“An army marches on its stomach.” - Old military adage.
“Pesca fuck me,” said Grünhildr with an appreciative whistle as the necklace - really just a string on which around thirty rings had been suspended on - was passed around the officers and she checked their contents.
Her sentiment was one that was shared by most of the others, as they learned that all of the rings were larger ones, each easily as large around as a room, and were filled to the brim with foodstuffs of all sorts, from grains to dried meats and smoked fish, to things that were luxuries for soldiers like honey and dried fruits.
Most of the rings were not high enough quality to hold a stasis enchantment that preserved its contents, but two were, and they had fresh meats and vegetables, fruits and other easily spoiled foods like seafood and sweets within.
“So… Did we just rob them bosties of their rations, Cap?” asked Grünhildr after a moment of appreciation and contemplation.
“Some of it, at least,” said Reinhardt with a nod, his grin wide with all his fangs bared. “From the content within it’s only enough food to last them for a month or so, not counting the luxuries, so I doubt it’s the only stock of foodstuffs they got.”
“The cap’s right,” Salicia added when she got to check the contents as well on her turn. “The regular foodstuffs haven’t been used at all, while only the ones with the luxuries had some gap in the storage space. Chances are they got others with the rest of their food elsewhere.”
“Most likely. Nobody should be dumb enough to place all their eggs in one basket, especially with military rations,” said Soledad with a smile on her face. Her cavalry had not played that much role that night, as their horses would likely blunder into a trap if made to run into the dark forest, so they had been part of the ambush led by Lars instead. “Even so, losing this much has got to hurt them.”
“How much rations would you have brought with you if you were the Bostvans, Lars?” Reinhardt asked with a contemplative look as the necklace of rings returned to his hand.
“Hard to say for sure, boss,” said Lars as he pondered for a moment. “I don’t know what the Bostvan commander’s like, and how they think. If it were me though, I’d bring a minimum of three months’ worth of rations for this sort of mission. Maybe two if there’s pillaging in the plans as well.”
Over the past five years, Lars had a change of status, from a newcomer who used to be an enemy, to a respected officer in the mercenary Company. His abilities as a tactician was acknowledged by even those who hated his guts, who gave him grudging respect nowadays even if they still refused to talk with him outside of work.
He and Reinhardt had been responsible for the Company’s tactics and stratagems, and were the main proponents of their shift to the irregular unit the Company became. Lars hated the idea of fighting fair, and would always seek out ways to stack the odds to the Company’s favor by any means. It was a sentiment that saved lives and gained him appreciation from the mercenaries as a whole.
“So we got probably a good chunk of their rations on this run,” said Elfriede from beside Reinhardt. “WHat are we going to do with it?”
“Let’s see if our allies are interested in buying them,” he replied with a grin in turn. He quickly wrote a letter on a small strip of parchment, rolled it, stamped it, and tossed it to Nicole. “Nicole, have one of your fresher people go over to the young Duchess and pass that on.”
“Gotcha, captain.”
*******************************
Several hours later, just before noon, the Heir apparent to the Duchy of Dvergarder, Lady Andrea Utghwes, arrived at the mercenary encampment along with a dozen of her knights as guards. The young duchess looked around at the mercenaries, many of which had just woken up after some rest, and handed the reins of her horse to one of her knights as she descended from its back.
The young Duchess herself was around her mid twenties, with a deep olive-brown skin much like her father and a mop of dark brown curly hair that framed her face. The way she carried herself in her full suit of armor spoke of her training and experience of a warrior, however, a family tradition the Utghwes family had maintained for ages.
Nicole had met and greeted the Duchess, and led her to the command tent, where the Duchess bid all but one of her knights to wait outside. The one who joined her inside the tent was the senior Knight-Captain of the Dvergarder forces, her trusted aide and swordsmanship teacher.
“You said you have something that will likely interest me, Captain?” she asked to Reinhardt with an inquisitive tone. In reply Reinhardt casually tossed the necklace of rings over to her, which the Duchess caught with ease. Her brows rose up in contemplation as she checked the contents of the rings.
