Fourth Vector Ch. 46

"Well, good on you for not letting his expectations define who you are," said Brian. "You are your own man, and you're not just doing this for him."

Arnold let out a hefty sigh. "I hope so. Sometimes I feel like I'm just a poor extension of him. It's hard to feel like you're not enough."

That was something that Brian understood well. "Tell me about that. I've accepted the fact that Jill no longer wants to be with me, I really have. After the loss of our daughter, I can't blame her. But I've drowned enough alcohol wondering what about me was so bad that we couldn't still try to make it work. No one expects to lose a child but I question why it drove us apart instead of bringing us closer together."

"Do you still need more time to get over her? It sounds like the wound is still very fresh."

"Hell, I don't know," muttered Brian. "I think enough time has passed. Sometimes, I get that feeling in the middle of the night when I'm still awake. I wonder what she's doing and if she's happy. I wonder when I'll get a chance to find happiness. And then other days, it's not so bad. Want to know why?"

Arnold nodded. "Why?"

Brian chuckled. "I see these long-haired redheads that prance around Picardy and I think it can't be all that bad. I should just retire to Picardy and find one of them to make my wife. Maybe life wouldn't be so bad after all?"

Arnold started to laugh with him. "You know what they say about these Picard girls, don't you? The red hair makes them wild."

"Oh, I've heard all right. They're wild in the sack. A few of the guys in my regiment have already visited the brothels in Zarah. They claim the rumors are entirely true about these redhead girls. I'm eager to see for myself."

"Well, you enjoy yourself with that one," said Arnold, sounding relieved that Brian wasn't nearly as hung up on his ex-wife as might have been assumed. "But for me, I can't do the same."

"Why' s that? You have a girl at home or something?"

Arnold nodded. "I do. I've been with Eloise since we were teenagers. I'm long overdue for marrying the girl, but I told her when I get back from this war, we're finally going to make it official."

Brian gulped heavily. "Are you sure she's the one? She's going to stick by you, right?"

"I think so. She's been with me this long," said Arnold. "I can't imagine her leaving now. I do think she's the one."

"Well, best of luck to you then. I hope your marriage goes better than mine."

"And I hope for your sake that you find the tightest whore in all of Zarah to warm your bed."

Brian chuckled. "Look at us here now. Could you imagine us talking like this a few days ago?"

Arnold shook his head. "A few days ago, I wanted to kill the Galician runt I'd been paired with."

Brian grinned. "Fair enough, but you're still the same big, dumb Swabian ox."

Arnold actually stood up and stretched. "You won't be singing the same tune when this Swabian ox outruns you back to the starting point. Come on, I'm feeling rested enough. Let's get moving once again."

"It's about time," quipped Brian. "I'm sure we're still going to have to run through the dark to get back."

Sure enough, they'd managed to get off the beaten path from the rest of their comrades. It was about twenty minutes later that they found the main road and another pair of runners. However, it appeared that their little detour managed to cut off part of the run, and so they hadn't lost nearly as much time as previously thought due to their break.

It still took the better portion of the afternoon to get back to camp, and by the time they came running in, Brian was exhausted. His shins were killing him, his back ached, and he felt like he could go right to sleep.

A quick glance over at Arnold showed the Swabian was feeling much the same way. Arnold met his eyes when he looked over, and he offered a small grin, no doubt thinking the same thing at that moment.

They were both going to sleep well tonight.

There wasn't much talking in the mess hall that evening. Everyone was far too tired to even offer the basics of conversation. For Brian and Arnold though, they couldn't eat their meal in silence as every other bite was interrupted by one question or another.

In a way, it was interesting. Arnold wasn't that much different than the other Galician soldiers that Brian had bonded with in the past. Despite being Swabian, there were many remarkable similarities between the two, and Brian found that he hated his assignment a lot less with each passing hour.

Perhaps there was hope for them yet?

Maybe there was more to this big, dumb Swabian ox than there appeared.

