To arms!

CHAPTER 11

To arms!

The cornet played the wake-up call. It was barely three o’clock in the morning, the troops would have a long day. Roderick got up from his bed, he washed his face with a bucket of water that was lying next to his chair and finished dressing his uniform completely. He took the holster alongside the pouch and put it on. Today was the day where he would start the crusade southwards to reach Kashkestan’s capital. How long would it take to arrive? How many days? They had to get through an inhabited desert zone which on its own represented an obstacle for men that weren’t accustomed to the adverse weather conditions, even less carrying their heavy equipment. And what other dangers were there? They were entering enemy territory, they could be easily ambushed throughout various tacks of the journey.

Roderick put on his kepi and took his place in the eleventh company’s ranks. The tenth and ninth companies would meet them halfway, alongside the Brigade’s general, in charge of the attack north. The troops marched south, leaving Karkas behind and entering the desert. The tension was notorious in the ambient, every step they took got closer to their last. The pending businesses they left back home were irrelevant, from that moment just one thing mattered: survive. Roderick couldn’t help asking himself what awaited him in this final fight. Lilisburg’s banner waved triumphantly; with its shield half gules, half or; the blue fleur-de-lis, the crossed swords and the garland of laurels that represented both the nation and the royal family. Roderick always thought that it was a design quite simple and not so imposing to bring to the battlefield. He turned one last time behind, seeing how they were leaving civilization in the distance and directed themselves towards the unknown.

In the desert’s belly the eleventh company decided to pause their march. They were still a pair of kilometres away from the rendezvous point with the other companies. The company’s officers dismounted their horses. Roderick drank from his campaign canteen to recover the lost liquids; the troops were soaked in sweat. The company’s captain ordered the officers to report. Roderick passed the list to his platoon; they were all sweaty but appeared to be healthy and in good condition to fight.

Night started to fall, the first day of the campaign was coming to an end. The soldiers rested in an improvised camp, with a fire to shelter them from the cruel coldness of the desert. The only illumination they had were what little the moonlight revealed and the fire. Roderick volunteered to be the first officer to do armed guard duty; he didn’t feel tired whatsoever. He had at his disposition a small squad of riflemen that would equally look for the encampment. He pulled out a cig from his jacket and lit it with a match, the smoke wasn’t enough of a pain reliever to drown his worries. Roderick couldn’t help being a bit ashamed of having so much nervousness, it wasn’t his first incursion; however, it didn’t matter the quantity of deployments he did, the jitters were always present. He had the sensation that he was being observed, paranoia, perhaps.

Roderick tasked himself with taking a patrol walk around the different guard posts that his riflemen were occupying; that would be the best way to distract himself. He approached the first guard of the camp, a man who was carrying his needle gun and whose tiredness was notorious.

“Anything new, soldier?” Roderick asked whilst he put out the cigarette. The young soldier looked at him before answering.

“Nothing new, my liteaunant. Everything’s quiet,” The soldier let out a yawn. Roderick looked at his clock.

“Ten minutes to midnight, it won’t be long for us to get relieved. Just hold on a bit more,” Roderick palmed his shoulder and offered him a cigarette. “This will keep you up with no effort.”

The soldier doubtfully took one cigarette and lit him with a match. Roderick took another one for him. In the distance, Roderick noticed a small flash, very slight and hard to perceive; but he was completely sure he had seen something.

“Soldier, do you see that flash? There behind the dunes” Roderick pointed to the direction where he had seen the flash.

The guard, unsure, placed the rear of the buttstock on his chest, adopting a shooting stance. He squinted his eyes. It was a small silver flash, as if the moonlight was being reflected on some metal. What did it mean? Both tensed up trying to unravel the cause of the flash. Roderick drew the revolver out of its holster, something was wrong; he forbade it.

“Stay here and keep vigilant, I’ll go and investigate.” Roderick ordered.

Roderick walked a few metres out of the camp. He seemed to have noticed movement between the near dunes. Animals, perhaps? It was hard to know with the scarce lighting. Roderick cocked the revolver. Slowly he approached the spot where he had seen the sand moving. There wasn’t anything there.

Roderick let out all the air out of his lungs that he had been holding for a while. He pressed the revolver’s hammer and then pulled the trigger to decock it, he holstered it. So it was only his imagination playing tricks on him? It was midnight, it was time to be relieved from his guard; perhaps after sleeping he would feel better. He dropped the cigarette on the sand and stomped it to put it out. Strangely he felt the sand softer than what he had expected.

