Where a few buildings had once stood there were now headquarters, barracks, stables, and on the top of the hill, one of the highest in the area, was a building fortress.
Herzer considered the answer as he looked around. While it was true, it was also the reason that Gunny was going to always be an NCO. His focus was on the troops, not where they might come from. Training them was his passion, using them in battle was a close second. But Gunny always thought at those, essentially tactical, levels. Herzer was, slowly, learning to think beyond the here and now, a trick he was picking up from Duke Edmund. The New Destiny forces had the same manpower problems as the Freedom Coalition. Their answer had been to support Norau forces that were hampering the Coalition while building, from reports, a large army at home in Ropasa.
Gunny could, and would, focus like a laser on training the raw troops given to him. And the end product was excellent, as Herzer himself had proven. But he distrusted allies and gave most of his thought processes to better use what he was given. It was up to officers to find more bodies and integrate untrained allies.
Because no matter how good the Blood Lords were, and they were very good, there was no way the relative handful of fully trained soldiers could stand up to the army that Paul was building.
“Well, we’ll be getting some new recruits from Harzburg and some of the surrounding towns, soon,” Herzer replied, walking Diablo over to his paddock. “Then we’ll have more to do with.”
He dismounted and started stripping off Diablo’s tack as a pony-sized unicorn, followed by a young colt nearly her own size, came trotting over.
“Hi, Herzer,” the unicorn said in a high-pitched voice. “I’m glad you’re back.”
“Hi, Barb. Admit it, though, you’re glad Diablo’s back.” Herzer chuckled, opening up the gate and letting his mount into the paddock.
“H’zer!” the colt shrilled then butted Diablo in the side with his short, stumpy horn. “D’ablo!”
“He doesn’t really know who you are,” Barb replied, ignoring the jibe. “He does that with everybody.”
Prior to the Fall, Barb Branson had been through several Changes and just prior to the Fall she had turned herself into a unicorn. The Fall had caught her in that form and, after several unpleasant experiences in the aftermath, she had been recaptured from Dionys’ forces. Despite the fact that she was now in better hands she found herself unable to adapt to “human” society and lived with the horses, and Diablo particularly. The relationship had been the source of some crude jokes initially but now had become so normal the people of the town barely considered it. The colt was the result of mating with Diablo and seemed to be progressing somewhere between a human baby and a horse. He had been able to walk almost immediately but speech was a relatively recent acquisition.
“He’s growing fast,” Herzer said with a nod. The colt, from reports, had been barely the size of a cat when born and now stood taller than his mother at the withers. He looked as if he was going to try for his sire’s size.
“And getting into everything.” Barb sighed. She went over to the feed supply and slipped her horn into a hole. A lever inside dispensed a measure of grain and she nipped at the colt to keep him away as Diablo walked over to feed. “We had to fix this so his horn wouldn’t reach; he figured out how to use it when he was about three months old.”
“Well, take good care of Diablo,” Herzer said. The horse in question looked up at his name, then took another mouthful of grain and, still chewing, walked to the center of the paddock. When he was in the right spot he lay down and rolled onto his back, writhing from side to side to get the dust good and thick. He rolled until he was well covered in dust, then walked back to the trough to finish his feed. Barb had stood by patiently, keeping the youngster away, until he returned. “Anything you need?”
“Nope, we’re fine,” Barb said. “Thanks for setting this up.”
“Not a problem,” Herzer said. He carried the tack into the barn attached to the paddock and put it away, then picked up his baggage and headed to the barracks.
As a Blood Lord officer he had a room of his own but it was Spartan in the extreme. Every time he returned he promised that he’d do something about decorating but he never did. The room had a rough bed, a desk, a footlocker, an armor stand and a wall-locker. He dumped his gear on the floor and then stripped off his armor, working his shoulders around as the weight came off. Then he carefully put away everything that didn’t need immediate cleaning. He knew there was an orderly around somewhere and he could leave the cleaning of his clothes and armor to the orderly’s attention.
He drew the short sword he’d been carrying and checked its edge but he’d cleaned and honed it since the last time he used it so it didn’t need anything. He polished and oiled it out of habit, then considered his next moves.
He was supposed to report to Duke Edmund but he figured he could at least get the road grime off before he did. The question was whether to walk across town and use the baths or just shower at the barracks. Finally he decided on the latter and stripped off his clothes, wrapping a towel around his waist.
The showers had been added to the barracks just before he left. There wasn’t much to them, just a series of spigots overhead surrounded by concrete floor and walls. Compared to the bathhouse they were positively primitive, but it beat the heck out of walking all the way across town. For some reason he really didn’t want to talk to half the people in town, which was more or less what would happen if he headed to the baths.
The barracks were deserted this time of day — the instructors were out chivvying students or working in their offices, which were across the quad, and the permanent guards were drilling — and he wandered down the corridor alone. The showers were at the center of the wooden building, past officer territory and into the area where the NCOs bunked. He nodded at the charge of quarters as he passed, then turned into the bathroom.
There was an orderly in there cleaning up but, again, he just nodded at him, then walked into the shower room, pulling the towel off and hanging it on a hook before turning on the water.
The water took forever to get hot, but at that it was still better than anything Harzburg had had for a long time. There was a sliver of soap on a ledge and he used it liberally including on his hair. The latter was starting to get long again and it was about time for a cut. But that, at least, would have to wait. By now the duke would have heard he was back. He turned off the shower and grabbed his towel, heading back to his room.
In the main bathroom there was a row of spigots spilling water into a concrete trough with a long metal mirror mounted over it. Herzer paused by it to survey his face. He’d had hair-growth on his face stopped prior to the Fall so he didn’t have to worry about five o’clock shadow. His hair was a tad long, starting to touch his ears at least, but it would pass inspection. Only the Blood Lords conformed to Gunny’s remarkable standards of personal grooming.
He headed back to his room and began donning a fresh uniform. It was a tad loose — he’d lost weight on the Harzburg mission along with everything else — but it still fit well enough. Cosilk underpants and shirt, gray cosilk trousers and the kimonolike overtunic. The latter’s lapel and trim was in light blue, from time immemorial the color of infantry, and there was a blue stripe down the outside of the trousers. Blue for the infantry, yellow for cavalry, green for the archers and red for engineers. He stopped before putting the tunic on and pinned the two pips of a lieutenant to the lapel. He looked at it for a moment, then shrugged.