Interim

            The violence of the wind shook the plane with the ferocity of a lion tearing at a freshly caught animal, ripping the flesh from bone. Sergeant Gunther White gripped to the bucket seat of the U-34 Golden Hawk with an engrossed propensity that hadn’t overcome him since the first time they got into one of the new fangled contraptions.

“I hope we don’t get blown off course,” he said under his breath.

            It had been four months since the end of training, and only one since they’d left the mainland for the Island. Only two weeks ago they had received orders that they would be making their first combat jump. Little did any of them know they were going to spark the War over the Islands with Burgandy. It didn’t seem logical to start a war over some insignificant Islands, but Gunther was a soldier and not a politician.

“I do what I’m told, and don’t ask questions.” He’d once said before going into training.

            Long ago he’d found that looking out the window was a bad idea, for it gave him more of a fear of heights than he already had. He’d gone into the new wing of the army, the Chutenfentari because he wanted to challenge himself to get over his fear of heights. He hadn’t known it would only make it worse.

            Turbulence continually began to shake the aircraft violently, and he offered a silent prayer that it wouldn’t fall apart on them before they reached the Drop zone. Black puffs of smoke could be seen out the opposite windows, and all the men knew their worst fear had arrived. The deadly Anti-Aircraft guns on Grebst were firing away, causing the transports to sway this way and that to dodge the incoming projectiles.

“I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN SICK BACK AT THE BASE!” Private Gorman yelled over the noise.

“YEAH, YOU SHOULD HAVE!” Private Grazinski said with a smile.

            Everyone laughed at the quip and then returned back to their own thoughts. Just then the plane broke in half. One of the deadly “Beringer 73’s” had opened a gash in the plane that looked as if someone had haphazardly taken an axe and chopped through it. Shrapnel tore through the plane and spewed lead and metal haphazardly. Grazinski had been hit and killed, and so had five other men. The plane began to spiral downwards, leaving the men little choice but to jump. Gunther leapt from the gash left in the belly of the plane and then pulled the ripcord on his reserve chute, and it opened just in time.

            As he had been trained he counted the seconds before the chute opened. When he reached three the chute opened and he felt the shock of the canopy unfurling overhead, checking his swift descent; but not enough to make it a slow one. He could feel himself plummeting to earth, much faster and closer than he had expected. The wind began to toss him around like a ragdoll, not caring that he was going to hit ground any second. Between the bursts of wind tossing him back and forth he could see two distinct features of the land; one was that there was a farm below him, one filled with corn and wheat fields. The other thing that stuck out was that quite close to the farm was a lake, and of course with the wrong cross-wind, he could be blown into the lake and possibly drown.

“I guess I’ll see in a second!” he said to himself, tensing for the familiar feeling of hitting the ground.

            Solid earth contacted his feet and he slammed into the ground hard. The breath was taken from his body, and it took a minute for him to regain his stunned composure. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his head, thankful his helmet had stayed on. In the dark sky he could see the forms of some of his fellow troopers falling to the ground, though they were farther away than he was. From what he could tell, he was the only one around for quite some distance. Far off he could see the silhouette of the plane going down in flames.

            He bowed his head in reverence, and then hastily gathered his thoughts. His leg roll had snapped when the blast of wind hit him, and so he would have to find it first.

“Thank God I still have my rifle!” Gunther said.

            All Chutenfentari made it a practice to sling their rifles around their necks and over their chests so they would not only be able to access the weapon quickly once land had been reached, but it also prevented the rifle from tearing from the body or ripping off after the initial prop blast. Gunther grabbed the parachute and stuffed it into a corner of the field and he then dashed along the edge of the woods that bordered the wheat field he’d seen while he was airborne.

            It felt comfortable for him to hold the K-21 in his hands, the smoothness of the stock and the cold feel of the steel barrel. He could hear the sounds of the farm grow nearer, and then he saw what he dreaded the most. The lights went on in the house. Each man in the outfit had been briefed about the farms in the area they were to drop into. They were told that this area was a very agricultural area, and that farms were prevalent, but also run by the Burgandy Government.

