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“Three AM and All’s Well”

In Honor of Msgt. Lugg

© 2004 by David Vierling

“It’s Three Ay-Em and all’s well!” The traditional Guard ‘It’s the middle of the night shift and thank goodness no one’s stuck a dagger in me yet’ cry rang from the tower of the Guard House. In the square below, Master Sergeant Lugg struck the ogre-shaped gong which called the Guard to assemble (or to Happy Hour, depending on the time).

The full Guard in all its glory swaggered, straggled, and staggered more or less into formation on the cobblestones under the watchful eye of the legendary Master Sergeant.

“AWRIGHT, YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MEN, LISTEN HUP!” bawled Lugg, adjusting the patch that shielded the place where his right eye had been. [Lugg tended to spray his ‘Ss’, and the ‘P’ at the end of any word tended to be replaced by a ‘pop’, making “HUP” into “HUPop!”] “You’re about to meet your new Captain, so I want some spit and polish!” [As mentioned, Lugg’s pronunciation of ‘spit’ included a certain physical element and increased the local humidity.] “The new Captain no doubt bribed the Duke to get appointed to this cushy job, just like his predecessor. It’s a grand tradition, and you know I love tradition!”

The door to the Officer’s Quarters opened and the new Captain stepped out. “Thank you, Sergeant,” he said, resting one hand on the pommel of the long sword he wore scabbarded at his side. “At ease, Guardsmen.”

“CAP’N SAID ‘AT EASE’ YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MEN, SO YOU RELAX LIKE YOU MEAN IT!” shouted Lugg helpfully.

“The Aratari Militia…” began the Captain.

“THE REGULAR ARMY,” translated Sergeant Lugg.

“…are surrounded at the outpost on Mount Kumoniwannalaya by the Keggite army under Nasal Khan…”

“ARE IN A DEEPOP PILE AND ABOUT TO GET CEE-EFFED…”

“Sergeant, may I have a word with you?” asked the Captain quietly.

“Yessir?”

“I CAN TAKE IT FROM HERE, SERGEANT.”

“Yessir!” replied Lugg, with no sign of rancor.

“I suggested to the Aratari War Council that the only way to rescue our troops from certain destruction would be to attack the Keggites by surprise, from the rear, with the only trained forces available…the City Guard. The War Council agreed, and conferred on me a one-month commission as Captain to lead the relief force.”

He looked over his new command. This didn’t take very long. “Nobody told me there were so few of you…of us,” he corrected. “At least I don’t feel bad about leaving the city undefended; I doubt anyone will miss us. Time is of the essence. We leave in an hour. Report back here in half an hour with enough food for a week’s deployment. Dismissed.” He saluted.

“AWRIGHT YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MEN, YOU HEARD THE CAP’N, FALL OUT AND FALL BACK IN AGAIN DOUBLE-TIME!”

“Thank the gods I’m retiring in a month,” the Captain muttered as the troops straggled off the parade ground.

“Yessir, if you live that long.”

“Sergeant, I can’t help but noticing that some…er, perhaps most of your, er, OUR *men* are…women.”

“Very astute of you, Sir!”

“And that one of our…men…is pregnant.”

“Nothing gets by you, Sir! That’d be Tamys Faersaxon. She lost a bet by getting’ knocked upop this time around, Sir, so she has to name this one after Dante.” He indicated the moth-eaten banner showing a jaunty, but somewhat knock-kneed skeleton sporting sword and shield.

“…And that one of our men, who’s a woman, is dead.”

“That’d be Cantrix, Sir. Very keen on following orders, she is. Born without a backbone. I think it’s genetical. Previous officer told her to dropop dead, you see. Not sure he meant it, but she takes her job very seriously, does Cantrix.

“And one is a faery…brownie…pixie…imp…, er, ISH.” The Captain struggled. “And another is just a girl. She can’t be more than 13.”

“Briar Rose and Sev? Very useful, those two. Easily underestimated. One’s utterly fearless, and the other’s very good at tying knots in things.”

“And the whole unit has only one worm-eaten truncheon between them. I saw them passing it back and forth like a relay baton to whichever Guard I was looking at.”

“You have me there, Sir. We’re rather short on weapons at present. We have the truncheon, and I have the Leibermacher.” Sergeant Lugg dropped his hand to caress the worn handle of his fabled weapon ‘the Widowmaker.’

“And there are only eight Guard,” said the Captain.

“Nine if you count me,” said Sergeant Lugg, holding up all nine of his fingers to illustrate. “And you make ten, Sir. Eleven if you count Maia and Gurgi separately. That’s positively a force to be reckoned with.”

