The Culture Flip

[Chingis Khan]

Jon groaned aloud as the wagon in which he was chained lurched on the rough road. The movement was enough to jar his battered body and refresh the ever present pain. His arms were chained above his head and he shifted his wrists in the iron manacles to relieve the pressure. Well, it could be worse, he thought, and gave a grim chuckle. He stopped when he realized that it would get worse when they arrived at Drachensfell - a lot worse. He thought over the chain of events that had led him to this predicament for about the hundreth time since he had been captured. How had it all gone so wrong? He had spent years laying his plans. Years of patient waiting. Years of anticipating. And all for nothing! He remembered when he had first been raised to the Commander of his own unit. The Red Fists, the name he himself had chosen for his band of knights. He had been so proud. So proud. And again when he was raised to the Royal gaurd. And finally chosen to be among the King's own elite Honor Gaurd! He remembered that day vividly;
He knelt on the marbled floor as the King descended from his throne, royal sceptre resting in the crook of his arm, to place the Medallion of Honor, which all the Honor Gaurd wore, around his neck. He couldn't keep the smile off his face as he rose to face his King. He felt like laughing, a tumolt of emotions within his chest. He glanced over to where his wife stood, beaming, even through the tears of pride that glistened on her cheek. He bowed deeply to his liege before turning to face the crowd, who roared their approval. It was a glorious day.

That was the happiest he had ever been in his life. He remembered laying in the arms of his wife that night; she had been particularly ardent in her love. But, just as the eagle which soared above the earth eventually had to land, so to did Jon have to come down. And he had a vary bad landing. After finding out Bismark's secret penchant for young boys, he had confronted him - after all, did the holy men not say that this was forbidden? The King had reacted viciously. Stripping him of his title as he declared Lord Jon Von Rikenstein a traitor to the throne. He had been forced to watch as his wife and children were stripped bare and flogged in public, before being sent to a slave colony in the Roman provinces which Jon himself had helped capture. As she was led away, she had kept her eyes locked on his for as long as she could, and Jon let out another moan as he recalled the anguished look in her eyes. Then Jon had been exiled. Of all his former "friends", only one had turned out to be true - Glavius. Glavius had become Jon's only link to Germany and the life he had lost. His new life had been one of the purest agony. He was no longer a champion of the greatest country in the known world. He was no longer a Lord. He was no longer a married man. He was a nobody. A peasant! But he had his revenge! And since it was all he had, he embraced it wholeheartedly. He worked his way up through the French gaurds. Not difficult for a swordsman of his unequalled caliber. He worked through the French gaurds until he was in a position close to the queen herself! And then he seduced her; that was the part which had surprised him the most, the ease at which she had succombed to his charms! But it seemed that she would have the last laugh. And then there were the peasants. At first, they were simply a means to an end, there to be used. But perhaps it was living as one of them for so long. Or maybe it was fighting alongside them; and seeing the uncommen acts of heroism he would have never thought to see from a simple farmes. But regardless the reason, he felt a great empathy for their plight. He found, to his surprise, that he really did want to help them gain a better life then the one they had under Bismark's rule. Oh he still wanted his revenge, make no mistake, but he found that he was...happy?... to help the commoners. He sighed and moved as if to run his hand through his hair, a clinking of the iron manacle prevented him, and he thought how it was all useless now. Now that he was on his way to torture and a slow death at the hands of the man he hated. He hung his battered head and thought over the fateful chain of events that had led him to this predicament for the hundreth and one time...

The Whitestone table was covered in the hastily gathered maps of the local regions. Many of the assembled French commanders and generals looked as though they were ready to fall asleep. Tibarias yawned and rubbed his eyes before looking down to the mass of parchments in front of him.
"But what if Bismark doesn't take his army where we lead him to? What if he doesn't take the bait?"
Tibarias groaned inwardly. That was the young lord De Vaulte. A scrawny little man with a wiry moustache and a whining voice; always full of pomp and arrogance to boot. He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice; he would not let stupid questions bother him! He took a calming breath and replied, "Lord De Vaulte, we have already gone through this several times. Bismark will take the bait because his scouts will report that our army lies among the Tabarn thickets. His scouts will report this because we are sending two detachments of infantry and a full division of horse there. Furthermore, our initial attacks will come from his east, and retreat to the east. He will not be expecting us to be in the open field awaiting him, and when he sees that we are, he will not hesitate to engage us. Now, would you like me to repeat this anymore? Perhaps I can write it down for you, hmm? Or maybe I could stamp it on my boot and imprint the words on your ass!". Tibarias paused, well, perhaps the stupid questions did bother him, but the hour was late, and they had all been up a long while. He quickly went on, before the outraged young lord puffed up like a blowfish and exploded, "Now, once Bismark redirects his armies to the Tabarns estates, I believe we can manauver his forces into the wooded glades and pull him towards the Twin Rivers. If we can take the high grounds to the south, and I have no reason to think that we cannot, we will have Bismark in a perfect position to engage the battle! With the Two Rivers on his east, he cannot outflank us from that side with his superior numbers, and the thickets will break up his flanking attacks from the west. Now, if we can hold our main force to the west, our decoy units can retreat to the south, pulling Bismark into position the whole while. Once our decoy units meet up with the fortified hills, our main force can come at Bismarks flank."
"Ha! That is a foolish plan! Surely Bismark will see that you don't have your whole army waiting to the south! I know I wouldn't fall for a deception like that!"
Tibarias ground his teeth at De Vaulte's outburst. The fool was trying to get back some of his lost pride!
"Have you ever led in battle, young lord?"
"Well, no, not exactly. But my father was a great general!"
"Ah yes, General De Vaulte. As I remember he was particularly adept at small skirmish tactics. Well, we are about to fight a battle between the two largest armies that I have ever seen, and the strategies used on a small scale no longer apply! Do you know how much land seventy thousand men occupy? How could Bismark possibly overlook a field that huge? I know I can't watch over my own fifty thousand! Once we clash with the enemy, there will be a large period of confusion while everybody tries to sort out what is happening. Bismark will have to rely on his scouts reports to inform him of what is going on anywhere in the field. I doubt we will be able to watch any of the fighting once our two armies meet in the middle of those glades! Think, man, use your head! This is not a damned classroom at your father's castle! This is real life, and you will be leading some of my men to one of the biggest battles this world has ever seen! If you cannot stand up to the challenge, then I will ask you to leave this war council immediately!". Tibarias was red in the face by now. How many times would he have to explain the obvious to this simpleton? Lord De Vaulte opened his mouth as if to frame a defence for his stupidity, but Tibarias glared at him and raised one questioning eyebrow which made the young lord shut his mouth so quickly, the gaurds ringing the room could hear the clicking of teeth. Tibarias sighed and rubbed his eyes once more before looking back to the pile of maps spread before him. It had been a long day, but time was one luxery they just didn't have, not with the German juggernaut coming to take back their fortress.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Ooh Ooh can I save Lord Rik, or are you going to feed me to fat old Bismark,

Hope not, this is damn good Chingis Khan, looking forward to some more.

