Subj: [ffml] [MW] Tim's First Battle
Date: 99-12-26 18:16:16 EST
From: skyhall@hotmail.com (Sky Hall)
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To: ffml@onelist.com
From: "Sky Hall"
“It’s time,” said Tim.
Martin nodded and swallowed. He was anxious, but knew this day would come.
“You know what to pack, right?” asked Tim.
Martin nodded. “Just that camping gear we used the other day.”
Tim nodded. “Alright, get to it. And hurry.”
Martin left Tim’s side and hurried into the officer’s quarters. Meanwhile,
Martin walked into the barracks.
It was morning, and Tim had let the men sleep in. They had become good
soldiers in the past few weeks. So Tim had begun focusing his training on
weapons skill and combat practice. The men began to understand the concept
of teamwork and communication in the battlefield.
“Rise and shine, men!” bellowed Tim. Immediately the men began to spring
from their beds and stand at attention. “Well, it looks like we have had
enough training and practice, so it’s time now to do what we are paid for.
“Orders came down. We march within two hours. A division moogles have
landed on the coast far to the south of here and are advancing on us. We are
to go south and make them run back to Vector. Pack your gear. And make sure
you load the real weapons, not the practice ones we’ve been using. Command
has also issued us one baggage wagon. It’ll be along shortly. Pack dry
rations for two days. Since we are marching along roads and through towns,
food won’t be a problem. But keep the rations on hand for when we do
encounter the enemy.”
Tim surveyed his unit. The men stood at attention, with a few wandering
glances. Some had dire looks on their faces. The day, the event, they had
been waiting for had come. They were going to fight moogles. The same
moogles that had attacked their homes, threatened their lands, killed their
kin. The immortal enemy. Like the hydra, destroying one moogle army caused
two more to replace it.
“Move out,” ordered Tim. The men sprang to action, dressing and readying
their belongings.
After four days of marching, Tim began to notice the wear on his men. They
walked with their spears, either carrying them or walking them. Their hands
were sore from the continual handling and some of the men began dropping
them. Tim decided that he would order the spears stowed on the baggage
wagons at the next rest.
The twenty men of Tim’s company marched in a good solid formation. Four
men abreast and five men deep, the company marched with good resolve. The
marching songs echoed beautifully as they marched, as well. Tim marched to
the left side, towards the front, but with the freedom to wander about as he
saw fit.
Just then, a signal was passed down and a halt was called. The men stopped
and eased themselves on their weary legs.
“Jayel, take over for me,” Tim ordered his first squad corporeal.
Striding forward, Tim moved up past a dozen other companies and reached
the vanguard where the general, his staff, and other officers rode their
horses. All had dismounted and were gathered around a table, peering at a
map.
“So we are certain the moogles will march along this road, on their way to
Doma,” said the general. “That makes sense. Especially since we the rest of
the army scouring the countryside just in case other moogle units join up.”
The general paused in thought.
“Okay. We will march here and meet the moogles in this open plain. We will
then engage them and either drive them off, hold them there, or slow their
advance with a retreating action.”
“If the moogles number fifteen thousand and we ten thousand, don’t they
hold an advantage over us, sir?” asked leiutenant.
“Remember that the moogles are smaller then a man, and in one-on-one
combat, a man will beat a moogle. It is their mass in numbers that matters,”
answered the general. “If we can use a phalanx and keep the moogles from
flanking us, we should be able to hold our own. The problem is, however,
instilling courage in the men so they don’t break and run.”
The general was silent for a moment.
“Sir, I have a suggestion,” spoke Tim.
All eyes turned to Tim, some incredulous as they recognized his sergeant’s
rank.
“Yes? Sergeant…?” asked the general.
“Sergeant Tim, sir.” Tim saluted. “From the sixth brigade.”
“Okay, Tim,” said the general. “What is your suggestion?”
“Sir, I’ve been thinking on the matter of instilling courage in our men,
and have some ideas. Along with the regular marching chant, why not use some
archers?”