*****

The next morning, Brian limped out of bed with all the energy he could muster. His body was still exhausted from the day before, and he'd been out as soon as his head had touched the pillow. While he didn't exactly enjoy the thought of getting back out there for a round two of whatever the officers had planned for today, at least he didn't hate the idea of doing anything with his new comrade.

It was clear something was up by the time that Brian arrived in the mess hall. He quickly grabbed his tray and made his way to his now usual table that he shared with Arnold, who was already half-done with his tray.

"What's the news for today?" asked Brian as he sat down. "They announce what we're doing yet?"

Arnold shook his big head. "They are just about to announce. You got here at the right time. Look, they are about to speak."

Sure enough, the leaders of both regiments, the Galician and the Swabian colonel, quieted down the masses for their announcement.

"I hope you boys enjoyed your picnic in the countryside yesterday," announced the Galician colonel, much to the jeers from the men. "Today, we're going to do something a little more warlike. We're going to break off into mixed teams to play a little game called Capture the Flag."

"Capture the Flag?" whispered Arnold to Brian. "Does he mean..."

"He sure does. Keep listening, he'll explain the rules."

"We're going to have two platoons square off against each other," explained the colonel. "Your officers will lead you to the spot that will be your battlefield and it's been marked off to prevent you from interfering with another platoon's game. What's going to happen is that there will be two sides--each with a flag to defend. Your mission will be to capture your enemy's flag. Since we can't exactly use rifles while doing this, we're going to use colored arm bands to denote your status as an active participant. If you let the enemy take your arm band, you're considered dead on my battlefield. You can't participate any longer."

With those words, the Galician colonel looked over at his Swabian counterpart. "I can't help but feel like I'm missing something," he said, his face trying to stay serious.

The Swabian colonel smirked and looked out on the crowd. "The last thing you need to know is that we will be having mixed teams. Your platoon is going to split evenly between the two sides. The rest of the platoon will be filled up with either your Swabian or Galician counterparts."

Brian expected a loud groan to go up in the room, but the reaction was much more muted than he thought it would be.

"So let me get this straight," said Arnold to his side. "We have one platoon that's mixed with half Galicians and half Swabians, and then we have to go capture the flag of another platoon that's also mixed? But it's our own original platoon on the other side?"

"Sounds like the gist of it to me," replied Brian. "This should be interesting. I've always enjoyed the strategy of winning these kinds of games."

Arnold didn't look so certain. "But we have equal numbers apiece. How do we get the advantage when they have the same number of men as us?"

"You don't always need a total advantage in numbers to win, man. But local superiority has its perks."

Arnold made a knowing face like he understood but Brian thought much of it was probably for show. Something about the comment didn't exactly surprise him.

Swabians weren't known for their creativity or their ability to think outside the box.

After breakfast was finished and the men all linked up with their platoons, their lieutenants identified which squads would be marked for each team. To the surprise of no one, every Galician/Swabian pair found themselves on the same side, so that each team was made up of half of each nationality.

From there, they were shown the limits of their battlefield which covered an area of approximately ten acres.

It was only once they were told where his flag would be on that battlefield that Arnold realized his side was at a distinct disadvantage.

"This isn't going to go well," said Arnold as he looked at the terrain.

"Why do you say that?" asked Brian

"Look at where our flag is positioned," said Arnold, gesturing to a small red flag that was tied on a pole and stuck into the ground. "It's not a secure defensive spot. It's so damn flat over here and there's no tree cover whatsoever. Now look at where they are positioned."

Brian looked across to the other side of the battlefield, where the ground elevated to a steep hill. That hill formed a natural fortress on their side, and seeing as Brian could just barely make out the other guys of the Galician platoon over there, he guessed that was where their flag was positioned.

"They have the benefit of being at the top of the hill," explained Arnold. "They have the high ground. They'll be able to see us coming a long way off and adjust their defense to counter ours. We're at a disadvantage here."

Brian looked over the lay of the land and it appeared that Arnold had it correct. The defenders were on the top of the hill that was mostly barren but the crest ran in an east-west direction whereas to the immediate north and south, the hill descended quickly on either side. There was a small, thick wooded area just to the northwest of their position but other than that, it was mostly clear.

