Read Online Stiger’s Tigers (Chronicles of An Imperial Legionary Officer Book 1) by Marc Alan Edelheit - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marc Alan Edelheit
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the impetuous curse of the youthful. It was unheard of for adult elves to venture forth. Stiger had only known one other elf to venture into the outside world, and he was the appointed ambassador to the empire. Even the ambassador was a youth.
Stiger swept his gaze around the campsite. Arranged a bit haphazardly from the hasty setup the night before, the overgrown field was crowded with five-man tents. Bushes and small trees sprouted up between the tents. It looked very untidy to Stiger’s critical eye.
The men sat scattered across the campsite, in small groups, eating their first freshly-cooked meal in a good long while. Having shaved and cleaned up, they looked a bit more presentable. Still, it was not enough for the captain. He had seen allied auxiliaries who looked more professional than his men looked. Though he hated to admit it, he understood the damage done to his men could not be reversed overnight or by a single meal. It would take time and effort.
The captain noted there was plenty of lively jawing, along with scattered laughs, among the men. None of it carried the ring of the sullen, resentful or demoralized, which had been evident on the march out. Stiger reckoned that his men viewed any change, no matter how slight, as better than what they had had, even if a feared Stiger was behind it. Then again, upon additional consideration, Stiger conceded that the assassination attempt spoke otherwise for some … perhaps even many.
His two sergeants were making the rounds, moving from tent to tent and speaking with each group of men. They were making sure each got his fill. Good legionaries needed to be well-fed. Stiger shook his head once again at the thought of how different the South was from the North. What he had seen so far would never have been tolerated by General Treim.
At the rate his men were devouring the bucks, Stiger seriously questioned whether there would be anything left over other than bones and marrow. The company cook would likely make soup from the remains. Soup might not be such a bad thing, he mused, thinking on the ordeal that was coming.
Before the day was done, a good number would suffer from cramped bowels and intestinal disorder. He had seen such intestinal distress before, most notably after a long-running siege had been lifted. The men’s stomachs would not be fit to handle the rich fare they were now consuming. He would have likely caused a near riot, had he attempted to limit each man’s portion. Like children, they would just have to discover on their own. Subsequent meals would be carefully rationed, focusing on proper portion size, until they were able to handle more.
“Plenty of healthy, fat game out there, it would seem,” Stiger said thoughtfully. He took another bite, chewing and enjoying the rich, warm juices of the meat.
“Deer, wild hogs, hare …” Eli replied with a shrug. He knew his friend did not wish to address the issue of General Kromen’s unfitness for command; however, having seen the conditions in the main encampment, he could not stop himself. “I find it distressing that the legions encamped here should have not picked the surrounding area clean.”
“I do not wish …” Stiger began hotly, before mentally checking himself. He would not take Eli’s bait, no matter how much he agreed with his friend’s sentiment. He did not appreciate when others spoke ill of their superiors, and had made it a habit to not do so himself.
“Until we march for Vrell,” Stiger said quietly, after a short hesitation, “I would very much like the scouts and skirmishers out and about each night. Work them hard. We need those men trained up before we march. And the company requires a source of fresh food to build strength and endurance.”
“The men look awful,” Eli agreed, sweeping a casual look about the campsite. Having made his point and seen his friend’s reaction, he felt no need to add anything further, though he felt the matter was far from concluded.
Stiger swept his gaze around the campsite. Arranged a bit haphazardly from the hasty setup the night before, the overgrown field was crowded with five-man tents. Bushes and small trees sprouted up between the tents. It looked very untidy to Stiger’s critical eye.
The men sat scattered across the campsite, in small groups, eating their first freshly-cooked meal in a good long while. Having shaved and cleaned up, they looked a bit more presentable. Still, it was not enough for the captain. He had seen allied auxiliaries who looked more professional than his men looked. Though he hated to admit it, he understood the damage done to his men could not be reversed overnight or by a single meal. It would take time and effort.
The captain noted there was plenty of lively jawing, along with scattered laughs, among the men. None of it carried the ring of the sullen, resentful or demoralized, which had been evident on the march out. Stiger reckoned that his men viewed any change, no matter how slight, as better than what they had had, even if a feared Stiger was behind it. Then again, upon additional consideration, Stiger conceded that the assassination attempt spoke otherwise for some … perhaps even many.
His two sergeants were making the rounds, moving from tent to tent and speaking with each group of men. They were making sure each got his fill. Good legionaries needed to be well-fed. Stiger shook his head once again at the thought of how different the South was from the North. What he had seen so far would never have been tolerated by General Treim.
At the rate his men were devouring the bucks, Stiger seriously questioned whether there would be anything left over other than bones and marrow. The company cook would likely make soup from the remains. Soup might not be such a bad thing, he mused, thinking on the ordeal that was coming.
Before the day was done, a good number would suffer from cramped bowels and intestinal disorder. He had seen such intestinal distress before, most notably after a long-running siege had been lifted. The men’s stomachs would not be fit to handle the rich fare they were now consuming. He would have likely caused a near riot, had he attempted to limit each man’s portion. Like children, they would just have to discover on their own. Subsequent meals would be carefully rationed, focusing on proper portion size, until they were able to handle more.
“Plenty of healthy, fat game out there, it would seem,” Stiger said thoughtfully. He took another bite, chewing and enjoying the rich, warm juices of the meat.
“Deer, wild hogs, hare …” Eli replied with a shrug. He knew his friend did not wish to address the issue of General Kromen’s unfitness for command; however, having seen the conditions in the main encampment, he could not stop himself. “I find it distressing that the legions encamped here should have not picked the surrounding area clean.”
“I do not wish …” Stiger began hotly, before mentally checking himself. He would not take Eli’s bait, no matter how much he agreed with his friend’s sentiment. He did not appreciate when others spoke ill of their superiors, and had made it a habit to not do so himself.
“Until we march for Vrell,” Stiger said quietly, after a short hesitation, “I would very much like the scouts and skirmishers out and about each night. Work them hard. We need those men trained up before we march. And the company requires a source of fresh food to build strength and endurance.”
“The men look awful,” Eli agreed, sweeping a casual look about the campsite. Having made his point and seen his friend’s reaction, he felt no need to add anything further, though he felt the matter was far from concluded.
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