Swiss Arms 74 (Patreon)

Swiss Arms

Chapter 74

-VB-

Leon of Fluelaberg

After the baron’s army crossed over the Fluelaberg Pass and into Tyrol, they took a turn north and then turned to the east after that. This march took over two days to complete, and by the end of it, Leon was starting to feel alright about it all.

He wasn’t sure why he felt alright but he did.

At least until one of the rangers accidentally leaked the news that an army of six thousand was on their way to attack them.

Six thousand? That was … that was almost five times greater than their own number!

… But the veterans of the Unruly Year did not look horrified by the prospect of fighting an army that overwhelmingly outnumbered them.

“How can you not be scared?” he asked Zachariah. The man wasn’t part of the baron’s army but he showed none of the anxiety that the rest of the common soldiers showed. He was kind of like the rangers in that regard.

The rangers didn’t protest the baron’s decision. They obeyed. They disappeared. They came back. Zachariah obeyed the baron’s commands and didn’t doubt the lord.

But Zach was still someone who was a veteran. If someone knew what fighting was like, then it was him. Fighting an enemy that outnumbered them five to one…?

Zach looked up, his bushy beard and moustache stained with the dinner soup.

“Hmm?” Zach asked.

“How are you not scared about the upcoming battle?”

His platoon sat around them, and looked to Zach for a response.

“Well… what do you think a battle is?” Zach asked in return.

Leon frowned. “Wouldn’t it be men and knights fighting side by side?”

“Yes,” he agreed and then gestured around. “And where are we?”

“In a valley?”

“That,” he said. “I don’t know if any of you left the valleys you lot were born in, but I have. I’ve traveled as far as Venetia, though most of you don’t know where that is.” He took a deep breath in. “Venetia is … it’s a very flat place. There are a few hills, but it is flat as you can see, and the only thing that isn’t flat is the Alps. When you fight in a place like that, yes, your numbers matter. It is easy to get flanked and overwhelmed, especially when cavalry gets involved.” Then he leaned in. “But can you flank someone in a valley?”

Leon blinked. “... No?”

“Unless you are a suicidal motherfucker who decides that you’re going to scale those snow-tipped mountains, no,” Zach shook his head. “On top of that, most of our valleys have at least one river that runs through it, doesn’t it?”

“It does…” Then Leon stopped. “The river acts as a barrier.”

“Yes, it makes fighting harder with a river in the middle so most battles, ones I’ve been involved in any way, avoid them. When it does involve it because we gotta cross it, then that’s when shit gets fucked. Misox up south and west found out the hard way.” He took another sip of the soup from the ladle before licking his lips and beard. “Kinda bland,” he hummed before pulling out a small white packet and shaking some salt in.

Salt … was expensive. Leon remembered the old days when he lived in Tyrol how salt was a luxury. In Fluelaberg, salt was abundant, partially because of the mining. One of the underground branches hit a small rock salt vein a few months ago. Even so, salt was still expensive.

“Where was I…? Right. Rivers. I’m not sure if you saw, but the valley here is a bit steep. And where we just set up camp? I saw what it was like in the day; it has steep hills and cliffs on either side, a river running through the middle, and the relatively flat passage through this valley is barely two hundred feet wide. Two hundred feet is enough for one hundred and fifty men to hold indefinitely while our rangers flank their rear.”

The valley was that narrow up ahead? Leon did not know. All he saw had been trees.

“And … whatever those nasty, stinking shit barrels are for,” Zach scrunched his nose.

Leon grimaced, too.

Though the smell had lessen over the days, it still smelled.

Really, what were those literal barrels of shit for?

-VB-

Hans von Fluelaberg

“Yes, right there.”

The few select soldiers and rangers I brought with me dug into the relatively flat earth in the fire-less night.

Carefully uprooted grass was gently laid over the buried barrel while others had to scoop up shovel-full of dried shit and spread them over the area I had directed. Half of the barrels spread in that manner while the other half were buried; the buried shit were more “moist” than the ones being spread about.

My plan was … well, there were three plans.

The first plan was what required all of this shit.

The second plan was to fight in a more conventional method should the first plan fail.

The third plan was, well, obvious. I’m called a Count Killer for a reason. It shouldn’t be too hard to upgrade that title to Duke Destroyer or something like that.

One of the soldiers trudged up to me and bowed. “We spread all of the poop, baron,” one of the soldiers reported. “What should we do?”

“If you want to, then you can go wash yourselves. Some of the other soldiers back in the camp have been ordered to prepare warm waters for you to wash yourself with.”

They sounded happy about that and trudged away while the rangers remained behind.

“Would this really work?” one of the rangers’ “captains” replied.

I hummed. “It should under the right conditions. But if the conditions aren’t right, then we are in for a spectacle,” I grinned. Then I sniffed. “Ugh, I smell like shit.”

“No duh,” someone muttered but I let it slide. I didn’t train these rangers for their etiquette, after all.

“Oh yeah, maybe I should find who just said that and throw them in the river! You must smell just like me!” No one dared to step up. I snorted. “That’s what I thought.”

I dismissed them all. A few remained with me as I turned to look at the flat portion of the valley that would be the future battleground between the duke and myself.

And honestly?

I couldn’t help but feel excited.