            This meant that troops were stationed on the farms and as a part of their training they would work on maintaining and running the farm. This was one of those farms. Quickly Gunther dove for the underbrush that was on his left and faced the house, fully ready to unleash a hail of bullets on the coming enemy. He could hear shouting in the distance above the wind that nearly drowned them out, and could see that they were all dressed for bed, looking up at the sky to see the planes going overhead. It didn’t seem that they knew he was there, but he wanted to make sure that they didn’t follow him before he was ready to leave.

            He lay motionless on the ground as they ran around, not too close to his spot, and so he felt safe, for now. As he watched them run around down there he almost felt like laughing at the comical spectacle before him. All the tiny soldiers confused at the magnificent events going on around them that they weren’t even sure were happening. But what happened next was something not even he knew was possible.

            One of the U-34’s flew over and men began to disembark from it, most likely confused thinking that this was their intended drop zone. Gunther knew that if he didn’t do something the men descending would be shot to pieces by the alert garrison below. Using his right hand he searched for the small bi-pod he’d specially purchased for defensive fighting, while still keeping an eye on the soldiers running around near the farmhouse. He let out a sigh of relief as he pulled it from his top pocket and he clipped it on the front of his rifle.

            Flipping off the safety, while leaving the dial on “semi-automatic” he aimed at the farthest man on the right he slowly squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against his shoulder as he watched the man go down, flailing his arms in the air while dropping his rifle. Quickly he aimed at the next soldier and fired, dropping him fast as well. The adrenaline rush that many of the instructors had said he would feel came like a torrent, raising his senses to a new high. Knowing it would be useless to leave the rifle on semi-auto he flipped the dial to fully-automatic and then let several bursts go towards the many figures that were streaming towards his position.

            One by one they dropped all pitching face forward in mid stride, desperate to kill this “ghost” that was wreaking havoc among them. He threw one final burst into the chest of an oncoming soldier, not more than fifty feet from him, stopping him dead in his tracks. In dramatic fashion the soldier dropped to his knees, rifle still clutched in one hand, eyes glazed over. He just seemed to stay in that position, on his knees almost in a silent prayer. Slowly he fell over, dead.

            Just as all the enemy soldiers had begun running toward Gunther had the first Troopers hit the ground safely. It looked like all fifteen of the men had dropped in orderly fashion, and from what Gunther had seen before unleashing the hail of bullets only minutes before, the plane that had been transported them looked like it was undamaged by the flak that was destroying the integrity of the mission.

            Gunther was breathing heavy, the rush had left him. Reality came slammed home, and changed his perspective on the moment. The dead Burgandy soldier in front of him made him stare and wonder. Wonder who he was, if he had a family, why he was even here. Shaking off the feeling of remorse, he got up and jogged into the open where he saw the squad that had dropped was gathering.

“Nice shooting Sergeant.” A lieutenant said to him, “What outfit are you with?”

            When men in the Chutenfentari asked “What outfit are you with” back in ’39, they wanted to know what Battalion you were with (or what Company if you had the leisure of being dropped in the correct place at the right time.) Since the Chutenfentari were an experimental outfit, they didn’t have more than a Regiment in action at the outbreak of the Delta War.

Gunther gathered his thoughts and swiftly replied, “1^st Platoon, D Company, 1^st Battalion sir.”

“First Battalion eh?” the lieutenant said thoughtfully, “Well you’re a long way from home son. This here’s 3^rd Platoon, A Company of the Second Battalion.”

            Gunther was shocked. He knew that their departure was premature, but he hadn’t thought they were that far from their objective. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any of the men from his platoon since he’d landed.

“Can I tag along with you until I can find a way to hook up with my outfit?” Gunther asked.

“Why not?” the Lieutenant asked, “we can use an extra hand; alright everyone, here’s the situation. This farmhouse could still be infested with enemy soldiers, so I want each of you to pair up and then search the house, the Barn and the barracks. Any soldiers that fire at you, you fire back. But I don’t want anyone to be trigger happy and shoot an unarmed soldier that tries to surrender. Is that clear?”

