The bright flickering firelight bounced off the sides of the tents that were arranged neatly into rows, as Romans are apt to do.
The night had slowly descended on the marching column, and the last leg of their journey was completed in the dark of night, but they had made it. They were now nestled in the protection of the little valley.
The men were currently chowing down on a late dinner, and generally getting to know their comrades from between the different armies better. ‘I can’t believe they’ve gotten along so well in the first place. I thought the Germans and Americans would be at each other’s throats.’ Ricky thought.
But it was not so. Instead, the Americans and Germans found translators to act as information relayers, even though a good number of the Germans could understand English. Now, they were interested solely in trading stories and close calls.
Ricky found himself wandering from campfire to campfire, sitting in on stories and congratulating the men on their recent domination of the ponies. At the moment that Chrysalis found him, he was listening to a German, aided by an American translator, telling the story of how the Battle of Kursk was such a disaster.
“He’s saying that the northern flank of the Soviets’ line was mined, and his half-track was de-tracked only a couple of miles after starting,” the American interpreter told the others, who collectively grimaced. Being stuck in the middle of a minefield was no joke.
The interpreter paused as the German resumed his guttural droning, sometimes his pitch rising as he gesticulated, lit up by the firelight and the moonlight. The soldiers huddled around were held in rapt attention, as the German finally finished his rather long speaking session and nodded to the translator.
He took a deep breath. “Half of his squad were killed by the mines before someone remembered there was a mine detector in the half-track. They managed to get to within a mile of the Soviets, but got cutoff in the Great Counterattack near the end of the battle. However, they were rescued by a small detachment of armor that had snuck around the great battle at Prokhorovka, and they boarded it and made it back out, before the pocket was closed.”
The men around the campfire sighed in relief, some of them cheering. Everyone liked a story with a happy ending. God knows how many had a tale to tell that ended with the narrator dying.
As Ricky clapped, he felt the tell-tale hardness of a hoof on his shoulder. He looked behind him to see Chrysalis, who opened her mouth. Ricky held up a hand, and Chrysalis stopped.
“Well, gentlemen, thanks for accommodating me at your fire.” Ricky smiled warmly, and the men grinned back, waving goodbye as Ricky turned to walk away with Chrysalis.
“What is it, Chrysalis?” Ricky murmured, his eyelids half-closed.
Chrysalis shot him a look, but didn’t comment. At least, not initially. “The others are planning for real this time, with maps the prisoners drew. They need you there, sleepy-head.”
Ricky’s eyelids slowly rose back up to their open positions. “Oh. Well, lead the way.”
Lead the way the changeling queen did, and soon Ricky was inside the main command tent. The others were currently bent over a map laid out on the table. MacArthur and Decius were quietly conversing, while Karl stood apart, silently pouring over the map. Ricky walked over to him.
“What’re you thinking about, Karl?” The teen asked.
Karl seemed to snap out of a reverie. “Just studying the topographics of our route. Las Pegasus is right here,” he pointed on the map to a sketch of a city on the water, “and we’re here.” He pointed east of Las Pegasus, to a spot a bit away from the drawing of Arbor Hollow.
MacArthur, overhearing the conversation, jumped in. “To the north of us is a ridge, which stands in front of a mountain range. To the south is a river, and in front of us is a small forest. Nothing too bad.” He pointed to the landmarks as he mentioned them. Ricky hummed thoughtfully.
“How far is the river from here?”
“According to the prisoners, about 15 miles.” Karl took up the conversation again.
“So, what’s our plan of action?” MacArthur asked.
“Hmm. I think marching along the river would be the safest. It’ll protect our left flank if we’re attacked.” Ricky dragged his finger along the river on the map. MacArthur and Karl nodded. Decius, who had been talking to Chrysalis, walked over to the others.
“She says there’s a Changeling hive right here,” he pointed south-west of the army, along the riverbank. “They’ve got stores of food, so we don’t have to forage as much.”
“Well then, it sounds decided. Get some rest men, we’re moving in the morning.” The others nodded, and Ricky left the command tent, Chrysalis trailing.
“Hey Chrysalis, where’s my tent?” Chrysalis shrugged her withers.
Ricky scowled. “That’s great. Seems like I’ll have to hang my hat somewhere else tonight.”
“Ow! Get your elbow out of my ribs!”
“Ugh, Aeneus, you could’ve moved your armor over a bit more.”
“Flaminitus, quit hogging all the blankets!”
“It isn’t me! I’m freez-”
“Would both of you just SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
“...Jupiter, it feels like I’m being frozen alive.”
“I’ll get that Greek-god cutout to strike your ass with a bolt of lightning if you don’t shut the hell up, Flaminitus!”
“Hey! He is not a Greek god!”
“Oh yeah, and I’m now purple!”
“...Well, I can’t see you, so…”
“I swear, if you finish that sentence, so help me God, I will beat you!”
