"Generally, it is easier to attack, than to defend. The equation changes tremendously when fortifications come into play, however." - Marven McDougall, Commanding General of the Elmaiya Empire, circa 412 FP.
"Good gods…" muttered Hannah from her perch on Rodney's back. The young man had his right arm broken during the ambush, and was the only other in their group unable to fight well. Because of that, he was given the task to carry Hannah on his back. The therian girl was slung over his back, tied to him with some ropes so she wouldn't just fall off. "These people are rank amateurs, aren't they?"
Her comment was honestly quite justified. Their group had cautiously made their way towards the camp they targeted, with their few scouts ahead of them to watch for lookouts. Now they were already within a stone's throw from the camp, and the only thing they ran into was one man who went into the woods to relieve himself.
Nicole had run into the man and silenced him before he could react, a textbook stab to the kidney while covering his mouth, followed by slitting his throat. Their other scouts reported that the way ahead was clear.
The camp itself was rather haphazardly set up. Tents pitched in a rather disorderly manner, with only makeshift wooden blockades covering the front and the back. They had not even covered their sides, and other than the few on watch - again, only covering the fort and the road, not their sides - most of the people there lounged or sprawled around all over the camp.
There was not a semblance of military discipline amongst them, and the camp looked more like a mob than anything. Hannah even saw a couple copulating behind some bushes on the other side of the camp.
"This is odd," noted Reinhardt after he took a look. The men and women he led had hidden themselves in the dense jungle beside the camp, as they gathered before they launched their attack. "I recall that the ones who ambushed us were more competent than this."
"Likely a different group, boss?" asked Nicole from beside him. "Or maybe… their commanders were amongst those dead bodies around the fort. I recalled seeing a few that wore proper armor amongst those that ambushed us. There aren't any here."
"Might be. Either way, what we're going to do wouldn't change," replied Reinhardt with an equally low voice. He was at the very front of their formation, along with the rest of the best fighters in the group, while those who weren't as skilled were protected in the middle. "Everyone ready? Good. Let's go fuck these assholes up."
They made no noise, even as they suddenly rushed out from the jungle. All the ragtag group of militiamen in the camp noticed were just some rustling in the jungle, which they likely took for some animals passing by.
When dozens of armed men and women burst out from the jungle, they were caught by complete surprise. The first screams for help were not even sounded until after ten or so of them were cut down where they stood - or lay - by the experienced mercenaries.
Reinhardt stood at the very front of the group, his large, muscular frame drawing attention to him, which a couple of their smaller members used to hide behind him and strike by surprise.
He roared as loudly as he could as he charged, a calculated risk. If his roar made the other nearby camps think that it was merely an animal attack, then they were likely to delay their response, thinking it a minor matter.
His strong arms wielded his polemace expertly, as one strike directly shattered the wooden shield one of the men held in front of him, and the man's bones as well as the strike continued unabated. He struck another on the chin with the backswing, the strike crushing the woman's jawbone and dropping her where she stood.
Another older man rushed at him with a rusty hatchet in hand. The look in his eyes reminded Reinhardt all too well of the fearless lunatics that had ambushed his group, and he kicked the man down even as he blocked the blow from the hatchet and another man's sword with his polemace.
Then he pushed the sword away, and a swing of his polemace shattered his opponent's head, sending blood-drenched bits of bones and scalp, as well as gooey brain matter all over the place. The splatter seemed to shock the three other militiamen behind the dead man, as they halted for a moment.
Reinhardt took that moment to step on the other, fallen man, and drove the spike which capped the other end of his polemace through the man's skull, right between his eyes.
By now, his usually snow-white spotted fur was mostly red, drenched as he was in blood, and as he roared again, baring his sharp fangs for all to see, for the first time he saw an intimidated look on his opponents. Whatever madness had gripped them and made them so fearless seemed to be broken by the slaughter, and they actually tried to turn and run.
Reinhardt didn't allow them to.
One vertical swing of his polemace struck the escaping man in the middle. The solid metal weapon drove the man's head down into his torso, as his spine crumbled under the strike. The man fell to his knees, his neck practically gone and his head embedded halfway into his torso, as dead as one can be.
Nicole slipped out from behind Reinhardt and skewered one of the other runners with the short spear she favored. He saw how her stab expertly went between ribs and out through her target's chest, before she pulled her spear back out and stabbed the man's throat once more from behind to be sure.
The last escapee was already a bit further by then, but even she wasn't spared. She had almost reached the jungle on the other side when an axe hurled through the air and embedded itself into her skull from behind. The woman dropped dead on the spot, right in front of two pairs of surprised eyes.
It was the couple in the woods that Hannah noticed before they struck. They took one look at the carnage in the camp, and wordlessly turned around and fled into the jungle. A couple of the mercenaries looked questioningly at Reinhardt, and asked whether they ought to chase them down.
"Leave them. We spent too much time already," he said curtly as he stored his bloody weapon back into his storage. By now he doubted the other nearby camps haven't sent people to check. "We make a run for the fort. Whether you make it or not… will depend on how fast you run."
Patreon
Im confused what FP stands for. Also I assume it's like a year, but then Ingrid had a quote from like 2 FP and now we have a quote from 412 FP so maybe it's not a year..?
It's a year much like how we use BC and AD yeah.
Not all of them came from times relevant to the story.
Maybe they were under a spell like Frenzy but now they aren't?