Chapter 347 - 340 — The First Allotment

Sixteen days after the trials at High Forge,

Sergeant Halven was leading his thirty-one soldiers through the gates of a Southwestern rear depot.

Their shields bore the scars of the second defensive belt. Several swords had been shortened by broken tips, and Borr’s war hammer carried a new iron collar around the damaged handle.

Halven handed their movement order to the gate clerk. Of the forty-two soldiers on his original roll, seven were dead and four remained in field hospitals. He wanted replacements, fresh equipment and enough rest for the survivors to stop waking at every tenth step.

Borr lowered his pack beside him.

"When they said we were being relieved, I imagined roast meat and a proper barrel of beer. Nobody mentioned another march through the rain."

"You imagined a wagon too," Halven said.

"A reasonable request for a soldier carrying half the army’s iron."

The dwarf looked toward a kitchen cauldron steaming above a blue heating flame.

"If that contains the same grey paste we had yesterday, I am going to ask the cook what happened to the animal."

"Perhaps there was no animal."

"That is precisely what concerns me."

The clerk returned Halven’s papers with a fresh mark beside his company designation.

"Yard Four. You are among the formations selected for the new weapons."

Borr touched the hammer strapped across his pack.

"There is nothing wrong with this one that a competent smith cannot fix."

"Then bring it," the clerk replied. "Your instructor is waiting."

Covered wagons filled Yard Four. Floating lamps hung beneath the poles, illuminating opened crates and soldiers checking unfamiliar pieces of metal and wood against the issuing lists.

Halven stopped beside a rack.

The weapons were too short to be spears and lacked the limbs and strings of crossbows. Each had a narrow metal barrel fitted into a wooden body.

"What are those?" Borr asked.

"Rifles," said an instructor approaching them. "The Mauser 98k. Tomorrow you begin learning how to use it."

Halven looked from the slim weapon to the split rim of his shield. He had hoped for stronger armor or additional mages. It was difficult to imagine how a wooden stock fitted with a narrow metal tube would help his soldiers hold against a demon charge.

Borr examined it with equal doubt.

"I have broken sturdier-looking things over an enemy’s head."

"Then you should be pleased to hear that striking someone with it is not its main purpose," the instructor replied. "You will see tomorrow."

Their instructor checked the movement order.

"Your company was chosen because it has experienced soldiers who already know how to follow orders under fire. That does not mean anyone expects you to understand these weapons immediately."

"How long do we have?"

"Six days for the basic course. You will need practice afterward."

Halven rested a hand on his sword.

"Are these being collected?"

"No. Keep your blades and hammers. For now, leave the shields in your quarters when you attend instruction. You will need both hands free."

He directed the wounded toward the clinic and the others toward the barracks.

"Go get your Food and rest first. Nobody learns well while half asleep."

Borr immediately lifted his pack.

"I like this instructor."

By evening, a healer had eased the swelling in Borr’s wrist and renewed the binding. She warned him against practicing hammer blows that night, an instruction he found easy to obey once supper arrived.

The stew contained barley, beef and vegetables that had retained their shape.

Borr examined a piece of meat before eating it.

"If the kitchen can produce this, why have we been receiving boiled misery at the front?"

"Because the kitchen is here," Halven replied, "and the wagons have to reach us."

"Then we should take the cook with us when we leave."

"He might object."

"So do I. The army has never considered that a reason to leave me behind."

Halven smiled despite himself knowing it wont be possible. Around them, soldiers hung damp coats beside warming stones and loosened armor straps they had worn through most of the march.

The demons had continued their bombardments and smaller attacks, but the expected large advance had not followed the fall of the second belt. Nobody in Halven’s company knew why. The interval had allowed another formation to relieve them, and for tonight that was enough.

The next morning began with an unloaded Mauser on the instructor’s table.

Before distributing anything, he showed the platoon how to handle it safely. Several soldiers were accustomed to resting weapons wherever they found space; he made it clear that a rifle could not be treated like a sheathed sword.

Halven examined the one placed in his hands.

"Where do I feed mana into it?"

"You do not need to. The shot is powered by the self sufficient ammunition."