“We only have one brigade of archers and they are not fully trained,” said
a colonel.
“Yes, sir. That is true. But say the division forms a phalanx, and holds
it’s position, letting the moogles come at us, and then having our archers
shoot over the phalanx into the oncoming moogles, that would certainly slow
the moogles and give our men some courage in seeing first blood spilt by the
moogles.”
“But our archers won’t be able to see the moogles to fire over the
phalanx, and I doubt they can properly lob arrows in the right angles,”
retorted the colonel.
“And how will a few dozen arrows affect a whole mass of moogles?” asked a
major.
“The moogles always attack in a charge,” answered Tim. “They may form up a
wall of moogles, but once given the order, they break and run at the enemy,
quickly loosing cohesion and forming a loose wedge, aiming for the center of
any enemy formation. As for the archers not seeing, couldn’t they sit on
horses, stand on wagons, or even the backs of men, to see over the phalanx
and shoot down the moogles? Having that great wall of white fur bludgeoned
down by some arrows would help make the odds further in our favor. As well
as slowly the enemy charge, keeping our lines together. Sir.”
Tim stood silent.
The general, his staff, and the other officers all stared at Tim. “I love
it!” said the general. “This guy has balls to come up and tell me his ideas.
That’s the kind of soldiers we need. Ones with balls!
“Alright, we march for this open field. Once there, we will await the
arrival of the moogles, and when we engage, we’ll try sergeant Tim’s plan.
It sounds like a good one. And with our limited resources, a darn good one.
Even I was wondering what to do with those green thumb archers. Okay, let’s
march!”
Tim strode before his assembled company of men. They had formed a phalanx,
two men deep, large round shields presenting a wall of wood, and long spears
protruding, creating a bristled look. The look on the men’s faces were of
resolve and determination. Tim had trained the men well. He knew it now.
They were ready. They were warriors.
Tim turned and saw the moogle host gathering. A mass of white formed and
flowed about each other, with the occasional glint from metal and the dark
spot from a shield shining from afar. A few time, it looked like waves grew
from the white sea, as moogleboars would stand upright for a moment or two,
then get back down on all fours.
Tim strode back, between his men, and stood behind his line, pacing back
and forth, giving words of encouragement and telling little jokes to ease
the tension.
Tim saw past the heads and shields of his men that the white mass of
moogles stopped moving, and then, after a moment, began to spasm in motion.
The moogles charge began, and the battle-cry rang through the air as the
moogles yelled out.
“Martin,” said Tim. The valet held a bow and quiver in his hands. He came
over to where Tim was standing and handed him the items.
“Did I ever mention that I’m a good shot with a bow?” asked Tim. The men
chuckled.
Tim saw that the moogle mass was getting closer.
“Alright, Martin. Bend over.”
Martin frowned and got on all fours, his head facing the phalanx. Tim put
a boot on Martin’s posterior and raised himself up, steadying his other boot
in Martin’s shoulders. The footing was small, but from his vantage, Tim had
a better view of the battlefield and could make better detail out of the
moogle mass.
“Steady men!” ordered Tim. “They may sound tough, but they look cudly. But
their weapons are sharp, but their bodies weak and small. We’ll make quick
work of them!”
“Aye!” shouted the company.
Tim notched an arrow and readied it.
(Rob Zombies “Super Freak”)
As Tim was able to pick out a moogleboar, he angled his bow up and
released. The arrow shot through the air and struck the creature in the
shoulder. It stumbled and slid in the ground, tripping a moogle in it’s
path.
“Aye!” cheered the men.
“Ready yourselves, men! They are almost upon us! Don’t break the line!”
ordered Tim, as he notched another arrow and released it.
Another moogleboar went down. Then a moogle. And another. And another
moogleboar. Tim then threw down the bow, jumped off of Martin, and removed
the quiver. He pulled his sword and shouted,
“Kill them all!”