“What do you think, your grace? Good enough?” replied Reinhardt with a smile.
“This explains why the Bostvans had been quiet today… You must have plundered a good chunk of their food rations last night…” said the young Duchess in a contemplative tone. The Bostvan forces had not mounted an assault that day, although they seemed agitated from what their observers could tell via spyglass. “Great job, Captain.”
“I’m wondering if you’re interested in purchasing those rations for your own use. What do you think?” asked Reinhardt in turn. His contracts with the Duke gave his army full rights to battlefield salvage they obtained on their own, so the plundered rations were his by rights. “Let’s say at cost price.”
“Deal,” said the young Duchess almost immediately. While they had their own rations, getting more for cheap on the enemy’s expenses was never a bad idea, especially if they were to succeed in repelling the Bostvans and headed north to help the defenders of the other fort. “The rings?”
“We'd like to keep them for ourselves, but you can consider them on loan for free until this campaign is finished,” replied Reinhardt with a nod. In truth his much smaller group of mercenaries had no need for such quantities of rations, and they were mostly interested in the storage rings. The Company only had around twenty storage artifacts of that size, mostly spread around the officers. “That said, care to join us for lunch? We also found some good stuff that the boys are cooking right now,” he added after he gave a couple sniffs to the air.
“I’ll take you up on that kind offer then, Captain.”
From the command tent, Reinhardt brought the young Duchess and the Knights to the central area of the encampment, where the mercenaries were cooking their lunch. Whole sides of fresh meat were being roasted over the fires - there was no longer any need to hide their presence since the enemy already knew they were there - while large crabs, lobsters, and shellfish boiled in cauldrons.
Grünhildr had baked some sort of compact, crumbly cake with fruit and honey as well, that were placed on large trays and cut to chunks. Despite her looks and demeanor, the burly woman loved her sweets, and had even learned to bake some of her own over the years.
For a meal on the battlefield, it was definitely a luxurious one, to say the least.
“An army marches on its stomach.” - Old military adage.
“Pesca fuck me,” said Grünhildr with an appreciative whistle as the necklace - really just a string on which around thirty rings had been suspended on - was passed around the officers and she checked their contents.
Her sentiment was one that was shared by most of the others, as they learned that all of the rings were larger ones, each easily as large around as a room, and were filled to the brim with foodstuffs of all sorts, from grains to dried meats and smoked fish, to things that were luxuries for soldiers like honey and dried fruits.
Most of the rings were not high enough quality to hold a stasis enchantment that preserved its contents, but two were, and they had fresh meats and vegetables, fruits and other easily spoiled foods like seafood and sweets within.
“So… Did we just rob them bosties of their rations, Cap?” asked Grünhildr after a moment of appreciation and contemplation.
“Some of it, at least,” said Reinhardt with a nod, his grin wide with all his fangs bared. “From the content within it’s only enough food to last them for a month or so, not counting the luxuries, so I doubt it’s the only stock of foodstuffs they got.”
“The cap’s right,” Salicia added when she got to check the contents as well on her turn. “The regular foodstuffs haven’t been used at all, while only the ones with the luxuries had some gap in the storage space. Chances are they got others with the rest of their food elsewhere.”
“Most likely. Nobody should be dumb enough to place all their eggs in one basket, especially with military rations,” said Soledad with a smile on her face. Her cavalry had not played that much role that night, as their horses would likely blunder into a trap if made to run into the dark forest, so they had been part of the ambush led by Lars instead. “Even so, losing this much has got to hurt them.”
“How much rations would you have brought with you if you were the Bostvans, Lars?” Reinhardt asked with a contemplative look as the necklace of rings returned to his hand.
“Hard to say for sure, boss,” said Lars as he pondered for a moment. “I don’t know what the Bostvan commander’s like, and how they think. If it were me though, I’d bring a minimum of three months’ worth of rations for this sort of mission. Maybe two if there’s pillaging in the plans as well.”