            There was a resounding “Yes Sir!” and everyone broke into pairs. Since Gunther was the sixteenth man, he paired up with a Private Yoller. They sprinted in a half-crouched manner over to the barn and then braced themselves up against the door frame, not ready to burst through the front door unannounced. Gunther signaled that he was going to kick in the door and that Yoller should be ready to open fire if need be.

            Slowly he stepped back and then gave the door a resounding kick, sending it flying into the barracks with a loud crack. Shouts resonated from within the barn, which turned out to be the barracks, and Yoller froze for just a moment. Gunther could hear a shot come from within the barracks and he turned back to see to his dismay that Yoller was dead where he stood. A bullet hole now resided in his forehead, blood beginning to ooze from the fresh wound. He collapsed in a heap, and Gunther stared for only a moment.

            Snapping back to reality he turned to the task at hand. He pressed himself against the stone wall just to the right of the door frame, rifle at the ready. Taking one of the grenades on his jumpsuit he pulled the pin and then hurled it around the corner into the dark. Surprised shouts began to manifest as soon as the soldiers inside knew that they weren’t in a favorable position, and there was loud crashing and banging as he knew many of them were trying to escape before the grenade went off.

            A loud explosion followed by mass amounts of smoke billowed from the open door, and Gunther took advantage of it. Spinning into the doorway he lay down a devastating burst from his K-21, bullets slapping into the bodies of helpless soldiers rendered incapacitated by the blast. Intuitively he rolled back just as one of the soldier’s had come to his senses and grabbed a rifle to return his fire. Groans could be heard echoing from inside the barracks. Rapid fire began to echo all around him and it was at that very moment that Gunther wished he’d never volunteered for this war at all.

Ah, I couldn't keep you guessing THAT long. It's Theynore here, with some (albiet forced) updates on my progress. I will admit, though, it is exciting; I am co-authoring a new book with another author here on HSB (names and the name of the book or any information will not be disclosed soon) and it's going well. I am picking up the pen again now that I have FINALLY finished my Junior year. As always, life hit me full force and pretty much butchered my school so even though I passed *cross your fingers, my last class is still in the balance* it was not up to my standards, and I was appalled at the turnout. I will be putting out much more work now and should have no problems finishing work, editing mine and the works of others and dabbling with new ideas. The latest was an idea I got today when I was at Borders (a bookstoor in town) for a series of books called The Island Chronicles. The basic details is that it is set in the realm I created *the one with Jordään in it* around the time of 1860. This series is a side adventure with some characters not in the original Chronicles that I wanted to dabble with. The Bohemians have claimed that some of the islands to the South-West of them were old territories owned by Greater Bohemia in the first Century, and demand their return from the Kotoan Government immediately. Of course the staunch old-style government refuses and war breaks out. The Bohemian Army Generals believe that the fight will be small and that Koto is so behind the times that all the force they will bring to bear will be sticks and swords. Little do they realize that the Kotoan Army is a battle-hardened foe, just waiting behind thick jungle defenses and mountain strongholds to destroy their enemy. The bitter truth of the matter is realized during the first minutes of the landing near Ichoro-Sobo, the little island village bearing the brunt of the first wave, where the 1/7 King's Own Cavaliers (1 represents what number unit they are, 7 represents out of how many, in this case the first battalion of seven) are struck down under intense cannon and rifle fire from the entrenched garrison. Even though they eventually captured the beach and gained three kilo-meters of territory before the day was done, they had lost their commanding officer, Lt. Col. Saanders *he was killed just on the outskirts of Ichoro-Sobo* and nearly sixty-nine percent casualties to the enemy. Book 2, Iron Mountain, continues the struggle for Ichoro-Sobo *this was not only the name for the village, but the Island it was built on* Mount Kurisancho is critical to the campaign for both sides because it has a commanding view over the other two islands. Another reason is because Koto has placed heavy artillery *3 inch naval guns* on top of the mountain in fortified positions and is reeking havoc upon Bohemian troops, especially those attempting an assault upon Fort Ichoro-Sobo *on the most northern island in the three island group* Casualties mount as both sides grapple for the mountain hold. Five days of bitter fighting conclude in a draw, yet it is a marginal victory for the Kotoans. The final book in the series is Red Bay, also, this is the final battle for Ichoro-Sobo, Mount Kurisancho, and all three Islands. During the lull, the Kotoans re-enforced their garrison with 12 fresh Battalions straight from Kagoshima; but the Bohemians have done this same thing, bringing a full division to bear upon the Kotoans. The naval guns have not been taken out and this leaves them full reign to take out any approaching ships in sight. The generals of Bohemia decide to make a determined assault on the beaches below Mount Kurisancho, with devastating losses on both sides. By the end of the day the fresh division has become so bloodied and battered that it can no longer be considered a fighting force, and is withdrawn to the northern end of the island to await re-inforcements. I look forward to all of my projects with enthusiasm and hope to hear comments and questions from all of you soon. Arivaderchi!