All the shouted in unison as the moogles rushed into the spears. Screams
quickly followed the shouting as moogles and boars impaled themselves on the
points. Men groaned as they shook off the injured moogles and struck another
target.
The men began shifting their feet and moving back and forth. Moogles were
throwing themselves into the shields, trying to knock the men over, but the
press of humanity and strong grips kept the men from flinching.
Tim heard one of his men cry out in pain and saw that he had taken a spear
to the shoulder. Quickly reacting, Tim drove his sword into the ground and
pushed passed the men. He grabbed the injured man under the arms and hauled
him back. The man let his spear and shield release from his fingers as the
bold strength of Tim pulled him through his comrades. The man behind moved
up, taking the fallen man’s position.
Tim half carried the man, Hugh, back a few feet and set him on the ground.
Hugh grabbed at his shoulder and grimaced in pain. The blood flowed from the
wound past his hand.
“Martin!”
The valet was instantly at Tim’s side. Tim reached into a pouch on Hugh’s
belt and pulled out a bandage. He moved Hugh’s hand and placed the folded
fabric on the skin, moving the hard leather armor.
“Martin, push down on this and keep the pressure on till a healer gets
here.”
Tim then stood up and with his hands still bloody, grabbed his sword and
waved it in the air and shouted “Healer!” before turning his attention back
to the battle at hand.
The moogles fought, shouted, snarled, and hacked, but could not break the
human line. After twenty minutes, a horn blew and the moogles fell back in a
retreat.
A field of dead and dying white bodies littered the space before the
phalanx. Several injured men were behind the human line.
“We beat them!” shouted a man. This was joined by the rest of the line
cheering.
When they had quieted down, Tim spoke out loud. “We may have stopped their
assault, but they are not beaten yet. Look. They are forming up again for
another charge.”
Indeed, the moogles had moved back to almost their original position and
were milling around, forming a new line.
On the human side, a bugle sounded. This was then followed by officers
shouting down the orders. “Prepare to advance!”
Two men had been seriously injured in Tim’s company. The two were left
behind to the healers. Martin joined Tim’s side, his hands and pants bloody.
“Alright men, we fought them off. Now it’s time to show them what for!”
The bugle blew again and the men all marched forward. The wall of shields
still showing forth, spears protruding menancingly. As they marched, the men
beat their spears against their shields with each step, with a loud “Ho!”
every third step.
As the phalanx moved over the land, Tim and Martin, with swords in hand,
went about seeing if the moogles were dead by shoving swords into their
hearts. Many were dead, but some squealed their last dying breaths as the
men put them down.
The phalanx covered the ground quickly and soon found themselves within
range of the moogles. The moogles, deciding to not take the defensive,
charged.
The lines came together and the sounds of steel colliding, screams of
pain, and the splintering of wood echoed throughout the battlefield. Spears
snapped as the moogles and boars impaled themselves and continued to push
about in their frenzied attack.
The men had been stopped right in their tracks, and the lines had
difficulty getting sure footing as the moogles fought. The action was
intense, and a few men dropped their arms and ran. Some of these deserters
were cut down by their own sergeants, but most got away without any notice.
The attention was on the fight.
Driving and struggling, many of the men were injured, but could not be got
to. The screams of those injured and dying filled the air like a disjointed
chorus of pain. Tim could hear one of his men grunting as he pushed off a
moogleboar with his shield and struck a moogle with his spear. The thud of
swords and spears on wooden shields was a disheartening sound.
Tim looked along the lines and saw that in some places the moogles bad
broken through. They were dealt with by the units of cavalry, bowmen, and
commando units.
Tim saw that the moogle line was beginning to thin in his area.
“This can’t be,” muttered Tim.
Martin, who was right by his side, asked, “What can’t be?”
“We are actually pushing through the moogle ranks,” said Tim, looking at
the fighting. “You can see the trees ground behind the line. That means
there are not that many moogles here. We can punch through!”
Tim swung his sword and shouted, “Captain!”
The officer rode over on his horse and saw what Tim was pointing at.