[Chingis Khan]

Originally posted by ChrisiusMaximus
Ooh Ooh can I save Lord Rik, or are you going to feed me to fat old Bismark,

I couldn't kill off the story's only fan now, could I!


The grizzled old sergeant stood looking out over the Black Forest, where he knew the massive German army would be snaking it's way through in one huge column. He looked back to his men, all veterans of the French Wars, and nodded. They set about preparing to move out. The old sergeant shook his head softly, as if he couldn't believe that he'd finally come out of retirement for this one last battle. A veteran of the French and Roman wars, he had gained more scars than a skunk had stink, and one of those scars ran up from his jawline to just under his ruined left eye. On anybody else, it would have looked hideous, but on him, it seemed to fit with his stony demeanour and no-nonsense attitude. He had gained vast experience in his many years of military service, and some considered him elite. He simply considered himself a master of his trade - a master sergeant, he supposed.
"Sergeant Padma, the men are ready to move out, sir!"
The old sergeant nodded once at the man, who promptly ran back to his place in the formation. He looked out to the forest again; his expression never changing once. He simply tugged at his greaves to settle them more securely, and then did the same to his burnished helmet, before turning to take his place at the head of his troops.
His orders had been simple, strike at the Germans while they advanced through the deepest parts of the forest, keep the Germans on edge, keep them alert and tire them out. If possible, strike at thier supplies; sergeant Padma snorted at that particular order, he well knew how protective an army was of their supplies. Still, the simple strikes he would perform would help Bismark decide that the first major strike against him once he emerged from the forest was the whole French army. Hopefully, anyway. The hit-and-run tactics he was to use were a new concept to him. His men had all been armed with crossbows and swords. Normally they would be chewed up on a regular battlefield by cavalry, but that was the nice part about a forest - at least for footsoldiors anyway, cavalry couldn't very well charge through a cluster of trees, could they?
Sergeant Padma looked back over his shoulder to his men, and with that same deadpan face, he gave the order to march towards the South Road, the road Bismark would have to be coming through the forest down, and the first ambush point he had picked out.

"The enemy are making strikes into our flanks as we march. I myself have lost thirty good men to the damn French and their accursed crossbows!". Like most soldiors, the German captain loathed the crossbow, regarding it as an unfair weapon. Why, you could give the thing to peasants and they could become reasonably accurate with the things in no time at all! No skill or honor in the filthy things at all.
Bismark tried to conceal his surprise, thirty men?!? that's nothing! Why is the man so upset over losing a mere thirty men? He shook his head slightly and asked why they hadn't killed the few attackers.
The captain stopped just short of exasperation in his reply, "Sire, the French lie in waiting, fire their bolts, and then retreat into the foliage before we can mount a counterstrike! The crossbow may be useless on the open battlefield, with their short range and long reload time, but the French are using it to good advantage here. Furthermore, the bolts are strong enough to punch straight through our armor..."
Bismark interrupted him with an upraised hand, "I am well aware of the advantages and disadvantages of every weapon, captain. Including the crossbow. Now, if the atackers keep running away", Bismark's lips curled into a digusted frown, "then we won't worry about them. They can't hurt us any more then a bluefly can hurt a plough horse! They may be an annoyance, but no more. We will increase the scouting screens just in case the fools decide to try coming at us in force. But we continue the march to Drachensfell. A few lost men here and there make no difference to the outcome of this battle."
The captain furrowed his brow at his King's words, but he simply said, "Very well, sire. It shall be done."

Sergeant Padma ordered his men to spread out in the newest ambush point. They were well practiced by now, after striking at the Germans all day. A noise in the undergrowth made him, and all of his men, turn with raised crossbows.
"Hold your fire! Friends come!"
Padma relaxed at hearing the familiar voice of Lord-Captain Maximus. The captain made his way to Sergeant Padma, "How goes it?"
"It goes well, sir. My men are tired, and we are low on bolts, but I have only lost a handful of men. The German scouts are good, but they are watching for large forces, not a small group such as my own, or the others. They are beginning to tighten up, however. It becomes more and more difficult to avoid the scouts and advance parties the German filth send out."
Captain Maximus rubbed his chin thoughfully for a moment, "Very well, I will not risk any more lives. We have served our purpose here. the Germans will be watching every step they take from here on. We will let them tire themselves out with that, but we will return to the Division. Gather the other groups and return to Tabarns immediately."
Sergeant Padma's face hardly changed at all, perhaps a flicker of dissapointment at having to cease his raids, but he nodded and grunted his acknowledgement as he clasped his arm to his chest in salute. Lord-Captain Maximus nodded in return before staring out to the forest where the Germans would be coming from. Was that the same flicker of disappointment on his face? He paused, before adding, "Well, perhaps one more attack, eh, sergeant?"
Padma gave one of his rare smiles as he nodded agreement; his respect for the Captain increased tenfold as he redeployed his men to sting the Germans once more.

