Colors - Prologue

Prologue:

For fuck's sake, Jacobs and his fucking sniffling were going to get them all killed. Ansgar kicked him as quietly as he could. When the oaf turned his red, oozing nose to face him, Ansgar tapped his own nose twice, then dragged his finger across his throat. He pointed his pistol at Jacobs' slightly puffy eyes, and glared. Glared as evilly as he could, trying to convince the lout that by God, he really would do it.

Of course, he never would. What sense was there to punish someone for revealing their presence by firing off an even louder gun in his face? But Jacobs was pretty dumb, so it would hopefully be enough. Damn he hated putting up with these mules and rats. The entire group was scum. How did he get so mired in this he could never get out? What did he do wrong?

No, he needed to focus. Time to brood on that later.  Keeping his gun aimed vaguely in Jacobs' direction he slowly, ever so slowly… turned his head, gazing with the corner of one eye over the remnants of the cobblestone wall he lay behind. There was a dried leaf partially blocking his view, but he dared not try to move it. The slightest mistake now would spell disaster for the entire plan. Everything needed to be perfect until the prey was in position.

Perhaps “prey” was not the best description. The group slowly walking along the road only a few short meters away from him was heavily armed, and well organized. More like a pack of wolves than a herd of deer. But it was going to be okay. The plan was going to work. He just needed to wait. Soon now, soon they would be in the perfect spot.

Suddenly he heard a quiet, muffled cough to his left. God Dammit! Clemens you worthless slug! Alright, calm down; just try to calm down... Maybe the drizzle hid the sound. It was muffled after all, and the soldiers were a bit away. With the splashes from the footsteps, and the sounds from the horses, and the rain, it was fine. Nothing to get jittery about.

Wait... That one soldier, near the front. Oh Lord, he must have heard. Ansgar turned his head the other way, leaning a little and trying to get a better view. Yes, that one, fourth from the front, on the left side. He definitely heard something. He was actively looking around now, unlike his fellows who to a man were looking down; trying to keep the rain from their eyes and their feet out of the worst puddles. Shit...

He didn’t seem alarmed, nor nervous, and Ansgar prayed he would just let it go, focus back on walking. The soldier put his open palm on the pommel of his bayonet, gave one last glance side to side, and removed his hand. Ansgar was halfway through profusely thanking The Lord, yet the soldier hadn’t taken but three steps when the very faintest of rustling came from the other side of the road. Two pebbles bounced and skipped down the embankment, mildly displacing a few leaves and gently clinking off a few larger rocks.

It was the sort of thing no man would give notice to. Something so minor and naturally occurring it was beneath human concern. Unless, perhaps, a man was already on alert. The same soldier snapped his head in the direction of the sound. Ansgar swore he'd kill the man who made those pebbles roll, but he couldn’t tell for certain whom it was. The soldier was facing away from Ansgar now, but he could still see the man’s hand was firmly wrapped around the ring of his bayonet. The man thumped the back of a different solder in front of him and took a step towards the underbrush, tugging his bayonet out of it's holder as he did.

Dammit! Any second now the entire group would know something was going on. Ansgar could just imagine what was about to happen. The second soldier would turn; ask the first why he hit him. All the other soldiers would perk up at the unexpected voice, slow down as they turned to look. The horseman at the front of the group would pull on his reins The first solder would start climbing up the bank... Oh God, the plan would be ruined. It would be the death of them all.

No! He couldn't let that happen. They weren't in the perfect position yet but it was imperative that his group made the first move. He had scant moments to act or it was all over before it began. Tearing his pistol away from Jacobs he hurriedly veered his arm towards the soldier stepping off the road and squeezed the trigger! The loud crackle from the pistol mixed with his stressed, higher than normal voice as he screamed out to his men.

“Now! Do it, attack atta-!”

Barely had he started speaking before guns snapped and roared all around, completely drowning his shouted command. Clumps of dirt and flicks of blood burst into the air as bullets found their marks or pinged uselessly off the embankments. A dozen soldiers collapsed amid a chorus of pain and surprise, including the officer on the horse and the man who had stepped out of formation. Ansgar couldn't tell if his own rushed shot had hit but he didn't really care, too caught up in the frenetic chaos and he tossed his spent pistol and yanked his second from his belt.

They needed to rush in or the momentum from the volley would be lost. Cobblestones tumbled out of place as Ansgar scrambled over the wall and half slid, half ran into the road. Saber lifted he crashed into one of the few soldiers still standing! They both fell, the other man's musket firing as they thudded into the ground. Smoke burst into the air a palm's width from Ansgar's head, his ear screaming in protest as a ripple of heat washed over his eye. In disoriented pain he lifted then chopped down his arm, the sword biting into the sodden dirt. Grey droplets flew around as his blade was lifted from the puddles and a rivulet of filthy water cascaded from the tip as it was hacked down again and again. Gouging the earth once more the third swing connected with flesh and the struggling body half beneath him jerked fiercely then was still.

Gasping, Ansgar rolled to the side and heaved himself upright. A fellow ambusher knocked his head forward and he tasted coppery blood as the second man impaled with his bayonet a still thrashing soldier on their stomach beside Ansgar. A harsh crack bruised his already pained eardrum and he felt his hair tingle as a shot whistled past his scalp before plowing through the knee of the ambusher. He screamed and fell; clutching the barrel of his flintlock, still embedded in the body of the soldier, in a futile attempt to prop himself up. Ansgar tilted his head towards the sound, but smoke and grit coated his eyeball. Its repetitive stinging made him unable to keep his eye open for more than a moment, blinking spastically as tears leaked and will'o'the'wisp spots speckled his vision on that side.

Pushing the guard and pommel of his saber into the mud Ansgar forced himself to his feet and faced the source of the shot, readying his pistol as best he could with cold, numb fingers. The officer who had led the column glared balefully from beneath a bloody brow and disheveled wig. Crushed under the still braying body of his grievously injured horse, the officer had dropped the pistol and reached his one free arm out to grasp the stock of a fallen soldier's musket. Dragging the gun towards him, the left half of his face submerged in the red stained mire, he stared steadily towards Ansgar with unwavering malice.

Ansgar let his saber tumble from dislocated fingers and steadied his pistol with both hands, stepping with limping stride closer to the officer. He pulled the trigger, the cock striking with a muted pang of wet metal. Nothing happened. Damn! The officer lifted the corner of his lip in disdain and struggled to angle the heavy musket up at Ansgar's hunched form. Ansgar lurched forward! Closing the distance with a dry snarl he lifted a knee to his chest and kicked the officer in the face with all his desperate weight!

He felt the man's nose and jaw break beneath his boot as the officer's fist convulsed around the flintlock's trigger. It misfired, if it had even been loaded to begin with. Ansgar slipped, completely off balance from the kick, his hipbone hitting the dirt and his legs twisting as he sank yet again to the ground. The smell of wet horse hair and gunpowder overwhelmed him. Acidic bile swept up across a throat coated in smoke to mix with the tastes of blood and rain. Dragging himself onto the rapidly rising and falling flank of the horse, he started to choke. Opening his mouth and letting his head flop onto the horse's ribs the vile mixture sleuthed out across a split lip, trickling thickly through his facial hair.

"Present arms!"

Ansgar wondered where Annabeth had put his comb. She'd smack him if he went to supper with his face like this. He turned to ask her where she ha-

"Fire!"