“What god? Pluto? Jupiter? Satu-”
“Aeneus, shush. You sound like you’re reading a star chart.”
“What do you mean, a star chart? There’s stars named after the gods?”
“Yes, Aeneus. There’s actually planets named after your gods, planets like Earth, but without life. Now SHUT UP!”
“I’m still cold…”
“Lordy, you’re dead.” The shuffling of blankets filled the tent, as Ricky got up to beat Flaminitus into the morning.
“Okay, I’ll be quiet, just stop!”
“Ow! Ricky, get your feet off me!”
“Shut up, I’ve got a garden gnome to kill!”
“Ricky, I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!”
“I don’t care! Maybe I’ll throw myself onto it to get some sleep!”
The metallic ringing of a sword sliding out of its scabbard stopped everything.
“...Fine.” Ricky climbed back under the blankets as the gladius was resheathed. “But you better shut up.”
“Good night, Ricky and Flaminitus.”
“Good night, Ricky and Aeneus.”
“Shut up, you idiots… Good night.”
Seemingly two minutes later, the call of a bugle ripped through the tent walls. The three comrades jolted awake. Aeneus and Flaminitus got up and began restrapping their armor on. Ricky, however, laid back down and rolled over, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Come on Ricky, you have to get up,” Flaminitus chided.
“Five more minutes,” was Ricky’s response.
“No. We have drill inspection in five minutes! Get up!” Flaminitus kicked Ricky lightly in the ribs. Aeneus, meanwhile, seemed dead, moving like a robot.
Ricky continued to curl up, so Flaminitus bent down. His gaze sympathetic but hardened, he yanked the blanket off of Ricky.
Ricky began slowly shivering, but curled up all the way into a ball and refused to get up. Flaminitus looked down with pity at him. “Come on, Ricky. Just get up.”
Finally, Ricky slowly moved onto the balls of his feet. Eventually, he stood up, bones cracking.
“Come on now, we need to get dressed.” Flaminitus urged.
Eventually, and with a lot of coaxing from Flaminitus, Ricky was ready. The two legionnaires tightened up their last few leather straps, and grabbed the rest of their gear. The three of them stepped out of the tent. There was already a line of men outside of the trench, waiting as the unit commanders went down the line, surveying the men. Seeing this, they hurriedly ran up to join the line, standing rigidly at attention.
One of the officers inspecting the troops took notice of the odd trio. Slowly, he worked his way over to them, giving them an inquisitive glance. “Attention, you three!” The trio snapped up, rigid as rocks. "Who are you, kid?" He looked Ricky over.
"Richard Welfork, your commander." Ricky yawned.
The officer's eyes widened. "Extremely sorry, sir! I had no idea, sir!" He saluted with all the parade ground spit-and-polish of boot camp.
"At ease, officer. Don't be like that around me, it makes me feel awkward." The officer dropped the salute, relaxing slightly. "Who do I have the pleasure of introducing myself to?"
"Jeremiah Green, sir! Ambulance driver and commander over five crews, sir!"
Jeremiah was a tall enough guy. His dark brown hair was cropped so that it hung just above his eyebrow, and seemed to be slicked with lard; is reflected a lot of the sunlight. His ice blue eyes betrayed a hint of fear. Now that he mentioned it, Jeremiah did have a medical armband with a Red Cross on his right sleeve.
"I thought I told you to drop the formalities, Jeremiah," Ricky frowned.
"Sorry sir. It's just a... habit of mine." Jeremiah's hesitation in finishing that sentence was slightly offputting, but Ricky did no more than raise an eyebrow.
"Well, I hope I can break you of that habit, at least around me." The smirk seemed to raise Jeremiah's mood, and he also smiled. "So, Jeremiah, we're about to march, right?"
"Yes si-I mean Ricky. The armored column is going to take point, with the provision transports in the middle, and the column in the back. But, you already knew that. You're the commander after all."
"I actually didn't know that." A sad chuckle escaped Ricky's lips as he rubbed his eyes with his hand. "Look at me. A commander who doesn't know his army's march plan."
"Don't feel down, s-Ricky. We can't possibly expect you to know everything. We're here to help you, we've been through it all before." Jeremiah laid a hand on Ricky's shoulder.
"Thanks, Jerem-" In the middle of his sentence, the bugle went up again. It was a long, whining drone.
"Come on, Ricky! That's the packing order! Here, you can ride in my ambulance with me!" Jeremiah urged Ricky, and the two of them ran off through the camp, as the others took down their tents quickly and began rolling them up.
Eventually, Jeremiah stopped at a small circle of tents, currently half-up and going down. A small number of guys, also medics, were scrambling to get everything packed.
"Here, get the truck started. You're driving, I'll help pack up with the others." Jeremiah tossed Ricky a set of keys, which he caught with a jangling clank in his hand.
Opening the driver door, Ricky climbed up into the cabin.