~Theynore

Well Hey-LOOOOOOOO all! This is Theynore here, and amazingly I haven't posted on here in nye four-no, maybe even five months! AAAAUGH!!!! That hunting trip took longer than I thought! Hmmm, come to think of it Bagging over three hundred spiders does take some time...Anywhoo, according to the new rules I must post and so post I will, a short story I wrote back in November for the PHC contest, but I didn't send it in because by the time I had it finished I hadn't had time to edit it, and I wasn't really sure if they would let me put it in a compelation of other short stories I plan on doing, so I didn't send it in. The only other eyes that have viewed it are the fair eyes of my sister Justyne (unless I did infact post it and forgot) so, here goes and I hope you all like it. Let me know what I can do to improve it if it needs improving.

~Theynore B.

            The rain slapped against the window pain of that old broken down house in the middle of nowhere. Jan looked out and gazed at the expanse before him. The thick grass and wooded hills looked so peaceful and calm in this rain and comparative silence. But Jan knew differently. Out there was not just a hill with trees; it was infested with the Germans which had so stubbornly resisted any allied advance in the past month. Of course he would do his duty at this outpost with his squad, there was no other choice. In such desolation as he had seen he wondered why he had joined to fight in the first place.

            His answer to his own questions always came back the same. “I did it to fight for the Freedom of Poland, and the Western World,” he would always say, “but then why do I feel so sick and terrible about it in these peaceful lulls?” He felt the extremes pull him to the extent that not many people would feel in a lifetime. There was the roar and din of battle on one side and the serene calm on the other. At times these tranquil moments seemed nerve-wracking. He clutched his Mauser close as he looked for signs that the enemy was advancing.

            Only twice in the last two days had the enemy tried to recapture this house on a hill. It was only partly important, but if the enemy could hold onto a strongpoint at the base of the hill and deny them the chance to take the whole hill, then they would. But Jan was not ready to let them just sweep over them like a tide at the sea shore. His comrades and he would fight for this piece of stone with every fiber of their bodies and die if need be before they let these Nazi conquerors have one more foot of ground.

            Jan wiped some of the sweat off his brow and looked harder out the window. Then he saw it. It was a flash of gray, but he would know it anywhere. It came from just behind a rise, not over 200 yards away. He brought the field glasses that were around his neck to his eyes. “There’s a Kraut if I ever saw one.” He muttered. He raised his rifle up and looked through the scope. He found the silhouette of a helmet and gave a smirk of satisfaction. He began to squeeze the trigger, but just as it was about to go off, he heard the distinct whistle every soldier knew by this time.

            He jerked the rifle back through the window and dove for cover as he yelled, “Mortars! Get down!” The rest of the squad heard and instinctively got under cover, or went for the small basement of the house. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The rounds exploded outside the house and Jan instinctively hugged the floor to make himself as small a target as he possibly could. The rounds drew nearer to the house, and Jan decided that it would be better to try for the cellar than to be blown to bits before he could stop the advance. Vonkowski and Bernard were on the opposite sides of him, and he thought about bringing them with him, but they were protected well enough, so he just stood and made a dash for the cellar.

