Chapter 4

Colonel Adrian leaned over a dirty piece of parchment, writing fast and furious. The lamp next to him flickered as a cool sea breeze blew through the window. Adrian was writing to the HQ, telling them of the visitors.

Dear General Francis,

He straightened up, thinking, then bent over and started writing again.

I write to you at this moment, to inform you of some unknown visitors. The yesternight, there was a display of flashing

Adrian paused,

lights from what we presumed to be the moon reflecting on the waves. As the soldiers said. I, for one, know it was no such thing. The others must've been overly exhausted, but the moon was not out. And for another, I swear I could've seen a shape flicker past. Please, sorry for my overly suspicous attidtide, but I believe these people were invaders scouting our shoreline.

I request the ability to move the Corps away from Marseille and along the coast, so we may take get whoever it is.

Yours Truly,
Colonel Adrian of the Musketeers of the Guard,

Adrian finished the letter with a loopy signature, and stamped it, then put it in a envelope and sealed it. he placed it on the bench, and leaned back contentdly. He heard someone enter, and looked around. It was a Captain. His eyes wandered around the cabin, and landed on the envelope, finally ending on the Colonel.
"Hello sir." He said stiffly.
"What may you be wanting Captain?" asked the Colonel briskly, turning around and folding a crease in the parchment.
"Writing to General Francis sir?" asked the man, Adrian paused in replying, was he being to suspicous, or was this man a bit too inquisitive...
"I must say, Captain, it is none of your buisness." replied Adrian, staring the man in the eye. The man saluted and left. Adrian turned back and watched the man retreat to his cabin.

The corps was obviously ridden with spies and sticky beaks. They were not alone.

IN Paris, a week later

General Francis sipped his tea, he had just finished reading Adrian's letter to him, and was thinking it over. There had been rumors of Spanish Galleons being sighted off the coast of Southern France. Farmers had also reported seing signs of the cross on the water, and several other prewarnings of disaster to come. But why would the Spanish have to do with France?

The door behind him opened, and in entered Pierson.
"Pierson" Greeted Francis, his eyes not straying from his intent survey of his fingertips, "I was expecting you." There was moments of silence, then-
"You have your first assignment." Francis said to Pierson, "Your to take the German Foreign Legion, and go to a marked position in Southern France."
"Why sir?"
"Lets just, your gonna here 'morir' a lot, now go." THis, was a dismissal.

3 Weeks Later

Lieutenant Pierson stood on a clifface, watching the waves crash against the rocks, seagulls screeching overhead. But it changed, the crashing of waves turned into the bang and smash of a musket, the seagulls screeching turned into the sound of dieing, screaming men...
"Lieutenant?" asked a voice, sounding worried. Pierson realised he was on his knees. his eyes closed. A hand pulled him up, and he forced himself to look. It was Captain Reine.
"Yes, Captain?" asked the Lieutenant, plainly stating he didn't want to talk about what just happened. With a worried look, Reine continued.
"Three Spanish Transport ships are rowing in shore, they know we're here." Reine told him, at once Pierson was off. He ran through the thick forest, twigs snapping feebly beneath him, Forest creatures cawing or growling. Soon he erupted into a camp, a camp in a panic.

Men were rushing around, readying for battle. Gunpowder drifted in the air, and French and German voices filled the air. Reine came out behind him, as Mariius stomped by, following a agitated Musketeer. Just as Pierson was wondering how to reinstate order, the ground trembled.

Everyone stopped, right in their tracks. Everyone, everything was listening. THe trees seemed to be listening, the grass, the ground. All waiting for something they hoped to be their imagination. And then, once again, a plumenting sound, and the ground shook again. It was as worse as before, instead of a rush to prepare for battle, it was a rush to hide for cover. Pierson, followed by Reine and Mariius, ran through the forest, and found their attacker.

A large, SPanish Galleon was planted on the horizon, a plume of smoke erupted from it, and the whistling of a bomb went overhead. THe ground split up behind them, spewing up dirt. And the screaming started. A man was hit. At once Pierson collasped, clawing his head. Mariius and Reine tried to help, shaking and hitting him. Pierson though, merely twicthed on the ground.

The Commander drew his sword, and did a chopping action.
"Fire at will!" he ordered, drawing his own musket. leveling it off, he aimed at a rich Knight. Beside him a man stumbled backwards as he musket shot, the force hard. In the officers ear there was a almighty crack, a bullet nipped his ear as it flew past.
"Sorry sir, didn't see you" said the man, but the officer didn't hear him, as he was deaf from that ear.



Pierson screamed in real life, remebering that day.

The German COmmander hacked at the mass of Pikemen, laughing crazily. THe Musketeers watched the frenzy from behind the Pikemen. They were being slaughtered. Pierson watched, horrified. As a arm split nearby, and the man started screaming, he nearly fainted. A bang, and a nearby gun set off...


"NO!! NO!! NOT THE CAPTAIN!" screamed Pierson, clawing his face. then he went loose. Mariius, picked him up under the arms, and together he and Reine pulled him back to camp, a smell of a bomb lingered. Soldiers watched, entranced, as their leader was dragged past.

Gently, Mariius and Reine placed him on his bed, where he slept peacefully, as all hell broke loose outside.

A Few Hours Later
The Captain smiled at him.
"It shall work perfectly Pierson." The Captain told him, Pierson was only a Sergeant. Him and a Captain were walking through Dijon, talking. The Captain smilied at him,
"Nervous?" he asked, a knowing look in his eyes. At once a bang went off, as the man behind Pierson exploed in a pool of blood...

"Stop... No.... Take me, not the Captain!" muttered Pierson, shaking. Someone was shaking him.
"Wake up sir, the Spaianards are coming through the forest!" Reine was shaking him, Pierson shot up and was out the door, his saber drawn. Soon, he was standing at the head of their Corps. Colonel Adrain turned, and saluted.

Adrain surveyed the Battlefield as Pierson took up his position behind the German Legion and 4th Company. The woods in front were thick, hard to see through and shoot through.


Something moved amonsgst the trees ahead. Pointing with his saber at where it disappeared, he yelled
"Fire!" At once the line of soldiers fired, whipped the trees as such.


Almost at once Spanish soldiers appeared, swords by their sides, glinting in the sunshine.


"Easy, there far away." joked a nearby Musketman. Pierson twisted around, as someone burst from the nearby bushes. Spanish peasents, at least 80. Pierson twisted and turned, duelling a fiearce one. And sidestepped and hacked his head off. At once the blood sprayed upon his face, but he kept hacking and slahing. Blood coating him, he stepped upon ones head, a snap was heard, screaming...


He quickly paried and turned, and then hacked off a mans arm, as the man screamed in pain, and Pierson glanced up. More were coming.


And Pierson ran with his soldiers, swords on their feet. Running to the safety of Pikemen. But they were there.


Pierson looked around, Mariius was fighting his way towards Pierson. Spanish soldiers advanced hungrily. A victim in front of them. Pierson blocked and hacked, and victory was near. But at once a heavily armed man came through, grinning.
The Gothic Knight.
"Pierson hey? Remeber?" asked the man.

Pierson ducked and looked around, smoke rose from a nearby building. Someone tackled him from behind, and he fell forwards into the blood as another shoot rang out.

The Gothic Knight lumbered forwards, and threw his sword arm forward, running his sword straight through Pierson. There was several moments of shock, as Piersons eyes widened in realization, and Mariius gasped and stooped, then he crumpled.

Dead.

Dead like so many others.



And soon, the Mustkeers and Pikemen were running, running for the bits of lives they had.



The Spanish had come.