The French diversionary force sat atop the low hills facing the Black forest. They had been waiting for some time now. Tension ran high through the men; waiting was always the worst part of the battle, well, except for the part where people were trying to stick pointy bits of metal into you, Tibarias mused. He looked up to the sky; dark rainclouds were gathering and Tibarias could already feel the smattering of rain on his armor. Great, the cavalry won't like this at all! Horses had a hard time charging through mud, as did soldiors weighted down with armor.
A distant yell caught his attention and his breath caught in his throat as he saw one of the raiding parties running out of the forest, shortly joined by two more. This is it!, he thought with some apprehension. The raiding parties turned to fire one last volley in to the woods behind them before continuing their dash to the waiting army. After a minute or so, it felt more like an hour, the Germans emrged from the woods in pursuit. A few of the more observant stopped as they looked up to the crest of the hill where ten thousand Frenchman stood. "Archers, Loose!", Tibarias gave the command himself, and the sky was suddenly filled with dark shafts arcing towards the frantically retreating Germans. More than a few Germans fell with foot long shafts protruding from their backs before the rest of them escaped into the forest.
Tibarias grabbed a runner, " Alright boy, tell Joan that we have made contact with a German advance party and they know we are waiting for them. We will begin our eastward march to draw them into the trap. Tell, her to give us one day to allow the Germans to "find" us and then begin her march to close the trap. Tell her to keep her scouts to a minimum to avoid notice by Bismark. We will be her eyes and ears and we will keep in contact via runners. Understand, boy? Repeat back to me what I have just said."
The runner repeated Tibarias' words verbatim and the French General nodded curtly and motioned for the runner to go. Tibarias knew that it would be a long day ahead of all of them. Before too long, all of his raiding parties returned; no more were pursued by German advance parties, and Tibarias gave the order to begin the easterly march. It had begun.

The Germans had been advancing cautiously for some time now, but they had a scent of the French forces and they began to pick up speed in their advance. Bismark's foul mood was beginning to lift as he started to believe that Joan's forces were going to meet him in the field of battle. Unbelievable! He felt like laughing at his good fortune, but at the same time he was a little worried as to why the French would leave the fortress. The answer eluded him for the moment, but he was confident that he could defeat the forces arrayed before him. Especially since he had recieved word that the French army was retreating to the east; towards the rivers. THe German army was, for the most part, out of the Black Forest, and now Bismark had to decide how to deploy his army for the attack.
He now sat in his tent with his generals with a group of maps strewn on the battered wooden table. Lord Ulrich lounged in his chair with an arrogant air. He waved his hand dismissively, "We should simply split our forces into columns and crush the French filth against the rivers. We clearly outnumber them, from our scouts reports. I don't see what the problem is here."
Bismark chewed his lip thoughtfully for a second. He was wary of Rikenstein's favored tactics of splitting his forces and then attacking from multiple sides. Perhaps if he was in league with the French whore, then they shared similar strategy? His scouts reports were quite sketchy; they were having a hard time with the French vangaurds, but they reported that they believed no more than twenty thousand men marched eastwards. Bismark thought that number less from the speed at which they seemed to move. And still, even twenty thousand could not have wreaked the damage that had been dealt to Germany. Surely it would have taken much more than that to cut a swath through the strongest nation on earth? Surely. The King was getting his feel for Generalling back. He was actually enjoying this immensely! So where were the rest of the French? He scanned the maps as the other generals around the table argued on. Like a thunderbolt, it hit him. No! It couldn't be as simple as that could it? Were they honestly expecting to lure him onto the lowlands pinned to the rivers? He almost laughed. It was a foolish plan! Unless another force were to come at his flank! That as good as confirmed his suspicions of the French splitting their forces. But a trap was the enemies tool until you learned of it; then it became your tool to use to your advantage. All he had to do was determine where the rest of the French were, and after scanning the maps once more, he believed he had a good idea. He grinned suddenly as the entire battle unfolded in his mind, a great victory for the Germans! The generals stopped arguing and stared at him as he grinned like a schoolboy, but he didn't care. He didn't even care about the rain that had started falling steadily for the last several hours. He didn't care that his lords and barons hadn't responded to his call-to-arms, and nor did he care that Joan had defiled his mighty fortress. He didn't even care about Heidelburg, not one whit! Because now he knew that it would all be alright. He had the French in the palm of his hand, and it was almost time to tighten his fist.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Great stuff Chingis and thanks for not putting Maximus in a dress and sending him to bismarks tent.

Really looking forward to the next part this is thrilling stuff.

Sorry I did not spot this till today, Ive been busy with my new story. I think the lack of response is due to the holiday so dont give up on us.

[Chingis Khan]

The clouds above had turned even blacker as the heavens poured rain down harder and harder; a boom of thunder announced that the storm was only just beginning and as if to punctuate the fact, a streak of lightning flashed across the distant skyline. The wind was howling across the land, whipping the trees in the groves into a frenzy. Tibarias clutched his cloak to him tightly. Where the hell was Bismark? There had been several small skirmishes so far, but the bulk of Bismark's forces should have been spotted by now. He surveyed his own force, in place at the crest of the low lying hills that he had picked for his stand. By now, Joan would be marching to take the German flank where she thought they would be; in the lowlands to the North.
A rider appeared over one of the hills, riding hard, and Tibarias felt a wave of relief, that will be the news of the Germans!, he thought. And how right he was!
The rider barely slowed his mount before vaulting off to land near Tibarias, "My Lord", he said breathlessly, "the Germans are approaching our position. But they are divided into three columns, one entering the lowlands as we anticipated, but one heads directly for our positions here!"
Tibarias felt as though he had been punched. His mind whirled, "And the other column?". He tried to keep the tone of panic from his voice. It wouldn't do to show anything but total confidence to the men.
"My Lord, the third column was spotted heading South. We lost contact with them, but I fear that they are heading around us to take us from the rear!"
That was exactly what Tibarias thought too. Dammit! Had they been betrayed? How could Bismark know where they were? If The Germans managed to crush the French diversionary force quickly, they could round on the main force and defeat them too! Unfortunately, the way Bismark seemed to be encircling their position, Tibarias feared he wouldn't last too long at all, even with the advantage of the terrain. He had to move quickly, if they stayed where they were, he would have no chance, none at all. But where to move to? He just had to last long enough to allow the main army to engage the Germans from the rear! He gave the order to march, and the fortified Frenchmen moved quickly. Tibarias looked over his maps and saw one option open to him. He would march into the lowlands that he had tried to lure the Germans into. The glades would give his men the cover they needed to use the crossbows, and he would gain some time from both the column coming directly for him, and the column he suspected was encircling him from the south. The only problem was that he would lose all the advantages he so desperately needed. He had no illusions as to how long his small force of ten thousand men would last down there. He just needed to hold out long enough. He muttered under his breath, "Hurry Joan, hurry!" His words were swallowed by the wind .

