The War With Dachwald.

By Daniel Lawlis

Epic-scale warfare, genocide, false flag attacks, and political intrigue sizzle the pages of this action thriller in a fantasy fiction setting replete with historical allegories.

The sordid overture having been completed, the conductor now sets in motion a bloody frenzy of death and destruction set to rival the wars of legend.

The wild card in his prison is now but a distant memory but yearns to reassert his presence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniel Lawlis
• Release date: Apr 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370667413

Book preview

The War With Dachwald (second and last volume of Dachwald series).

This book is a work of fiction. All names and places are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Copyright © 2014 by Daniel Lawlis

All rights reserved.

© Snowshill | Dreamstime.com - Medieval Knights Photo

(Adjustments to photo made by Daniel Lawlis)

1The War With Dachwald

Chapter 1

Most of the Sodorfians were excited. They reckoned if they were going to have to train hour after hour, they may as well finally get the chance to see some action and test their skills. Within an hour, nearly all of the Sodorfian army was heading north. Ten thousand were left stationed at the City of Sodorf; another ten thousand would be stationed at Seihdun; but the rest were going into Dachwald. About eight hours later they reached the border.

A strange feeling swept over General Fuhdor as his horse exited the forest that demarcated the boundary between Sodorf and Dachwald. His heart beat faster. It all seemed surreal. He had spent most of his life reading military history, dreaming about one day becoming a conqueror, and now it appeared he just might have the opportunity to be the heroic conqueror he had always dreamt of. And what could be more heroic than defeating the ancient enemy of the Sodorfians and saving thousands of Sodorfians from a fiery death? Those kinds of bragging rights never expired. Accomplish that, he thought, and you can retire peacefully knowing you’ve earned a permanent spot in the history books.

Taking a deep breath, almost as if expecting some invisible wall to be present there, his mind still unable to completely grasp the enormity of his next step, he nudged his horse with his knees, signaling it to proceed forward. As his horse’s hoof touched Dachwaldian soil, he confronted no invisible wall but found that his heart was galloping in his chest in stark contrast to the calm gait of his horse. As if every step further reinforced the reality of what he was doing. His expression, however, remained so stoic not even the shrewdest of observers would have sensed the powerful emotions running through his mind.

As they continued deeper into Dachwald, General Fuhdor expected there would indeed be enemy lookouts, but he expected he wouldn’t run into any large forces of Dachwaldians until he reached Castle Dachwald. After all, it would only make sense for the Vechengschaft to force the Sodorfians to fight them there. It was their best strategic position. They could hold out there until the sun ran out of gas. And behind the safety of their walls, Fuhdor knew they would pummel the oncoming Sodorfians to pieces with rocks like a snapping turtle devouring its prey while safe underneath its large, hard shell.

This was the kind of fight they wanted, but he was going to have none of it. If they wanted to hide behind their shell, he would just have to crush the damn thing into pieces and then eat out the soft underbelly. He’d be damned if he was going to allow them to fight the way a turtle fights. Turtles—he’d hated them ever since boyhood. Ever since his big brother Sidgon, the biggest toughest kid in the whole wide world had been bitten by one when they were playing in the creek when they were kids, and he was only three, and they were hunting crawdads, and they were having a wonderful time, and then Sidgon was screaming and blood was going everywhere, and Fuhdor didn’t know what to do, but his Big Brother told him to run quick and get Daddy, and Sidgon’s toe had been torn clean off by a snapping turtle the size of a well-fed pig, and Daddy had gone after the turtle saying he was going to kill it and he was sure Daddy was going to get his toe eaten off too just like his Big Brother, or maybe even his whole leg, but Daddy was faster than the turtle; he ran around it, turned it upside down and then stabbed its soft underbelly repeatedly until the big mean turtle stopped trying to bite.

The clarity of the memory astonished him and sent a chill down his spine, as he felt the same sensations he had on that day so many years ago. It may as well have happened yesterday; he’d have known the details just as closely. After patching up his older brother’s toe, his father, a widely admired general, had sat both of them down and told them he had something very important to tell them. "Boys, some things in life are just too strong to attack head-on. They’re tough and hard like the shell of that turtle. But everything, everything, has a soft spot, and that’s what you have to do. Find the soft spot, expose it, attack it, kill it."