            On his way down he tripped over something on the stairs and fell headlong to the bottom. It was not far, and Jan was thankful for that. He picked himself up and went over to Rudolf and Adam who were on the Machine gun. “You two alright?” he asked. They gave a nod of approval and went back to looking out the small window they were posted at. Jan was very thankful that this basement had a small window in the far right corner. They had a clear field of fire and would see the Germans coming as soon as they stopped this barrage. Every attack had started this way and Jan was confident that they would be able to stop this one too.

            The three replacements they received before heading out were cowering in the corner. He was considering that he should talk some sense into them, but he backed off. Instead, he walked over to another window, one that was slightly larger on the same wall ten feet down and he peered out of it. He couldn’t see a thing, except the shadows of the mortar rounds coming in. “They seem to be overshooting the house,” Jan said to himself. Just then one struck the roof of the house. It shook it violently and then stopped. Dust came down from the floor above, and Jan ran up to see if anyone was hurt. Both Bernard and Vonkoski were fine, and so he went back to his post by the window.

            “No medical aid if anyone gets it now,” he said to himself. He set his rifle out the window and peered through the scope. “Much better!” Jan remarked under his breath. He had a full view of three Germans in the crater just out at over 150 yards. Gray filled his scope and he placed his finger on the trigger. “Nothing will stop me now!” he said. The squeeze took only mere seconds and the rifle bucked in his hands and against his shoulder. The figure dropped as he chambered another round. He brought it up again and saw the other two remaining figures look around. He pulled another shot off and dropped the one to the right. Before he could get a shot at the last one he ran for cover.

            “Darn! Missed the last one!” Jan said chambering a round for the next time. The gray figure appeared again, but to Jan’s displeasure he brought a Machine gun team with him. “Down! Everybody Down!” Jan yelled. They all hit the floor, except Rudolf and Adam, who started firing on the German team before they could get set up. Jan could here the soldiers shouting commands, and he realized that they were calling for direct mortar support. He knew that if he didn’t take charge and act soon the whole house would be only one big pile of rubble. He walked over to Aleksander, one of the new recruits and said, “Give me your Thompson. I need it.” Much as Aleksander wanted to protest he gave it to him.

            Jan gave him the Mauser he was using and grabbed two clips and a grenade off Aleksander’s field uniform and headed up the stairs. He met Vonkowski and Bernard as he crouched by the door. “I need you two to cover me,” Jan said, “I am going to try and take out the mortars. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, or you see me get cut down, lay down heavy fire on all the points you think the Germans are in and withdraw from this house, got it?” They both nodded and Bernard went down the stairs to tell the others what was going on.

            Jan went out the door and sat down close to the corner of the building he was going to go out. He knew it was dangerous, but he needed to collect himself before proceeding on this suicide mission. He had never been much of a religious man, but now he needed God more than ever. “Oh Lord, you know me, and you know my heart,” Jan began, “I ask that you forgive me, and that you give me the strength to carry out this mission, if only to lay down my life to protect these brave men who are fighting along side me. Amen.”

            He got up and peered around the corner. He saw the Machine gun up and firing and he knew it was his chance. He pulled up the sub machinegun and fired three short bursts. Jan took off running, zig zagging his way to the first shell hole he saw for cover. The Germans were yelling and he thought they might be turning the Machinegun on him. The newly formed mud splattered around him and his suspicions were confirmed.  He was relieved when the shell hole appeared and he dove headfirst into it. The mud kicked up over the rim and he could see back to the house. “Fire!” he yelled.

            Every gun in that house opened up on the command, and Jan was quite frankly surprised they could here him above the din. The Machinegun redirected its fire, and he knew it was his only chance. He crossed his heart and exhaled three short times. He jumped and ran for the next hole, fifty yards away. The Germans began yelling again, and they were intent on getting him. “Fire on that filthy Pole you…” but Jan could not here the words. He brought the gun to his hip and fired at the Germans getting into position. He saw one go down hard, and the other just fell into position. Before he could think about how it would feel to be shot, the shell hole came up and he dove again.