Joan D'Arc made a magnificant sight; sitting astride her great warhorse, with her cloak blown nearly horizontal, along with her hair that was not tucked under her helm. A flash of lightning filled the sky and reflected from her finely crafted armor as she gave the order to march. She had recieved word form Tibarias' runners some time ago, but no word since. She had awaited the agreed time and now it was time to march. She didn't like marching without a scouting screen; it made her feel as blind as a bat, but she had great confidence in her forces nonetheless. The huge French army of over forty thousand men (and one woman) passed the hills near the Black Forest and the bodies of the Germans that had been slain there. The sight was sure to boost the morale of the men, thought Joan grimly, although it was quite distasteful to her. Thunder filled the skies once more and the rain seemed determined to drive harder into the ground. Vision was becoming limited under the black and grey clouds, but still, Joan was confident.

Bismark was with the Southern most column. By far the largest of the three he had deployed to surround the foolish French. He chuckled to himself as he imagined the surprise on the French commander's face when he looked behind him to see thirty five thousand German swords headed for his rear flanks! He would smash the French force in front of him utterly, and then, his forces would again divide into three parts to do the same manuver to whatever forces were approaching from behind. He chuckled again at his cleverness in using Rikenstein's tactics against his own forces! He looked to where Rikenstein's wagon lumbered, with the man himself chained and defeated. It would be fun to have him watch as the French forces were crushed, and he moved his black warhorse towards the wagon. Before he got two steps, however, a messenger approached.
Bismark sighed heartily, "I reeeeaally hope this is good news, for your sake!", he told the messenger.
The lad swallowed. He knew what had befallen his cousins after they had delivered their bad news. He wondered why in the hell he had chosen to follow in the family trade, but he stammered out his message, "M...m...mmm....my Lord! The Frenchies have moved s..s..s...ssssouth, mm..mmy lord. Away from us!"
Bismark gaped at the messenger for a long second. The French had marched onto the lowlands? No way was his luck this good! A smile creased his jowls from fat cheek to fat cheek, "Excellent news, my boy! You have done well!" He gestured to the nearby royal gaurds, "See that this man recieves twenty gold crowns! And the women of his choice when we return to Drachensfell!"
The messenger stared at Bismark in amazement. Wow, he had not seen that one coming, he thought happily as he was led away.
The order was given to turn north. This would be easier he had ever dreamed! Bismark was so happy that he forgot all about Jon.

The small band of Red Fists emerged from the Black Forest not thirty minutes after the last of Joan's main army passed by. Glavius cursed this foul weather, and not for the first time. He had lost sight of Bismark's army some time ago, after trailing them for days. THis damned rain was making it impossible to track! Glavius kept marching south, to where Bismark would surely be heading for Drachensfell. He would have to run into him sooner or later. He couldn't know how right he would turn out to be...

The clash of steel rang out through the trees; the noise of battle carried over the howling winds and was interrupted only by the occasional boom of thunder. Sergeant Padma fought without style, or grace, but with a grim determination to kill the man in front of him at any cost. He yelled as he swung his sword downwards at his foe, only to have his effort blocked. Undaunted, he made the strike again, and again, and again, until his enemy was beaten to the ground; Padma then thrust his sword into the man's leg; at the back of the knee where there was no armor. The man screamed and dropped his weapon as he clutched his maimed leg, he screamed again as Padma savagely thrust his sword into the man's neck. He barely paused before finding another German to kill. He didn't know it, but what had began as just another small skirmish had become the first major encounter between the two great armies. Neither side was willing to retreat, and as reinforcements piled in from both sides, the lowlands were rapidly becoming soaked with blood; No matter the rain, there was not enough rain in the world to wash away all that blood!
Tibarias stood with his reserves. He was being kept up to date by a steady stream of runners. Though he couldn't see the actual fighting through the pockets of trees that dotted the Tabarns estate, he had a good idea of how it was going. His forces were making a good account for themselves. Of course, it would be quite different once the second and third German columns arrived. He ordered the light cavalry to make a flanking attack at the Germans to give him enough time to pull his forces back and regroup to face the larger threat.
Lord-Captain Maximus led the cavalry strike. His horses panted with the effort of charging through mud, but it seemed even these dumb beasts knew the importance of this day as they went on. He led one thousand light cavalry around and into the side of the German war machine. There was a collossal crash of steel as men turned to face this new threat. Maximus stood in his stirrups as he hacked at the enemy standing about him. He knew his business well, and each of his strokes was at a carefully selected target. The base of the German helmet, the back of the right shoulder, the links at the elbow and shoulder plate... he recited the weak points of the German armor as he swung at each point; he only hoped the rest of his men remembered their training. Though the forest of desperately struggling men and the haze of heavy rainfall, he thought he caught sight of Sergeant Padma, grappeling with a huge German soldior before he was caught up in his own battle for survival. Without warning, the hair suddenly began to lift away from his body, and he only had enough time to wonder what was happening before he heard a monstrous booming. The world turned white and Lord-Captain Maximus had the sensation of floating before something crashed into his body. He was stunned for a moment before he realized that he was laying on the ground. His body screamed in protest from a thousand places as he struggled to regain his feet, What happened? He looked around him in daze and saw a huge pile of men strewn about the field in a large area; at the center was three men, or rather the bodies of three men. Nothing that was as burned and charred as that could possibly still be alive, he thought. He knew what had happened as he saw another bolt of lightning streaking furiously downwards from the heavens, to explode in a fountain of human bodies not far away. Damn this storm! Not even our Lord above wants us to be fighting this day, he thought. He shook his head clear and noted that most of the footsoldiors were pulling back. He hastened to join them as the rest of his cavalry fought to give the retreating men a chance.

Bismark had rejoined with the middle column of his army and he had reports of a huge army of French marching across their path, to the east. That would be the main French army! He smiled to himself and commited the entire joined forces of his two columns to the attack. Almost fifty thousand Germans marched to the flank of an unsuspecting Joan D'Arc.