It had left an indelible mark on his psyche. Castle Dachwald’s soft spot was how far it could shoot its projectiles. Outside that projectile range, his army was safe and sound, and the Dachwaldians wouldn’t dare come out, not if they wanted to stay within their protective shell. With his new trebuchets—over one hundred feet tall and capable of launching objects twice the distance as a normal trebuchet—he was going to stay outside of their range and hit, hit, hit the castle until its shell was all gone. Then, only underbelly would be left. Soft, slimy, ornery, righteous-punishment-deserving underbelly, and his troops would cut that underbelly into so many pieces the gods themselves wouldn’t be able to sort them out.

All the same. They’re damned anyway.

The pieces for the trebuchets were carried in wagons. They would be assembled immediately upon arrival. However, these wagons couldn’t travel as fast as the rest of his army, so they were all moving at a slower pace in order to stay together. The trebuchet equipment had to be protected at all costs. He calculated the reduction in speed would probably delay their arrival to Castle Dachwald by at least two days. Nonetheless, he was confident they could be productive during that time. In fact, he was hopeful they would run into some Vechengschaft before reaching the castle so that his men, who would no doubt greatly outnumber them, could have a taste of combat. Get their feet wet.

As they tread across Dachwald, General Fuhdor could not help being a bit struck by the sight of what was clearly immense agricultural damage. It looked like a cloud of locusts or something of that nature had gone through and just destroyed everything, yet everything besides the crops seemed perfectly okay. He found this interesting, but it still didn’t convince him there was any chance of the Dachwaldians not being at fault in this whole conflict. Five hundred and twenty-four smashed and sliced Sodorfians were proof of that.

They’re going to pay.

As they continued walking, he noticed how scared many of the Dachwaldians were to see their lands being invaded. Women screamed and went running inside their homes seeking refuge. He also noticed that, in spite of the fact that he saw many Dachwaldians as they continued to ride north, he had yet to see a single Dachwaldian male, except for young boys and old men.

(all fighting-age Dachwaldians must have been conscripted; you might be up against a lot more troops than you think)

They continued traveling north until they could finally see Castle Dachwald off in the distance. He looked at the small towns dotting the landscape around the castle walls. If they get hit by my projectiles, he told himself, too bad, so sad. The castle was still far off in the distance. He decided he better not get too close for comfort. After all, it would be at least a couple more days before his engineers arrived and began assembling their trebuchets.

Set up camp!! he ordered in a loud voice. His troops began doing so. They all slept uneasily that night.

They had been trained well, but still many of them had an innate fear of Dachwald. To a certain extent all of the propaganda and military history they had been taught over the last six months sapped their confidence rather than increased it. After all, it may indeed be true, they reasoned, that the Dachwaldians were horrible monsters, but this wasn’t a popularity contest—this was war. And being so monstrous might not be so bad in this business, they further reasoned. However, despite these fears that were gnawing away at their confidence, they also had hatred. And a desire for revenge. This hatred and desire for revenge were currently at war with the fear and trepidation they were experiencing. A war in and of itself raging inside their heads like an invisible maelstrom.

Many of them hoped for a chance to kill a Dachwaldian right up close. Before entering Dachwald, General Fuhdor had ordered that as many as possible stop by to see what the Sodorfians that had recently escaped from Dachwald had been through. The sight of emaciated bodies, whip marks, brandings, and other physical punishments did the trick. Just like General Fuhdor wanted, they all became nearly blind with rage. Revenge was on their mind as they slept. They kept about three hundred sentries awake to watch out for an ambush. Each sentry had to be on the lookout for about two hours, and then rotated with another Sodorfian.

Suddenly, a Sodorfian messenger came to General Fuhdor, and said, urgently, General, I have very important news for you!

What news do you have?

General, one of the Sodorfians that escaped believes he knows where at least one of the death camps is—the one that they all escaped from! He was still in shock when you visited the escapees, but he began showing signs of recovery yesterday and said he was pretty sure of the location. I showed him a map, and he pointed to it!

"Where is it?! I must know immediately; we must act immediately!"

The messenger produced a map and handed it over to General Fuhdor. Here you go, sir, he said. As you can see, it appears to be located just northwest of here . . . perhaps about four miles away.

General Fuhdor scanned the map carefully, his blood boiling.

I’m gonna show those bastards what happens to people who try to annihilate Sodorfians. Bugler, sound the alarm; get everyone ready for battle. We’re heading northwest!

After the first bugler sounded the signal, all the higher-ranking officers came to General Fuhdor to receive their orders. They knew as soon as they heard the sound of the bugle this was no joking matter. About fifty high- and middle-ranking officers came to General Fuhdor. They comprised captains, lieutenants, colonels, majors, and a few of the most experienced sergeants.