"Well, we were placed as part of the attacking group," said Brian. "We just have to figure out a way to get to that flag, no matter how well-placed it is."

"That's what worries me," said Arnold. "I think we've been given an impossible task."

Arnold's words were more prophetic than he intended. Sure enough, the game kicked off with each side's attackers making a jaunt for the other team's flags. The defenders on Brian and Arnold's side did reasonably well in preventing the other team from taking their flag, however, it was a close call. The attackers nearly got to the red flag before their arm bands were captured or the stragglers were forced to retreat.

On the attacking side of Brian and Arnold, they didn't get anywhere close to capturing the enemy's blue flag. A frontal assault from the south barely even got up the hill before the defenders rushed down and captured most of their arm bands.

Both sides regrouped after their first assaults and Brian noticed they were down about six guys from the first attack, all of whom were now sitting on the sidelines with the other officers.

"Does anyone have any bright ideas on how to get that damned blue flag?" asked one of Brian's friends, Sven, who was also in their group. "Because our first attack just got crushed."

"Why don't we come in with more men on another frontal attack?" suggested one of the Swabians in the group, a man whose name Brian didn't know.

"Another frontal attack? Are you blind or did you not just see our first one get wiped out just now?" snapped one of the Galicians.

The Swabian got defensive. "If we throw more men at them, there's a greater chance that someone is going to get through to get the flag."

"What if we tried to go around their rear?" asked Sven.

"They would see us coming a long way from it. There's no cover except for that small wooded area and it's too thick to move our men through."

Sven threw his arms up in the air. "Well, we need to figure something out. If they throw another concentrated attack at us, we're not going to be able to stop them."

Brian was quiet up until that point but he kept looking over at the wooded area that marked the northwest landscape from the enemy flag. It was then that he had an idea.

"What if that wooded area is actually more passable than we think?" he suggested. "What if we can get just one or two guys into that area to pop up right behind the flag?"

"Impossible," said one of the Swabians, shaking his head. "We got close enough to scope it out during the first assault. It's so thick that you can't get any men in there, especially not a group of attackers to stand a chance."

"What if we don't need a whole fireteam?" suggested Brian. "What if we just needed two guys to get in there?"

Arnold looked over at him. "What are you thinking, Brian?"

"It goes like this," said Brian, squatting down and using his fingers to portray the enemy position in the dirt. "They will see us coming from all sides and they are going to expect to see that. Why don't we use the next attack they have on our position to send myself and Arnold up the side. We can sneak into that forest undetected and move around their rear."

"But how are two guys going to get that flag? We took much more losses than they did on that first assault. You'll be outnumbered," asked Sven.

"Possibly," acknowledged Brian. "But we're going to need a feint assault on the front to help us sneak by them. We're going to need you guys to make another charge while we sneak in from the rear."

"How are we going to time that correctly?" asked one of the Swabians. "How will we know when you're in place so we can begin the assault?"

"We're going to go up using the cover of their next assault," said Brian. "But when we get up there, we'll have to make a noise or something. Something to let you know we're in place."

"A noise that the other side will hear," replied Sven. "You're going to alert them that someone is in the woods and then the whole thing is going to be doomed."

"I got it," said Arnold, finally finding his confidence again. "Half the men here know the sound of the Swabian meadowlark, right? The distinctive sound?"

Most of the Swabians nodded their heads while the Galicians looked nearly clueless. None of them knew what kind of sound a Swabian meadowlark made.

"I can do the call nearly perfectly," said Arnold with a hint of pride. "When you hear the sounds of the meadowlark, that will be your signal."

"Half of us don't even know what that sounds like," argued Sven. "How will we know?"

"Rely on the Swabians in the group," said Arnold. "They'll tell you."

Sven looked like he'd just been asked to make the sun come up at midnight. He spread his hands helplessly. "We're going to lose this game but whatever. No one else is offering up any other ideas."

Brian elbowed him in the ribs. "Have some faith, will you?"