Joan D'Arc rode beside her Banner General. She spoke in a low voice, but her melodious tone carried even through the tumoltous weather, "Once we encounter the Germans, I want you to personally lead our heavy cavalry into the battle. I believe you will inspire the men as no other can."
"Except you, my queen", he wore a light smile across his lips and Joan returned it with one even warmer. They rode in silence for a while longer before Joan spoke again, "We will defeat Bismark. We must defeat him."
The Banner General didn't respond, he merely wiped the rain from his brow and stared off to the distant hilltop. Was there fighting going on up there? A sudden panic gripped his chest, they shouldn't be anywhere near the fighting yet, not for another three miles at the least! As if to confirm his worst nightmare, riders approached with the news of a strong attack from the flank. Strong attack! Pah, it sounded as if the entire German army was bearing down on them! He whirled to Joan, who had gone pale with the news. Even with the blood drained from her face, she was a beautiful creature, the General thought. She immediately began sending runners with orders to redeploy the French army. As they were now, they stood no chance! Her army was too spread out, the lines too thin to simply turn and fight. Bismark would smash through her lines and divide the French into small disorganized groups before crushing each one in turn! Slowly, ever so slowly, the French army began to react to this new threat. Spearmen were deployed to the front lines and to the flanks to protect from the German cavalry that was sure to come soon. The infantry formed behind them in great, huge formations, each of a hundred men abreast and ten men deep. The cavalry scrambled to their positions. The French were well trained, but caught off gaurd, they lost many men instantly as they were cut off from their comrades and enveloped by a seemingly endless horde of Germans. Arrows began raining towards the French lines from the hilltops around them. Joan didn't waste any time with returning the archers fire. She knew how ineffectual bowstrings were when wet; indeed, the majority of the German arrows fell well short of her lines. Instead, she busied herself with the formidable task of trying to form an army of forty thousand into a defensive postion in terrain that she had no clue about. She did know that the forest was now at her rear flank. She frowned as she recalled this strategy from the Great General Revolutionary's books - when you have the enemy against an anvil, you should strike as a hammer. Well, the Black Forest made an excellent anvil. At least the German's couldn't flank her to the rear. A small comfort to be had in light of this new turn, but she took it anyway. She looked down the lines of her army. At the center, formations had already been made, but as she looked down the lines, she saw men still scrambling to meet the German advance. She strained her eyes to see further down her lines, but the rain and bleak skies combined to swallow her men at the distance. She saw the Germans advancing down the hill in an unsteady line. By the Gods! There were so many of them! A huge black wall crawling down the slopes to swallow her men more completely then the weather could ever hope to. She could see fighting far off to the right, the point of the initial conflict, and she ordered her light cavalry to relieve the men there. She would have to use her light cavalry as a reserves force, she realized. All the infantry had to be commited to the battle. SHe would still hold the heavy cavalry back to strike whereever an opening presented itself.. the blood slowly came back to her face as she sat side by side with her Banner General and discussed how best to win this fight.

Lord-Captain Maximus caught his breath as he faced General Tibarias. His face was a mask of blood, his right shoulder plate had been ripped away to reveal a nasty looking gash. Dents and blood decorated his armor, but the thing that had him really mad, the thing that really steamed him, he had lost his helmet! He had looked all over for that helm, and he hadn't ever seen it's like.
"Captain, your report."
Maximus clasped his arm to his chest in salute, "General, riders have just reported that our main force has been attacked while on it;s way to meet us! They are locked in a losing struggle with an immense German force."
Tibarias' face grew as dark as the skies above them. "We must get to them. Captain Maiximus, you have served well, have you not?" Without waiting for an answer, he carried on, "I want you to take a fresh mount and lead your cavalry into the heart of those damned Germans. I know it will be bloody, but you must punch a hole in their lines! We have been pushed back as far as we can be without drowning in the rivers. If we don't turn this fight quickly, I fear it is the end for us."
Maximus didn't hesitate in his response, "Aye, General. I will do it. Do not worry about my men failing in this task." In a softer voice that Tibarias did not think was meant for his ears, he added, "And I will take the value of my helm from the filthy German hides." With that, he turned on his heel and left, leaving a puzzled Tibarias to mull over his last statement.

A huge crash of thunder seemed to shake the battlefield. From the dark skies, two bolts of lightning intertwined as they seemed to race each other to the ground; they erupted in a huge roar as dirt and men alike were tossed into the air, some not to move again. The rain continued to pour down harder, streaming down to mix with the blood, spreading it out so that the entire hillside and vale was soon awash with the stuff. What little light there was through the dark clouds reflected from the reddened ground to create an eerie red mist hovering all about the fighting men.
Joan watched as the battle raged all about. She sent her overworked, and quickly fatiguing, cavalry wherever she saw or heard that her lines were weakest. But even so, the Germans were steadily pushing her forces back. She had seen one of her detachments valiantly hold their ground against the dark swarm of Germans while the detachments all around steadily fell back. The heroic group was soon surrounded on three sides, and not long after, the swarm engulfed them before moving on. Her army was being driven back to the forest slowly; it was only a matter of time before Bismark's hammer cracker her forces against the anvil like a nut.

[Chingis Khan]