“‘With which to be reckoned,'” corrected the Captain. “A preposition is a terrible word with which to end a sentence.”

“Sir, I see you are surely right,” said the bandy-legged little Sergeant. “Allow me to correct my grammar: That’s ‘positively a force to be reckoned with, YOU SELF-IMPORTANT BASTARD.’ Sir.”

The Captain grinned. “For a minute, I was afraid you didn’t have a sense of humor, Sarge.”

“Humor, Sense of, One Each. Issued it to me along with these stripes, Sir.” “Very good, Sarge. I’m off to procure us some pack animals and at least seven more swords. See you back here within the hour.”

When the Captain returned, leading two tired-looking horses and a mule, he found the Guard once again assembled in the courtyard. A dark, powerfully built man leapt and cavorted in front of the double rank of Guards, shaking a dead chicken and alternately waving and drinking from a bottle of dark rum. He spoke in tongues. He leapt into the air, seemed to hang there a moment longer than gravity should allow, and landed lightly as a dancer.

As the Captain stepped up next to Sgt. Lugg, the shaven-headed berserker stopped his wild gyrations. “Thank you Padre,” said Lugg. “That was very moving.” He dabbed a tear from his one eye.

“Troops are packed, blessed, and ready to deploy, Cap’n,” Lugg said, saluting. The Captain nodded. “AWRIGHT YOU HORRIBLE LITTLE MEN, YOU HEARD THE CAP’N! MOVE OUT ON THE DOUBLE! STOPOP WASTIN’ THE CAP’N’S PRECIOUS TIME, AND DON’T MAKE HIM REPEAT HISSELF! HUPOP TWO THREE FOUR!”

With that, the Guard departed, jogging double-time through the city gates and across the main bridge into the pre-dawn night.

A couple hours and several miles later, the Captain noted, “Despite their rag-tag appearance, they march pretty well. Do some of the Guard have military experience?”

“Yessir! Corporal Kyrax spent several years with the legions, fighting against the tribesmen. Then he spent several years with the tribesmen, fighting against the Legions. That’s where he met Lance-Corporal Tamys. And Corporal Hadrian used to be a Commander of the Crusaders, before he was busted back down to Corporal this third time for drunk an’ disodorly. And of course, old Mad Wolf was a fightin’ man when I was still wearin’ diapers.”

“Thank heavens – which one is he?” asked the Captain, surveying the troops

“The Bishop.”

“The one with the dead chicken? Ah. So.” “‘Course now he won’t carry a sword, being a Holy Man and all.”

“Of course.”

Leading a pack-horse, the Captain moved among the marching troops, distributing weapons from wicker panniers hanging off the saddle. Most chose weapon and shield, long swords, or two weapons, although for the one identified as Briar Rose this meant a steak knife and a rolling pin. Last, he approached Tamys Faersaxon.

“Er. Um. Guard…” he began.

“That’s Lance-Corporal!” Tamys replied brightly, whipping off the kind of salute that would not only fold your laundry, but press and starch it, too.

The Captain shielded his eyes from the sunshine of her smile. “Lance-Corporal Pregnant…er Faersnackson…”

“Sir?”

“I feel very odd about leading into battle a woman who is great with child…”

“Lance-Corporal Faersaxon is *great* whether she’s with child or without,” interrupted Hadrian, taking a swig from a flask marked ‘BOOM-BOOM’. Securely strapped to the donkey’s back, he nodded off again.

“Er…”

Tamys said, “I understand completely, Sir! Under the circumstances, with the city bound to be overrun and sacked if we don’t succeed, I don’t see where either of us have much choice! It’s either fight the enemy tomorrow on our terms with surprise on our side, or fight them next week on their terms in my living room! So thank you for thinking of the safety of my child, Sir! I know I am!” So saying, Tamys slipped a two-handed battleaxe out of the panniers.

“A war-axe?” asked the Captain.

“Oh! You’re right, Sir!” said Tamys, grabbing a cutlass from the pannier and strapping it to her side. “I almost forgot a back-up!”

“Thank the gods I’m retiring in a month,” muttered the Captain as Tamys marched away, the axe over her shoulder.

“If you live that long,” said Corporal Kyrax, falling into step beside the Captain.

“Corporal, why is standard called Dante? And why is the Guard symbol a skeleton in armor?”

“Afraid I don’t know, Sir. It’s just always been that way, so far as I know. The answer’s probably in The Book; if you want, you can get The Book from Sergeant Lugg and search for the answer on the way home from this cushy relief mission.”