He then promptly realized that he was on the wrong side. Since this was an American truck, the wheel was on the left side, not the right, as was the custom over in Scotland. The huge wheel was in the way of just sliding over to the left side. 'Great, I just remembered this is a stick.' Ricky sighed in frustration as he hopped back out of the truck and ran around the grill.
Finally in the left side of the cabin, he put the keys in and twisted. The engine, surprisingly, roared to life, before dying. "Come on!" He twisted again, but this time nothing happened.
He leaned out the open window. "How in blue blazes do you start this thing, Jeremiah!?"
"It's a Model T! D'ya know how to start that one?" The medical officer shouted back over his shoulder.
"Do you expect me to be able to drive a 100 year-old car!?"
"Ugh, I should've known. Alright, I'll walk you through it. First, the engine's cold, so you need to prime it with some fuel. Pull the choke out all the way, it's on the center of the dashboard."
After a quick moment, Ricky located the choke and pulled on the knob, as far as it went. "Alright, next?"
He heard Jeremiah grunt, probably from lifting some supplies. "See the lever on the left of the steering wheel? Make sure that it's all the way down, the crank could break your arm otherwise."
"Holy shit," Ricky muttered while he searched for the lever in question. He found it; it was already down all the way.
"After that, put the key to the battery setting and then hop out." It was already there, so Ricky jumped back out of the cabin.
Jeremiah walked over to him, then past him. Ricky followed him to the front of the car. Jeremiah bent his knees, getting close to the ground. Ricky followed his example.
"You see the crank lever?" Ricky nodded. "Alright. Take it over to the far left side of its rotation pattern, like a clock handle at 9 o'clock."
Ricky did. Surprisingly, there was almost no resistance. "Give me a second." Jeremiah jumped up into the cabin and bent down, presumably fiddling with the levers.
After a few seconds, he leaned back out through the window. "Okay! Now, take your left hand and put the palm on the bottom of the crank lever! Don't wrap you hand around it, whatever you do!"
Ricky had to switch hands, but he made sure not to actually grip the lever. He gave the OK symbol to Jeremiah in the driver's seat.
"Now throw it clockwise, that should get 'er running!"
Ricky threw it as he was told to.
And, given Ricky's luck, the engine backfired. Thankfully, since he followed Jeremiah's instructions, the lever simply flew out of his hand, instead of breaking his arm.
That didn't stop Ricky from shouting "Fuck!" as loud as he could. Jeremiah immediately jumped out of the cabin. "You okay!?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Scared me half to death." Ricky took a deep breath.
"I'll find the problem, give me a sec." Jeremiah ran back over to the door and climbed back in.
It only took him a few seconds. "There's the problem! You put the spark timer lever down! It's supposed to be up!"
"YOU told me to put it down!" Ricky said, his tone slightly edgier.
"Did I? Ah well, nobody's hurt. Here, try it again!"
"You better be right this time..." Ricky threatened. But, as he threw the crank lever for the second time, the engine did not backfire. Rather, it roared to life once again, and stayed that way.
Ricky mini-fist pumped. "Hell yeah, I started a car that barely exists anymore!" As he celebrated, Jeremiah walked up to him.
"Get in the cabin, Ricky. You're driving, I'll check on the loading."
Ricky clambered back up into the driver's seat, greeting the unfamiliar controls and pedals yet again. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as his other hand massaged his fatigued eyes.
After a few minutes, Ricky felt the back of the ambulance lower, obviously being filled. Jeremiah suddenly appeared, getting into the passenger seat. "Have you ever driven a car before, Ricky? Actually, that's a stupid question. A better one is, do you know the controls of a Model T?"
"Nope. Not a clue."
"Okay. Throttle is the lever on the opposite side of the spark plug lever. Rightmost pedal is brake, the middle is the reverse gear, the left is the gearbox. Spark plug lever is for adjusting your engine's RPM, but I'll tell you when to worry about that. The lever here," he pointed to a lever sticking out of the middle of the seats, "is the handbrake and clutch."
Ricky tried as best he could to absorb all this information. Once he did, he nodded. "Seems easy enough to get."
Jeremiah scoffed. "Good luck with that. Anyways, shift into first gear. It's all the way down to the floor."
Ricky, once he moved his foot over, pushed the pedal down as far as it would go. The car immediately began rolling forwards. Ricky pulled up on the throttle lever a bit, which did its job; the car began to roll faster. "Where are we going, Jeremiah?"
"Follow the dust cloud, on the right." There was, indeed, a small dust cloud just cresting one of the many hills between the river and the ridge.
Ricky smirked. 'Time to floor it!' He pushed the lever as far up as it would go. At the same time, he pushed the spark plug lever down as far as it would go. He also set the pedal to second gear.
"What's this thing's max speed, Jeremiah?"
"About 45 miles an hour."
Ricky sighed. "Of course, this car is slower than molasses."
Jeremiah's laughter filled the jalopy as it continued its journey, trailing the dust cloud of the rest of the army.