E-book Bonus Short Story: The River Crossing

An infantryman’s duties are many, but the one that can never be cut away from them is marching. Initiative, concentration, surprise, and mobility, the key elements of combat, all depend on moving faster than the enemy and massing strength before he does. Naturally, the light infantry Walm belonged to were expected to march faster than the enemy, and they had gotten the necessary training in real combat. Not only combat maneuvers but movement before the fighting, too, had to be covered on their own two feet. There were exceptions, such as moving troops by water along rivers, but the boats were set aside for heavy infantry, provisions, and the like, so Walm’s squad never saw any benefit.

For Walm, who had survived in such an environment, bad roads were old hat, and not being able to use horses or boats was nothing to complain about. Yet Duwei’s squad, proud of its sturdy legs, had come to a halt.

“No good. I asked the locals, but the detour isn’t something you can finish in a day.”

Jose, who had gone scouting the area with the recruits Barito and Noor, made his report to Squad Leader Duwei.

“We can’t spend two days on a detour. We’d miss the assembly time. You don’t want a forced march with no sleep, do you?”

The recruits nodded hard at Duwei’s question. Walm didn’t want a sleepless march either. Even with no enemy ambushes or raids to worry about, forced marches invited march sickness. Night marches weren’t much better. Visibility was poor in the dark, and there was always the risk of twisting an ankle or stepping on a nail or a sharp stone.

“Only thing left is to cross.”

The squad leader glared at what lay before them. A river stretched out ahead. Ordinarily they would have used the bridge, but the retreating enemy had sabotaged it, and it had collapsed completely, piers and all. They had even burned the wreckage with painstaking thoroughness.

“Willart, how deep is it?”

“Shallow. Chest height.”

Willart, crouched down studying the water, put a hand to his chest to show it.

“Heh heh, then Noor’s in up to her neck.”

Danfan teased her, wobbling his hand level with Noor’s neck. Reinus and Tibird, the other two of the three idiots, fell to roaring with laughter too.

“What!? But I’ll drown!!”

Noor went speechless at the sudden sense of danger, and the laughter only got louder.

“Well, your mouth will stay above water. If you stick to Squad Leader Duwei, the current’ll ease up on you.”

“W-we’re doing this!?”

Whether it was meant as a lifeline or just murky advice, Jose’s words left Noor staring at the river with a face full of melancholy. Walm wasn’t getting off any easier. Once they had crossed, there would be a bonfire to dry out their bodies and gear. As magic troops, Walm and Willart would surely be worked to the bone as human fire starters and heaters. His mood was gloomy before he had even gotten wet.

“There’s no ferry either. Give it up. ‘I didn’t want to get wet, so I couldn’t cross’ won’t fly. Noor, you cling to me. The rest of you, dig in.”

They held aloft anything that was a pain to maintain or couldn’t be allowed to get wet, and the squad waded into the river. For its width and depth, the current wasn’t that swift. Cold crept up from Walm’s soaked lower body, and his breath chilled. Barito, in the lead, began shivering from the cold. Noor clung tightly to the squad leader. Even with the weight of another person added, Squad Leader Duwei advanced humming a tune. They passed the middle of the river. Just as Willart had judged, the depth stopped at about the solar plexus. The flow was slow, but their bodies were still pulled downstream.

“Nuah, aaaah!?”

Barito, who had been walking right in front of Walm, vanished in an instant. What had happened was obvious. He had slipped on the riverbed and gone under. His cockscomb-style hair soaked through and wilted.

“Hey, get up.”

Walm’s call was in vain, and Barito was swept away.

“His feet can touch the bottom. He’s just panicking and drowning.”

Jose watched Barito float off with perfect calm. Unable to stand it, Walm shouted for the squad leader and begged him to deal with it.

“Squad Leader!”

Walm turned hopeful eyes on the superior he could count on at any time. The reply, however, was not what he expected.

“I’m bad at swimming!! I’ll hold your gear, so go fetch him, Walm.”

Given a forceful order that left no room for argument, Walm spat out a curse.

“Damn it, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

In this world, where education wasn’t compulsory, there were naturally no swimming lessons. Fishermen and others who lived close to the water were different, but most farmer-turned-soldiers couldn’t swim well. Walm had been a strong swimmer in his former world, and the squad leader was well aware of it.

He handed the gear he had been holding up to his comrades and went downstream. His armor, now a heavy burden, got in the way, but the water had been shallow enough to stand in to begin with. Parting the surface with his hands and kicking through the water, he reached Barito without much trouble.

“Oh, ah, gobo, bobo!!”

“Calm down, don’t grab me!!”

Barito had swallowed plenty of water and was in the depths of panic, and he tried to grab hold of Walm. Walm had no interest in a second casualty. He wound up his right arm hard and swung his fist through. It caught Barito square on the jaw, and with a silly “kok” as his last sound, Barito went quiet. Walm dragged him along.

“Look at that! His pride and joy’s gone limp!”

“Hahaha, it’s wilted!”

“Hey, Barito. How come your cockscomb is red but your face is blue?”

The three idiots made fun of Barito, romping around like small children.

“Shut up, you idiots. Keep moving.”

Walm, who had done a whole load of pointless work, tossed Barito onto the riverbank and flung out his limbs, giving in to the exhaustion.

“Thankf you, shir.”

“Don’t fall next time.”

Walm drove a nail into the cockscomb-headed recruit and was resting when the sunlight overhead was blocked by a shadow. It was the squad leader.

“You must be tired. Leave the fire to Willart and rest.”

Taking the squad leader’s kind words to heart, Walm kept resting. Willart, now left to carry out his duty as a human fire starter all alone, glared at the cockscomb-style hair as if to shoot it dead. Poor Barito never noticed. That night, a suspicious fire broke out on Barito’s head and left his cockscomb frizzled, but the cause was never determined, and the case went cold.