Calm of the Storm

April 25, 2008, 8:26 PM

So I've gotten back into writing after having to come up with the idea for our short film. So I came up with a bit of a story, that I'll continue with. So far this is all I have.

The cool breeze played around the Corporal’s straggly hair. He brushed a strand out of his eyes and lifted the binoculars to his eyes again, scanning the valley floor. He tried to figure out the best plan of attack, and the most strategic ground they should aim to hold in the coming battle. There were several small piles of rock that were once walls of a cottage or some similar structure, but all they offered was some basic cover should it be needed. It seemed like it would be more of a battle of numbers and strength when it came. That was what he feared; a battle of numbers. He had only 216 men at his back, and a similar number were stationed on the hillside opposite. An army of around 1000 were marching towards them, drawing ever closer. They were outnumbered more than two to one, and god only knew what they would be facing. He hoped it would be a basic rabble of poorly trained soldiers fighting out of cowardice and blindly following the lies of their masters rather than for a cause they truly believed in. He grimaced in disgust and put the binoculars away. He heard footsteps approaching behind him and turned to face the messenger.
“Corporal Sanders” he said, standing to attention several feet away. The Corporal smiled darkly at the name. Of course Sanders wasn’t his real name. He told that to a select few whom he trusted beyond others. Not even the registration form he had enlisted with had his real name. He was Hargon. “We’ve just received new orders from a messenger hawk.” He handed over a folded piece of paper with his left hand. Perched on his right was a powerful looking hawk with fierce talons. They had been sent new orders via an air messenger because they were in a communications black spot. That was both to their advantage and their enemy’s. It meant that for the brief period they were off the radar, they could plan an effective ambush and it would take days before anyone knew what had happened. However, on the flip side, if they were unsuccessful then it meant their own forces would not know for several days – until the “Soldiers of Liberation” joined the battle in the West. Corporal Hargon sighed and plunged his sword into the ground.
It was a fearsome looking blade. Jarvelle he called it. He had forged it himself about 20 years ago in the Battle of Sawville, back when he was a mere private. Most people had taken up their own weapons at that time to fight with when order finally collapsed. It was originally a scrap piece of metal, but he had crafted it well and it now sported a serrated edge along one side and a backwards curved tip the other. Since that day it had seen as many battles as him, spilled a river of blood, taken countless lives.
Hargon unfolded the note it read:
<o:p> </o:p>

“TO CORP. SANDERS STOP NEW INTELLIGENCE STOP SCANS HAVE CONFIRMED THAT ENEMY FORCES WILL BE IN POSITION AT MIDNIGHT OF THE TWENTIETH STOP BE READY FOR AMBUSH AT THAT TIME STOP GOOD LUCK END”

