bright.
“Do not call me ‘sir,’“ Günter said, very slowly.
Fritz hung his head, and his shoulders slumped.
“I will never remember. My father taught me to respect my elders and those I admire. It is a hard thing to forget.”
Günter rested a hand upon his shoulder.
“Forget it you must. If we wound up in the wrong hands someday, it could mark me for torture as one of the company’s high-ranking officers. As a mere sergeant, I would resent that.”
Fritz blanched. “I will not forget again.”
Günter patted him gently on the shoulder.
“I know, son. Take your rest and start again at dawn.”
Fritz nodded, did a sharp about-face, and trotted away. Günter shook his head with a smile as he watched Fritz go.
Was I ever that young?
Nay, he decided. He turned back to Alonsa’s tent, took up his stance, and tried to keep from dreaming of more fantasies while he kept watch outside her tent.
CHAPTER FIVE
“R ANKS! P UT DOWN AND FILL !”
Günter repeated the sergeant major’s barked command as several contingents ran through their training drills side by side.
The faces of his men glistened in the sharp morning sun. Hot breath steamed from their mouths into the cool air as the harquebusiers placed powder into the muzzle end of their handgonnes, the small arms artillery requiring much less training than archery or blade fighting. They lifted the long, heavy weapons to the ready and went through the motions without firing in order to conserve the powder.
Günter looked the ragtag group of soldiers over. Most of the men wore garments ranging from gaudy to gaudier. Amber and green doublets competed with the deep indigo and sunshine yellow of slashed stockings and multicolored trunk hose; decorated codpieces of near-frightening proportions pointed to the clouds above, their impressive size and direction supported not by nature, but by fabric batting. The double-pay soldiers sported war-battered helmets and breastplates, while the lower paid schmutz wore plumed hats and worn doublets scavenged post-battle from their less fortunate opponents.
Günter preferred a slightly more modest style of dress (he tended to stay with only two or three colors, and the proportions of his codpiece were entirely his own). However, most of the men took full advantage of the suspension of sumptuary laws by the previous Emperor Maximillian I—laws which prevented those not of noble birth from dressing extravagantly. As a result, they stood out like a riotous field of improbable flowers, and since they could expect life spans of about the same length, they took advantage of every opportunity to enjoy life to the fullest. They trained hard, fought harder, played hardest; they copulated freely, gambled and drank when not in battle, and died young almost without exception.
Given that, the Landsknechts agreed the Holy Roman Empire should at least let them dress as they willed.
The sergeant major pointed to one recruit slow in righting his weapon after ramming the ball and patch down into the barrel of the muzzle.
“You there! Make right!” Günter commanded, and the man immediately lifted his muzzle, fitting the stock to his shoulder.
The sergeant major nodded his approval and strode down the ranks, examining each weapon in turn. Imminent battle made it imperative the guns as well as the powder were kept dry, difficult to do with the mist and rain plaguing them the past few days. The sergeant major had therefore taken the opportunity of a dry morning to begin the drills for just such a reason.
Günter couldn’t complain; it kept him occupied while he waited for Alonsa to make a move out of camp. He had been waiting for three days now. She was an intelligent woman; he wagered she would try to leave during the siege lull they currently endured. To do so while the campaign raged would make the journey far too dangerous.
As Günter looked up from examining a harquebus whose barrel showed the beginnings of rust, he noted Fritz
“Do not call me ‘sir,’“ Günter said, very slowly.
Fritz hung his head, and his shoulders slumped.
“I will never remember. My father taught me to respect my elders and those I admire. It is a hard thing to forget.”
Günter rested a hand upon his shoulder.
“Forget it you must. If we wound up in the wrong hands someday, it could mark me for torture as one of the company’s high-ranking officers. As a mere sergeant, I would resent that.”
Fritz blanched. “I will not forget again.”
Günter patted him gently on the shoulder.
“I know, son. Take your rest and start again at dawn.”
Fritz nodded, did a sharp about-face, and trotted away. Günter shook his head with a smile as he watched Fritz go.
Was I ever that young?
Nay, he decided. He turned back to Alonsa’s tent, took up his stance, and tried to keep from dreaming of more fantasies while he kept watch outside her tent.
CHAPTER FIVE
“R ANKS! P UT DOWN AND FILL !”
Günter repeated the sergeant major’s barked command as several contingents ran through their training drills side by side.
The faces of his men glistened in the sharp morning sun. Hot breath steamed from their mouths into the cool air as the harquebusiers placed powder into the muzzle end of their handgonnes, the small arms artillery requiring much less training than archery or blade fighting. They lifted the long, heavy weapons to the ready and went through the motions without firing in order to conserve the powder.
Günter looked the ragtag group of soldiers over. Most of the men wore garments ranging from gaudy to gaudier. Amber and green doublets competed with the deep indigo and sunshine yellow of slashed stockings and multicolored trunk hose; decorated codpieces of near-frightening proportions pointed to the clouds above, their impressive size and direction supported not by nature, but by fabric batting. The double-pay soldiers sported war-battered helmets and breastplates, while the lower paid schmutz wore plumed hats and worn doublets scavenged post-battle from their less fortunate opponents.
Günter preferred a slightly more modest style of dress (he tended to stay with only two or three colors, and the proportions of his codpiece were entirely his own). However, most of the men took full advantage of the suspension of sumptuary laws by the previous Emperor Maximillian I—laws which prevented those not of noble birth from dressing extravagantly. As a result, they stood out like a riotous field of improbable flowers, and since they could expect life spans of about the same length, they took advantage of every opportunity to enjoy life to the fullest. They trained hard, fought harder, played hardest; they copulated freely, gambled and drank when not in battle, and died young almost without exception.
Given that, the Landsknechts agreed the Holy Roman Empire should at least let them dress as they willed.
The sergeant major pointed to one recruit slow in righting his weapon after ramming the ball and patch down into the barrel of the muzzle.
“You there! Make right!” Günter commanded, and the man immediately lifted his muzzle, fitting the stock to his shoulder.
The sergeant major nodded his approval and strode down the ranks, examining each weapon in turn. Imminent battle made it imperative the guns as well as the powder were kept dry, difficult to do with the mist and rain plaguing them the past few days. The sergeant major had therefore taken the opportunity of a dry morning to begin the drills for just such a reason.
Günter couldn’t complain; it kept him occupied while he waited for Alonsa to make a move out of camp. He had been waiting for three days now. She was an intelligent woman; he wagered she would try to leave during the siege lull they currently endured. To do so while the campaign raged would make the journey far too dangerous.
As Günter looked up from examining a harquebus whose barrel showed the beginnings of rust, he noted Fritz
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