Borr leaned closer.

"Then what are the enchantments for?"

"Protection against damp and corrosion on this pattern. The firing action does not depend on your mana."

One of the swordsmen looked up.

"Even if we cannot cast anything?"

"Even then."

Halven turned the weapon in his hands. His soldiers had watched mages strike across open ground and magical artillery break fortified walls, but neither ability had ever belonged to them. Most had survived by standing behind shields until the enemy came within reach.

"You are saying this lets any of my men attack from a distance?" he asked.

"Yes and kill too if they learn to aim it."

Borr looked along the wooden stock.

"This stick is supposed to get through armor?"

The instructor lifted an iron breastplate from beneath the table and passed it to him.

Borr checked its thickness and knocked a knuckle against it. There was nothing unusual about the piece. Several men in the platoon wore armor much like it.

"Try driving your sword through that in a fight," he told Halven. "I would sooner put my hammer into the man wearing it."

"Take it down to the frame," the instructor told his assistant.

The soldiers watched the plate being fastened to a timber target at the far end of the range. It stood well beyond the distance at which Halven would have trusted a thrown spear.

When the assistant returned, the instructor stepped up with his rifle.

"Watch the breastplate."

The crack made several soldiers flinch. The plate jerked against its fastenings, and a little dust rose from the bank behind it.

Borr straightened.

"Did that go through?"

The instructor turned the rifle back to safety before sending his assistant to retrieve the target. Nobody joked while they waited.

Up close, the damage was unmistakable. A small hole pierced the front of the breastplate. Behind it, the timber support had split around the bullet’s passage.

Borr took the armor and turned it over. He pressed a thumb against the undamaged iron beside the hole, then looked back toward the distant frame.

"One shot?"

"You heard it."

The dwarf held the breastplate against his chest. The hole lay just below his heart.

At that distance, a soldier wearing this armor would still have been running toward the line. He would have had no opportunity to use his sword or hammer.

The swordsman beside Halven reached out to examine the damage.

"And that was the rifle? You did not put a spell into the shot?"

"The same ammunition you will be issued," the instructor replied. "No spell from me."

Halven looked at the rack of waiting rifles.

"How many of these are for us?"

"Every soldier assigned to a rifle section will receive one."

The men began speaking over one another. A soldier at the back asked whether it could pierce a demon’s thick skin. Another wanted to know how much ammunition they would carry.

Halven raised his hand, and the questions subsided.

"What armor can we expect it to defeat?"

"Ordinary armor like this. Heavier protection and magical wards are another matter. We will teach you its limits along with its use."

That was enough to change how Halven saw the weapon. His men would still need the mages, but they would have a way to strike while the enemy was beyond their blades.

Borr set the breastplate down carefully.

"I would like to try that."

The assistant returned the breastplate to its frame. Once he was safely back, the instructor nodded toward the firing line.

"Now you try."

Borr stepped forward first. He shifted his feet twice, struggled to settle the unfamiliar weapon comfortably and flinched when he fired. Earth jumped beside the target.

He stared at the disturbed ground, then at the rifle.

"That felt considerably less polite than it looked."

"Did you strike the plate?" Halven asked.

"The ground beside it."

"Then we have established that the ground should be afraid of you."

A few soldiers laughed. Borr handed the weapon over.

"Your turn, Sergeant."

Halven did little better. He braced as though preparing to receive a blow against his shield, and the instructor stopped him from treating every shot as a contest of strength.

"You know how to fight with a sword," the man said. "You are learning something different here. Give yourself time to learn it."

That was harder to accept with his soldiers watching.

He continued until he could place his shots on the large practice target. Several others needed longer, but Halven remained beside them rather than allowing embarrassment to hurry the lesson.

By the time they were called to eat, men who had questioned the rifles were asking when they could return to the range. Borr was still examining his rifle when Halven reminded him that the kitchen would not keep his meal warm out of respect for his curiosity.

When they returned after the meal, three more weapons had been uncovered on the adjoining tables.

Their instructor waited beside them.

"You have tried the Mauser. Now I will show you the other weapons your company is receiving."

