Turning to see the state of the fray, the lieutenant noticed the desperate struggle Miguel was waging.
—Strategist! —he bellowed, spurring his horse toward Miguel's position. He snatched a javelin from his saddle gear and, rising in his stirrups for a better vantage point, let fly. The javelin struck true, impaling one of the two soldiers currently hounding Miguel.
Seeing one of his attackers go down, Miguel counterattacked with ferocity. Seizing the moment while the second soldier was distracted by his comrade's sudden death, Miguel ducked under a downward slash and delivered a front kick squarely to the man's stomach. Giving him no room to breathe, Miguel spun on his heel and brought down a heavy strike that broke the last guard's resistance for good.
—Uf... uf... —Miguel wheezed—. God, I'm exhausted. That was intense. I need to work out more. I can't even imagine what a battle in a real war would be like. —he thought.
—Young Master! A pleasure to see you —Fernandez said with his trademark confidence—. I hope your "vacation" has treated you well.
—You have no idea, Lieutenant —Miguel said with a wide grin—. I'm glad to see you, Fernandez.
—Me too, Young Master. Andrés! I see your skin has rejuvenated over this break as well.
—Hahaha, just a little, Commander.
—Right, how is the occupation of the village going? —Miguel asked.
—Better than expected. The first platoon is controlling the gate and the palisade, while the second is laying siege to the enemy barracks. They managed to keep the flames under control to some extent, buying themselves time to resist.
—On the other hand —the lieutenant continued—, the third platoon is in the process of evacuating the residents and setting the houses on fire. Groups of four per house. I understand that both Ronald and Sam are guiding the civilians through the southern gate; they're wearing white armbands to prevent friendly fire. Finally, Ivan's platoon is mopping up the remaining enemies and heading for the river port.
—Perfect. Let's regroup with Ivan, Andrés.
—Understood, sir.
…
Arriving at the central plaza, Miguel met Ivan, who was advancing along the northern wall toward the river port.
—Young Master —Ivan greeted.
—Ivan, good work.
—Thank you, my lord. We're tossing those "Molotov cocktails" your grace taught us to make onto the rooftops as we push toward the port. We want to make things a little easier for the third platoon.
—Excellent. Any news?
—No, my lord. Some enemy guards are trying to mount a defense, but we're flushing them out with the cocktails. A shame we don't have more.
—In due time, Sergeant. For now, I want us to pick up the pace; we might still manage to loot some merchant ships. Getting out of the river port is no easy task when everyone is trying to flee at once.
—Agreed, my lord.
…
As they neared the port, the situation looked even worse. Merchants were fighting amongst themselves. Ships were run aground, and fires were breaking out here and there.
—Shield formation, men! Advance to the port. Eyes open! —Ivan shouted.
—Sir, yes sir!
Shoulder to shoulder, the guards began to push through the chaotic mass at the docks.
But suddenly, a bolt the size of a spear whistled through the ranks, launching an unlucky guard into the air. He landed yards back, dead instantly.
—Holy shit! What was that?! —Andrés shouted.
—It's a ballista! —Ivan yelled—. Break formation! Take cover in the buildings on the sides! Watch the flanks and the rear!
Before everyone could reach safety, another projectile struck a guard's head, tearing it clean off his shoulders. His body actually took a few more steps before collapsing.
—Damn it! —Miguel thought—. We can't advance against that bolt-thrower without taking massive casualties. If we charge head-on, all our planning will have been a waste of time. Better to just storm the walkways.
Looking up, Miguel spotted a building tall enough to have a direct line of sight to the merchant ship that had the ballista deployed on its bow.
—Andrés, with me!
—At your command, my lord.
—Young Master! —Ivan shouted from behind some stones—. God! You three, go with the Strategist! Protect him!
—Yes, sir!
…
Andrés was at the tip of the five-man formation entering the house, clearing every entrance and room until they reached the top floor.
Andrés moved to open the door, and by a stroke of ill luck, he didn't check the blind spot created as the door swung open. That was all it took.
—I've got you, bastard! You think you can just waltz through my town?! —said the man who had taken Andrés hostage—. And you, filthy rats, one wrong move and you can say goodbye to your friend.
Miguel and the others stood in a line, weapons ready, with Miguel's special arquebus aimed straight at the man's head.
—It's not worth it, Chief —Miguel said—. Your life is worth more than a bandit's.
—Oh, sure. "Bandits" with military-grade gear, horses, gunpowder, and things that explode into fire when you throw them. Don't make me laugh. Who do you belong to?
—You haven't heard of the Dark Mercenaries, my lord?
—No, not once.
—Well, allow us to introduce ourselves —Miguel said, struggling to keep the heavy arquebus aimed steady.
—No, I don't believe you. It's bullshit. Soldiers of the Duke of Susa? Someone from the Second Prince's faction? Or maybe the Count of Pastto's famous guard?
—None of the above, good man. The nobles can kiss our asses —Miguel said, just as a shadow darted out to stop at the village chief's feet.
—Papa!
—No, Lukas, come back here! —shrieked the boy's mother, who was forced out of her hiding spot.
—Valeria, what did I tell you?! —the Chief shouted, desperation in his voice.
—I'm sorry, I'm sorry... —could be heard through her sobs.
…
—The Lord moves in mysterious ways, don't you think, Chief? —Miguel said, resting his weapon on the shoulder of one of the guards—. One for one. You give me my man, I give you your family. Deal?
The chief stared... and then, he opened his mouth.
—Never! My loyalty to the Baron and the Marquis, and my duty as village chief, is to eliminate any threat, even if it means the sacrifice of my family.
—What a pathetic excuse —Miguel said, and then winked at Andrés.
Andrés drove an elbow into the chief's side, creating just enough space for Miguel to fire. The shot hit the Chief square in the head.
—Nooooo! Husband!
—Papa? Papa!
—Ahhhhhh! —screamed Valeria, the Chief's wife, grabbing the knife her husband had dropped and charging at Miguel.
With a single kick, Andrés struck her in the head, knocking her to the floor, and with unbridled rage, he began to beat the woman.
—What were you trying, you stupid bitch? To kill the leader? Damn you! —he spat, following up with a right hook that knocked several teeth from the woman's mouth.
With the woman unconscious and the child crying in the background, Andrés began to tear at her clothes...
—Andrés! —Miguel shouted—. Stop!
But there was no response.
—Andrés!!!
Still nothing. With his heart racing and a void in his stomach, Miguel lunged forward and kicked Andrés away from her.
—What the—?! —With a dazed look that slowly cleared, Andrés's eyes darted between the woman and his lord, his face gradually filling with complete remorse.
—What the hell were you thinking?! —Miguel yelled in his face—. Directly disobeying my order?! Have you fallen this low, Andrés? You, of all people?!
—I'm sorry, sir... it wasn't me... I just...
—Excuses, Andrés! What just happened is attempted sexual assault, and I can take you before a tribunal for that.
—My lord, please, no...
—Silence!
—Yes... my lord...