Miles to the east, Maximus led his cavalry, as well as whatever heavy cavalry he could find, in a mighty charge against the German lines. The steelshod hoofbeats of almost a thousand French horse shook the soggy ground and drowned out the noise of everything, besides the occasional crash of thunder. The German commander evidently wasn't expecting such a bold move as he had hardly any spears defending his troops. As the French lines suddenly opened to let the charging horsemen through, the Germans were sent sprawling as the cavalry penetrated deep into the German ranks before ending their charge. They discarded lances and drew their swords as they began the messy work of creating corpses. Caprain Maximus smiled grimly as he realized the advantage of the pouring rain to his horsemen; as the footsoldiors had to look up to fight the mounted troops, the rain was driving straight into their faces, their eyes, and was making it harder for them to defend. The Germans tried a counter attack, sending troops from the flanks to reinforce the center and the cavalry began to get seperated into small groups of ten or twenty surrounded by a teeming mass of Germans. As if on cue, the French infantry gave a mighty roar as they surged in on the Germans. They ignored their flanks completely as if they knew the desperation of this tactic, but they fought hard and punched through the German lines, splitting the ranks like butter. The left flank of German soldiors wavered as they saw they had been cut off, and started scrambling for their lives. The viciousness with which the French attacked was not unappreciated by the right German flank either, and they soon retreated. However, Maximus was not yet finished with them. He led his cavalry into a slaughter as they ran down the fleeing Germans and the blood ran thicker and thicker onto the ground.
Tibarias watched the destruction of the German forces without expression. At length, he gave he order to recall the cavalry and regroup his own battered forces. How he wished he could give his men the rest they had earned, and needed. But somewhere to the West, he knew that his queen needed him. He looked out to his troops, and sighed. Of the ten thousand he had bought here, he estimated that maybe three thousand remained alive; and of that three thousand, he didn't want to think about how many were left in fighting condition. The valiant move to break the German forces' spine had worked better than he could have hoped, but staring at the mounds of corpses, of French, German, and horse alike, he knew that a terrible price had been paid for his victory. Anyone who looked upon his face right then could have been forgiven for mistaking him for a statue; a particulary pissed off statue, one that intended to do more killing before the day was done.

Bismark watched his mighty armies driving the French back, back, back towards the Blasck Forest, where he would crush the life out of them. He had sent everything he had to defeat the French whore, holding only the royal gaurd to protect him. He had no worries, from his vantage point on the crest of the hill, he would see if any of the French broke away to try and assasinate him. He thought about sending the three hundred or so honor gaurd into the fray below, but decided to err on the side of caution. After all, the strangest things could happen on the battlefield! Why, he had seen God throw lightning into the mass of bodies below, what?...three?... four times, now! One of those times he supposed he could count as twice, for it was a twin bolt that struck down! He sat back in his saddle and looked back to the wagons spread out behind him. He thought about dragging "Lord" Rikenstein out of his chains to witness his victory. In fact, he thought, why not? "Gaurd, bring the traitor Rikenstein to me. Keep his hands chained, however, and make sure you keep your sword handy. He is a tricky one." Two of the gaurds nodded, and followed their orders to the letter. Jon was bought out. As he walked, swollen head hanging, to where Bismark sat, he staggered twice, and almost fell. At each movement, the two gaurds behind him twitched their sword hands. When he was at Bismark's feet, he was forced roughly to his knees. He made no move to resist, not even lifting his head to look at Bismark. Bismark began to speak, but then thought better of it, Ha! there are no need for words here. The sight of the French being crushed will say it all! Bismark lifted his head regally and resumed watching his inevitable victory.

The battered remains of the Red Fist Knights crested the hill. They had found the tracks of a huge army and doubled back to follow it. As they crested the low hill, Glavius felt his breath catch. For not a half mile away, he could see the German supply wagons, spread out in ragged disarray. And the presence of the supplies meant that this was the rear of the German army, and in turn, that meant that the cluster of men on the next rise must be the King and his gaurd! Through the rain, it was difficult to make out the figures of the men, but Glavius was sure enough to risk it. He drew his sword and addressed the band, "It is time. Let's go kill ourselves a King!!!"

The runner spoke rapidly so that Joan had a hard time making out the words, "My queen, there are men fighting on the left flanks!"
At first Joan thought the man an imbicile, of course there were men fighting to the left! There were men fighting everywhere the eye could see! But after having the man calm himself, she realized he meant that there was a new force attacking the Germans from the left flank. A surge of hope ran through her, Tibarias! It must be him! She hoped she was right as she ordered the right flank to pull back. If all went well, she could use this new force to wheel her army around to the left, and get her back away from the infernal Black Forest. With luck, she may even catch the Germans by surprise, but the savvy with which they fought made that unlikely.

Glavius gave a great battlecry as he and his Red Fists crashed into the Royal Gaurd. He had seen these men fight before, and he knew that the honor gaurd weren't chosen for their looks. Indeed, despite being hit by surprise, they had recovered well, and were now spread out in order to get between the horses. Several of the Red Fists had already been unhorsed and were struggling to regain their feet. A gaurd slashed a horse's hamstring, and the mount fell with a scream toppling Glavius. His breath was knocked out of him and he felt a sword strike his armor twice before he managed to roll away. He hurriedly got to his feet and unsheathed his sword. With another battlecry, he found the nearest German and began the deadly dance, which he knew so well. Through the milling mass of bodies and horses, he could see Bismark, staring with a look of stark horror, and a figure kneeling beside him. Jon? He began making his way towards them. One graceful swing after another. His sword was deflected from the best armor the Germans had ever made. But not all of his strokes were turned aside. He began to find the best targets to strike at on the Honor Gaurd's strong armor. He almost lost his head to one particularly good gaurdsman; as the man's sword whistled past, inches from his neck, he leaned back and kicked out at the man's knee. When the man paused, for just a split second, Glavius stabbed his sword through the man's helmet, right into the narrow eyeslits. A spurt of crimson followed his sword as he pulled it back out, and the man convulsed twice before dropping lifelessly. He could see that twenty or so gaurd had surrounded the King, and as he emeged from the throng of fighting men, all twenty came forward to take him down. Glavius smiled grimly as he recognized Jon now. Even facing away, with his head hanging down. I won't let you down again, my old friend! He fervently wished that he wouldn't, anyway. Twenty gaurdsmen! Honor Gaurd, no less. As good as he was, the odds did not look great. Glavius fixed his face in a resigned grimace, and started forward. He spun, chopped, and slashed as fast as he ever had in his life. One man dropped, followed by another. Metal crashed from Glavius' armor time after time. He could feel his armor weakening and blood flowed from several places his armor hadn't protected him. Another Gaurd dropped as Glavius bought his sword up under the man's breastplate and through the tough leather. This isn't so hard! Ha, perhaps I overestimated these Gaurdsmen! , Glavius let a short bark of a laugh out, but was cut off when someone -punched? - him in the chest. The Gaurd around him had backed off, and he could see the crossbow in Bismark's hand. Stunned, he looked down to see the black, feathered shaft, buried in his breastplate. A tumolt of emotions flashed through his skull. He had always known that he would meet the creator one day, but now? He would not fail again! He wouldn't. It would be worse than death to fail his friend, his only real friend. How strange that he should feel no pain. Maybe God was going to let him save Jon after all. Perhaps he couldn't die until he had fulfilled his mission. A divine mission? A strange calm settled over Glavius, and he felt more at peace now then ever before. he knew how things would end now. There was no more worrying that the next man might kill you. He knew that he had already been killed. He just hadn't died yet. All these thoughts and emotions ran through his head in the time it took for him to look back up at the gaurdsmen. They were relaxing, sure that Glavius would drop any second now, and not willing to risk finishing him by sword; they had tasted his skill already.
A smile grew on Glavius' lips. The feeling of invulnerability was euphoric. He was already dead, so he could truly enjoy this last battle. Was this why Jon always grinned as he fought? Glavius tightened his grip on his sword as he reached up with his left hand to grasp the shaft. With no more expression on his face then if he were asking about the weather, he snapped off the wooden bolt and casually threw it to one side. The Gaurdsmen stared in disbelief, but quickly went back to work. Glavius flowed through them like water. Two more Gaurdsmen went down; in the background, he could hear Bismark screaming, but he didn't care. A sword opened up his left shoulder, where the armor had finally given out. Still Glavius fought on. Another sword pierced his side, and finally, Glavius gasped. He gave a mighty yell, and fell to his knees. The gaurdsmen backed off once more, eyeing him warily. Glavius looked as though he was a demon come from hell to slay them all. Blood streamed from dozens of cuts; not least his shoulder and side. The broken crossbow bolt was still visible. He shuddered as the pain finally came to him in great waves, racking his body. He gasped again, and for the first time in his life, he prayed, "God above me! No! No, to any who listen, hear my prayer and answer! Grant me the strength... grant me the strength...grant me the strength...", he continued his chant under his breath, and rose to his feet once more. The Honor Gaurd, advanced, wide eyed, and disbelieving, once more. Glavius swung his sword in a slow arc, that a gaurdman easily batted aside, while another plunged his sword into Glavius' chest. Glavius shuddered, and then shuddered again as another sword pierced his back. He stood, pinned by the swords, and raised his arms high, still tightly clutching his own sword. He screamed, a sound so full of fury and anguish, that it seemed the Gods did indeed answer; for a bolt of lightning streaked down to strike Glavius' upraised weapon. For Glavius, the world turned white, and then, slowly turned black.