One had a perforated metal housing traced with dark runic markings. Beside it lay a much longer weapon, heavy enough to need a substantial support. The third had a broad barrel that drew Borr’s attention immediately.

"The MG-34, the AMR-20 and the Lancer-40," the instructor said, indicating each in turn. "They have different tasks and need crews. We will begin with the machine gun."

Borr glanced back toward the rifle range.

"What does this one do that the Mauser cannot?"

"Watch the targets."

Halven had seen magical artillery tear apart barricades. He had watched batteries wait for charged cores while their crews struggled to keep exhausted casters standing.

He expected the larger weapon to require something similar.

Instead, an instructor settled behind it with an assistant beside him. When it fired, a succession of impacts crossed the target screens with a sound like throwing pebbles on a tin can. The assistant supplied ammunition while narrow runic channels brightened around the housing.

Borr watched the entire demonstration without speaking.

"The runes power it?" he asked afterward.

"No they help control the heat," the dwarven instructor explained. "The gun still fires if the cooling assembly fails. It then needs the normal barrel procedure, which every crew must learn."

He let them feel the heat in the air near the assembly without touching it.

"Runic cooling gives you more time though it does not make careless handling harmless."

A captain who had watched from the edge of the range approached the ordnance officer.

"Two of those rapid-firing weapons would help hold the eastern approaches."

"And the crews would need instruction, ammunition and spare equipment," the officer replied. "These allotments are already done. I cannot divide them without leaving another formation short."

"My men are fighting now."

The officer indicated Halven’s battered platoon.

"So were these men. Put your request in writing. I will send it with the application for the next shipment."

The captain looked over the waiting soldiers before accepting the sheet.

After watching the demonstration, Halven understood why the man was reluctant to leave empty-handed.

Borr had helped supply a rune-cannon emplacement during the retreat, carrying charged cores and assisting its crew when the position was evacuated. Halven assigned him to one of the new machine-gun teams.

The quartermaster soon gave him reason to reconsider his enthusiasm.

"How many ammunition boxes belong to this gun?" Borr asked.

"All the ones marked you see are for your team."

"I carried cores for a cannon that required a stone platform."

"And now you will carry ammunition for a weapon that eats it like snack."

Borr looked toward his new gunner.

"You heard him. If you want a different position, help carry the boxes."

Their first exercise proved how much they had to learn. Men crowded one another, equipment was left behind, and everyone initially waited for the instructor to tell them what came next.

Halven watched the team improve over several repetitions.

That evening, Borr sat beside his hammer, inspecting the cracked handle shaft.

"Still want the machine gun?" Halven asked.

The dwarf nodded.

"At the broken road, we waited for the demons to come close enough to hit. The supporting mage could barely stand."

Halven remembered the shield line bending around their wounded.

"If we had been able to strike them from farther away," Borr continued, "perhaps we would not have needed to hold that road with so few men."

He set the hammer aside.

"I am keeping this, though. If the new weapon fails, I still intend to be difficult to kill."

Ilyra drew the instructors’ attention on the second morning.

Before joining Halven’s depleted platoon, the elf had served as a forward observer for a magical artillery unit. She could judge distances, identify movement among ruins and describe a target clearly enough for a battery commander to act.

She had never fired a rifle before arriving at the depot.

Her first attempts showed it. But she listened closely, remained patient between shots and improved more consistently than most of the platoon.

By midday, an instructor selected her for an AMR-20 team.

Halven visited its range later that afternoon.

The larger weapon rested on a support while Ilyra and two assistants listened to an elven artificer explain the sighting enchantment.

"It helps steady the sight once the weapon is properly supported though i will repeat it again it will not choose a target or correct every mistake you make."

Ilyra noticed Halven waiting.

"They have decided I should learn with an even louder one."

"Can it stop a Warhound?"

The artificer unfolded a marked illustration.

"It cannot be relied upon to defeat the main frontal armor. It is intended for equipment and vulnerable components that an accurate shot can damage."

Ilyra studied the smaller markings.

"I used to report targets for a battery to strike. Now I am expected to place the shot myself."

