Re: Steel and Gunpowder

Brandt, the serious commander of the infantry, walked up from the rear artillery line. His brown beard was covered in white frost, making him look like an old man, but his eyes were sharp.

"General Voss," Brandt said. "We have a slight problem. The extreme cold is starting to seep into the supply wagons. If the temperature drops any further, the condensation could ruin the brass cartridges."

If the black powder inside the cartridges gets damp from the mountain fog or melting ice, it will not ignite. To fix this, the soldiers must wrap the crates in layers of dry wool and animal fat, keeping the moisture out at all costs.

Voss frowned. "Make sure your men do whatever it takes to keep those primer caps dry, Brandt. Wrap them in your own blankets if you have to."

"Already done, General," Brandt nodded. "But we need to make camp soon. The ice on the road is getting thicker. Even with the steam pressure in the traction engines, if we get caught in a solid freeze, we will be trapped out here until spring."

"Do not worry," Voss said, pointing toward the hawks still circling above. "The summit is less than a few hours away."

They spent the next few hours pushing through the freezing mist.

Every man in the convoy was tense, their hands resting on the steel of their new maces or the wooden stocks of their rifles.

The white fog was so thick that they could not see more than fifty paces ahead of the convoy.

Then, Hans suddenly grabbed Voss’s arm.

"General... do you see that?" Hans whispered, his eyes wide as he pointed straight ahead into the fog.

Voss squinted. At first, he just saw the endless gray mist. But then, a flickering orange glow appeared in the distance.

It was weak at first, but as the traction engines slowly pushed forward, the glow grew brighter and larger.

"Fire!" a soldier shouted from the lead wagon. "Fire straight ahead!"

"Is it a sulfur vent?" Brandt asked, stepping up to the edge of the wagon and narrowing his eyes.

"No," Voss said. "That is a bonfire. A large one."

Though Voss tried to remain calm, his heart started to beat a little faster.

"Maybe it is the fifty scouts!" Hans said. "Maybe they got trapped by the snow, and they built a giant fire to signal us! They knew we would come looking for them!"

"Or maybe the Spanish are waiting for us," Brandt muttered.

"Only one way to find out," Voss grinned. The familiar thrill of battle finally warmed his frozen blood. "Tell the men to load their weapons! If it is the scouts, we bring them home. If it is the Spanish, we crush their skulls and secure the pass!"

The sound of four thousand rifles being loaded echoed across the supply train.

The convoy finally broke through the last layer of the thick white fog. The rocky clearing of the Brenner Pass appeared right in front of them, covered in a blanket of pristine white snow.

Sitting right on the edge of the clearing was the source of the fire.

It was not a signal bonfire made of gathered wood. It was a tent.

Specifically, it was one of the Swabian scouting tents that had vanished a month ago. The canvas was engulfed in roaring orange flames, sending black smoke up into the gray sky.

"That is one of our scouting tents. Why is it burning now? It has been a whole month."

"Look at the snow!" Hans gasped, leaning over the wooden railing of the wagon.

Voss looked past the burning tent. The snowy clearing was empty.

But scattered all across the white snow, leading away from the burning tent and heading deep into the pine forest... were dozens of black iron weapons, dropped in the snow as if the men holding them had simply vanished.

Voss narrowed his eyes. He saw a trail of expensive Pattern-3 rifles and heavy coats scattered across the clearing, leading straight into the pine trees.

"It is simple," Voss said, pointing a finger toward the tree line. "It was a trap from the Spanish. They used the heavy snow and the dark night to surround the camp. They might have killed them all before our boys even had a chance to wake up."

Brandt frowned. "That makes no sense. If the Spanish ambushed them, why are all the rifles just lying there in the snow?"

Voss let out a low chuckle. "Because they were afraid."

Brandt’s shoulders finally relaxed. "Those dirty cowards... they attacked our scouts in their sleep!"

Voss turned his back to the clearing and looked down at the line of wagons. "Halt the engines! I want all four thousand Jaegers in that clearing right now! Keep your powder dry and your maces ready!"

Despite the biting cold, they marched down from the wagons in straight lines, their boots crunching loudly onto the icy ground.

The silent clearing was quickly transformed into a military staging ground.

The soldiers formed up into their five battalions.

Voss jumped down from the lead wagon. Hans and Brandt walked right behind him.

"Form up the lines!" Brandt yelled to the four thousand men. "Fix your bayonets and check your powder! We march into the tree line!"

The soldiers unhooked the steel maces from their belts, letting them hang loosely by their sides for easy access in close combat.

"Listen to me, boys!" Voss shouted, walking up and down the front line of the army. "Show no mercy!"

"For Alemannia!" the four thousand soldiers roared back.

Voss drew his mace and pointed it straight at the dense pine forest. "Forward!"

The army began to march. They followed the trail of dropped weapons, moving away from the safety of the clearing and entering the shadows of the tall pine trees.

As they walked deeper into the forest, the temperature seemed to drop even further. The air was so cold it burned their lungs.

"Keep your eyes open," Brandt whispered, holding his rifle tightly against his chest. "If they ambushed the scouts, they might try to ambush us."

They marched for what felt like an hour, following a narrow, snowy path between the giant trees. Voss checked the magnetic compass he had placed in his pocket. It still pointed straight North.

They were heading directly toward the high ridges of the pass, right where the Austrian border met the Bavarian Alps.

Suddenly, Voss stopped. He raised his left fist into the air, the universal signal to halt.

Behind him, the four thousand men instantly stopped marching.

"What is it?" Hans whispered, stepping up next to Voss.

Voss narrowed his eyes, staring at a pine tree about fifty paces ahead of them.

Tied around the wooden trunk of the tree was a large piece of dirty, frozen cloth. It was a grey Jaeger coat.

Voss slowly walked forward, keeping his mace raised.

Pinned to the center of the coat, driven deep into the wood of the tree, was an Austrian hunting knife. And carved into the bark of the tree, right above the pinned coat, were jagged letters.

Brandt and Hans hurried up to stand next to Voss.

"What does it say?" Brandt asked, his breath misting in the freezing air as he looked at the jagged carvings.

Voss stared at the letters, a strange feeling settling in his stomach.

"General... what does the tree say?" Hans pushed.

Voss slowly turned his head to look at his friends, his confident grin gone.

"It says..." Voss whispered, his grip tightening on his mace. "why did you forget to look up?"

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