To Roderick’s surprise, a man came from the sand under his feet squirming in pain after being burned by the remains of the cigarette and the stomping to put it out. The man had a curved dagger that he unsheathed as soon as he got on his feet. Roderick couldn’t react in time; when he tried to unholster the revolver, the man threw himself at him and knocked it out of his hands. The situation was going from bad to worse, the soldier with whom he had conversed with minutes ago didn’t seem to realise what was going on in the darkness.

The man was ferociously throwing thrusts and slashes with the dagger. Roderick could barely stay on his feet and evade them. In an attempt to avoid one of his strikes, Roderick sprained an ankle falling on his back on the sand. Upon realising what was happening, he already had the man on top of him. “So this is where it all ends,” Roderick thought, accepting his demise. He clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and clenched his hands, he was ready. But that feared end never came, instead he heard a loud roar from the camp. The soldier started to worry and decided to look for Roderick, in its place he found another Kashke which he shot. The sound was loud enough to distract the man with the dagger. “Now!” Roderick kicked his legs dropping him, afterwards he rolled to his side taking a fistful of sand and with an impulse got back on his feet, his opponent nimbly got up too.

Both looked at each other while they surrounded themselves like two fighting roosters. Who would break that stalemate they had? The man with the dagger took the decision and charged with the dagger being the bull’s horn. Roderick knew it was the right moment. As soon as he was considerably near, Roderick threw sand at his face; blinding his adversary. Roderick stepped aside and placed his foot, knocking down the man with the dagger. As soon as the Kashke touched the ground, Roderick threw himself at his back, strangling him with his right arm. The man with the dagger floundered and searched for the dagger a few centimetres near both, Roderick tightened his grip. The man persisted in fighting with all of his strength, he was still desperate to find the dagger. Roderick saw where it was and with a clumsy kick he managed to slightly ward it off from the enemy hand. Roderick tightened even more his arm, this time with all of his remaining energy. He felt a last effort of desperation with a punch to his chin; however, he didn’t give up on his grip; then nothing, there wasn’t any resistance.

It was a close call. Roderick let go the neck of his victim and clumsily stood up. He dusted off and took the dagger from the sand, he examined it closely. A dagger around fifteen centimetres in length, with a bone handle–from some bull, with a jade embedded on the gold cross-piece; the blade was curved and the tip was extremely thin and sharp. Roderick thanked not discovering that feature in practice. It was time to go help the camp, the gunshots were still resounding and he had lost much time already. He put the dagger on his belt and started looking for his revolver, once he found it he crouched to grab it. As soon as he touched it, a group of a few more men revealed themselves from the sand, two of them were carrying curved flintlock pistols with which they were aiming at him. Roderick froze in place.

Trying to keep calm, he discretely looked around, he counted his adversaries. One, two, three, four, five, six and seven. Seven, one more man from the perfect number. How fast could he fire his revolver? How much distance was there from each man? Was it viable to try it? His revolver only had six chambers. How would he deal with the seventh? He would have more of a chance if he shot first the gunmen. He started slowly cocking the revolver, avoiding to make a noise with it or do a spontaneous move. An eighth man came out behind him and before he could react he had a dagger on his neck. That eighth man looked notoriously less corpulent than the first seven, besides showing more agility than the one he had just strangled. Something that seemed curious to Roderick was that they were all wearing shemaghs, but the eighth one was completely covering his face; only his eyes could be seen. Roderick didn’t have any other alternative than to drop the revolver. It was the best chance to survive. For some reason he had not been killed, he had to take advantage of it.

With the dagger touching his neck, Roderick stood up. He could get a better view of who held the dagger. His figure was slender and his height was slightly shorter than him; his hands were thin and long fingered. To Roderick it seemed familiar to those eyes that looked at him with fury; this wasn’t the impersonal stare of two combatants on different sides, there was something personal.

“I don’t suppose we could sort this in a more civilised manner,” said Roderick. Although it did not matter much to him talking to his enemies, he was trying to stay calmed and, to some degree, pretend that he was in control.

None of the men answered. Out of the eight, one had an enormous beard that reached his chest, besides being the older one of them. Roderick assumed that he had to be the leader of that group. The old man examined Roderick from head to toe, there wasn’t any expression on his face, as if he had no interest whatsoever. He made a gesture with his hand and the man with the dagger on Roderick’s neck struck him in the nape with the dagger’s handle. Roderick fell unconscious.