"Eventually," the artificer said. "Today you are expected to work with your team and learn what the weapon can do. I will not sign a claim of proficiency because you managed a few good shots."

Halven appreciated that answer.

His company needed these weapons, but pretending unfamiliar soldiers were already experts would only get them killed.

The Lancer-40 crews trained on the neighboring field.

Their instructor laid out the four ammunition types and explained the uses of fragmentation, smoke, demolition and anti-armor rounds. Luminous markings helped distinguish them in poor light, but he made each crew identify its issue before moving.

During a joint exercise, a Lancer team was ordered to cover a rifle section crossing an exposed stretch of ground.

Its smoke spread across the field just as Ilyra’s team prepared to engage a practice target.

She lowered her head from the sight.

"I cannot see it."

The supervising instructor stopped the exercise and called both leaders forward.

"Why did you release the smoke?"

"We received the signal to cover the crossing," the Lancer leader replied.

"Did anyone tell you the AMR team had a task to complete first?"

"No."

Ilyra looked at the officer holding the signal flags.

"And nobody told us when the crossing would begin."

The officer checked his instructions, then lowered the flags.

"That was my mistake. I gave you separate tasks without arranging the order."

They repeated the exercise after discussing it together. This time the AMR team completed its practice engagement before the smoke covered the movement.

Halven gathered his section leaders afterward.

"We have always needed to know when our mages and artillery were acting. These weapons only increase that responsibility. Tell the crews supporting you what you intend to do."

On the third evening, the company commander arrived during supper.

The dispatch he handed the senior instructor ordered their departure before dawn.

"We have completed only half the course," the instructor said. "These soldiers first handled rifles three days ago."

"I stated that when I requested more time. Headquarters still needs us at Corridor Seven."

Halven stood.

"What has changed?"

"Warhounds are moving toward the approaches. The defending battalion has suffered losses and needs reinforcement before the next attack."

Several soldiers exchanged looks. They remembered the damaged positions along that route and the difficulty of bringing wounded through them.

"Are we expected to lead an assault?" Halven asked.

"No,you will join the existing defenses. Shield-bearers, mages and artillery remain in place. The new weapon teams will support them."

The instructor placed the dispatch on the table.

"They can carry out the basic exercises. Their handling still slows under pressure, and the supporting crews need more practice together."

"You and the other instructors are coming with us. Report those limits directly to the sector officers, and continue instruction whenever the position allows."

The instructor looked around the room before nodding.

"Then we check every team tonight. No one changes assignments on the march without telling us."

The commander let the soldiers finish eating before ordering them to prepare.

Borr gathered the remaining bread into a cloth.

"What are you doing?" Halven asked.

"Learning from previous marches. The next cook may believe soup is water that has heard about meat."

"Then pack enough for your team."

"I already have."

Four replacements reached the barracks after supper.

One had served with a spear formation, two were swordsmen, and the youngest had helped carry supplies to a magical artillery battery. None had handled the new weapons.

Halven placed them in ammunition parties beside veterans and made the instructors aware of their inexperience. Their first responsibility would be moving the correct supplies, not operating a weapon they had never been taught to use.

He then checked the rest of the platoon.

Swords were secured at belts. Shields were stacked in the company’s equipment wagons, ready to be issued according to the positions they would occupy. Borr’s hammer remained with his personal kit, while his new team packed the machine gun and its supporting equipment.

Ilyra asked Halven to keep her assistants with her.

"We have only just begun learning how to manage this together. Please do not replace one of them because another officer needs someone who can carry a box."

"Your team stays together," he assured her. "Send any request to me."

Near dawn, Borr joined him beside the wagons.

"I had expected six days of being shouted at."

"You complained when they told you."

"I would now like the remaining three."

Halven looked at the rifle slung beside his sword. For years, he had known what his hands would do when an enemy came at him. With this weapon, he still had to think about each unfamiliar movement.

"So would I," he said.

He accounted for all thirty-five soldiers before signaling the platoon forward.

Their instructors walked with the weapon crews as the wagons left the depot. Behind them, the range lamps were being lit for the formations that would train next.

Halven tightened the strap across his shoulder and followed his soldiers toward Corridor Seven.