[Chingis Khan]

Jon heard the sound of fighting coming from behind him ...one chance... He saw from the corner of his eye the gaurds rush to meet the threat ... just one chance... He looked up to see Bismark had pulled a crossbow from his saddlepack and was holding it to Jon's head ... Just give me one chance... He heard the fighting draw closer. He heard a man's yell, and the fighting grew fiercer ... Please God, just give me one chance... Jon saw Bismark pull the crossbow from his head and fire it somewhere behind him. He tensed his battered muscles to attack, but before he could make himself move, a huge explosion came from behind, knocking Jon to his face. He gasped as new pain spread through his body. When his vision cleared, he saw a sword laying on the ground in front of him. Why, that looks like Glavius' sword! With a great force of will, he made himself crawl forward to grasp the hilt. His aching body screamed it's protest from a thousand different hurts, and when he grasped the sword, he dropped it immediately. It burned! Now he saw that thin tendrils of smoke were coming from the blade. He heard a groan, and turned his head to see Bismark rising to his feet, shaking his head. Jon looked over his shoulder; a knot of men lay on the ground, many of them smoking, as the sword was. Further back, he saw a large group of men locked in a death struggle, but here and now, there was just Jon and Bismark. Jon ignored his beaten body's protests, he snarled as he reached for the sword again. He grabbed the hilt with both hands, as they were still manacled together, and felt the sharp pain of burning. He pushed that pain away, too. He used the sword to push himself to his feet and face the King of Germany. Bismark spun, as he cleared his head and realized who faced him, "You! You damn traitor! I should have killed you long ago, swine!"
"No Bismark, I should have killed you long ago. But now will do just as well...", he advanced, a trifle unsteadily.
Bismark moved back, and struggled over his huge belly to draw his own sword, "Ha! I have already killed one traitor today. A second should be no problem."
Jon paused, staring at him in confusion. He stared at the sword that still burned his hands. Glavius? He looked at the pile of bodies; in the center lay the bload soaked form of his long time friend. He felt as though his heart stopped beating, and he staggered as though physically struck. "No, it can't be!"
Bismark leaped forward and took advantage of Jon's grief to plunge his sword at Lord Jon Von Rikenstein's chest. Jon didn't even look away from the body of Glavius as he parried Bismark's ameuterish thrust. Bismark grunted as he fell, off balance. Jon turned to stand over Bismark. He knocked the sword from Bismark's hand as the King tried another clumsy swing from the ground.
Beads of sweat were lost in the rain on Bismark's forehead, but the nervouseness was clear on his face, "Wh..what are you going to do? I..I..I can make you rich again. I can give you what you want, whatever you want!"
"Whatever I want?"
A smile started to form on Bismark's lips, "Yes! Yes, whatever you want. A pardon, gold, women... boys! Whatever!"
Jon's face was stone as he replied, "Here is what I want...", Bismark screamed as Jon advanced.

Joan was startled to see the rain stop suddenly. The clouds above the battlefield parted, and rays of sunlight danced downwards. She had manuvered most of her force so that they had a fighting chance now. But she looked puzzled now as she saw that the fighting was dying down. What was going on? She followed the gaze of thousands of men up to the top of a nearby hill. On a stony ledge, the figure of a man holding something up was brightly illuminated by one of the sunny rays. As if in parting, a single bolt of lightning lit up the sky behind him. Joan could clearly see that the man was holding up a severed head. She was too far away to see whose head it was, but it had a startling impact on the German forces. They were throwing down their weapons and turning tail! this was unbelievable! From the brink of disaster, to be saved by such an act! It was like something from the stories!

Tibarias stood shoulder to shoulder with Lord Captain Maximus. They could both see that the figure was... it was Jon! They both recognized him from the French Palace. He had become a well known, and well liked, figure there. How had he gotten from Heidelburg to here, they both wondered.

