Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

He nodded to them all and departed.

“The boy is likely to sleep through the night,” Deandra said, “I'll set with him so he doesn't wake alone.”

She kissed Engvyr good night and he watched her go with regret. They were newlyweds after all, and had gotten to spend precious little time together since the war started. Ynghilda also retired, Taarven in tow. Taarven scowled at Engvyr, daring him to comment but he just grinned. With a sigh he settled himself deeper into his chair by the fire and closed his eyes.

“What's the news?” the Colonel inquired as he entered.

Engvyr rose and poured the officer a cup of coffee and said, “Nothing yet. The boy's eaten and they've been in there an hour or more. They sent for you as soon as that fella’ figured out that he could talk to the boy, after a fashion at least.”

“Might as well pull up a chair,” Berryc told him, “No telling how long they'll be at it.”

Not that much longer, as it turned out. Ynghilda and Taarven emerged. They both appeared shaken by what they had heard. Ynghilda held up a hand to forestall their questions and fetched herself a cup of coffee. Taarven waved off Engvyr's questioning look and went outside.

Ynghilda settled herself into a chair and collected her thoughts before she spoke.

“First thing the boy did when he could make himself understood,” she told them, “was to beg us to be his new masters, and to tell us he was the best rat-catcher on his crew.”

The implications of that simple statement sank in quickly and the colonel began to swear softly. Engvyr felt his own fists clench in reflexive fury.

Ynghilda noted their reactions and continued, “He was a slave of the Baasgarta alright, but it's worse than we guessed. He was born to it as his folk have been from time out of mind. Seems like those goblin bastards have done a better job keeping dwarves as slaves than The Master ever figured out how to do.”

They heard someone chopping wood outside. It sounded like he was trying to kill the logs, not just split firewood. Taarven, at a guess. Nothing in the world would anger any dwarf as much as the idea of his folk being enslaved again.

“Seems they teach 'em from the time they can talk that they are being punished for sins in their past lives. The Baasgarta have made a religion of it, and by the time they're old enough to work they think it's no better than they deserve.”

They all digested that in silence for a moment.

“Anyway, weeks back they brought a bunch of them here, to a gully up north and set them to digging for something. The boy, his name is Squirrel, by the way, didn't know what they were looking for but it seemed almighty important to the Baasgarta.”

“How many are they, could he tell you that?” asked the Colonel.

“From what the boy told us there are several hundred slaves and maybe a couple battalions of Baasgarta,” Ynghilda said. She thought a moment, a disturbed expression on her face, then continued, “I think that for the moment we'd best keep this among ourselves. We don't need folk getting' in a bother and haring off after them on their own, and once this becomes common knowledge you know they'll want to do just that.”

Engvyr understood completely; he was almost overwhelmed by the desire to do something, anything, right now. Wait…

“Uh, brought them here? From where?” Engvyr asked.

Ynghilda scowled and said, “A place called the Pit, deep inside the Baasgarta kingdom. Apparently there are two types of slaves- farmers and miners. There are thousands, maybe tens of thousands of enslaved dwarves in their lands.”

Berryc swore with rage that they all understood and shared.

“We're going to have to keep ahead of this thing, alright. We also need to get word to Ironhame; this is going to mean a general mobilization. More immediately was the boy able to give you any clue as to where this dig-site is?” the Colonel asked.

“Well, bein' as he had no clue as to what a map was he could only describe it. There's a gully up in the northeast edge of the valley that people avoid, think its haunted or some such. I can't be sure but it sounds like the place,” Ynghilda said.

They consulted over her maps of the valley for some time, but finally decided that they must wait at least a few days for more of the rangers to report in before moving. It would not do to give in to their rage, act prematurely and find themselves blindsided by an unexpected force.

“That may also give time for the 4th Heavy Infantry to arrive,” The colonel said, “They have been sent up to reinforce us and to help force a breakout when the time comes. Looks like that time may have come sooner than any of us expected…”

As the first blush of light touched the sky the dwarves of the 1st Mounted Infantry regiment fixed bayonets and prepared for the assault on the Baasgarta. They were outnumbered two to one and their enemies were in prepared positions. Worse yet even the light repeating crossbows favored by the Baasgarta had a longer effective range than the infantry's slug-guns. The dwarves didn't care. They were mad as hell and by the Lord and Lady they were going to crush the goblins. They were not so mad that discipline failed; their commanders had told them enough in advance so that the first flush of rage had passed. Now they were coldly angry and determined.

The soldier's slug-guns had an effective range against an individual target of about a hundred paces, but firing en mass against a target as large as the goblin's defensive works two hundred paces was not excessive. They opened the attack with a volley while the pike men rose from the trenches and moved forward. Their pikes were useless for this sort of work so they advanced behind pavises, large rectangular shields simply made of planks. These were designed to provide cover for the advancing gunners. They were proof against the lighter weapons of the Baasgarta and would at least provide some protection against their heavy crossbows.

The pavise-bearers took four paces forward and grounded their shields. The first rank of gunners moved up behind them and fired another volley. Then the next rank of shields leap-frogged them while the gunners reloaded and their own gunners volleyed. This process was repeated by the following ranks over and over, allowing the advancing ranks to maintain almost continuous fire as they moved quickly across the field between the opposing earthworks. It also spread the damage among the ranks so no single group absorbed more punishment than the others.

Crossbow bolts hammered into them, occasionally piercing the shields. The closer they got to the goblin lines the more accurate the soldier’s fire became, but the same was true of their enemies and more dwarves began to fall. Reaching the rows of spikes on the berms that sheltered the enemy they cleared them by the simple expedient of chopping at them with the lower edge of their shields. This and the rising slope of the berm exposed them to enemy fire and the first ranks of infantry were decimated. Despite this the others pushed forward until they crested the berms and the gunners went to work with their bayonets. The pike-men abandoned their pavises as they drew their shortswords and bucklers.