Sir David von James: Oathbound

Questions, Orics?

Desember 6, 329 IA

Somewhere in Southern Lancia

The Command tent was impressively made. It was partitioned with thick canvas and wooden struts, creating alcoves and rooms for various meeting rooms and planning areas. Access to these rooms was closely sought after and well scheduled, with officers of various cohorts scrambling to book slots. The fact that Oric Squad had managed to find themselves a small, dimly lit room with a notched table to stand around was a miracle within itself, and David decided to take that as a good omen for the briefing to come. As was custom, all members had arrived five minutes early, and now stood patiently around the table, waiting for the arrival of their leader, Sir James von Oren.

He entered without ceremony, his tall figure stepping into the space they'd left for him. He laid down a bundle of oilskin he'd been carrying, signalling for Skitter to open it. Keelie had already laid out the charts that Oric Squad kept for themselves, but those maps were only transcriptions from the professionally detailed ones that were kept by Command. Not wasting any time on ceremony, the grey-bearded sergeant rested his hands on the wood, glancing up to the crowd around him.

"We've received a new tasking."

His voice was deep, with the burr of a man from the outskirts of the Capital. He pointed to the now flattened map, finger sliding to a dark mass on the paper. It spanned from the coast of the outlined continent, spilling over territory lines and through mountain ranges, coming to a stop at their current position in the Festian Fief.

"As you can see, the 2nd Army has pushed far into Southern Lancia, and the high-ups are decently pleased with our glorious conquest."

His sardonic phrasing was common and comforting to the squad, and in the months that they'd been together they had grown to appreciate the often dark humour of their sergeant.

"So obviously, our next course of action is to be twice as aggressive, move the army twice as far, and into territory twice as dangerous."

"Hear, hear."

"Skitter."

"Not another word from me, sir."

"See to it. In two weeks time, the 2nd Army plans to push along the Border Wilds, hacking and slashing our way right up to the doors of Hepting Castle. As you can probably tell, this takes the main force nearer to the Wilds than our previous reports recommended, and ambitiously plans for us to find a defensible position past the Skeur before any of the Lancian Fiefs have the chance to take a shot at us."

The Skeur was marked with a jagged brush stroke, looking almost as though a black tear on the map. David shivered as he remembered gazing at it through his eyeglass on their last scouting mission. The fissure was black as pitch, kilometres wide and hundreds of metres across. He dreaded to think how deep it went, and what dwelled within it. David glanced around the table, trying to gauge his team's reactions. Skitter was grinning, as expected, Keelie was frowning, finger absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair as she inspected something on her charts. Banele and Sir James were impassive as ever, hard eyes glinting with steel of experienced soldiers.

"They're sending out three Voortrekker Squads to get them a route to a solid fortification site. As always, the terrain is going to be rugged, gear is going to be packed light, and every step will be one further into unknown and hostile territory. Gunter and Feld Squads leave tomorrow to prepare the way, and Command's sending us in as sweeps to collect their intel and plan the final route, as well as pick up anything they missed."

Sir James paused for the first time in the briefing, his fingers drumming a brief staccato on the table.

"Questions, Orics?"