Chapter 2

A heavy, thick fog smothered the soldiers, who were standing on some German Plains early in the morning. Men jumped, paced and fiddled with their muskets. All was quiet. Quiet as a death of old age. Many these man would never die like, but in screaming pain.

A cry rose through the fog, a cry not human, but horse. It sent spikes into mens nerves, as nothing happened.
"Muskets at the ready, double line formation" repeated a Captain as he walked past the line of Musketeers.


A flag whipped and glided, as the fog twisted and turned around it, giving no shape. Nervously, the soldiers cocked their muskets. The Captain drew his pistol, pointing it into the fog.

No one could see over five metres ahead of them. The shadow of the flag became clearer, and the sign of the Holy Roman Empire was printed on it. Like death, a ringing sound of swords being drawn could be heard, and the distant sound of hooves thudding onto earth.

And then the fog glided and folded over shapes of men mounted on horses, most bearing swords by their sides. The solid, colourful sight of a sword then came forward, followed by mounted Gothic Knights.
"Fire!" roared the Captain.

Thus, the battle began.

And thence, the lives of many murderous soldiers was claimed.

2 Weeks Before

"Bloody hell, they're leaving us hanging here!" yelled the Captain in frustration. He was referring to the annoying fact that they'd received no letters or news from HQ in Paris.
"Sir, maybe they don't know yet? Maybe they are s-"
"I bloody well know them! And they've done this before, damn them! The Monarch is angry with me..." and murmured, voicing his secret fear.

It had been at least one month since the disatorous battle at Lombardy. Nothing had happened, bar the fact the Companies had set up camp far back, to the mountains south of Dijon. There was rows of tents, for the platoons. Then the Food Mess, and Command Tent.

Steadily, the beating of hoovs was heard, nad around the corner, appeared a man, fitted with the colors of France. He was mounted upon a messenger steed. He rode up to the Captain, and unfolded a letter.
"Captain Pierson,
The General-in-Cheif of the F.E.C has sent me to inform you on many things. First of all, you are going to be reinforced in at least 6 hours of receiving this message. Second of all, you are elevated to the rank of Captain, after the unfortunate death of your supreiors. Thus, you receive this Officers Cane, and this scroll offcially promoting you. Fourthly, in at least one weeks time you are to enagage a small German Gunpowder Army, Colonel Adrian shall inform you of that. My dearest luck sent to you, from General Francis" the man handed Pierson, the Captain, a small Cane, and scroll. The man bowed, and rode away, leaving Pierson there.

The F.E.C was a prestigous order. it was located in paris, its HQ, and commanded the Musketeers of the Guard, and the Kings Bodyguards and all companies which were the Elite of the French Army. THe Gerdanmes, the Musketeers of the Guard and Kings Bodyguards. General Francis was the Comander of it.

Soon, trumpets and drums announced a noisy arrival of the rest of the Corps. The 1st Scottish Company and 3rd French Company. One Archers and other Musketeers. Captain Pierson stood by the entrance, and saluted as the Scottish Company marched by, bows by their sides and arrows ready. A man, mounted, rode up to Pierson, and saluted, before beckoning him to follow.

The mand ismounted in front of the COmmand Tent, and entered, closely followed by Captain Pierson. The man, presumably Colonel Adrian, was tall, and had short blonde hair. He layed a map upon the table. He shook Pierson's hand.
I am Colonel Adrian, I presume you are Captain Pierson?" he asked,
"Yes sir"
"Good, good. We shall wait for my other Captains, and then set up our offensive, and rest. THen we leave for attack." he declared, walking outside.
"Already sir?" asked the Captain as he followed Adrian outside.
"Of course we are man! Or do you wish for this grass to envelope us with age!?" he replied sarcasticlly. His attitude suprised Pierson, Colonels were supposed to be courteous.

Soon, all Captains stood in the command tent, peering at the map. The Colone stood at front. He stabbed a finger at the map,
"Now gentlemen, I propose we stage the attack here." he told them, he was pointing at a area which was somewhat hilly. A river ran through the plains.
"We can defend the bridge easily against the Cavarly, and hold off the Handgunners with range." he said, most of the others agreed, but Pierson had experinced Bridge Battles firsthand, and spoke up,
"Sir, it may sound very easy, but fighting Gothic Knights on a bridge is not as cosy as it sounds. They shall storm over us, wash the pavements with our blood! With our muskets shooting at the Handgunners, the Gothic Knights can use a flanking manevur" Pierson pointed out, the other Captains seemed the idea absurd. But the Colonel smilied,
"I like your tactics Pierson, very good. You are definetly right, we shall attack them in the hills. Going uphill, they can never win!" he declared, and banged his hand on the table.
"Decision made, we move, TODAY!" he roared.

