Michael Pearce - Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Even firm ground can become dusty after fifteen thousand men have trod upon it. Engvyr adjusted the scarf tied over his mouth and nose as the last of the supply wagons rolled past, but that did not keep his eyes from burning.

They rode close when the land was narrow, ranging far out to the flanks when the ground opened up. Riding rear-guard and watching the supply train was its own kind of awful. Not only was he eating the dust of the entire army but he was too well aware that the first sign of an ambush was likely to be a crossbow-bolt.

Taarven rode up, his clothing, gear and pony a uniform dirt gray from the dust. He lifted the edge of his scarf with the lip of his water bottle and drank before trying to speak.

“Seems like the road’s still clear behind us,” he said.

“Pretty much as we expected,” Engvyr agreed, “Seems like the Baasgarta are happy to set and wait for us to come join the party.”

Taarven favored him with an ironic look, then checked the sun's position and said, “Less'n I miss my guess they'll not be waiting much longer.”

“Going to be a bloody business. There is a powerful lot of them.”

Taarven shrugged.

“Quantity has a quality of its own, but truth be told these Baasgarta fellows aren't real good at large-scale combat. If'n I had to guess I'd say they've never fought a real war before.”

Engvyr nodded agreement, but said, “Even so, this isn't going to be a cakewalk.”

Taarven said, “That’s as may be. Regardless, we got it to do. Best we catch up.”

It was not long in fact before the column halted and a company of Heavy Infantry came back to take over guarding the supplies. The experienced teamsters quickly unhitched the oxen, laagered the wagons and the soldiers began to dig in around them.

Engvyr and Taarven unsaddled their ponies, rubbed them down and fed them. They got their bedrolls off of the saddles and lashed them across the tops of their packs. Engvyr left his long-rifle scabbarded with his tack and harness; his carbine was better suited to the job ahead. By that time a corral had been set up and the other rangers had gathered as Captain Gauer briefed them.

“The Baasgarta are massed in the next valley,” he told them, “So we're going to dig in for the night. Hopefully we can winkle them out of their hole and get them to come against us here. If not we'll assault them in the morning. They're still working on individual assignments for us, so for now just clean up and try to get a hot meal in you while they get things sorted out. Hopefully we'll all be in place by sundown. The Baasgarta will fight best in darkness but they might not want to leave their positions to come after us. I'd guess it's even odds as to whether they'll hit us tonight. Be ready!”

Engvyr cleaned the carbine meticulously before wiping the dust from the rest of his gear as best he could. By the time he had eaten, the Captain's prediction about orders proved true and he received his assignment.

“You’ll be running for Colonel Hengkvist, 3rd Battalion of the 4th Heavy Infantry. Report to him immediately; you'll find them deployed on the flanks of the 3rd Rifles at the north end of the valley.”

Engvyr grabbed his pack, nodded to his comrades and headed north at a jog. He passed through the hasty fighting positions being dug behind the lines for the 3rd to fall back into. Stopping to ask for directions he was told the colonel was on the right flank.

The 3rd Rifles were deployed in lines four ranks deep covering a half-mile of front. Two companies of Heavy Infantry anchored their flanks on either side where the ground rose at the edges of the valley. Engvyr worked his way up the slope and presented himself.

“Ranger Engvyr Gunnarson, reporting as ordered,” he said, touching the brim of his hat in salute.

The Colonel waved a hand in greeting and said, “Make yourself comfortable, Ranger. I expect you'll know if you’re needed. At any event you'll have a good view of the proceedings should the Baasgarta decide to try their luck tonight.”

He turned back to his conversation with the company commanders and Engvyr looked around for a good seat on the hillside. The battalion's Sergeant Major saw him and came over, checking the position of the sun as he did.

“I expect we've some time before our friends come a'calling. If'n you haven't had a hot meal there's still time before they shut things down.”

“Thanks, Sergeant-Major, but I'm all set,” Engvyr told him. The older soldier looked at him quizzically.

“Are you the Engvyr Gunnarson that served with the 3rd Rifles a couple decades back?”

Engvyr sighed and admitted that he was. He hoped that the Sergeant-Major wasn't going to make a big deal of it. His wish was granted when the Sergeant-Major simply nodded and said, “Thought so. Well, we oughta have a good seat for the show tonight.”

The sergeant wandered off and Engvyr looked out over the troops deployed below their position. The 3rd's lines spread out to either side of the narrow river that ran down the center of the valley. Looking at the lay of the ground and their positions he had to admit they had an excellent view.

He took a quick mental inventory. He'd had a hot meal, reported for duty, was in position and had nothing to do at the moment. That being the case he did what any experienced soldier would do under the circumstances. He sat down on the hillside so that he was comfortably propped up by his pack and went to sleep.

Engvyr woke instantly when a stir went through the nearby troops. Quickly looking around in the dimness he saw two mounted scouts trotting their ponies towards the 3rd Rifles lines from the north. Checking the western sky he guessed that it was an hour or so after sunset.

“They're coming, then,” a nearby soldier commented to his comrades. The infantry on the hillside were in 'hasty' fighting positions, really just a shallow hole with the excavated dirt piled before it to form a short parapet. It was simply a place for them to duck while they reloaded. On the steep slope it also insured that they had secure footing to fire from.

The soldiers checked their slug-guns and other weapons. Down along the lines of riflemen in the valley Engvyr could see them doing the same. Looking north along the enemy's avenue of approach he could see the range markers that the riflemen had placed earlier. They were simple planks driven into the earth with the side facing the enemy stained a medium brown and the side towards the dwarves a glittery, reflective white. The furthest was at three-hundred paces and they were spaced every fifty paces as they approached the dwarven lines to allow the riflemen to easily adjust their aim for the range.

Engvyr saw to his own weapons with practiced hands. He was not particularly nervous or afraid at this point; in fact he was rather bored. Plenty of time for terror later , he reflected. He very much wanted a cup of coffee but he could already hear the mass of approaching Baasgarta.

Soon the goblins hove into sight. They were a solid mass from this distance and they just kept coming and coming, carpeting the valley floor. The moon had risen nearly full and dwarves have pretty good night vision but even so they were within a thousand paces before he could really resolve details of the oncoming horde. They were advancing in ranks and keeping their lines together fairly well, given the ankle-to-knee-high brush that dominated the ground at this altitude. That will limit their pace, he thought. Attempting to charge over that carpet of foliage would be disastrous, at least for the first ranks. At five hundred paces they stopped, and he could see some milling about as they re-ordered their lines.