General Fuhdor brought them into his tent.

Inside was a large map of Dachwald older than time itself. It was based upon work cartographers had done centuries ago, even before the Seven Years War. After the Seven Years War, the treaty allowed the Sodorfians to go into Dachwald whenever they pleased with the best cartographers available and make up-to-date maps. But, they shortsightedly saw no benefit in doing so. Granted, Dachwald’s physical geography was not vastly different, but there were differences in the areas of human and commercial geography.

The map would have to do.

There was a village called Ichsendarg, just south of where the extermination camp apparently lay. It was about a three-mile march. General Fuhdor addressed the officers: Gentlemen, we don’t have time for fancy strategies. Our fellow Sodorfians are being slaughtered as we speak. We must act; we have every reason to believe we have great numerical superiority. Let history not say that thousands of Sodorfians roasted in flames while we, with a far superior force, sat on our laurels and argued about strategy!

How much of the army shall we take with us? asked Colonel Osinduhr.

I propose we take a force of nearly eighty thousand men. I don’t want to risk all of our elite Hugars, so I think an adequate arrangement would be 77,500 Sodorfian regulars and two thousand Hugars. That will preserve four thousand Hugars and two thousand Sodorfian regulars to watch our rear flank. We must use overwhelming force to attack these bastards, and our chances will be much better if we make one decisive strike!! he said, pounding the table in front of him for emphasis.

But, General, Colonel Osinduhr said, isn’t it rather risky to launch a strike so impulsively and peremptorily without first taking the time to send a reconnoitering party ahead to see if this camp is indeed there and to see how large the opposing force is? This could be a trap!

"Under different circumstances I would be in complete agreement with you. If the only thing at stake were this army, then, of course, I would first send out reconnoitering parties. But you saw those people back there in Sodorf that escaped the extermination camp! The whip marks, the bruises, the branding marks, the burn marks! You saw all that! You know that what they said is true: That they are roasting Sodorfians alive, just like during the Seven Years War. If ever there were a gamble worth taking, this is it! Besides, I feel confident our army can withstand even the most heinous Dachwaldian booby traps and ambushes.

"Now, I will concede one thing: It is very likely the Dachwaldians know we’re coming—that I can’t deny. They’ve got to know by now we’re in their country. An army of around eighty thousand men doesn’t just waltz in and go unnoticed! Of course they know we’re here—so what?! LET THEM KNOW THAT WE’RE COMING!! I really DON’T CARE!! We’re going to go to that extermination camp, and we’re going to drop every last one of them inside their own devilish pits!! Do you want the history books to say we sat around and strategized while thousands of Sodorfians were being brutally slaughtered?!!

Every second that goes by, a child becomes an orphan, a husband a widower, a wife a widow . . . will you face these people one day and look them in the eye and tell them you could have saved their loved ones but you didn’t because you had your noses buried in a strategy book?! Now, WHO’S WITH ME?!!! his eyes blazed, daring someone to challenge him.

All the officers stood and cheered. Although they had been somewhat skeptical, this fiery speech had instilled them not only with confidence, but with rage. It was time to take revenge. Time to show the Dachwaldians once and for all to stay the hell away from Sodorf.

READY YOUR MEN!! IN TWENTY MINUTES, WE MARCH!!!

YEAHHHH!!! his officers cheered.

Colonel Osinduhr, you will stay here in charge of our rear guard, in case any Dachwaldians attempt to ambush us from the south, General Fuhdor informed him.

Yes, General.

They immediately left the large tent and passed the news throughout the ranks. Everyone began readying themselves . . . psychologically and physically. They re-sharpened their already-razor-sharp axes and swords. They slapped each other on the back and told each other how tough they were. Then they got into formation.

It was an impressive sight to behold.

Gleaming armor shone in the early afternoon sunlight like precious jewels. They were aligned in neat, symmetrical rows, thousands upon thousands of them, looking like men on a large chessboard.

MAAAARCHHHH!!! roared the officers. They began marching. The sound of them marching in perfect cadence was like the chomping of a crunchy meal, and it reverberated for miles. It was an intimidating sound. The sound of men marching with a singular purpose. The expression on their faces as determined as that of a prize fighter determined to knock the reigning champ off his throne and onto the canvass for a little nap time. There were sins to avenge today. Sins against their brethren. After a little over an hour, they were within less than a mile from their ultimate objective. As they neared it, they entered into a deep valley. North of where they were marching was a large hill off in the distance. It was large and somewhat imposing, but it