Washing It All Away

Castle Gelayne had been taken.

Sergeant Merkel of Reikland took a swig of water from his hip flask. Yes, water. The lords would have wine. The knights would decline wine, but nonetheless raid the cellars of Castle Gelayne and help themselves to the rich booty of Bretonnia. The state troopers of the Empire however, would be expected to solidify Lord Hemmler's hold on the castle that had once belonged to Duke MaChelle, said duke now in chains, and enjoying the hospitality that the state troopers of Reikland and Reiksguard could provide.

And he'd be drinking water. Because he had too much to do to afford to be drunk. But damn it, lying down on the grass as the sun set, he was going to enjoy it. Because after a day-long siege, he figured that he'd earnt it.

"Lying down on the job?"

He looked up at the voice – Sergeant Guering of the 21st Halberdiers. He hadn't seen him at all during the battle. But whether his friend had lived or died was something that hadn't entered his mind.

"I figure that Lord Hemmler isn't interested in paying me extra gold for today's services," Merkel grunted. "So I'm taking the booty for myself."

Guering handed him another hip flask. The stains on its exterior told him what was in it.

"Drink up," Guering said.

Merkel only hesitated for a moment. A moment after that, he began gulping it down.

"Straight from the Moot," Guering said. "Two years old, but it gets the job done."

Get the job done. It was a common phrase.

And the job had been done. Lord Hemmler had led a force into Bretonnia, and over a single day, had captured Castle Gelayne. Why, he didn't know, only that Duke MaChelle owed him something, or spurred his daughter, or done whatever the hell lords of human nations did. Thanks to that, Hemmler had ordered a siege. A siege that consisted of a head-on assault rather than any attempt to starve their foe out. It had been costly. It had expended two thirds of his force, and severely depleted his artillery stores. Lying on the grass, Merkel could see the siege towers and ladders still lying against the castle walls – a distraction for the cannons to cause a breach on the eastern wall, when Hemmler sent his best troops through. The Bretonnians had fought hard. The duke had sent his own knights onto the field, and only the courage of the Reiksguard had kept Hemmler's flanks secured. But they had prevailed. And now, the only Bretonnians still alive were those who might be worth a ransom.

"So," Guering said, "what now?"

What now indeed, Merkel reflected. He didn't say anything. He just got up and walked over to the moat that surrounded the castle. It was filled with debris. Filled with bodies. Blood flowed through the water.

Hemmler's outright invaded another country," Guering continued. "You think anyone's going to let this go?"

Merkel shook his head. Not all the blood in the moat would wash away all the blood that had been spilt over the course of the battle. Not enough water in the world existed for that.

He took another swig of wine.

That, at least, was a substance he didn't mind drenching himself in.