Sergeant Padma had his hands locked around the throat of the man in front of him. He wondered why the crowd of Germans surrounding him had stopped trying to kill him. He finished throttling his foe, and ignored the man as he collapsed at his feet. He stared up to where everybody was looking. A man stood on a rocky ledge high up on the hillside, in what Padma would call an unnecessarily melodramatic pose. He didn't recognize the man holding the severed head, but the head! He laughed out loud, as he recognized the King Of Germany!

Lucas looked out from the King's wagon. He had heard the fighting all around him. When the noise of battle had died down, he had summoned the courage to peek out from the wagon; he saw a bunch of knights charging after the fleeing Honor Gaurds. He looked up in hope, and what he saw made him cry with relief. He ran to where Lord Rikenstein had pinned the King to the ground with a pike. The king was still writhing in agony as Jon was busy emasculating him. Jon forced the King's mouth open and stuffed Bismark's manhood in. Then, while Lucas watched in glee, Jon stood and stared at the pitiful sight, before taking one very final swing of the sword. Lucas suddenly turned, retching and gagging. Jon spun to look at him, holding his sword in one hand, and Bismark's head in the other, "Who are yo...", he began, but stopped short. "Why the hell are you wearing a dress, man? Never mind, if you be a follower of Bismark, you can follow him straight to hell!"
Lucas didn't answer, he simply fainted.

A long way away, Baron Thrawn sat in his chair, upon the dais. The messenger had just informed him of the recent events. "Hmmm, the King is dead and the French have taken Berlin. Recall my army. I am sure we can persuade Joan D'Arc that we should be rewarded for aiding her take Bismark down, or rather by not aiding the King. We shall find a place of honor in the new Germany. Send for the French ambassador, we have negotiations to conduct.

As the sunshine came out more fully, so did the crows and the foxes come out, to get fat on the vast field of corpses. The French army was spred out over a huge area and it took until the following afternoon to regroup everybody. The battlefield was still soaked red, and everybody was eager to leave. To make things worse, Joan had heard that Lord Jon Von Rikenstein was the one who had saved them all. She had been in a foul mood since. Why hadn't he come to see her? Was he that mad about Hiedelburg still? She would have made it up to him! he had to have known where she was by now. Damn the man! Well, fine, if that was the way he wanted things, that was fine by her.

A week later, Joan strode down the hallways of Drachensfell. Berlin had come to her easily, and several of the nearby cities also. There was rumour of a German resistance movement forming in some of the other provinces, but for now, Joan was content to hold on to what she had. The German people were throwing massive parties now that they were out from under Bismark's rule, and once the French trade started taking off in the newly captured provinces, bringing luxeries that the German people had never known, the people would soon forget the ways of old Germany.
A page scurried towards her along the great hallway, and she stopped. He knelt before her,
"My queen, a visitor has arrived and requested audience with her majesty."
She arched an eyebrow, a visitor had simply shown up and asked to see her? "Very well, I shall recieve the visitor in the throne room."
No sooner had she seated herself on the Grand Throne, then the doors were thrown open and Lord Jon Von Rikenstein entered. Joan leaned forward, her eyes wide and her breath quickening. She captured her composure as he knelt on the marbled floor with a wry grin.
"My queen."
Joan settled back into her throne. So, he thought he could just saunter in here after disappearing for two full weeks, did he? She put on her most regal, and formal, tone, "France thanks you for your noble efforts in our great war with Germany. You shall be well rewarded." She faltered as he looked up. He wore hurt and disappointment openly on his face. She couldn't carry on the charade; she continued in a markedly warmer tone, "Jon, where have you been? Are you really that angry that I left you at Heidelburg? Well, I am sorry, but I do have a country to look after you know. Where have you been?"
The smile left Jon's face as he thought back to the previous days.

After Jon had pitched the head of Germany's King into the mass of men below, he turned back to where his friend lay. He knelt beside the lifeless body with that stone expression still on his face. "My friend. We never thought it would end like this, did we?" He clamped his teeth closed as a sob threatened to escape his lips. He recalled a conversation the two had had in one of the few quiet times they had had together at Heidelburg. The two great swordsmen were discussing the possibilities of failure, and Glavius had told Jon that if he were to die, he should like to be buried in the lands where he had grown up. Jon nodded to the bloodied and lifeless Glavius, with tears brimming in his eyes, "Trust you to be difficult, even in death! It's the best part of a week's ride to the Roman provinces, you old bastard." But he took him. And buried him.

As Jon looked up to Joan, he simply said, "I had to say goodbye to someone."
With that, he stood and walked up the stairs of the dais to where Joan stood to greet him in open arms.

THE END

[ChrisiusMaximus]

FANTASTIC!!!!!!! ABSOLUTELY FANTASTIC!!!!!!!

I hope you get some more feedback for this masterpiece, it certainly deserves acclaim.



Please come back and write us another,

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Bump I must say Im surprised no one else has given our Chingis a pat on the back for this extremely good story he has been so kind to share with us.

If you have been away from the forum over the holidays you may have missed this little gem hence I will gladly bump it up for all to see. Enjoy !! I know I did.

[vovan]

Yes, this is a truly brilliant piece. I read it once, and I read it twice, and you know what? When that thing wins the contest, I'll read it again!

[TheGuitarist]

Jeez, vovan, you've read like every story on this board. Anytime one gets bumped, you're like 'Oh yeah, this one - what a gem!'

Anyway, nice job on this one Chingis, but I liked the comedy better.

[vovan]

Yes, I have read almost all of the stories around here. And actually I don't say good things about bad stories. It's probably just that the ones here recently been very good. Then, again, you've gotta encourage the writers any way...

[dnassman]

Magnificent story.

[aoerana]

Great story! You must be a writer. Can I copy it into a word doc?
It's hard to read it in this format.

[Nightfall]

Wonderful Story. I don't read a whole lot of stories here, but this one made it on the main page and I was hooked from the start!

[Nightfall]

dp

[vovan]

Well, since scratchy has finished his take on culture flipping, I figure it's time to recall another great story with the same basic topic. For those of you who haven't seen this, I strongly recommend.

[Shogun Gunner]

This is a very good story. I appreciate the amount of detail that was put into this story! When I originally read the story, it was like I was in the same room with the character!