. Are
you telling me he just gets away with it?”

The three men looked at each other uneasily. Eventually, it was Gerhardt that
answered.

“For now he does. It is not a perfect world, Dieter Lanz. Sometimes, it is
beyond our powers to see that evil men are punished. We are soldiers, not kings
or lawmakers. Sometimes, it is best to let sleeping dogs lie. You do your duty.
And you hope for the best. As for justice, that is not within our reach.”
Gerhardt shrugged. “Soldiers must see to soldiering, Dieter Lanz. Leave justice
for the gods.”

“Well, it looks quiet enough,” Hoist said. “Although I suppose there’s only
one way to know for sure.”

He was crouched beside the log of a fallen tree alongside Dieter and Rieger.
Ahead of them lay a water mill, nestled cunningly among the trees so it was all
but invisible from the forest trail that ran by the side of it. Having spotted
the place while they scouted ahead of the rest of the regiment, the three men
had immediately crept toward it for a closer look.

In accordance with its isolated position in the forest, the mill was
fortified against attack. It was surrounded by a high wall on all sides. The
deep and fast-flowing stream that fed the mill’s waterwheel crossed the wall
courtesy of a tunnel beneath it that entered underneath the western section of
the wall and emerged from under the east. The only entrance past the wall was
through a set of impressive wooden gates, fashioned from thick timber planks and
held together with iron bands and nails. The windows of the mill building itself
that were visible from over the wall were covered in wooden shutters, while
there were a series of murder holes, designed to allow missile fire against a
besieging enemy without exposing the archer to counter-fire, set near the top of
the exterior wall.

From the outside, the mill appeared to be deserted. In the quarter of an hour
that Dieter and the others had stood watching it, there had been no sign of
movement from inside.

“It’d be a tough nut to crack,” Hoist said. “Look at those iron spikes at the
top. You can bet there’ll be sharp stones and blades set into the top of the
wall to make it harder to climb.”

“Hopefully, we won’t have to,” Rieger said. He cast a quick look at the
forest around them. “We should pull back, tell Sergeant Bohlen what we’ve found.
It’s up to him what our next move will be. The place looks deserted, but who
knows? It’s locked up tighter than a merchant’s strongbox. Even if the mill is
empty, we could find it’s a hell of task to get in there.”

“Hallooo!” Gerhardt called out for the fifth time. “Is anyone there? We are
Hochland troops! There’s nothing to be scared of!”

He was standing in front of the mill’s gates. After Dieter and the others had
made their report, Sergeant Bohlen had decided the mill needed further
investigation. He had ordered the men of the regiment to take up positions
surrounding the mill, ready to fight if the situation should turn unexpectedly
violent.

“Nothing,” Gerhardt said, once he returned to the place where the sergeant
was waiting, beneath the branches of an old, shady oak. “Either they’re deaf or
there’s nobody in there. The gate is barred from the inside, but that means
nothing. The last man to leave could have locked the bar, then dropped down over
the wall to exit the place.”

“Could there be greenskins in there?” Bohlen asked. “Or other ambushers?”

“I wouldn’t think so,” Gerhardt said. “I made myself a decent target standing
out in the front of the gates like that. I can’t imagine any orc or goblin
possessing the self-control not to take a shot at me. Or beastmen either, for
that matter. Of course, there could be someone inside, biding their time.
There’s only one way we’d find out.”

“Hmm, there could be food in there,” Bohlen said, considering the matter
aloud. “And blankets, cook-ware, salt, other supplies. Then, there’s the fact
that the place is fortified. If we got inside, we could spend the night there.
It would be nice to spend a night in relative comfort for once, in a place of
safety. Good for morale as well.”

“And then, there’s the question of Kuranski,” Gerhardt added. “His condition
is worse. The wound has developed gangrene. Right now, I’d say his only chance
is if someone amputates his leg, removing the source of infection. It would
easier to do that in a place where there is a table, lanterns, sheets for
bandages, perhaps even some medical supplies.”

“A messy business, that. Not for the squeamish. Say we did spend the night in
the mill, who would do the operation? You?”

Gerhardt nodded. His face was grim.

“You are sure you can manage it?” Bohlen asked. “You know what you’re doing?”

“I’ve never amputated a man’s leg before, if that’s what you’re asking. But
I’ve assisted in the medical tent when a surgeon was doing one. I’ve seen how
it’s done.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.
But I don’t see how there’s any other choice. Even then, Kuranski’s chances are
slim.”

“Very well,” Bohlen nodded slowly, considering the issue a few seconds
longer. “In that case, the decision is not a difficult one. See if you can find
the young blood—Lanz—and bring him to me. If we’re going to break into a
mill, it makes sense to use a soldier who used to live in one.”

“It’s either climb over the wall, or break down the gates,” Dieter said once
the sergeant had told him what he wanted. “If this place is anything like the
mill I grew up in—and from all appearances, it is—then those are the two
best ways into it.”

“Breaking down the gates is no good,” the sergeant said. “We might not be
able to lock them again afterwards, while we’re spending the night. What about
the mill stream? Couldn’t a man wade through the tunnel under the wall, holding
his breath when it gets deep?”

“It wouldn’t work,” Dieter told him. “There’ll be an iron grille part way
through the tunnel to block that kind of thing. There may even be hooks set into
the grille and the walls to catch any swimmers and make sure they drown. These
mills in the wilds are always well fortified against raiders. They have to be,
or the miller and his family would never survive.”

