June 10th, 1587 - Outside Dijon, Kingdom of France To those who have survived: I write this now, for I fear my death is imminent. This journal contains information that could be essential in defeating the Beans. Looking back, however, the information that we have gathered has done little to help us postpone their advance. Perhaps we were just too foolish to utilize it properly; everything that we have learned tells us that we can defeat them, yet they continue unperturbed.

Barnabas Schmidt said with full confidence, “I know why we’re really going to Dijon.”

“You keep sayin’ that, Barry,” Robert Fiedler replied, “but I’m startin’ to believe that you don’t actually know anything.”

“Barry, each second you speak, I feel less inclined to believe you,” Jakob Graf added.

The chainmail breastplates and red cloaks and horse drawn carriages of the musketmen in Captain Humbert Bösch’s company were the only blemishes on the rolling hills of the countryside as they marched to the French village of Dijon.

Schmidt continued, his breastplate clinking with every step. “I’ve known what was going on since I first heard the news. I kept saying the disease would spread, and of course everyone was surprised when it did. No one listens to me, not even you two. I thought you would know to listen to me by now.”

“Barry, you know we listen to you!” Rob said.

“I don’t listen to him. Mostly I just ignore him” Jakob said. “Barry, I shouldn’t need to tell you this, but some of the things you say are completely insane.”

“Don’t call me Barry.”

“There’s no need to be rude, Jakob. And he’s just jokin’, Barry. Of course we listen to you, even when you go on your weird rants, kinda like what you’re doing now.”

“You think this is a rant? I can show you a rant.”

“Please, God no,” Jakob said.

“I’m… so sorry,” Rob replied.

“It’s too late now,” Schmidt said.

“See what you did, Rob?”

“Barry. We can talk about this. You really don’t have to do this. Please.”

Schmidt laughed. “I know exactly what’s going on. Think about it, isn’t it strange how little the Empire has told us? Why send a whole company of musketmen to a farming village? And it’s not just Dijon; while we were stationed in Stuttgart, I heard from some other soldiers that their companies were also assigned to keep watch over other villages throughout eastern France. They haven’t given us a real reason why we’re going, either.” He sighed. “I can tell you guys don’t believe me. The worst thing about being right in a situation like this is that it’s not as satisfying to tell a pile of corpses that you told them so.”

“This is fascinating,” Jakob said, “but wasn’t this supposed to be about the rumors of monsters in Paris? And how the disease shut Paris down?”

“As much as I like a good conspiracy theory, I have to agree with Jakob. Get to the part about the monsters, already.”

“Obviously, the rumors are linked to the disease. If I had to guess, I’d say the disease is killing people, but their bodies are still moving somehow.”

“So… You’re sayin’ there’s a zombie outbreak in France, and that we’re going to go fight zombies,” Rob said.

“I thought you said you knew exactly what was going on, Barry,” Jakob said.

“I said I knew why we were going to Dijon. I’ve been focused on figuring out the Empire’s goal in all of this.”

“Then why are we going to Dijon?” Jakob asked.

“We’re going to Dijon to prevent the spread of the diseased monsters, with aid as a cover. I’m not sure what the monsters are, but the rumors say that the dead are coming back to life.”

“If the dead are coming back to life, then why not inform the soldiers of the potential threat?”

“If the Empire is scared enough to mobilize multiple musket companies into France, how do you think civilians would react? Officially there’s only the disease now and the rumors spread like wildfire. If the Empire said there were undead monsters on its borders, there would be civil unrest. And you know we can’t keep our mouths shut, come on. If they told us what was actually happening, rumors would spread faster than they already are.”

Jakob laughed. “That’s a decent point, I’ll give you that. But why send us to small farming villages when there are much larger, more important cities they could be sent to? Why even send troops at all? Why not let the disease wipe out France, then send soldiers to wipe out the monsters?”

“Wait,” Rob said. “If there’re zombies attacking France, why isn’t the Empire going into a full lockdown? I would assume that the best course of action would be to hold our borders and hope that the situation dies down after a bit.”