            To Jan’s great surprise and displeasure there was about an inch of water collected in this shell-hole. His whole front was now wet, but he didn’t have time to really think about that. He was now only twenty five yards from the nest, and from what he could tell they were frantic, and the gibberish he caught they were out of grenades. “When life gives you lemons…” Jan said as he pulled one of the frag grenades from his shirt. He yanked the pin and let off of the safety and let it cook for three seconds. He tossed it and hunkered to just about eye-level of the crater to watch the events. The explosion happened just as he planned and the Germans flew backwards in the air and landed with loud thuds.

From his study of some of the German field manuals they always put the mortars slightly into the banks of hills about a hundred yards behind the front lines. He reached a curve in the trench, and peeked around the other side. There were some Germans creeping cautiously forward, it looked like they were only armed with Mausers, so they wouldn’t be too much of a problem, if Jan fired first. He could here them muttering to each other and they were coming closer. He jumped out and yelled, “POLAND FOREVER!” and fired a burst into the group. There was about five of them, and they all went down hard. He jogged to the group and couldn’t hear any breathing or gasping for breath. He saw that the first had about four potato mashers on his belt, and deciding that these were better than the zero he had, he grabbed them and stuffed them in his own belt.

            He ran to the next corner and peaked through the little dip to the right of the turnpike. He could see helmets, and running as they were busy doing something Jan couldn’t see. He ducked down and peaked around the corner. He couldn’t see any Germans down that way, so he decided to reload. He removed the clip, put it into one of the many pockets he had and slammed a fresh one home, cocking the bolt and chambering a fresh round. He crept up to the dip and crawled towards the Germans. He heard a yell and instinctively ducked. A loud, “THUNK!” resounded and Jan picked his head up.

            He saw it, there before him. The mortars, both of them lined up so perfectly! There were only four men manning them, and at the moment they were busy. Jan smiled, and took two of the potato mashers from his belt. It would take a little skill, but Jan felt he could pull the stunt off. The mortar ammunition sat close to him, and the Mortar team was only about five yards away from it. He would have to toss one grenade onto the ammo, and the other just farther enough to take out the teams. He pulled the pins and took one grenade in each hand. The execution was beautiful, and almost like it came out of a textbook. He dropped below into the trench and waited.

            Both grenades went off, and the huge explosion that happened after the second grenade went off was a clear signal that the ammo had clearly gone off. Jan popped up and jumped onto the elevated ground, expecting the team to be alive and well awaiting to salutation. But he only found the limp bodies lying next to the mortars. “Perfect!” He smiled as he ran to the mortars. He grabbed the other grenades and pulled the pins, putting them down the barrels of the mortars. He ran and leaped into the trench as the first grenade went off. After the second explosion he looked down the trench to see if anyone was running to him.

            To his dismay there was, and so he ran back through the trench, hoping that he would outrun them and get back to the house. He heard yelling and knew they had spotted him. The distance was closing; he could see the machinegun in the distance. He leapt over the bank and tore for the house. He could hear the soldiers shouting, but he did not care. The next minute fire pierced his leg and he went down. He was only ten yards from the house. The Germans had reached the machinegun and were firing fast.

            Jan closed his eyes and waited for the bullets to slap into his body. Then he felt a jerk as if he was being pulled. He wondered if he was going to heaven, but then he opened his eyes and saw Aleksander pulling him back towards the house. They made it around the house just as the bullets reached them. There were three of the others around back as well, with a door for a makeshift stretcher. “No!” Jan yelled, “You guys get out of here! I’ll hold them off.”

