Guests at the Company of Saynt George march. Part 2, in the crossfire.

Part 1 is published below.

In the beginning of June some of us was participating in a GoSG march south of Stockholm.  This is my interpretation of the events that occurred deep in the Swedish woods.

Enemy barricades in the making?

Day two. During the night the old and experienced master gunner joined the company. This man is very wise and knows everything you could ever want to know about the wars of our time. The captain mustered his troops and we go our daily ration of food; a boiled egg, a piece of cheese and a piece of sausage. The march set of once again into the forest.
Rumours had reached us that the local nobility had mustered a force of militia to stop us on our mission. These inbreed peasants are known for their squint and filthy beards. The usually carry large battleaxes and out of date handguns to battle. With these fresh news in mind we decided to lighten our packing and leave the sleeping gear and other equipment that's in the way when you fight to the baggage train that is travelling by boat.

The pace was quicker so we covered ground faster. After a mile or so we took a break at a small lake to fill up with water in our canteens and costrels. The weather was calm but something was moving in the forest. A bit further down the path a squirrel jumped in a small pine, was this the source of the sounds? The patch moved down a small gully with the lake in the rear and cliffs to the left and right. The path rose up to a small passage that ended in a barricade. A hunting horn sounded, the signal for the half-witted peasants to light their slow matches and fire their guns! The ambushers were on the cliffs on each side of the road and the mainguard moved up to try to force their way through the barricade but the shots from the militia drew them back. The captain took a quick decision and divided the force. The Burgundians were going to move back and up the hill on the left flank. The mainguard held the centre and we, the vanguard held the right and rear. The bows were strung and we advanced up a small ridge to find a wall of pavises. The vanguard loosened their flights. At the meantime the Burgundian flanking manoeuvre drew the attention from the ambushers away from the maingurad so the could hack down the barricade and come up in the flank of the militia. The peasants fled. The company rallied after a successful skirmish to have a breather and a quick lunch.  

Taking fire from enemy handgunners across the bridge.

We pressed on, the vanguard leading the way down from the hill deeper into the woods. I saw a small stream, the only way to cross it was a small makeshift bridge. The hunting horn sounded again. The captain ordered the rearguard over the bridge. The shots filled the air but the but the Burgundians pressed on and secured the bridge so the rest of us could advance and push the enemy in front of us in the dense woods. It was soon quiet again but the trees had eyes and we were under fire again, this time from a hill. A courageous charge by the captain made us all rush up the hill and drive the peasants back, leaving their haversacks filled with maps, food and water. An hour or so later we arrived at the windy camp. The rain started to fall while we raised the tents, the pole to a large pavilion broke, everyone was hungry but at least there were no gnats!

The quick-witted archers from our company soon fixed the pole with ropes and some firewood. After a tasty stew made of smoked pork and vegetables the most of the force went to bed, except a happy few archers and Burgundians who shared war stories and a futuristic beverage made of sugar. After a few good laughs I went to bed, to find a note at the tent entrance´. "Leave this land or we slit your throats in your sleep".    

To be continued...

Guests at the Company of Saynt George march. Part 1, who let the gnats out?

In the beginning of June some of us was participating in a GoSG march south of Stockholm.  This is my interpretation of the events that occurred deep in the Swedish woods.

At the muster point we realized that the marching force had suffered heavy casualties, our company included. Just a few brave souls was getting their armour and packing on. The commander of the march, a renowned local mercenary captain had hired our archer company as vanguard and some of us also supported the logistic transport that travelled by boat on the small lakes and rivers. The fighting force was us, or Lynx as the captain called us, elephant was the mainguard, composed of local, steadfast troops and Leo, swift moving polearm wielding Burgundians made up the rearguard. 

Food was passed out and the company marched off on the first and longest part on the route. The mission was to escort a group of gunners to besieged town through enemy territory. All of us were carrying arms and armour, sleeping gear, extra clothes and rations. The route was over rocks and slippery roots, passing small lakes(one named little whore lake) and old forests.

 After marching about 10 kilometres we heard thunder in the distance and at the same time the commander was struck with heatstroke. We took some of his armour to lighten the load but he wanted to stay behind and rest a bit so we marched on on unknown paths and it didn't take long before we were lost in the deep woods. The Burgundians started to look a bit lost amongst all the big dark trees and freshwater lakes, they were used to tulips and polluted canals. The thunder rolled closer.

Fortunately we found the right footing again and could pick up the pace and an hour or so later we reached a newly risen camp with people preparing foods and setting up tents. As soon as we took off our gear it started raining cats and dogs. The evening was spent in good company with beer and good food. But when the sun started to disappear behind the gloomy trees an unheard evil started to move amongst us, drinking our blood. This evil you can barely see and you notice it when it's too late. I'm talking about the gnats, knott in the local tongue. This ruthless mosquito lives near water and comes in thousands. A local halberdier tried to rub every inch of his body with bog myrtle to repel the creatures and the Burgundíans looked at him with wide eyes, but it didn't work that well. The only way was for me to go to bed cocooned in my cloak with my hood closed tightly around my face.

To be continued...