Over the past five years, Lars had a change of status, from a newcomer who used to be an enemy, to a respected officer in the mercenary Company. His abilities as a tactician was acknowledged by even those who hated his guts, who gave him grudging respect nowadays even if they still refused to talk with him outside of work.
He and Reinhardt had been responsible for the Company’s tactics and stratagems, and were the main proponents of their shift to the irregular unit the Company became. Lars hated the idea of fighting fair, and would always seek out ways to stack the odds to the Company’s favor by any means. It was a sentiment that saved lives and gained him appreciation from the mercenaries as a whole.
“So we got probably a good chunk of their rations on this run,” said Elfriede from beside Reinhardt. “WHat are we going to do with it?”
“Let’s see if our allies are interested in buying them,” he replied with a grin in turn. He quickly wrote a letter on a small strip of parchment, rolled it, stamped it, and tossed it to Nicole. “Nicole, have one of your fresher people go over to the young Duchess and pass that on.”
“Gotcha, captain.”
*******************************
Several hours later, just before noon, the Heir apparent to the Duchy of Dvergarder, Lady Andrea Utghwes, arrived at the mercenary encampment along with a dozen of her knights as guards. The young duchess looked around at the mercenaries, many of which had just woken up after some rest, and handed the reins of her horse to one of her knights as she descended from its back.
The young Duchess herself was around her mid twenties, with a deep olive-brown skin much like her father and a mop of dark brown curly hair that framed her face. The way she carried herself in her full suit of armor spoke of her training and experience of a warrior, however, a family tradition the Utghwes family had maintained for ages.
Nicole had met and greeted the Duchess, and led her to the command tent, where the Duchess bid all but one of her knights to wait outside. The one who joined her inside the tent was the senior Knight-Captain of the Dvergarder forces, her trusted aide and swordsmanship teacher.
“You said you have something that will likely interest me, Captain?” she asked to Reinhardt with an inquisitive tone. In reply Reinhardt casually tossed the necklace of rings over to her, which the Duchess caught with ease. Her brows rose up in contemplation as she checked the contents of the rings.
“What do you think, your grace? Good enough?” replied Reinhardt with a smile.
“This explains why the Bostvans had been quiet today… You must have plundered a good chunk of their food rations last night…” said the young Duchess in a contemplative tone. The Bostvan forces had not mounted an assault that day, although they seemed agitated from what their observers could tell via spyglass. “Great job, Captain.”
“I’m wondering if you’re interested in purchasing those rations for your own use. What do you think?” asked Reinhardt in turn. His contracts with the Duke gave his army full rights to battlefield salvage they obtained on their own, so the plundered rations were his by rights. “Let’s say at cost price.”
“Deal,” said the young Duchess almost immediately. While they had their own rations, getting more for cheap on the enemy’s expenses was never a bad idea, especially if they were to succeed in repelling the Bostvans and headed north to help the defenders of the other fort. “The rings?”
“We'd like to keep them for ourselves, but you can consider them on loan for free until this campaign is finished,” replied Reinhardt with a nod. In truth his much smaller group of mercenaries had no need for such quantities of rations, and they were mostly interested in the storage rings. The Company only had around twenty storage artifacts of that size, mostly spread around the officers. “That said, care to join us for lunch? We also found some good stuff that the boys are cooking right now,” he added after he gave a couple sniffs to the air.
“I’ll take you up on that kind offer then, Captain.”
From the command tent, Reinhardt brought the young Duchess and the Knights to the central area of the encampment, where the mercenaries were cooking their lunch. Whole sides of fresh meat were being roasted over the fires - there was no longer any need to hide their presence since the enemy already knew they were there - while large crabs, lobsters, and shellfish boiled in cauldrons.
Grünhildr had baked some sort of compact, crumbly cake with fruit and honey as well, that were placed on large trays and cut to chunks. Despite her looks and demeanor, the burly woman loved her sweets, and had even learned to bake some of her own over the years.
For a meal on the battlefield, it was definitely a luxurious one, to say the least.
