The Storm

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"What did you say?" the sergeant was fairly sure he had heard the man correctly, but he wanted to be sure.

"I said no, Sergeant. No way I'm going out there in a f**king blizzard. Shoot me right here. We're all going to die out here anyway."

Part of him wanted to draw his sidearm and threaten the man, perhaps even shoot him. But this man was one of the most reliable soldiers in the troop, this was no rookie - new to the army - this soldier was a long serving veteran.

"What's going on Sergeant, why aren't the men falling in?"

Just what he needed, the men were rebellious, now the lieutenant was on his ass.

"Follow me, Sir."

In a serious breach of protocol, the sergeant tugged at the sleeve of the officer's coat and pulled him away from where the men were huddled together, desperately trying to stay warm.

"Sir, the men refuse to move. Honestly I don't blame them, the storm is getting worse and visibility is damned near zero. Even if we had a local with us, I doubt we could find our way in this storm to a position where we can cut those people off. I'm not sure they'd even try to pull out in this mess."

The lieutenant wanted to get angry, he wanted to yell at someone, anyone, but he took a deep breath before he spoke.

"Shit," he muttered, "can't say I blame them and you're right we'd probably get lost out there and freeze to death anyway."

The officer thought for a long moment, "Do we still have fuel for the cook stoves?"

"Yes Sir, we haven't stopped to cook for a few days now."

"Have the men go ahead and fire their stoves up, we need to get them warm, half of them probably have frostbite already."

"But Sir ..."

"If the enemy doesn't know we're here, then they are complete fools. And we know they're not."

"Alright, Sir, I'll see to it."

"It's no use, Sir. Scouts say that once you leave the trees and get out in the open, it's a complete whiteout, visibility is damned near zero. If we try to go out there, there's no way we can keep the men together, we'll get scattered."

"And once the storm eases up, the enemy can just scoop us up."

"It's more likely that they wouldn't find our bodies until spring. The wind is piling up the drifts pretty quickly."

"Anything on our enemy, can you even see anything in that direction?"

"Odd thing about that ..."

"What?"

"Our observers claim to see have seen a glow in that direction. Like they've lit a fire, or more than one. The glow was pretty muted and not all in one place."

"Hhmm ... Well, sounds like they've gone to ground for the night. We should do the same. The enemy know where we are, have to men light their cookfires. We might die in the morning, but damn it, we won't die hungry and maybe we'll even be warm."

The sergeant had fallen asleep, he was so exhausted that he couldn't help it. A hand was shaking him ...

"Sarge, Sarge, wake up!"

The sergeant opened his eyes, rather he tried to. He felt a momentary surge of panic, then he realized that there was probably ice on his eyelashes. Carefully he worked a hand out of his glove, and then tried to get his eyes open. Eventually he could see, squatting in front of him was one of his corporals.

"What ... What is it?"

"We can't find the lieutenant."

Damn it, the man knows better than to wander off in this kind of weather. He slowly got up, trying to get his circulation flowing, his feet felt like blocks of wood they were so numb. Gradually he was able to get up and move.

"Where was he last?"

"He was with Rudolf's men. He was moving from fire to fire, trying to get the men's spirits up. Maybe he climbed out of the gully to check on the enemy. They built fires don't you know?"

Damn, he didn't know that. But it made sense, we know where they are, they know where we are, he was sure. We lit our camp stoves, why shouldn't they do the same?

"Okay, Corp, you come with me, you men," he said looking at the three men who had come with the corporal. "Don't wander off."

As the men wrapped their blankets around themselves and huddled close to the little stove, one of them said, "Ain't nowhere to go, Sarge."

The corporal stopped before they moved off, "Where is Elias?"

"He's with the horses, they're out of the wind, he's got a stove going for them as well."

"Good man. We'll be back."

It had to have been close to three in the morning when the storm finally died out. The clouds were starting to break up and the moon revealed its pale face sporadically among the scudding clouds. The landscape was a sheet of white, a rolling blanket which evened out the irregularities of the landscape.

The corporal spoke, "I'll bet the gullies have drifted over, ours would have if we hadn't kept clearing it."

The sergeant nodded, he was looking towards the hillock. He had a sense that he was being watched. He could now see the enemy's camp fires, there were a lot of them, far more than he would have suspected. But in reality, they could build more fires than they had people, make us think there were more of them than he suspected. Or there could have been more of them than he realized.

They'd found the lieutenant. He had decided to do a little reconnaissance towards the enemy held hillock. He hadn't gone too far from the gully, the wind had shifted, revealing the soles of the lieutenant's boots. No doubt he had fallen asleep while observing the hillock. His field glasses were still in his frozen hands.

"They say that freezing to death ain't that bad, Sarge."

"Dead is dead, doesn't matter how it comes to you. The man should have let me know what he was up to."

"He didn't want to wake you, I'll bet." The corporal looked towards the hillock, then sighed.

"Think this is worth it, Sarge?"

"What, that hillock. It ain't worth a damned thing."

"How about the lives of those guys up there, how about our own lives? Is this bullshit worth it?"

"Dangerous way to think, Corp."

"It's just you and me here, Sarge. Well, you, me, and a half-frozen troop of cavalry. Those guys on the hill might outnumber us ya know? I doubt we have twenty horses fit to travel."

"Poor bastards look like they're on their last legs. Hell, half of 'em aren't even mounted." The sentry shook his head as he watched their pursuers digging themselves out of the gully they had taken shelter in. He handed the field glasses back to the commander.

"Looks like they lost a few men in the night as well." The commander had the glasses on five bundled up bodies next to one edge of the gully. "Do you know how many of our own died?"

"No sir, rumor has it that all the wounded died."

"Who told you that nonsense? We lost one man, one out of all the wounded."

"Wow, just one, Sir?"

"Yes, just the one. There was little hope of him surviving out here anyway. Stomach wound."

The scout grimaced, "Awful way to go."

The commander nodded, "I can't think of many pleasant ways to go in a war."

"No Sir, nor can I. Wait ... What the hell is that?" The scout took the field glasses from his commander and trained them down the slope.

Standing on the edge of the gully nearest the hillock was one of their pursuers. Waving a white rag on the end of a saber.

"D'ya think they want to surrender Sir?"

"Go back and get the Sergeant Major, he speaks their language. I think those people wish to parley. And give me back my field glasses, I'll watch from here. Go man, go."

As the scout headed up the hill, the commander watched. Another man joined the man with the parley flag. It appeared that they were arguing.

"Interesting," the commander muttered. "Interesting indeed."

To be continued ...