“All right,” Bohlen said. “We will make ourselves a makeshift rope and
grapnel. We can use it to send a man over the wall. Does that meet with your
approval, Dieter Lanz?”

“It does… I mean, it should work, sergeant.”

“Good. I am glad you are happy with it. Especially because you are the one
who will be doing the climbing.”

It was not a difficult climb, even given the jury-rigged nature of the rope
and grapnel he had been given to help him. Still, Dieter found he was nervous at
the thought he could be about to climb over the wall and come face-to-face with
the enemy.

Granted, there was not much chance of that. At least, that was what he told
himself as he made ready to launch his one-man assault against the mill’s outer
wall. Hoist and Rieger were beside him, ready to offer moral support and an
initial physical lift, as he stood at the foot of the wall considering his
options for ascent.

“It’s not that tall, really,” Hoist said. “I’d estimate it as no more than
two and half times, maybe three times, the height of a man—and not a
particularly tall man, either. Frankly, he was a bit of a short arse, whoever he
was. And it could be worse. It’s not like you’re climbing a siege ladder under
fire, while the enemy pours a rain of stones and boiling oil down on your head.
In comparison, this should be easy.”

“Be careful when you get to the top,” Rieger said beside him. “Don’t put your
hand on the top of the wall to pull yourself up until you’ve checked it’s clear.
When a wall like this is built, the builders will often leave sharp stones, old
rusty blades, caltrops, broken glass and pottery shards set into the top—
anything sharp. And make sure you stay alert for loose stones. The wall may not
be that tall, but it’s big enough for the fall to break your skull if you lose
your footing. And remember, if you encounter any trouble, don’t worry about
opening the gates. Get out of there as quickly as possible and any way you can.”

In place of real climbing equipment, Dieter was forced to make do with a
rough approximation of a rope that had been created by tearing off pieces of
cloth from his comrades’ uniforms, twisting the pieces around each other and
knotting them together. A short section of stout tree branch, tied to the end of
the makeshift rope, served duty as a grapnel.

Twirling the tree branch above his head from the end of the rope with one
hand while he held the slack with the other, Dieter held his breath and threw
the grapnel. He struck gold with the first cast, the wooden branch wedging
itself between two of the iron spikes at the top of the wall. Tugging on the
rope to make sure it was set firmly in position, Dieter took another breath and
started climbing.

“Good luck,” Rieger said, pushing on Dieter’s backside to help him up the
wall. “Sigmar go with you.”

“Aye, good luck,” Hoist echoed his companion as he pushed Dieter with him.
“See you when you open the gates.”

As a child Dieter had loved climbing trees, so the wall presented no great
barrier. Reaching the summit, he saw Rieger had been right to warn him: sharp
pieces of broken glass and old iron nails were dotted among the small stones at
the top of the wall. Grabbing hold of the base of the iron spikes on either side
of him, he carefully levered himself up onto the wall and looked cautiously
around him.

The courtyard that separated the mill house from the fortified wall around it
was deserted. Satisfied that there was no sign of life anywhere in the parts of
the mill in front of him, Dieter gestured the all clear to Hoist and Rieger
below him. Leaving the rope still in place, he eased himself onto the narrow
rampart that ran around the inner circumference of the wall. Finding the rampart
to be little more than some planking shored up with packed earth intended to
give extra strength to the wall, Dieter looked about him and saw a wooden ladder
leading down from the rampart to the courtyard. Scanning his surroundings one
more time to reassure himself, he followed the ladder downwards.

Reaching the courtyard floor, he felt relieved to see there was no horde of
goblins charging out to meet him. If anything, the mill seemed eerily quiet.

Hurrying to the gates, he removed the wooden bar holding them closed and
pulled the gates open.

“You took your time, country boy. I was starting to think you must have
fallen and broken your stupid neck.”

Dieter was unpleasantly surprised to see Krug’s sneering face waiting for him
when he opened the gates. Krug stood at the head of a small scouting party of
Scarlets. Despite Sergeant Bohlen’s instructions to the both of them on the
previous night, it was clear Krug maintained nothing but hatred for Dieter.

“Get out of the way, country boy.” Krug sneered as the others in the scouting
party pushed past Dieter. “Or were you waiting for some kind of reward just
because you managed to climb a wall? A pat on the back, perhaps? A celebratory
cheer?”

Still sneering, Krug rejoined the rest of the scouting party as they fanned
out across the courtyard. With swords drawn and shields at the ready in case of
trouble, they moved to investigate the mill house and its outbuildings.

“Everything clear?” Dieter heard Gerhardt’s voice behind him as he stood in
the shadow of the gates and watched the scouting party go about their duties.

Turning, Dieter saw Gerhardt, Rieger and Hoist approaching the open gates at
the head of a mixed group of Scarlets and handgunners.

“The scouts are still checking everything,” Dieter told them. “But, so far,
the place looks empty.”

“Good,” Gerhardt nodded. “Sergeant Bohlen will stay back with the main body
of the regiment until we are certain the coast is clear. If and when we are,
he’ll bring the rest of the men forward and we’ll start sweeping the place for
food and supplies. As long as the mill still seems defensible once we’ve scouted
it, we’ll be spending the night here.”