February 3rd, 1588 - Besançon, Kingdom of France Ranged combat is more effective than melee combat, but still not a realistic option. Bows and arrows are largely useless; arrowheads are far too small to deal any real damage to Crimson and Verdant Beans, and too weak to do any damage to Ashen Beans at all. Cannons are effective against drone Beans, though show little promise against abnormal Beans. It is difficult to accurately aim cannons at moving targets, and ammunition is difficult to produce under the present circumstances, so cannons are not a viable Bean fighting solution. That leaves handheld firearms, which show the most promise; the Empire has a large number of guns and ammunition stockpiled throughout its territory and it is relatively easy to produce more ammunition compared to cannonballs. However, Ashen Beans and abnormal Beans are reported to be practically immune to bullets, and it is difficult for a single soldier to kill a Crimson or Verdant Bean due to the amount of shots necessary to kill them.

Schmidt and Rob watched as Lieutenant Kaplan glanced around the crowd of twenty soldiers. They were gathered in an abandoned tavern in the southern section of Besançon; a makeshift conference hall due to the layer of ice covering their usual meeting place outside of Besançon’s church. The spring of 1588 was fast approaching, and Kaplan’s soldiers knew it.

Kaplan stood behind the bar, his arms crossed in front of him as he waited for the last of the soldiers to take their seats. A fire was lit on the right side of the tavern, casting deep shadows among the series of chairs facing Kaplan. His confidence had improved since their return from Stuttgart; his head was held higher, his posture more commanding as he glanced around the crowd, his stare piercing each soldier in the tavern.

Schmidt and Rob sat in the back row of chairs, waiting for the meeting to begin.

“Now,” Kaplan began, projecting his voice more than necessary in the small room. “You all know how zis goes, oui? Four volunteers. Last week’s group is exempt from zis week’s scouting mission. Make zis quick. We all have important work to do, we shouldn’t waste any more time here zan necessary, oui?”

The usual silence followed. Although the knowledge of the Beans becoming immobile in the cold was commonplace, most of the soldiers were still hesitant to volunteer to scout. And, despite Kaplan’s posturing, he was still hesitant to scold his soldiers for disobedience.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.”

To Schmidt’s left, a group of soldiers laughed. Then, one of the soldiers, Rolf Bergmann, spoke. “We goin’ to be here all day again? Should I get myself comfortable?”

“No, I do not zink that’ll be necessary.”

Rolf laughed again. “Ya know, I’ve been wonderin’ somethin’. How did a man like yaself become a lieutenant in the Holy Roman Army? Ya’ve been my commandin’ officer for what, four, five months now? Ya talk a big game, throw out threats, try to make yaself sound all big and tough, all that easy stuff, but I’ve never seen ya get ya hands dirty, Raphael. Can I call ya that? Ya know what, I don’t really care, I’ll call ya whatever I want. What I’m tryin’ ta say here is that ya’d be a much better fit for the French Royal Army, bein’ a weak coward and all.”

Kaplan stared at Rolf, his arms still crossed in front of him.

Rolf waited for his friends’ laughter to die down. “Why don’t ya go join ya fellow Frenchman, eh, Raphael? Go get yaself covered in beans like all ya weak little friends back in Paris.” His laughter boomed through the tavern. “Ya might be more qualified to lead us that way! With a Bean in charge, we might be able to actually get somethin’ done for once!”

Kaplan uncrossed his arms. “Do you know why we’re here, Rolf? Do you know why we’re stationed in zis town? Why we’ve been sending scouting missions west? I’m here, you’re here, we’re all here, because we have a job to do. We are here to protect zee people zat are unable to protect zemselves. You can hide behind your tough guy persona all you want. You can insult me, insult your fellow soldiers; you can insult General Krüger, or General Ziegler, or even zee Holy Roman Emperor himself for all I care. But zat will not change zee fact zat, at the first sign of danger, people like you are zee first to run, oui?”

Kaplan glanced around the crowd from behind the tavern bar. “Do you zink I want to be here? Do you zink I want to spend my time taking care of you, a group of soldiers barely competent enough to clean a musket? I would much rather be doing something else, in Stuttgart, or Nuremberg, or Frankfurt, but I am stuck here, dealing with you. None of zat changes zee fact zat we have a job to do. And, no matter how unimportant you believe zis to be, someone needs to do it. We need information if we want to win against the beans, and zee only way we’re going to get zat information is if we send men to collect it. We need scouts, oui? Are you going to volunteer, Rolf, or are you going to run?”

Rolf narrowed his eyes, his half smirk turning to a scowl. He stood up, his face red, though Schmidt couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or rage. “See, Raphael, there ya go talkin’ big again, but what have ya actually done that puts yaself above the rest of us? We’re out here risking our lives for the Empire and her citizens, and all we get in return is to listen to ya. We’re puttin’ our lives on the line— I’ve been on three scoutin’ missions, ya know— and for what? Protectin’ people we’ve never met? Keepin’ the Empire safe? The risk of goin’ on another mission isn’t worth the reward, ya see?”

Kaplan placed his hands on the bar. “You put your own life above zee lives of others. What have you done zat puts you above zem?”

Rolf balled his fists, his knuckles white. “This isn’t about me. This is about the men ya’ve sent into Bean territory. Those men were good men. Some of them were my friends. And some of them never came back. I’m not sayin’ I’m too much of a coward to go back. I’m sayin’ that the lives of the men ya’re tossing around are more valuable than the useless street urchins in Nuremberg that we’re supposed to be protectin’.”

Kaplan’s stare bored into Rolf. “From zee moment zey became soldiers, zey knew zere was a chance zey would die. Dying in an attempt to understand the Beans is an exceedingly noble death. Zose men died for a good cause. Without zem, we would’ve never gotten as far as we have. Our knowledge of zee beans now far surpasses our knowledge of them on November 8th. Without zeir sacrifices, we never would’ve found a way to kill zee Beans. Without zeir sacrifices, many more people zan zee street urchins of Nuremberg would be in danger right now. Are you going to honor what zey died for, or are you going to let zeir sacrifices be in vain? Are you going to let zem die for nothing, or are you going to contribute something, for once in your God damned life?”

Rolf returned Kaplan’s stare. His shoulders loosened slightly, then he let out a laugh. “Y’know, Raphael… ya’ve changed. If ya were always like this, maybe I would have even the slightest bit of respect for ya. I volunteer for your scoutin’ mission.” He turned to face the crowd. “Who’s comin’ with?”

There was a moment of confused silence before three of Rolf’s friends slowly approached. Kaplan said, “You’re all dismissed, get back to your posts,” to the rest of the soldiers, then began giving Rolf’s group their mission briefing.