War Games, chapter 3
Ambush, battle, duel. Lots of action in this chapter. Have I mentioned I'm not good at writing action?
The company was ambushed again two nights later. It was near full moon, so von Bazoukin was not able to take command in any form in which his commands could have been understood by human beings. However, he more than made up for that by being a menace of teeth and claws, unstoppable in slaughter.
The company had been on the march for over a month since Major Bustle’s tragic demise. The Borogravian army was retreating. The current officer count of the company was, quite simply: three lieutenants, two of them wounded. Von Bazoukin was in charge. And he hated being in charge of a company of cowards. He would have preferred a famous last stand, but he had his orders, and whatever his failings, von Bazoukin took orders seriously. They kept a steady pace, slowed down by their need to forage for supplies and von Bazoukin’s insistence that no wounded be left behind. They had a long way to go - the offensive had begun well, and they had gained territory rapidly. The enemy now made ambushes, but lacked the resources for a massive full-on offensive. The enemy - The Principality of Free Human Überwald, a nation of speciesist extremists tired of being oppressed by the undead and outclassed by the dwarves - was currently winning, and yet found itself surrounded by enemies in most directions. Only the Zlobenians allied with the new nation, expectably perhaps - it was easy to subscribe to human supremacy ideals when the only nonhuman species they had to deal with were the Kvetch.
The battle of the ambush was chaos. Polly wielded her two cutlasses with some merit, her heart grown stone cold in the face of Death. Back to back with her, Maladict… went berserk. Polly could not see what happened behind her, but the death cries were enough for her imagination to fill in the details. Polly had never known Mal to fight like that before.
And then, suddenly, everything was silent. The remains of the company were surrounded by the dead and the dying. They had won. Mal wheeled around and grabbed Polly, spinning her in the air. “We did it, we did it! Who’s your corporal! Give me a kiss!” She shouted, and pulled Polly close.
“Mal… you’re covered in blood.”
“Not mine.”
“Still, you’re covered in blood. Doesn’t it bother you?” Polly couldn’t help noticing the fallen enemy soldiers on the ground. There were more than she had expected.
Mal shrugged. “I guess the infirmary duty did have some effect.” She chuckled. “But since you insist, I will have a bath. Last one at the river is a monkey-grinder’s organ!”
Mal won the race. She was submerged in the chilly water when Polly made it to the river. Polly undressed and joined her, shivering all over. A splashing match ensued, followed by underwater wrestling that soon turned into something else. On the bank of the mountain river, shielded from view by a wall of tall reeds, Mal renewed her claim on Polly’s body and heart. There was urgency to her lovemaking, and need born of despair.
They returned to the camp in their shirtsleeves, their uniform jackets soaking wet from a hurried washing. They held hands, and Polly’s eyes held a sad, pensive look. If only it could be this simple all the time…
And as if summoned by the idea of complications, von Bazoukin stood in front of them in the path.
“Corporal, you are needed at the infirmary. Sergeant, I want a full report.”
“Stick it up your jumper, sir. If a hand at the infirmary is really needed, I will go. Mal can give you the report.” Polly made to stride off. Von Bazoukin’s hand stayed her.
“I am not used to my orders being ignored.”
“And I am not used to being given orders by complete idiots.” Polly folded her arms.
Von Bazoukin was turning red in the face. He could smell, once again, that very feminine scent surrounding the pair of miscreants.
“You will do as you are told, sergeant Perks, and you will not insult a superior officer again!” He yelled.
Mal’s sword was out in a flash. Its tip touched von Bazoukin’s throat. “Call this mutiny, lieutenant, if you must. I have exhausted my supplies of patience. You and I will have this out, now, vampire to werewolf.”
“You dare… you dare pull a sword on me?” Von Bazoukin unsheathed his blade. It was shining clean, unstained by the night’s battle.
“En garde, Charlie.” Mal struck a pose that could have been directly from some manual of gentlemanly swordmanship. Polly groaned. Von Bazoukin grinned a nasty grin. His sword touched Mal’s, a quick nod to the traditions of duelling, and then he attempted a sneaky wrist movement to disarm his opponent.
But Mal wasn’t there anymore. Mal was behind von Bazoukin. And the behind of von Bazoukin’s trousers was suddenly cut open, revealing woolly underpants. Von Bazoukin roared with anger, turned, and made his second mistake. Mal jumped, and decided to ignore the laws of physics. She rose unnaturally high, then came down slowly, in her own time, and kicked von Bazoukin in the jaw.
“Fight fair, you godforsaken deserter!” Von Bazoukin roared. He slashed at Mal wildly. Mal’s sleeve was cut, and bright red drops of blood flew out in an arc. Mal was on the defensive, backing away in front of von Bazoukin’s frenzied attack.
And then Mal vanished again. And reappeared behind von Bazoukin, kicking his backside so hard he lost balance and fell facedown in the mud. Mal disarmed her opponent.
They had by now gathered a sizeable crowd of witnesses - the whole company was there, and I.O.U.’s exchanged hands as various bets placed during the duel were being paid. Von Bazoukin was far from popular, and the general consensus seemed to be that Mal had given him his just desserts.
“You showed him, corporal!” called out Private Godsend, who had lost all her wages to von Bazoukin the same evening over a game of cards.
“Hit him onna head with a rock!” Suggested private Shale, but this was his advice in most situations.
Slowly, von Bazoukin stood up. “You shall be subjected to a full court-martial once we’re back with the main army.” He walked off, somewhat stiffly, and his departure was heralded by laughter as the soldiers saw his woolly underpants. They were striped with yellow.