The road was good and dry; they covered more than 20 miles before they bivouacked at dusk. “Another day like that and we’ll reach Mount Kumoniwannalaya,” said the Captain. “Will they be able to attack immediately after marching so far and so fast?”

“They will if you promise them cookies,” said Lugg. “You mean to attack in the dark?”

The Captain nodded. “We’re so few, our only chance is to strike in the dark, and hope the main Aratari army realizes what’s happening and breaks out.”

“‘S as good a way to die as any.”

“Everyone dies,” said the Captain. “At least we’ll die trying. Good night, Sergeant.”

The Captain was awakened only once that night; by a cry of “Three Ay-Em and All’s Well!”

* * * *

In the morning, he woke to the sounds and smells of breakfast. Guardsman Maia Lugg bustled over to the Captain with a mug of steaming coffee as he stretched, yawned, and scratched. “Ve are ruffingk it, ya?” she said, handing him the coffee. “Zo you must be makingk mit der pardon of der rustic conditions.”

Leading the still-sleep-stumbling officer by the hand like a toddler, Maia maneuvered him onto a portable camp-stool. From somewhere, she produced a small folding table, draped it with a lace tablecloth, and precisely set it with china, linen, and silverware (including two forks). Measuring the alignment of the tableware with an instrument resembling a sextant which she pulled from her furry black purse, she made some minute adjustments, nodded crisply, and snapped, “Ze officer is vaitingk!”

There was a blur. Or perhaps two. And the table filled with sausage, bacon, two kinds of eggs, sliced cantaloupe, and a chocolate croissant. “Again, pardon for ze rustic conditions, ya?” Maia apologized.

“If this is roughing it, I may not want to retire in a month after all,” observed the Captain around mouthfuls of munchies.

Seven hours of hard hiking brought the Guard within sight of the siege at Mt. Kumoniwannalaya. “Get some rest now if you can,” ordered the Captain. “We attack at midnight.”

The Keggite army had trapped the Aratari inside the old monastery at the base of the mountain. The monastery’s stone walls and the skill of the Aratari, had held the enemy at bay so far, but the end could not be far off. The Keggites appeared to number in the thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, against whom the hundred or so surviving Aratari couldn’t hope to hold out.

The Keggites had completely encircled the old monastery, building a stone wall three times the height of a man (or four times the height of a Roman), forming a giant square from which their archers, slingers, harmonica players, and muckrakers could rain death and discordance down upon the defenders.

Darkness fell, and the howling cries of the burgeoning local wolf population began to rebound off the hills. The Captain led the Guard to a spot where a spur of forest came within a hundred yards of the enemy camp. “Alright, men…er, Guard, here’s my plan. We’ll hit them *there*, at the nearest corner of their siege-wall and drive along it toward the other end. Our goal is to clear one side of the square before they realize how few we really are. He turned to the Ish. “Briar Rose, Sergeant. Lugg says you’re fast. While we’re clearing the encircling wall, you head straight to the Aratari defenders and tell them which wall to charge. Once they’re through the wall, tell them to attack in the opposite direction around the back of the enemy defenses. Hopefully the fact that we’re attacking them from both directions in the dark will make the enemy think we have a lot more fighters than we do and we’ll be able to scare them into retreating toward the river bridge.”

“Aye, aye, Captain my Captain,” said Briar. “And where’s the part in the Captain’s plan which keeps me from getting shot full of arrows by the Aratari when I run across the no-Ish’s land in between the armies? Sir.”

He handed her the Guard banner. “You tell ‘em you’re with Dante.” He turned back to the rest of the troops. “We want to create as much confusion as we can. Light fires, make noise, gimp foes and leave them to scream, just so long as they can’t run after you.”

“How do ve keep from killing each other in ze dark?” asked Maia, standing at ramrod attention, her green cap precisely balanced on her head.

“We shout, ‘Guards! Guards!” replied the Captain. “It should add to the confusion. Any questions? Yes, Padre?”

“Can I go mambo dogface in the banana patch?”

“Er…probably not,” said the Captain. “Any relevant, or at least understandable, questions?”

At midnight, when most of the enemy camp had settled down and the watch-fires burned low, the Guard struck, smashing heads, lobbing burning brands onto tents, kicking over satellite dishes, and shouting “What’s all this then?” or “You have the right to remain silent!” and leaving confusion in their wake.

The plan worked perfectly. For nearly 30 seconds. In the dark, the Guard became separated into small knots which soon found themselves facing overwhelming numbers all too-ready to untie them.

