More Valkyrien. Day 1 of the Travels... Lydia asks Gorm how he met Vixen. 'Tis a brief tale, cause Gorm is not exactly capable of remaining awake for any length of time yet. Warning of violence. And bad language.
Intellectual property of myself, Jared G. Juckiewicz. Copyright held by the same
We were travelling. By Pickup Truck. Just the three of us, Lydia, Vixen and I. Did I mention I was... not so much wounded anymore, but the scars were healing and I was busy festering out copious quantities of lead. Whilst human. It was sore. It was uncomfortable. It resulted in me being covered almost constantly in oily, black, tainted sweat that smelled bad even to a normal human. Hence, why every window in the truck was open. Despite us driving at some hundred kilometers every hour on the freeway.
And I am a bad patient at the best of times. It has been said that Patience is a virtue. The last time I could honestly be described as virtuous was ages past. Before Verden. Before the Volga. Before the Grendel and The Swede. But those, well, some of those, are tales for another time. At that time, I was a shade on the grumpy side, snapping at everyone, till even Vixen was getting fed up of me. And then it was the Lydia Czernobaj, Georgian mountain peasant, found a means of distracting me. "You two," She said. "You sound like an old married couple." We glanced at each other. We have been seeing each other for some time now, as Immortals judge these things, on and off. We have never considered marriage. It never struck us as necessary. "How did you meet?" She asked, derailing my train of thought, and my latest rant at my discomfort. Vixen turned the music down, so low it was barely audible, and I began to tell the tale, drifting back into the memory of happier times.
It was the Seventeenth Century. Early to mid Seventeenth Century. Europe was in the grip of the Thirty Years war. I was a Captain of The Swede's Light Cavalry. Those recruited from the Suomi peoples of Finland. They called me Grendel, a name I had taken because, well, I was the end of those who bore it before. I rode under the command of Field Marshal Horn, and Johan Baner. Milady Vixen on the other hand served under Johann Tserclaes, Count Tilly, specifically under Pappenheim, as one of his Black Cuirrasiers. We first met at Breitenfield, on what is now This Seventeenth Day Of The Month Of September, The Year Of Our Lord Sixteen Hundred And Thirty One. Me and mine were drawn up on the right flank of Gustav Adolphus Magnus' battle line, Baner with his heavy horse drawn from Smaland, and the east of Gotland, and me amongst the light cavalry. Some of them were drawn from West Gotland, but I was amongst the Finns, the Suomi riders called Hakkapelites.
Here, Vixens voice draws me back. She speaks softly, almost whispers. "A Horribile Haccapaelitorum Agmine Libera Nos, Domine" She utters, and Lydia leans into the front, a confused look on her face. I translate for her. "Oh Lord, Deliver us from this terrible army of Hakkapells." "Hakkapells?" She asked, and Vixen explained, "Finnish riders were known for their war cry. It meant Hack On, or Hack Them Down." I filled in the rest, roaring out a deafening "HAAKA PAALE!" and drifted back.
The Hakkapells had known, of course, what I was. My kind had always been welcomed amongst the Suomi, when we did come to bring death. They did their best to help me hide it from the Swedes, stout Christians all. They paid attention to what I had to say. So when I said that amongst the foe, I could scent one who was both less and more than Human, they believed me. That one, they said, they would leave to me, if I would but point it out. Well, the Papists threw themselves at our lines, the Black Cuirrasiers leading the way. Well, they smashed into our lines, our would have done, but we Hakkapellites knew our stuff. We swirled away from the charge and cut back in as it slowed. True, the Cuirrasiers were better armed. And had larger horses. And they had pistols. Few of the Hakkapells were as well armoured as I, and I had but a leather jerkin. None of us had more than a sword, or perhaps an axe or knife. Or some combination of the three. I had all three. Never went anywhere without them. Our Heavy Cavalry, and the West Gotlanders were better equipped, but we didn't concern ourselves with them. We were too busy charging into the fray, screaming our pagan warcrys, for most finns were little more than Nominally christian at that point, and wreaking as much havoc as we could.
And it was there that I ran into that other. I could tell from her scent, that close, that she was, well, a she. And that she had something Canid about her, but not the Wolf. Not that I cared. She fought under an enemy banner. So I lashed out at her, and she parried, and we swirled and dueled. She fought with grace despite her heavy plate-armour. I fought with fury and force. Neither of us could make an inroad on the others defenses. Then Pappenheim called a retreat and she swirled away. Six more times, he and his charged us. Six more times, The Lady on the Black Horse sought me out, and we fought each other to a standstill. And then we launched our charge, and the same happened again, until she was forced to withdraw.
The Lady and I next met at the battle of Rain, where Tilly met his death. She tried to stop us from fortifying our bridgehead. It came to naught. Wasn't long after that, with Tilly's army crumbling, that she signed on with the Swede as a Mercenary. We became friends, served together the rest of the war. Of course, it wasn't till much later that we became more than that, but that is a story for another day. For now. Sleep calls. I've been doing a lot of that lately. Eating and Sleeping, to speed my healing.
Anyway, History notes.
Yes, Pappenheim did decide to send his Cuirassiers against the Hakapells and the Gotlanders some seven times. It was a major factor in Tilly's defeat. The Cuirassiers were driven off by the lighter Swedish cavalry who were then able to flank Tilly's battle line, and sieze much of his artillery. And as the bulk of Swedish troops (not the Hakkapells, sadly) Were cross-trained in multiple areas, they were able to turn that artillery on Tilly's forces. As for the battle of Rain, Swedish engineers laid a temporary bridge, pontoons I believe, and the Hakkapells proceeded to cross the river under fire, and form a bridgehead. Another victory for the Swede. Tilly died shortly after Rain, from wounds recieved in that battle. The quote "A Horribile Haccapaelitorum Agmine Libera Nos, Domine" is one of a number similar inscriptions recovered from the margins of religous manuscripts dated to that period. And it was not uncommon for mercenary's to serve on every side of a conflict in the single conflict at that time. Desertion rates have been claimed to have reached some 300% in some forces, with troops often re-enlisting with the same army a short time later...
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