The archer camp was well away from the town, so that any errant arrow wouldn’t cause injuries, and they had only gotten glimpses of them maneuvering. But when the bowmen showed up they proved that while they might not be able to handle long marches, they sure could maneuver pretty. The first exercise was simple; the line infantry was to take and hold a narrow gap that existed only in the imagination of the officers, while the archers were to set up and prepare to engage the enemy whenever they appeared.
The Blood Lords marched forward to their positions and assumed their open battle formation. Herzer knew that, technically, they should also have light armed skirmishers out in front. But since they didn’t have enough bodies for them, they had to make play like they were out there. When the line forces were in place the archers were called forward and took up a position on a slight rise on their rear and to the right. They were permitted to watch the archers move into position and it was impressive. There was one archer to a team of three men. The archer carried his bow and a long stake. The two other men carried arrow barrels and large wooden “shields” that were taller than a man. The archer teams moved into position and dropped their stakes and shields. By the time the actual archer had his bow out of the case, the other two had set up the shield with the stake passed through it so that any enemy assaulting their position would run into a hedgehog of defenses. The archers then stepped to the side of the shield and prepared to fire.
The archers opened up first on the notional enemy and the air was filled with arrows. The first went out nearly two hundred meters and landed in a small patch that was the designated “enemy” force. Herzer was glad he didn’t have to wade through the fire even armored as he was. But the Blood Lord’s response would have been to form a “tortoise” with their shields over their heads. He wondered how effective that really would be with the rain of arrows crashing down. The archers were keeping up a steady fire and the other two members of their team existed just to feed the archer. When they took short breaks the assistant archers would provide water and even stools for the archer, meanwhile setting out arrows on the ground so that the archer only had to reach down to pick up his ammunition.
Finally the enemy was determined to be within pilum range and the Blood Lords rushed forward on command, one-two-hurl and cast them at the notional enemy. Then they took up their defensive positions and proceeded to hack at the imaginary enemy. Herzer felt a bit of a burke on the front lines, hacking at air, but as the time went on he realized that it was a test. From time to time the whole line would be given the command to bash and they would throw their shields forward into the imaginary enemy and step forward as if the enemy had fallen back. He wasn’t sure it would work out that way, but what the hell, it was the drill.
The archers were still firing and, remembering how hard it was to fire one of those bows for even fifteen minutes, Herzer knew that they had been in some serious training. When he took the opportunity to look around, though, he saw that some of the archers had switched off with their assistants and were massaging their arms. A few of them were even juggling. After getting back to the business at hand he decided that it made sense; the continuous motion of firing had to be bad for their shoulders and another motion like that would reduce the likelihood of repetitive motion injuries.
Finally, after what seemed like all day, they were called to a halt and sent on the “chase” portion of the exercise. They recovered their packs and started marching.
The Blood Lords quickly left the archers behind. Somewhere back there was supposedly a pack train. That was left behind as well. In just their armor, with their standard three days of rations, they started off after a murthering great simulated battle on the march of their lives. Gunny had taken to a horse and led a string of others behind him. Late on the afternoon of the first day, Kane and a couple of riders turned up with a few more horses and a string of pack mules. And that was all they took as they headed out on what came to be called “The Long March.”
Herzer wasn’t too sure where they were going or what they were doing. There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to the march. They headed first down the valley to the head of Massan Mountain then across the base, up the east valley about half way, over the front ridge by one pass and back by another.
Half the time they were making the trails that they took and the crossing of the front ridge was especially hard. The trace they followed was apparently an old road bed but much of it had washed away into the stream that it followed. They cut down trees, reinforced turns, made temporary bridges and all of it with the Gunny driving them to go faster, faster, FASTER!
They finally made it across, though and headed back in the general direction of Raven’s Mill only to cross back into the valley along an old railroad cut and then back down the east valley. They headed back up towards the top of Massan Mountain through the west valley but then turned and crossed it instead, another nightmarish march, nearly a thousand meters into the air on tracks the horses and mules nearly couldn’t make and near the top of the mountain they ran into a tearing thunderstorm that had the horses going wild from sheets of lighting that rippled the trees around them. They then came down into the east valley and headed back south away from Raven’s Mill.
The march had taken nearly three weeks. They had met up with pack trains twice. All the horses and mules had been switched out for ones that weren’t broken down, but still they kept marching far into the night and generally were up before dawn. They marched up and down the west valley, into the Iron Hills, back towards and past Raven’s Mill and then finally all the way down the valley to its base and ended up just short of the south end of Massan Mountain, exhausted, out of food, their leather clothes and heavy boots in tatters around them. They had marched through summer heat and pouring thunderstorms, through fields and forests as old as the fall of nations, sleeping in their cloaks and up to march the next day before the sun was up. Then, as the afternoon wore on, they came to a clearing in sight of the high mountain above them.
Everyone was there, though, with the exception of a few casualties they had had along the way who had been shipped back to Raven’s Mill. Of the forty-four that had started on the trek from hell, forty made it to the clearing. And there, the Gunny had them fall out.
Herzer, at the word, simply collapsed on the ground. They were still tens of kilometers from Raven’s Mill and he was sure they would be up in the morning and off on another march. For once he didn’t even bother to post sentries. He would, before dark, but not right now. Right now, it was all he could do to keep his eyes open.
He saw the Gunny walk over to an old stone monument on one side of the clearing and pick something up from the ground. After a moment he shook his head and walked back to where the triari was lying on the ground.
“Up, Herzer,” he said, quietly.
Herzer thought for a moment he wasn’t going to be able to but he got his arms out of his pack and used it to push himself to his feet.
“Yang, Locke, Stahl, first watch. Deann, you’ve got first sergeant of the guard.”
“Ah, fisk,” she said, staggering to her feet. “Up, you guys.”
“Get up and moving around the rest of you,” Herzer said, walking over to the monument. “Dig in, Gunny?”
“No,” the sergeant said. “Just rest your weary bones. Do your maintenance, get chow started; we’re not going anywhere until tomorrow morning.”