A pole-armsman hacked Kyrax’s shield to pieces. Discarding the shattered heater, the young corporal grabbed the foe’s glaive in his gloved grip, wrested it from its owner’s hand, and cut down the man with his own weapon. Kyrax’s long, silky hair flew behind him as he went on a rampage of chopping, dicing, splicing, and mutilating. “I have to get me one of these when I get back home,” he mused as he tossed a foe onto a handy fire-pit with the glaive’s back-spike.

The Bishop, still refusing to pick up a weapon, instead picked up a couple of the enemy. Twirling them like batons, he proceeded to make a horseshoe-shaped mound of bodies, which Frau Maia tidied into even stacks.

The enemy massed for a charge against the three Guards trapped within the semicircle of bodies. “Buddha says,” observed the Bishop, eying the rank upon rank of Keggites preparing to crush the trio, “Sometimes you’re the cookie; sometimes you’re the crumb.”

“…Cookie?” said Maia. “Cook-EE?” she clarified, reaching toward her hat…

* * * *

Tamys gleefully hacked her way into the enemy lines until she reached the Siege-wall. Putting her back against the wall, she smiled cheerfully at the foe closing in to surround her. “Sorry I made such a MESS, boys!” she said brightly.

“We mess YOU up,” said one of the Keggites.

“Yeah,” clarified another, obviously an officer, since he possessed an IQ of nearly 70.

They all laughed at the officer’s witticism. From behind the enemy came a quiet voice: “‘Lo, Tamys.”

“Hi, Cantrix!” replied Tamys enthusiastically, waving with her bloody axe.

For a moment, the Keggites were confused. “It’s only…uh, ONE of them,” observed a sergeant.

“One PLUS da one we already got,” noted the officer. “Dat makes…uh…uh,” he put down his sword and shield so he could use one hand to tick off fingers on the other hand. “Uh, TWO!”

“And da new one just a zombie.”

“But zombies is already dead…dey can’t be killed, on accounta already bein’ dead. Could be trouble.”

“But zombies BURN,” said the officer with the higher math skills. “Dey burn real good!” He kicked a stack of logs, toppling them onto a nearby campfire. The flames roared up, illuminating Cantrix’s ghostly pale arms…

* * * *

The Captain, Sergeant Lugg, and Hadrian stood back to back (to back). The Captain sent his last arrow into the throat of a charging foe, then cast aside his bow and pulled a greatsword from his back-scabbard, and hacked a man’s legs from under him.

Lugg cried, “Awright, you motherless sons of whoresons’ sisters, let’s see how you feel with THIS in yer guts!” and waved Leibermacher (“The Widow-maker”) around his head. The enemy ringing them stared in horror at the fabled weapon, refusing for the moment to come closer lest they feel its touch.

Hadrian held a burning brand in one hand, and his flask of ‘boom-boom’ in the other. “You want some of this?” he shouted, taking a swig. “It’s a tasty summer drink…HAVE SOME!” he spat the liquor, igniting a fireball which lit up the night and half a dozen enemies. He put the flask to his mouth for another swig…then lowered it. “Flask broken,” he mourned, crestfallen, shaking the now-empty container.

The Captain’s sword wedged in the broken shield of another foe; he dropped the trapped blade and pulled out a rapier and an axe. “Gentlemen, I’ll take this opportunity to apologize for getting us all killed. At least we tried.”

“We ain’t dead yet, Capop, if’n you don’t mind me contradictin’ a ‘superior’ officer,” said Lugg.

“Well, technically, not yet, but I sort of doubt I’ll get the chance to apologize after we’re hacked to pieces, so I thought I’d take the opportunity during this lull in the…WHAT THE HELL IS THAT NOISE?”

* * * *

“COOKIES!” Screamed Maia, whipping off her hat. Shockingly white, disarrayed hair spilled out. She became a thunderball, head-butting and butt-heading her way through the enemy lines, leaving unconscious and utterly grossed-out foes scattered like so many dropped chocolate chips in her wake. “COOKIES!” she explained further.

The Bishop looked at Kyrax inquisitively and made that Scooby Doo noise: “Aroo?”

“Gurgi,” said Kyrax. “I forgot about Gurgi. We’d better follow her, to make sure she doesn’t eat anyone we like.”

* * * *

The flaring firelight illuminated not only Cantrix’s ghostly pale arms, but also dozens of eyes, heretofore in the shadows around thigh-height: a pack of mountain wolves.