The company was ambushed again two nights later. It was near full moon, so von Bazoukin was not able to take command in any form in which his commands could have been understood by human beings. However, he more than made up for that by being a menace of teeth and claws, unstoppable in slaughter.
The company had been on the march for over a month since Major Bustle’s tragic demise. The Borogravian army was retreating. The current officer count of the company was, quite simply: three lieutenants, two of them wounded. Von Bazoukin was in charge. And he hated being in charge of a company of cowards. He would have preferred a famous last stand, but he had his orders, and whatever his failings, von Bazoukin took orders seriously. They kept a steady pace, slowed down by their need to forage for supplies and von Bazoukin’s insistence that no wounded be left behind. They had a long way to go - the offensive had begun well, and they had gained territory rapidly. The enemy now made ambushes, but lacked the resources for a massive full-on offensive. The enemy - The Principality of Free Human Überwald, a nation of speciesist extremists tired of being oppressed by the undead and outclassed by the dwarves - was currently winning, and yet found itself surrounded by enemies in most directions. Only the Zlobenians allied with the new nation, expectably perhaps - it was easy to subscribe to human supremacy ideals when the only nonhuman species they had to deal with were the Kvetch.
The battle of the ambush was chaos. Polly wielded her two cutlasses with some merit, her heart grown stone cold in the face of Death. Back to back with her, Maladict… went berserk. Polly could not see what happened behind her, but the death cries were enough for her imagination to fill in the details. Polly had never known Mal to fight like that before.
And then, suddenly, everything was silent. The remains of the company were surrounded by the dead and the dying. They had won. Mal wheeled around and grabbed Polly, spinning her in the air. “We did it, we did it! Who’s your corporal! Give me a kiss!” She shouted, and pulled Polly close.
“Mal… you’re covered in blood.”
“Not mine.”
“Still, you’re covered in blood. Doesn’t it bother you?” Polly couldn’t help noticing the fallen enemy soldiers on the ground. There were more than she had expected.
Mal shrugged. “I guess the infirmary duty did have some effect.” She chuckled. “But since you insist, I will have a bath. Last one at the river is a monkey-grinder’s organ!”
Mal won the race. She was submerged in the chilly water when Polly made it to the river. Polly undressed and joined her, shivering all over. A splashing match ensued, followed by underwater wrestling that soon turned into something else. On the bank of the mountain river, shielded from view by a wall of tall reeds, Mal renewed her claim on Polly’s body and heart. There was urgency to her lovemaking, and need born of despair.
They returned to the camp in their shirtsleeves, their uniform jackets soaking wet from a hurried washing. They held hands, and Polly’s eyes held a sad, pensive look. If only it could be this simple all the time…
And as if summoned by the idea of complications, von Bazoukin stood in front of them in the path.
“Corporal, you are needed at the infirmary. Sergeant, I want a full report.”
“Stick it up your jumper, sir. If a hand at the infirmary is really needed, I will go. Mal can give you the report.” Polly made to stride off. Von Bazoukin’s hand stayed her.
“I am not used to my orders being ignored.”
“And I am not used to being given orders by complete idiots.” Polly folded her arms.
Von Bazoukin was turning red in the face. He could smell, once again, that very feminine scent surrounding the pair of miscreants.
“You will do as you are told, sergeant Perks, and you will not insult a superior officer again!” He yelled.
Mal’s sword was out in a flash. Its tip touched von Bazoukin’s throat. “Call this mutiny, lieutenant, if you must. I have exhausted my supplies of patience. You and I will have this out, now, vampire to werewolf.”
“You dare… you dare pull a sword on me?” Von Bazoukin unsheathed his blade. It was shining clean, unstained by the night’s battle.
“En garde, Charlie.” Mal struck a pose that could have been directly from some manual of gentlemanly swordmanship. Polly groaned. Von Bazoukin grinned a nasty grin. His sword touched Mal’s, a quick nod to the traditions of duelling, and then he attempted a sneaky wrist movement to disarm his opponent.
But Mal wasn’t there anymore. Mal was behind von Bazoukin. And the behind of von Bazoukin’s trousers was suddenly cut open, revealing woolly underpants. Von Bazoukin roared with anger, turned, and made his second mistake. Mal jumped, and decided to ignore the laws of physics. She rose unnaturally high, then came down slowly, in her own time, and kicked von Bazoukin in the jaw.
“Fight fair, you godforsaken deserter!” Von Bazoukin roared. He slashed at Mal wildly. Mal’s sleeve was cut, and bright red drops of blood flew out in an arc. Mal was on the defensive, backing away in front of von Bazoukin’s frenzied attack.
And then Mal vanished again. And reappeared behind von Bazoukin, kicking his backside so hard he lost balance and fell facedown in the mud. Mal disarmed her opponent.
They had by now gathered a sizeable crowd of witnesses - the whole company was there, and I.O.U.’s exchanged hands as various bets placed during the duel were being paid. Von Bazoukin was far from popular, and the general consensus seemed to be that Mal had given him his just desserts.
“You showed him, corporal!” called out Private Godsend, who had lost all her wages to von Bazoukin the same evening over a game of cards.
“Hit him onna head with a rock!” Suggested private Shale, but this was his advice in most situations.
Slowly, von Bazoukin stood up. “You shall be subjected to a full court-martial once we’re back with the main army.” He walked off, somewhat stiffly, and his departure was heralded by laughter as the soldiers saw his woolly underpants. They were striped with yellow.