<o:p> </o:p>

Hargon screwed up the note. There was around half an hour until midnight. That gave them about half that time to ready themselves before the army entered the valley. He was anticipating the battle himself, but he was unsure whether the troops were.
“Has Corporal Jakss received the orders?” Hargon asked the messenger.
“There has been no signal, sir” he replied.
“Tell our man to give the signal for new orders.”
“Yes sir.”
Hargon took out the binoculars again and began scanning the valley floor again. He still couldn’t see any advantageous ground to hold. He put the binoculars away again and removed Jarvelle from the soft earth. From the other side of the valley he saw a pale blue light flicker into existence – the signal for new orders. So Jakss had received the same orders. Hargon returned to where the rest of his soldiers had been resting for the last few hours.
“Listen up!” he called. The men stopped milling around and stood to attention. “I’ve just received new orders. They’ll be here in the next half hour, so began to ready yourselves. In half an hour, we move.” There was an immediate bustle of activity as soldiers began to don their armour and take up their arms for the battle. Hargon looked out over the collection of men on the hillside. He knew about a dozen of the men, and had fought at their sides before. The large majority, however, were new to him and he had no idea how many times they had to claim a life in order to save their own. He walked over to the signaller and ordered the signal for preparation. The young man took out the tube and snapped it and instantly a fluorescent light lit up. He waved it above his head several times until a similar light flared into existence on the opposite hillside.
<o:p> </o:p>
Hargon was scanning the entrance to the valley on the Western end, waiting to see the first glimpse of men. What he saw turned his blood cold. At the head of the group of soldiers was a horse, with rider. Why would he be here now though? He checked again to confirm what he saw. Indeed, it was one of the four Horsemen; War. On three separate occasions he had seen War in battle, and on three occasions he had lost. He had seen the rider take bullets to the head and have his heart skewered by the sharpest of blades, but nothing ever felled him. Men were often demoralised at just the sight of him in battle.
He dropped the binoculars to his side and felt helpless. There was no hope for them now. At the rear of the Horseman was a force of around 1000 strong as predicted. So not only would they be physically outnumbered, but they would have to fight against one of the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Hargon looked across the valley to where Jakss’ men were posted, half expecting to see the red light of retreat. There was no signal and so he turned back to his own men. Every step seemed to take a lifetime, but they had a right to know that they would soon be marching to their imminent death. He walked right into the midst of his soldiers and they all crowded round. He looked them in the face. Faces that would soon lie in the mud, lifeless. He couldn’t think of any simple or nice way to say what he had to say. “War is here” was all he could manage. Around a hand full of the men got his true meaning and the colour was instantly drained from their faces. They knew what War was capable of and knew they had little to no hope of seeing out the night. The rest of the men, who had not seen a battle before cheered and began to psych each other up with calls of “here we go then” and “it’s about time, I want to be home by tomorrow.” However, the shouting soon stopped as they saw the reactions of their comrades and understood exactly what the Corporal had meant. Their weapons fell limp at their sides, hopeless. “I will understand if you wish to break the ranks” Hargon said over the deathly silence, finding his voice again. “It’s futile to fight in this situation, death will come. If you wish, flee back the way we came. I can not guarantee that you will make it home safely, but it will at least delay the inevitable. Take some time to think on it.” It felt like telling a man the news that he was being sent to the gallows. Effectively, that’s what he was doing. A murmur instantly broke out among the troops, most likely discussing the fact that they didn’t want to die.
He didn’t make eye contact with anyone as he pushed past them and strode back over to the signaller. “Any sign yet?” he asked, expecting to see the red light signifying retreat.
“Nothing, sir” he replied. “Sir –” but he could not form the words he wanted to say. Hargon put his hand on the man’s shoulder and briefly let it rest there. He scanned the floor of the valley for the hundredth time and saw doom drawing ever closer, saw the end of so many lives creeping closer. Hundreds of people would die tonight. Including those clad in the black armour behind the Horseman, who he had seen kill mercilessly and enjoy it. The familiar black rags hung off him, and he bore the same blade in his hand that had killed so many. With every step the army took, Corporal Hargon could almost feel another life being snuffed out. He of course would fight against the 1000, even if all 450 or so men of his own allegiance deserted. Even if he was the only one, he would stand in the way of that army until he had no breath left in him.
He went back to his men to get an answer from them. They all stood to attention as he came closer, but Hargon noted that they didn’t look confident in their obedience any more. “Will you fight or will you leave?” he asked.
“We will fight!” was the response from every single man. Hargon was taken aback, but not perturbed. He looked one of the nearest men in the eye. It was one of the ones who had been celebrating the coming battle moments ago. Now he was ashen faced and looked as if he wanted to throw up.
“Do you fully realise what will happen when we charge down this mountainside towards that army?” he asked sternly. “There will be no return. We will die. Everyone of us.”
“But you returned, sir. Three times no less” the young man replied. Once again, Hargon was taken aback. Obviously, the stories had spread. But no one knew the truth about how he had escaped War. It still haunted him.
“The rest of you” he called, addressing the rest of the soldiers. “Do you all share the same sentiments as him?” Their were responses of affirmative from every last man. “Then I wouldn’t have any other group of soldiers behind me when I run down to face War then.” There was a resounding cry of appreciation from all the men, and Hargon knew that they would to the death along side him.
<o:p> </o:p>
Green light. Corporal Jakss was ready. Hargon told his own signaller to repeat the signal back and faced his own soldiers. He stepped up onto a rock and took a moment to look into the face of everyone gathered in front of him. “I cannot promise you victory this night” he called. Everyone was silent, their minds no doubt on what lay at the bottom of the valley. “In fact, we’re going towards an almost certain death. In that valley we will be outnumbered and most likely outmatched by that… creature. For that’s what he is; nothing more than a heartless, soulless creature.” He took a moment for his words to sink in. Very rarely did Corporal Hargon make up these pep-talks on the spot the moment before battle, but the occasion called for it. “However, what I can guarantee you is that we will not go out without a fight. Not one of us will die in vain, we will all make an impact in this battle, and we will all die honourable men!” There was a cry from every man that sent an unknown chill down Hargon’s back and he jammed his helmet over his head, drew Jarvelle from her sheath at his hip. There was a slight red glint as the moonlight struck the blood on the blade. “Ballista!” he yelled, and the designated soldiers who had long rage explosive weapons launched a barrage down into the valley. On the other side of the valley similar lights streaked downwards and exploded on the valley floor. There screams of pain and surprise as the enemy force realised that they had walked into an ambush. Accompanying the screams came a high pitched whinny; War’s horse. The noise was enough to make Hargon’s blood run cold, but if he was phased by it he didn’t let it show on his face, and neither did a single one of the men behind him.
He leapt down off the rock and sprinted down the mountain side, brandishing Jarvelle above his head. All 216 men followed suit, sporting various different weapons ranging from double swords to tridents to axes. Across the valley, he could just make out the other half of their ambush following suit and from what he could see, about a quarter had deserted. The ground thundered with their footsteps and the air rang with their war cries. The Liberation Soldiers readied themselves in a defensive formation for the oncoming attack, with War somewhere on the Northern side.
<o:p> </o:p>
Towards the bottom of the hill, there was a small rocky ledge that stuck out slightly over the rest of the floor. Hargon made a beeline for this and threw himself over the edge, Jarvelle high above his head. He looked down at the man he intended to strike down and met his eyes. He had a look of sheer terror, and half turned to flee but it was far too late for that. The razor edge of Hargon’s sword found its mark in the man’s skull and sunk in. The man fell away instantly, and Jarvelle wrenched out of his brain with a sickening suck, but Hargon had become accustomed to such sound effects of battle and rose up instantly, slashing at the nearest soldier in the dark blue armour, cutting his throat before he had time to react. He fell to his knees gurgling and with crimson spilling from his throat, but Hargon had no time to show any mercy and make it a quick death; their foes were quickly regrouping after the initial surprise of the ambush. By this time, the rest of the soldiers had backed up Hargon, with several following his style of jumping off the ledge for added effect. He watched in disappointment as it unfortunately didn’t pay off for one man and he slid straight on to a waiting pike only to be cast aside. But there was still a battle to be fought and he couldn’t waste time feeling remorse for any man’s death right now, be they enemy or ally. What sort of soldier would he be if he did?

My paragraphing still needs work, obviously and I can never come up with good names for characters, but other than that I'm quite proud of what I have. Thoughts on how to better it?

EDIT: Updated it with a bit more that I did tonight.