“Where ARE my manners?!” said Tamys. “Let me introduce Cantrix WOLFWALKER!”

Cantrix smiled. It started off a little lopsided; one corner of her zombie mouth started up before the other side. “Get ‘em, boys.”

* * * *

The noise rose and fell, dopplering like a noise which rose and fell. From far back in the encircling ranks, bodies and bits of bodies could be seen FLYING up into the air, accompanied by a cacophony of screams.

The enemy surged toward Sergeant Lugg, the Captain, and the already snoring Hadrian; not to attack them, but merely to get away from some irresistible force which struck like a hammer onto an anvil. Three foes were forced bodily against the Captain, impaling themselves (respectively) on his spear, his campilon, and the hunga-munga hidden under his cloak.

The enemy ranks blew apart, trampling one another in their haste to avoid… “Guard Sev reporting, Sir!” the girl called as she squealed to a stop, her boots smoking. “Requesting permission to continue what I was doing, Sir!”

“B-b-b-by all means, Guard, carry on. Please keep driving the enemy in that direction.” As the Captain pointed, an unkempt, white-haired ball of gnashing teeth and flying spittle roared past, chasing a platoon of the foe and shouting, “COOKIES!”

“Thank you, Sir,” replied Sev, spinning in place to eye the rapidly retreating enemy line. “And did I mention,” Sev shouted over her shoulder as she leapt into the air and her legs wound up to full sprint speed, “that I LOVE this game?” Her feet touched the ground, and she was off, leaving a trail of dust and destruction behind.

A pack of wolves ran by, nipping playfully at the enemy’s heels and genitalia. “Lo, Mister Captain. Lo, Mister Sergeant Lugg,” said Cantrix as she passed. Tamys merely waved cheerfully. !

Looking utterly confused, the Captain mused, “Now if only I knew whether Briar Rose…”

“Yes, Sir?” said Briar Rose from about ten inches from his ear. “Nice hang-time,” she added when the Captain’s feet touched ground again.

“Thank the gods I’m retiring in a month. What news of the Aratari army?” he asked.

“They knocked a hole in the siege-wall and are pouring through even as we speak,” said the Ish ishishly. “I noticed on my way through that the wall isn’t really stone, it’s just painted boards. Plus, there’s a lot fewer bad guys than we thought — just a couple hundred of them making a lot of noise and making it sound like they have a whole army.”

“Classic Keggite tactics,” mumbled Hadrian right before he passed out again.

“A couple hundred?” roared Lugg. “With the Aratari free, we have enough fighters to wipop out the enemy!”

“Let’s get to it, then!” shouted the Captain, drawing his dagger and his bastard sword. “Briar, bring Hadrian! *Decidi Temptabundus!” He and Lugg charged off, side-by-side.

“Decidi temp-ta-boondocks to you, too,” muttered Briar, hauling Hadrian along by his foot in their wake.

* * * *

The enemy made their final stand on the ancient stone bridge over the river Herennow.

That is, they started out standing: but when they tried to run, they found that Briar Rose had tied all their boot-laces together. They toppled in ranks like so many armored dominoes, then struggled to stand again, like so many armored slinkies falling back up a flight of stairs.

“Gods, but I loves a bridge battle!” cried Sergeant Lugg as he led the charge deep into the enemy ranks. With the fabled Leibermacher, he struck down the enemy commander Nasal Khan, shouting, “Don’t take that, it’s light! Don’t take that, it’s light!” as he pounded the foe’s prostrate form over and over.

The enemy was broken. Those who could cut their boot-laces slashed them and ran, pursued by Gurgi, Sev, and Cantrix’s wolves.

But the battle proved too much for the bridge; it began to collapse. Sergeant Lugg realized the danger and drove the Aratari back across the span, pounding on peoples’ backs with the flat of the Leibermacher. Just as he reached the near side, the entire structure gave way. A huge stone gargoyle fell from atop a bridge-post, trapping Lugg beneath it.

The Captain reached him a moment later. He could see Lugg was done for. Lugg looked bemused. He muttered, “Could’ve sworn someone yelled ‘Gumbo,’ when the durn thing fell.”

Lugg strained to draw breath. “We did it, Cap’n.”

“That we did, Sarge.”

“And my horrible little men, they did right?”

“More than right, Sarge. They saved the day, they saved the army, and they saved the city.”

Lugg smiled a death’s-head grin. “What time is it Cap’n?”

The Captain knew. “It’s three Ay-Em.”

“And all’s well” whispered Sergeant Lugg.

— the end —