We wait

Redwater.

Midnight.

…

"Fire!"

"Next rank!"

The hazy cloudy night sky with the faint moonlight leaking through appeared eerily beautiful tonight.

But Frish couldn't appreciate this beauty. His hands shakily grasped unto his musket as he poured black powder into the flash pan with his powder horn.

He levelled his sights in the direction of the barracks gates and held awaiting his orders.

The soldier felt a hint of dread, rage and bloodlust as he stared down his sights into the dark, gloomy darkness.

In the murk, he could barely make out the figures of dozens if not more assailants menacingly shuffling about as they attempted to avoid the whistling bullets that followed the soldier's thunderous gunfire.

But they didn't retreat but instead pressed on the assault.

"Fire!" Staff sergeant Juvile voice hoarse rang out behind him. Subconsciously, Frish pulled the trigger and the explosive recoil of the musket rammed into his shoulder. A plume of black formed in front of him further blocking his vision.

This painful feeling which he had long grown numb to was the only thing that kept his emotions stable.

"Next rank!" Sir Juvile ordered again.

Stiffly, Frish stood up and moved aside for the person behind him to move forward.

Feeling frustration, with a series of adept movements he reloaded the musket in his hands like he had done a thousand times before.

"Fire!"

The volley tore through the air towards the enemy.

Frish could hear painful, dying wails at the other end but the sound of incoming footsteps didn't cease.

The young sergeant in his mid-twenties glanced back at his superior.

The staff sergeant clutched unto his side from which blood flowed relentlessly. Although Frish couldn't see that clearly in the dark, Sir Juvile's heavy breathing was a clear indication of how serious his condition was.

Frish glanced at his fellow soldiers, three already probably on their way to meet their makers. Of the twelve soldiers that were deployed here to guard Redwater only nine remains.

His two teammates who were guarding the gates were the first to fall to the ambush, only barely managing to alert the rest of them before their side went silent.

It was easy to imagine what happened.

The third died when he tried suicidally to defend the barracks entrance alongside the staff sergeant with only a machete to buy time for the rest of them.

The staff sergeant managed to get away when things started to go beyond his control, but not without sustaining a heavy injury to his waist.

With just nine members left they managed to defend this place for over thirty minutes due to the enemy's lack of coordination and their superior ranged weapons and positioning right in front of the barrack's gate, a bottleneck that forces the enemy right to the nozzles of their muskets.

A few bandits attempted to scale the barracks walls but they were quick to discover why the barrack had walls in the first place.

But things slowly started to take a turn for the worse. The enemy's overwhelming numbers and persistence had started to treacherously tip the balance.

Frish walked forward and fell to his knee again before filing his flash pan and taking aim

"Fire!"

Thunderous gunfire rang out as he pulled the trigger again.

"Charge!"

Surprised by the sudden order, Frish hesitated for a brief moment before levelling his gun and charging in the direction of the enemy alongside two other soldiers who ran by his side.

Their sudden charge revealed five men crawling forward under the cover of darkness towards the volley.

Frish stabbed downwards and ended the life of one.

Another died at the hands of a comrade. The rest quickly got up to their feet, rushing towards the three soldiers

A few steps forwards, Frish stabbed with a hard thrust, impaling the enemy.

But unlike the wooden practise target he had trained with, the person impaled on his bayonet gripped unto his weapon unwilling to let go.

The wind blew lightly and a portion of the black smoke lingering in the air was carried away.

In the dim moonlit night, Frish could faintly see the dumbfounded look on the man's face as if shocked by his forthcoming demise.

A scruffy beard, unkempt hair, rough features.

A bandit.

Definitely a bandit.

Frish had almost a hundred per cent certainty.

'But why?' He thought to himself.

The question lingered in his mind for a brief moment before they were blown away like smoke in the wind.

Tightening his grip on his musket, he raised his feet and kicked out, knocking down the dying man.

The bandit's grip loosened and Frish's musket was released.

Freed of the bandit's restraint Frish turned his gaze to another bandit struggling with his fellow soldier. The soldier failed to stab deeply enough and was caught in a fight with the obviously more experienced bandit. He was in dire straits, with a sword wound to the shoulder he quickly lost control of the battle.

Frish unhesitatingly stabbed forward, forcing back the injured bandit and freeing his colleague before quickly retreating as he pulled along the injured man.

In a matter of seconds, they charged back behind their comrades who greeted the chasing bandits with another volley of flying lead.

The battle continued but the bandits were pressing the offensive and ammunition was quickly running low. Frish estimated that they probably could only fight for another hour or two before running out of ammunition.

They weren't supplied to fight such a prolonged battle. A scuffle with a few opportunistic intruders here and there was well within tolerable limits but a conflict of this scale was definitely not.

Sir Juvile had also long noticed this. He gritted his teeth in frustration and came to a decision.

"Retreat!"

Slowly but surely they retreated into the building, whilst firing the occasional shot to deal with any bandit that got too close...

Giving up the barracks compound, they sought the safety of the building's enclosed walls.

"Barred the doors and windows!" The staff sergeant ordered as he leaned against a wall. "Kill anything that gets too close."

Without wasting too much time the soldiers quickly barricade the building with whatever they could find inside.

"Get me some paper and ink. And a pigeon. Now!" Sir Juvile ordered.

One of the soldiers brought the items and Frish watched with side-eye as Sir Juvile filled the paper with more illegible characters. Unable to read what was written the soldier diverted most of his attention to the bandits that were cautiously circling the building.

One of the soldiers impulsive raised his musket to shoot at the bandits but sir Juvile noticed and pressed down on the weapon as he asked.

"Are you sure that you can hit them at this?"

"N-no" The soldier stammered.

"Then don't shoot. We can't afford to run out of ammunition."

"Y-yes, sir."

"So, what do we do now sir?" Frish asked watching Staff sergeant Juvile attach the letter to the pigeon and release the bird.

The small animal quickly disappeared into the night.

Sir Juvile glanced at him and sighed.

"We wait,"

"And hope for reinforcements."