“What are you—”

The soldiers in front of them slowed to a stop. Captain Humbert Bösch, a short man on his pure white stallion Pegasus, rode past, shouting: “WE’RE STOPPING FOR A SHORT REST! EAT YOUR RATIONS QUICKLY, ONLY A FEW MORE HOURS TO DIJON! ONCE WE ARRIVE, WE STILL NEED TO ESTABLISH OUR CAMP!” His silver mustache was waving in the breeze atop his steed. He made eye contact with Schmidt, smiled, then winked.

“God, I hate that guy,” Rob said.

“Me too, Rob. Me too,” Schmidt said. “Did you see that mustache though?”

“If it was anyone else, I’d be impressed,” Jakob said.

“Yeah, it looks great. Is it new?” Schmidt asked.

“I think it is. He shaved the rest of his beard,” Rob replied. “It’s glorious though. Best decision he ever made.”

They sat down in the soft grass, eating their rations under the warm summer sun. They ate quickly, despite the old, bland food. Rob finished first, asking “So, what do you guys wanna do when we get to Dijon? Myself, I’m lookin’ forward to seeing all the beautiful French women. And the wine, it’s supposed to be some of the best in Europe!”

“You can have the women and wine, I just want to fight,” Schmidt replied. “I can picture it now. The enemy is about to overwhelm us. Everyone has given up hope. And just when it seems the day is lost, I’m able to perform a tide turning sacrifice that gives my fellow soldiers the spark they need to fight on.”

“Oh God, Barry. Did you practice that?” Rob asked.

“Not that one, no. Do you want to hear the one I practiced?”

“No.”

“People are going to tell stories of Barnabas Schmidt, the handsome, legendary soldier who sacrificed his life so that his brothers in arms could turn the tides of battle and win the day. That’s what the bards are going to say about me in a decade or so.”

“Stop being so suicidal, will you? And that's a terrible speech, by the way. It’s too short, there’s not enough information to go on. Also, it’s factually incorrect. You’re not handsome or legendary.”

Jakob added “Barry, how many times have we told you that there are much better ways to deal with your problems than looking to splatter your insides over a battlefield?”

“How many times have I told you not to call me Barry?”

“That’s not the point,” Rob said. “Barry, we’re here for you if you need to talk, alright? Now shuddup about all that suicidal nonsense and gimme a serious answer.”

Schmidt paused. “I’m not sure. I guess I’m really looking forward to some good food. These rations are starting to get on my nerves.”

Rob smiled. “Good answer, buddy. I’ll find food good enough to make you not want to die horribly. What about you, Jakob?”

“Well, Gabi would kill me if I even looked at another woman, so you can have them all to yourself, Rob. Honestly, I’d love to take the time to explore the village. This countryside reminds me of my home as a boy. I have fond memories of climbing through caves and wandering the forest.”

“I wasn’t expecting something so serious,” Rob said. “How’s Gabi, by the way? Have you heard from her recently?”

“Not since her last letter.”

“I’m sorry, man. I’m sure she’s fine, but it sucks not hearing from her in so long. The baby’s still good, right?”

Jakob smiled. “Yeah, we’re expecting the baby in a month or so. I’m kind of scared… I’m not sure if I’m ready to be a father yet. Sometimes I feel like I’m still a kid myself.”

“Congrats, man! And don’t worry, you’re gonna be a great father!”

“Thanks, Rob.”

The conversation slowed as the soldiers finished their break, continuing their march to Dijon. The sun was low in the sky when the bell tower of a chapel appeared in the distance, a small town underneath surrounded by a four meter tall stone wall. The soldiers, under the direction of Bösch, established a series of tents along the road outside of the eastern gate to serve as their home indefinitely. A small stable sat just outside the camp, where they stored the horses used to transport their supplies. Pegasus, Bösch’s horse, got the cleanest box stall. The sun had set by the time they finished their work.