“A person’s true color is displayed the brightest when they’re drunk outta their minds.” - Old mercenary saying.
“Interesting, so you train your platoons to work with any combination of other platoons and base your formations on a much smaller level, huh,” commented Marshal Publius Cornelius after Reinhardt gave him an abbreviated rundown on how the Free Lances did things tactically. “I guess the loss of cohesion isn’t that much, or at least not enough of a disadvantage compared to the flexibility you gain in return from that tactical setup.”
“We’re nowhere near the top choice for open field battles in formation,” admitted Reinhardt openly. That much was no secret, and he wasn’t afraid that exposing it would affect the company negatively. “It’s why our main goal in any engagement is to break the enemy formation as soon as possible and turn the fight into a more chaotic melee. There we can break off into platoons and each do our own thing, which is what we’re best at.”
“Turning the battlefield into one advantageous for you. Classic,” noted the Marshal with a nod. The middle-aged man and Reinhardt had bonded a bit while chatting that evening, occasionally helping themselves to some of the food and drink available in plenty at the banquet. “Since your company also specialized in ambushes and other tactics most nobles and commanders around here would consider not chivalrous or worse, that further plays to your advantage. I see why your company managed to grow so well in the past decades.”
“Why, thank you for the compliment, Marshal,” replied Reinhardt warmly. He found himself quite fond of the middle-aged man, who if not for his birth family’s tradition or state of the world, might have likely ended up being the caretaker of an orphanage, or something of the sort. Something about the man just tics that way. Instead, he treated the soldiers beneath him with true, actual care, something few commanders did, and became a successful military commander by that merit.
“Anyway… It’s getting quite late already,” said the Marshal as he looked at the crescent moons high up in the sky. “Should we do anything about them?”
His question was accompanied with a pointed glance towards a rowdy crowd a short distance away, where their wives were chugging mug after mug of strong dwarven ale in the company of their respective subordinates. By that point many of the people involved had gone drunk, as they sang songs with increasingly ribald and lewd lyrics at each other.
Oy, now, take yer crappy mittens off the lady, that wench there be my lay, the one with the big butt!
Full o’ breasts an’ meaty at the thighs! Just lookit the way she sways and plays, walkin’ off with a strut!
“Honestly, I’m rather impressed that they could still make those lyrics rhyme while being so drunk,” admitted the Marshal with a shake of his head. With just one look at his long-suffering countenance, Reinhardt could tell that such drunken benders were not something he had never seen before. In fact, he looked thoroughly used to them and had long given up on doing anything about them.
Tell that to the mule goin’ wild on her back door!
Though the place’s so sloppy even he finds it a chore!
“Eh, it’s how it is. They say when people get drunk sometimes it helps make them be more honest to themselves,” replied Reinhardt with a smile, long used to the situation. Normally he wouldn’t have allowed his people to be piss-drunk like that unless they were on their time off, but given that they were deep within friendly territory, with another thirty thousand allies camped nearby, it was a safe enough place to get drunk. “Maybe some of our folks could’ve been poets if not for all this war going on.”
“That made me imagine something that both made me smile and creeped me out,” said the Marshal with a chuckle when he looked at the drunk men and women who were still chugging down strong ale as if it was water, with his own wife in a drinking contest against the mercenary Captain’s wife for some unknown reason. “Guess we’ll leave them to their drinking then?”
“Let’s wait a bit for our wives,” answered Reinhardt with a slight smile. “Wouldn’t do if they got angry at us for leaving them dead drunk in a pile of their own people, wouldn’t it?” he added with a toothy grin at the Marshal. “As for the rest… it’s not that cold tonight. Some fresh air while they sleep should help lighten the hangover they’ll be having tomorrow.”
The ribald songs and drinking went on for a couple more hours before the Lady Marshal’s head fell against the table, dead drunk. Elfriede was barely hanging on herself, clearly woozy despite being seated. Around them, most of their subordinates were already snoring on the ground, sometimes in a tangled pile around each other, while a few drunkenly wandered around.
Reinhardt and Publius carefully navigated the mess of drunken bodies and extracted their wives from its midst. Reinhardt had it easier, as Elfriede was rather slight of frame and he was much larger than she was. It helped that she was still conscious enough to instinctively wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her on his back.
Marshal Publius had no such luck, however, as his wife was nearly a head taller and twice as large as he was. The best he could do was support one of her arms over his shoulders and help her semi-consciously walk out from the area, though even that made him huff and pant with effort.
Reinhardt saw his difficulties and looked around, before he spotted a large figure in the distance and whistled sharply, gesturing with his hand after his whistle got the figure’s attention. Within minutes a two and a half meter tall bear therian girl with light brown fur came over.
“You called, Boss?” she asked.
“I did. You’re… Tasha or Vera?” Reinhardt asked back. Varilya’s twin daughters were so alike one another that most of the mercenaries other than those in Erycea’s platoon – who had spent years around them – couldn’t tell one from another unless they carried their weapons.
“I’m Tasha, Captain. What can I do?”
“Be a dear and help the Marshal there carry the Lady Marshal back to the Caroman camp, will you?” replied Reinhardt as he gestured towards where Publius was trying to support his wife while walking towards their camp.
Tasha nodded and walked over, taking the mostly unconscious Lady Marshal after a short talk with the Marshal. The therian girl easily lifted the burly woman in her arms and helped carry her for the Marshal as they walked towards the Caroman encampment.
Reinhardt just gave them a smirk and a shake of his head before he too walked back towards the mercenary encampment with Elfriede on his back.
Avitue
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“A person’s true color is displayed the brightest when they’re drunk outta their minds.” - Old mercenary saying.