            Now it was Aleksander’s turn, “We are not leaving you behind!” The rest of the squad evacuated the house and Aleksander, Vonkowski, Bernard and Rudolf took up the door with their sergeant on it. The rest of them put such a heavy fire on the Germans that they were forced to stay under cover, and they made it safely back down the hill. At dark, two boats came over and got the squad back to safety. Jan had made it and he thanked God that he was fortunate to save the lives of his friends. Fortunately for Jan, the bullet he received was only minor and he returned to duty later. He received the Krzy¿ Pami¹tkowy Monte Cassino as did his comerades on that hill. No one would forget his service that day.

This is an excerpt of a book that ThrillAuthor is currently writing. Please do not copy it in any form or fashion. All rights reserved.

           Werner saw what had happened and was in shock at the dead in front of him. He noticed one of the archers in the bushes and stood up and started to say to Milkov, “Behind y…” he never got a chance to finish his sentence. An arrow pierced his heart. He grasped his chest and fell to the right onto the ground beside the wagon. Shurz stood up to whip the horses pulling the wagon into full gallop. Before he could say a word an arrow pierced him through both of his cheeks. A second struck him almost simultaneously in the throat and a third pierced his heart. He fell off the wagon, but his foot caught and he was thrown under the wagon. The horses panicked and as they ran, the wagon crushed Shurz’s lifeless body.

            Jordään stopped a second and looked at the unmoving bodies in awe. He came out of the daydream he was in and spurred his horse into a dash. Yulhon and Milkov were already way ahead of him. Several archers tried to get in his way to make him stop. He slashed right and left and they both fell, dead. Their projectiles flew to the right and left as they lost control. He continued on, faster and faster, hoping to outrun the other archers he knew were there. There was no way they would accept surrender, for he was sure that Borshev was their leader and that they were Red Guards. Red Guards take no prisoners when you have killed a commander.

***

This is an excerpt from 'The Silesian Chronicles - Book 1: The Prodigal' by ThrillAuthor. Please do not copy it in any form or fashion. All rights reserved.

***

            As they neared a small glade for the horses to rest and pasture, Jordään spoke up, “We have to disguise ourselves and go into town to gather information for our travel. It is the only hope of escaping over the border without getting caught.” Much as it was a dangerous idea, they all agreed this was the best plan they had to offer at the time. Yulhon asked Jordään with a sigh, “How shall we do this? Please explain your plan so we can carry it out in the morning.”

            Jordään took a deep breath and started explaining his plan, “We have some old burlap sacks in our packs. We can cut them to imitate beggar’s clothes and pretend to be traveling through on foot. We can ask questions from locals to understand the situations in the surrounding countryside. My plan calls for us to only stay for a day; any longer than that and we might be discovered. We can pretend to stay in someone’s barn, with their permission of course, letting them know we will be on our way by dawn, and we can sneak away when everyone has gone to bed, getting back to our horses and taking the fastest and safest route to the border.”

            Milkov spoke up, “Much as I fear that this plan will fail, it is our only plan, so I have no other alternative.” They entered the glade through an opening in the trees. They proceeded to tie the horses in the woods on the far side. They got out the sacks and started to make the clothes they were to wear into town. As they were nearing the finish of the job, Yulhon spoke up and asked Jordään, “Should we take our swords in case of trouble?” Jordään said, “That would not be wise. Should anyone discover that we possess weapons, we could be executed for spying by the local Bolweichs.”

            “Shouldn’t we take a dagger with us, just in case?” asked Milkov. Jordään thought for a moment, and then replied, “Much as it seems to me that a dagger is just as bad as a sword, it is less noticeable, and would be a much better tool to use if we get in trouble. Before we leave for the village, we can strap on daggers to our legs.” They all finished their beggar’s clothes at about the same time. They took a little water and food from their horses, and grabbed the small daggers to strap to their ankles and started off, going around the village.  

            The village of Frovolo is nestled in the Eastern entrance to the Caspian Mountains, and is encompassed by the Tana Tuva Woods, which also lines the foothills around Frovolo to the North and South. The small band made their way through these woods unnoticed, so as to make it to the highway on the other side of Frovolo to make it seem as though they had just come from one of the larger villages East of Frovolo, and were heading to the West.