“We can get through, sir!” shouted Tim.
The officer nodded and said, “Right!” He turned and rode off.
A few minutes later, a couple companies of swordsmen arrived and began
following Tim’s lead.
The new men began urging Tim’s company, and the companies on either side,
to push the attack forward. They did so, hoping to make the break through.
After several minutes, the opening was had. Swordsmen began pushing past
the shield men at the front and worked their way into the open. The
experienced fighters began taking down the moogles from behind as their
numbers spilled out behind the enemy lines.
Like a dam breaking, the tide of the battle began to flow in the human’s
direction. The small breach was soon made bigger as the moogles were killed
off. Soon, Tim’s company found itself free of conflict. Tim saw the
opportunity.
“Alright men! I’m tired of this phalanx crap. It’s time we fought these
moogles one on one!” Tim’s company cheered.
“Form up!” said Tim, indicating a place a few feet back. Tim then had the
men drop their spears and ready their swords.
Though their large shields would be ungainly in close, personal combat,
Tim also knew that his men were not that experienced, and if anything would
be there to help distract the enemy and help provide some cover for the
swordsmen already there.
“Alright men, it’s a free for all. Once pass the breach, go either right
or left, but start fighting the moogles. Stick close to our men and use your
shields. Don’t think you have to kill the enemy right away. Distract them
with your shield, use it to block, not your sword. And help out your fellows
wherever they need it. Ready? Go!”
The men all shouted as they raised their swords and ran forward.
Tim led the attack, heading to the right, where the moogle line had
petered out. He knew that if this smaller part of the moogle division could
be eliminated, that would quickly turn the tide in the humans favor and the
rest of the moogle army would soon be destroyed.
The swordsmen were staying close together, forming a loose line as they
worked the surprised moogles and boars by attacking them from behind. Tim
went down a ways and replaced a fallen swordsman.
Tim picked up the smaller shield from the fallen man and used it to block
a sword strike. He quickly countered, slicing into the neck of the moogle
opponent. A moogle boar, wielding a giant spear, came advancing on Tim.
Shocked, Tim spotted one of his men next to him. Using his sword hand, Tim
grabbed the shoulder of the man and pushed him into the moogle boar.
Reflexively, the man raised his shield to protect his body. This helped to
deflect the spear and cause the moogleboar to stumble back. Tim grabbed the
man, pulling him back and away, and followed through and drove his sword
into the moogleboars stomach. The creature screamed as it stumbled back,
thrashing.
Tim gave a quick grin and wink at his soldier, who returned a dumbfounded
look.
Tim returned to the business of slaughtering the enemy.
Within two hours, the moogle division had been destroyed. A few moogles
had escaped, but the cavalry had been dispatched to hunt them down.
Tim sat on a small stool, a healer dressing a wound to his arm. Martin was
on the other side, applying a salve to Tim’s rib cage where a large bruise
was beginning to ripen. He grinned to himself as the healing drugs made him
numb to the pain. Tim’s eyes were half closed and he thought about going to
sleep.
Around Tim, the company had set up their tents and were enjoying a much
needed rest. Having been part of the force that took the fight behind the
enemy lines, Tim’s company was rewarded with the first rest. But they would
soon have to join in burning the dead, collecting weapons and armor, and
helping to dig a moat and palisade.
“We did a hell of a thing today,” said Martin. He stopped applying the
salve and leaned back. He took a bandage from the belt pouch at Tim’s feet
and opened it up. He then wrapped it about Tim’s midsection. The healer had
by this time finished stitching the wound closed and was now applying some
herbs to the skin, to prevent infection, and a magical spell, to heal the
inside tissue.
“Yes we did,” said Tim, opening his eyes and looking about at his men. One
man had died, and four were injured, but the rest came away rather clean. “I
wonder if we’ll get any medals for this. I always wanted to get a medal.”
--Sky
(To be continued)
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Subject: [ffml] [MW] Tim's First Battle
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