“Interesting, so you train your platoons to work with any combination of other platoons and base your formations on a much smaller level, huh,” commented Marshal Publius Cornelius after Reinhardt gave him an abbreviated rundown on how the Free Lances did things tactically. “I guess the loss of cohesion isn’t that much, or at least not enough of a disadvantage compared to the flexibility you gain in return from that tactical setup.”
“We’re nowhere near the top choice for open field battles in formation,” admitted Reinhardt openly. That much was no secret, and he wasn’t afraid that exposing it would affect the company negatively. “It’s why our main goal in any engagement is to break the enemy formation as soon as possible and turn the fight into a more chaotic melee. There we can break off into platoons and each do our own thing, which is what we’re best at.”
“Turning the battlefield into one advantageous for you. Classic,” noted the Marshal with a nod. The middle-aged man and Reinhardt had bonded a bit while chatting that evening, occasionally helping themselves to some of the food and drink available in plenty at the banquet. “Since your company also specialized in ambushes and other tactics most nobles and commanders around here would consider not chivalrous or worse, that further plays to your advantage. I see why your company managed to grow so well in the past decades.”
“Why, thank you for the compliment, Marshal,” replied Reinhardt warmly. He found himself quite fond of the middle-aged man, who if not for his birth family’s tradition or state of the world, might have likely ended up being the caretaker of an orphanage, or something of the sort. Something about the man just tics that way. Instead, he treated the soldiers beneath him with true, actual care, something few commanders did, and became a successful military commander by that merit.
“Anyway… It’s getting quite late already,” said the Marshal as he looked at the crescent moons high up in the sky. “Should we do anything about them?”
His question was accompanied with a pointed glance towards a rowdy crowd a short distance away, where their wives were chugging mug after mug of strong dwarven ale in the company of their respective subordinates. By that point many of the people involved had gone drunk, as they sang songs with increasingly ribald and lewd lyrics at each other.
Oy, now, take yer crappy mittens off the lady, that wench there be my lay, the one with the big butt!
Full o’ breasts an’ meaty at the thighs! Just lookit the way she sways and plays, walkin’ off with a strut!
“Honestly, I’m rather impressed that they could still make those lyrics rhyme while being so drunk,” admitted the Marshal with a shake of his head. With just one look at his long-suffering countenance, Reinhardt could tell that such drunken benders were not something he had never seen before. In fact, he looked thoroughly used to them and had long given up on doing anything about them.
Tell that to the mule goin’ wild on her back door!
Though the place’s so sloppy even he finds it a chore!
“Eh, it’s how it is. They say when people get drunk sometimes it helps make them be more honest to themselves,” replied Reinhardt with a smile, long used to the situation. Normally he wouldn’t have allowed his people to be piss-drunk like that unless they were on their time off, but given that they were deep within friendly territory, with another thirty thousand allies camped nearby, it was a safe enough place to get drunk. “Maybe some of our folks could’ve been poets if not for all this war going on.”
“That made me imagine something that both made me smile and creeped me out,” said the Marshal with a chuckle when he looked at the drunk men and women who were still chugging down strong ale as if it was water, with his own wife in a drinking contest against the mercenary Captain’s wife for some unknown reason. “Guess we’ll leave them to their drinking then?”
“Let’s wait a bit for our wives,” answered Reinhardt with a slight smile. “Wouldn’t do if they got angry at us for leaving them dead drunk in a pile of their own people, wouldn’t it?” he added with a toothy grin at the Marshal. “As for the rest… it’s not that cold tonight. Some fresh air while they sleep should help lighten the hangover they’ll be having tomorrow.”
The ribald songs and drinking went on for a couple more hours before the Lady Marshal’s head fell against the table, dead drunk. Elfriede was barely hanging on herself, clearly woozy despite being seated. Around them, most of their subordinates were already snoring on the ground, sometimes in a tangled pile around each other, while a few drunkenly wandered around.
Reinhardt and Publius carefully navigated the mess of drunken bodies and extracted their wives from its midst. Reinhardt had it easier, as Elfriede was rather slight of frame and he was much larger than she was. It helped that she was still conscious enough to instinctively wrap her arms around his neck as he carried her on his back.
Marshal Publius had no such luck, however, as his wife was nearly a head taller and twice as large as he was. The best he could do was support one of her arms over his shoulders and help her semi-consciously walk out from the area, though even that made him huff and pant with effort.
Reinhardt saw his difficulties and looked around, before he spotted a large figure in the distance and whistled sharply, gesturing with his hand after his whistle got the figure’s attention. Within minutes a two and a half meter tall bear therian girl with light brown fur came over.
“You called, Boss?” she asked.
“I did. You’re… Tasha or Vera?” Reinhardt asked back. Varilya’s twin daughters were so alike one another that most of the mercenaries other than those in Erycea’s platoon – who had spent years around them – couldn’t tell one from another unless they carried their weapons.
“I’m Tasha, Captain. What can I do?”
“Be a dear and help the Marshal there carry the Lady Marshal back to the Caroman camp, will you?” replied Reinhardt as he gestured towards where Publius was trying to support his wife while walking towards their camp.
Tasha nodded and walked over, taking the mostly unconscious Lady Marshal after a short talk with the Marshal. The therian girl easily lifted the burly woman in her arms and helped carry her for the Marshal as they walked towards the Caroman encampment.
Reinhardt just gave them a smirk and a shake of his head before he too walked back towards the mercenary encampment with Elfriede on his back.
Avitue
If you enjoy this story, please consider leaving a rating or review to help it gain more exposure (and help counter the haters), thank you!
Read ahead on my Patreon! For 5$ a month patrons will gain early access of up to 25 chapters ahead, or for 10$ a month, gain early access of up to 55 (10% bonus) chapters ahead!
Or you can subscribe to all my stories and get a 10% discount on the price!
Join the Discord for silly stuff and chat with us!