And thus, the battle was set up.

2 Weeks Later

Colonel Adrian was nervous. Very nervous. He wasn't usually like this before a battle, he was usually confident. Smart, not nervous. But now he was, he had never predicted the heavy fog. And the Gothic Knights could easily attack, from behind.


Pierson was no diffrent. All along the line, the Musketmen were pulling the triggers. Repeatedly, the musket hammer clicked, the gunpowder set off, and the musket barged back into their shoulder. The smoke rose, and mixed with the fog, though darker. The day wasn't any lighter.

A twang, whistle, and arrows were flying overhead. Silent, unlike their musket counterparts. The arrows penertrated the darkness, hitting the dark shapes of the Gothic Knights, but the arrows merely bounced off, sometimes hitting a unlucky stray leg or arm.

Slowly, but surely, they came. And the panic grew. Not many fell, the occasional musket ball felling one. Only two thudded to the ground, mortally wounded or dead. And then they were there.

"Retreat to behind the Pike Line!" roared Captain Pierson, as the Gothic Knights charged in. There was the steady thump of boots, and the thud as Musketeer Boots hit the ground. Pierson drew his officers sword, a short,slim saber. As did the others.

The Gothic Knights, instead of a head on charge, turnedeast, then back west. And rode along the Musketeer lines, hacking them down safely.

Pierson grinded his teeth, as he saw the Enemy Commander who'd been at the battle in Lombardy. THe man, his face hidden, turned to Pierson, but seemed to ignore him. Pierson nodded as he ran past the 3 rows of Pikemen, they merely gulped nervously.

THe ground littered with dead musketeer bodies, the Gothic Knights taunted the Pikemen, riding back and forth in front of them.
"THe cheek of it all, sir" commented a soldier to Pierson.



And then, they came. The Gothic Knights boldy charged around the flank of the Pikemen, the men wheeling around hurridly. The Musketmen readied for an attack. But the Knights charged away.


And the Pikemen broke.



Broke running, they threw away their pikes, and drew their swords, and screamed as they charged towards the Knights.
The two Companies clashed, striking each other in turn. One Pikeman fell down, cut. And seconds later, a Gothic Knight stumbled from his horse. Duelling happened, each, suprisnly, equal.

Soon, the enemy was broken. Running for their lives, the Commander slashed at the Captain as he passed, the Captain kneeling and parrying with his sword.


The Pikemen brandished their swords int he air, some dancing around with Knight Helmets on their heads. But soon, the Handgunners were running, intent on revenge. Some cries went out, but a puff of smoke from the enemy, and Pikemen fell to the ground, writhing in pain. A enemy company threw away their guns, and drew swords and charged, engaging the Pikemen.

THe battle was somewhat easy, the two forces met at the same time. One Pikeman jumped sideways, knocking out a Gunner with his weight, while slashing at a second gunner, cutting him. A Gunner ran up to the man next to him, and kicked him in the groin.


Soon, the enemy was panicky. The word of;
"Rückzug!"
The ran, ran back to their allied companies.


The Pikemen were victorious! But victory was not secured so simply. The enemy was advancing up the hill, while the Scottish Archers steadily rained arrows upon the incoming gunners.


And then,they were there. THe fight was that of the last one, the enemy rushed in. But they were btter now, andswung their heavy swords before they got there, and made contact with the Pikemen.

Thats why they were slaughtered.

The ground was red, completely red. It was as if the earth it self wept, wept for the number of dieing men fighting on its soil. Wept for the mothers who received the news.

Wept for the day, and all its meaning.



And then, the battle was over. THe enemy fled to the hills, the Devils of France waiting behind them. Colonel Adrian walked up to Captain Pierson, and slapped him on the back.
"YOur bloody angels! Amazing, marvelous. Paris shall be alight with this gloriuous news!"
"Sir, we're the Musketeers of the Guard"

And so they were, Musketeers of the Guard. And fromt then on, for the one battle where the Pikemen fought off a whole army. They were;

The Devils of France.