The Talbot Company gunner burst into MacRae’s command tent, out of breath from having run so fast,

“Sir! We have breached the gates!”

Greve Stenbock slammed his fist on his table. “Good work, lad!”

MacRae let out a yell, voicing his frustration, “By the devil’s thorny cock, if I had known we were going to assault the fuckin’ place today I would have assembled the troops on the field of battle to be ready to enter the fuckin’ breach! But ye! Ye sir, sit here and fuck it up!” Turning to the gunner, he said, “Get back out there, inform our officers, ride the fucking wind!”

The order of siege was wrong. Greve Stenbock’s impatience and had cost the allies valuable time that the Polish defenders could use to repair any breaches in the wall or assign additional troops to defend it.

In a correctly planned assault, an army would be assembled outside a walled fortification, organized into proper regiments with every commander knowing precisely what they would do. It was not the case now.

Minutes passed before the gunner returned, completely winded, with all the Talbot Company officers. Otto Koenigsherr, Gunther Jaeger, Don Alfonso, and Sophia Fortezza entered the command tent wearing their full battle raiment and gathered around a large table littered with papers and maps. MacRae and the greve were still in the midst of their heated discussion.

“I will not have myself questioned by a mere mercenary! You will know your place, sir!” said the greve.

“And ye will acknowledge, sir, that ye are fuckin’ your own assault in the arse! Many men will die for your negligence!”

The officers stood around the table in awkward silence.

“We should not argue in front of the children.” MacRae said to the greve as he turned to his officers. Switching to English from his French, he said, “Men, our esteemed client has fucked us over. The castle gates are breached but we must fuckin’ scramble like mice to assault the walls. Now, all of ye, hold your wheest and listen here.

“Master Jaeger. You and your men will be at the forefront of the assault, first through the gates. You will be commanding the pikes and muskets as the first regiment.”

“Jawohl, mein Herr.”

“Master Spaniard, you will take up the second wave of the assault with your halberdiers, if the pikes falter. Together, you and Lieutenant Bianchi will compose the second regiment.”

“Tenente Sophia Fortezza, signore.” Sophia said with a proud smile.

“Ah, so that be yer real name.” MacRae said, switching to French, “Ye will stay behind as a reserve force. On the march, position yer men behind the first regiment.”

“Capisco, signore.”

“And as for ye, Master Koenigsherr…”

“The Saxon,” interrupted Greve Stenbock in French, “will stay behind in the reserves. I will gather whatever remains of my cavalry. They will storm the breach when the infantry breaks the dam of Polish defenders. I do not trust in the constitution of his men after Breitenfeld.”

MacRae stared at the greve for a long while. “As ye say, sir.”

Otto reacted with a small sigh as the greve continued.

“The Swedish regular infantry will sweep away any stragglers after my Finnish cavalry charge through. When the battle is over, the Swedish colors will be raised over the top of the castle keep by Captain Bjornsson or myself. This is a matter of national pride. You understand, of course, colonel.”

MacRae, shaking his head in annoyance, turned back to his officers and said, “Assemble yer men. This battle shall be befucked. We will lose many today, but I want to see nary a one of ye officers in the lists of the dead.”

The meeting ended with the officers running out of the command tent in a panic. Men ran laps around the camp, barking orders in different languages to form ranks as some officers scrambled for their horses. Pikemen stopped playing dice, halberdiers left their guard posts, swordsmen woke up from their naps, and cavalrymen mounted up.

MacRae himself stood at the highest point of the camp on horseback, calling the deceased Warwick’s irregulars to action in English, “My Scottish brethren, I grieve for the loss of your commander, Captain Thomas Warwick. A good man the fucker was, and a finer soldier. I now bid ye grant me the honor that he had and lead ye into battle! Ye are strangers to order, discipline, and the march, but that is why I keep ye! Wild savages ye are like the painted Celts of old! Yer battle cries make the enemy lay a shite in his breeches as a wretched stinking babe! Ye bring your fire to this, our final battle, and afterward, we can booze and fuck till our debaucheries kill us!”

The irregulars that heard this whooped and hollered, cheering MacRae’s name. A Scottish fellow began to play a war tune on his bagpipe, and he was joined in by a drummer, who beat on his drums with the fervor of a man ready for the fields of war. An older Scottish mercenary, with a long beard and wrinkles covering his corpse-like face and hands, began to sing a tune familiar to the entire company:

Down in the devil’s garden

There lies a wretched tree

That’s watered by the blood

Spilled by the Talbot Company

The tree is always fruitful

The devil laughs with glee

His demons do not work

As hard as Talbot Company

Our colonel marches onward

From Spain to Germany

Our only home is on

The road with Talbot Company

It was with this tune that the irregulars carried as they marched out of camp to join the formations of pikes, muskets, and swords that were already assembling at the base of the hill.

As the music played on, the regulars started to sing along, while Gunther and Otto saluted with their weapons to the tune of Talbot Company’s anthem. Sergeants barked their orders at the men as they counted heads and made sure that their men were spaced out properly.

As the irregulars took their place behind Gunther’s first regiment, the thundering of Finnish cavalry arrived from the left of Talbot Company’s formation, with Captain Henri Andersson leading it. The armored Finnish Hakkapeliitta formed a neat wedge and stood silently in formation.

Following the Finnish cavalry, a hundred Swedish pikemen and musketeers, surprisingly devoid of drool or laughter, also formed up, led by Captain Sven Bjornsson. They were the only sane soldiers at the camp that could be found, and were understrength, but they would have to suffice. Its standard-bearers carried the Swedish national colors and the black he-goat banner of the Stenbock family.

Greve Stenbock descended from the hill last and galloped in front of the men, drawing his sword as he called out the names of his regiments,

“Åbo och Björneborgs läns kavalleriregemente!”

The Finnish cavalry trumpeter blew a single prolonged note in response.

“Jarlsbergs läns regemente!”

The Swedish infantry gave a loud cheer, with their drummer and trumpeter playing proudly along.

Not to be outdone, MacRae called out for his own regiments in a pre-battle display of boastfulness. The captains had long ago come up with their personal slogans.

“Company of Pike and Shot, First Regiment of Foot, Vanguard!”

“Für die Feuer des Krieges!” Gunther’s regiment responded as they stomped their feet.

“Company of Halberds, Second Regiment of Foot, of Christ our Savior!”

Don Alfonso cried out, “¡Adelante!”

His men responded with, “¡Para Dios y la Gloria!”

“Company of Swords, Second Regiment of Foot, Cruel Fate!”

“Ferreo cuore!” said Sophia alone.

Her men responded with, “Mai ritrattare mai arrendersi!”

“Troop of Horse, First Regiment of Horse, Black Riders!”

The trumpeter blew a trumpet followed by Otto’s men crying, “Für Geld und Bier!”

MacRae looked proudly over the rows of men and horses, with their glistening armor, bristling polearms, and stern expressions. He was not so sure about the Swedes, some of whom still wobbled in their formation and all of whom had pupils the size of grapes, but he trusted that he could send his men into the mouth of hell itself and they would do it. They had gone through so much already, and this would be the final push before they would all go home. As agreed, Talbot Company would lead the charge.

MacRae gazed at the walls of Jarlsberg ahead. The oxeye daisies swayed slightly in the breeze, undisturbed for now. In moments they would be trampled by thousands of boots and blood would stain their white petals. Talbot Company’s leader took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Then in a loud, thundering voice, he went,

“Talbot Company! Forward – MARCH!”