With those final words, Brian and Arnold disengaged from the rest of the group to take up positions on the left-hand side of the battlefield. This position was marked by a shallow grove of trees that largely ran in a northeasterly direction. While not ideal in terms of cover, it should hopefully prevent the two of them from being seen by the enemy group.

"You really think this is going to work?" asked Arnold as they awaited the next enemy attack. "That wooded area looks awfully thick."

"I've yet to get into any woods that were too thick for a man or two," said Brian. "I grew up outside of Kalmar in the countryside. My dad taught me how to get through thick woods and even to do it quietly. I just need to get up there and I'm sure we can make it work." At this point, Brian turned to look at Arnold. "Are you sure you can make this bird noise like you claim?"

Arnold grinned. "Wait and see."

The moment for action arrived a short while later. Once again, the enemy platoon came scrambling down the hill, trying to overwhelm what remained of the defense. It was just the cover that Brian needed, and together, he and Arnold jutted up the side of the tree cover until they reached the wooded area that extended all the way to the flag.

Getting past the hilltop was the trickiest part, as the enemy platoon's defenders would have a direct line of sight across the hilltop. For that reason, Brian crawled across the field, followed by Arnold right on his heels.

Once they were into the wooded area, the hard part truly began.

"By the gods, it's thick in here!" whispered Arnold in anger as he tried to navigate under a thornbush. "How in the world are we going to make it the hundred yards or so over to where their flag is?"

"By moving quietly and not complaining," quipped Brian as he bent back the bush branches along the way. "Come on, move quickly but quietly. Watch your step."

The two men navigated along a small path that crept through the wooded area, no doubt being made by the passage of deer. As soon as they were nearly there, the sounds of conversation became much more pronounced, and Brian poked his head up to see a better view of the enemy camp.

"It looks like what remains of the attackers are back," whispered Brian. "As soon as we get into position, give the signal so that our attackers can force some of them off this hill."

"Just tell me when," replied Arnold. "We're nearly there, aren't we?"

"Just a few more yards and I can see the end of the tree line."

Sure enough, Brian reached the last bush before it broke out into the open field. Just about twenty yards from the tree cover was the enemy's blue flag, just waiting for capture.

The only problem was that there were about six or seven defenders between them and the flag.

"Go on, give the call," hissed Brian. "Let's roll!"

Arnold placed his hands to his mouth and sucked in his breath. For a brief moment, Brian feared his call wouldn't be good enough and he would give away their position.

However, the sound that came out of Arnold's mouth was the closest imitation of a bird that he'd ever heard. It pierced throughout the hillside, and Brian found himself wincing because of the sound.

It was all the signal they needed. From across the field, the rest of their platoon came charging up the hill. There was an initial period of shock amongst the enemy defenders but soon they were rushing forward to grab as many armbands as they could.

It was the moment that Brian had been waiting for.

"Come on, let's go!"

The two of them burst out of the treeline and rushed for the enemy flag, now flapping gently in the breeze at the top of the hill. It was only about twenty yards away but that was when Brian noticed a problem.

All the enemy defenders had not rushed down to meet the attackers. In fact, two of them were still standing near the flag, providing the only obstacle still left in their way.

Brian made a split decision at that point. It was likely that those two would split up and go after him and Arnold, preventing both of them from going after the flag. However, that would put them no closer to their goal.

So he tried something new. Brian gestured for Arnold to get down on the ground, and once the confused Swabian was in place, he did the only thing he could do.

He called out to the defenders and made a rush at their camp.

Predictably, the defenders went after Brian as he rushed parallel to the flag and then toward the other side of the hill, drawing them off the flag and leaving the path clear for Arnold.

Arnold reacted beautifully. He pushed off his knees and made a dash for the flag, not stopping until it was firmly in his grasp.

The sound of a whistle went out for all of them while the Swabian lieutenant who'd been monitoring this side of the battlefield came forward.

"That's it, the game is over. The red team is the winner here," said the Swabian officer before looking at Arnold. "Great dash there at the end, Perera. You won it for your team."