September 21 1854,
Base of the Italian Alps.

The path widened as the group approached the gate. Jauco observed that the guards were well trained and the operation of their duties was performed without error. He questioned Franco on this matter.

"Where did these men recieve their training?"

"That is a matter which you will learn soon enough, my young friend. But first a test." Franco grinned.

A rifle was handed to him. Jauco was surprised by the stamp of the English royal armory on the rifle butt.

"Load," the order came from an unfamilliar face, "well what are you waiting for, load!."

Jauco did what he was told to avoid raising the ire of this new face. As he loaded he noticed something different about the powder. It was too...too soft, too light.

As he was loading, a man in a white and red uniform was brought out and lined against the far wall that Jauco was facing.

"LET GO OF ME!!," the man struggled and writhed against the two men who were holding him.

The voice of the prisoner's voice struck a note of recognition with Jauco. It was the voice of that bastard. It was Ricther von Shapt.