Personal Account 1
The rhythmic pause and thud of boots echoed against the distant rolling hills to the east. The crossroads had been taken a few hours earlier, the bodies of Sicinian and Zagorlad alike strewn on the ground. Some forty or so men of 9th Foot's light company watched over the junction, who along with a few Akaeian cavalry officers watched the road to the south expectantly The sharp trill of a fife could be heard over the increasing din, and the dull pounding thump of war drums sounded like distant cannon fire. General Alexandre, seated atop a fine black thoroughbred, watched the road impassively until at last the column came into view.
Lead by a strong vanguard of lancers, the heads of both rider and mount held high, what seemed to be endless ranks of soldiers passed by the guards at the crossroads, who were watching with mild interest. The soldiers were in marching formation, in perfect squares ten men long and ten abreast. Their muskets were held loosely against their sides or thrown over their shoulders, their faces calm and relaxed, for the bitter hand of war had already passed by this land. The crackle of musketfire to the north signalled their eventual destination, but for now they could pretend this was just another Sunday parade. The men joked and told stories, swapped insults and chatted quietly. The perfect phalanxes of men were broken by a long line of gleaming cannon and their caissons clattering by, then two long lines of grenadiers guarding the carriages that presumably carried the Colonel and his staff, then yet more artillery. A squad of dragoons trotted past, helmets and spurs gleaming in the sunlight, and as they passed the General they raised their sabres in a formal salute.
Alexandre noted the black facing of the jackets of the soldiers, smiling to himself. "The 1st Fusilliers are looking exceedingly sharp this morning," he commented to no one in particular.
His aide nodded, then spread a map out infront of him so that the General could see. "This is one of the columns we have marching north. There are two more taking the main road to the west, and the Akaeians are somewhere to the right. We have some of their cavalry in support, but most of it is skirmishing to our front."
Alexandre nodded, then pointed with a finger to a dot on the map. "Tell Colonels d'Karel and Blaire that their objective for today is this town. It's on the main roadway north, so if we must continue we need that village. They must take and hold it. I'll send them a battery of galloper guns in support."
"Yes sir." The aide sped off. Almost immediately another soldier, dusty, sweating and in the uniform of an Akaeian dragoon, rode up to him.
"General," he said, proffering a dispatch. "Our commander said to tell you that they've made contact with a large enemy force fifteen miles to the north of here, heading in this direction. We're currently fighting their flankers, but we'll need infantry and artillery support to hold them."
Alexandre read the dispatch carefully, then turned and addressed the man in Akaeian. "I'll set up a defense of this crossroads. In the meantime you make contact with your own Army, tell them what you told me, and suggest they use their position to outflank them."
The dragoons saluted and kicked his horse into a gallop.
The fifes of each battalion played "The Sicinian Grenadiers", the lively tune underscored by the deep ominous beat of the battle drums. The war was coming to this peaceful little crossroads, and Alexandre had to see that war won.
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