Completed [LP] Bleed for your Kingdom, officer! Codex plays Guns of Infinity

[Kalarion]

3.

 

[Major_Blackhart]

3. The frivolous fop we've no interest in. Were it up to her, we'd still be mired in the black woods pursuing shadows and running into partisan ambushes. Our men are all that matter, for it is through them we shall advance and find victory.

 

[Lithium Flower]

You spend the day on the open ground outside the camp, watching your men drill and practise the manoeuvres with which war is made under the watchful eyes of their officers.

What you see is alarming to the extreme.

It is not that your subordinates are anything but diligent in their duties, nor is it any sort of earnest insubordination. Your officers train their men in accordance with both the spirit and the letter of the King's regulations.

In fact, that is rather the problem.

The King's regulations require that the commanding officer of each company of infantry and troop of cavalry see to the training of their own unit independently. Ostensibly, the relevant regulations were drafted to allow the officer in question to gain both the confidence of the men under their command, as well as self-assurance in their own abilities.

Certainly, you can vouch for the success of such an approach yourself. After all, those same regulations meant that you had been given a free hand in the training and preparation of your own troop before Blogia, something which may have saved your life and the lives of many others in that great battle.

Unfortunately, in the case of your own squadron, such an approach has led to your men being trained by three lieutenants of vastly different temperaments utilising vastly different approaches. Sandoral drills his men right out of the manual but punishes infractions with no more than stern lectures. Blaylock, on the other hand, resorts to the flat of his sabre to correct even the most minute of imperfections. Lord Renard's approach seems most bizarre of all. His troop spends the whole day in the saddle, supposedly practising horsemanship; in reality, their boyishly enthusiastic commander leads them about the open field at a gallop as he sabres down imaginary foes and regales them with stories of his famed ancestors in his clipped, dandyish accent.

Already, you are beginning to see the fragile unity of your squadron unravel. You can only imagine what might happen when these increasingly disparate troops are thrown together and sent into battle as a unit.

Then again, depriving your subordinates of their ability to train and prepare their own men would almost certainly serve to stifle their fledgling senses of self-confidence as King's Officers. Perhaps it would be better for you to leave your officers alone and hope that they learn the needed lessons themselves before it is too late?

Do you choose to step in? If so, how?

1) I order that Lieutenant Sandoral take over all training.
2) I shall take over training and institute my own approach.
3) I let Staff-sergeant Hernandes take over training.
4) I'll not tread on my subordinates' feet; I leave things as they are.

Personal Information

As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 953
Income: 15

Soldiering: 75%

Charisma: 43%

Intellect: 5%

Reputation: 24%

Health: 65%

Idealism: 78% Cynicism: 22%

Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.

You have no decorations as of yet.

Unit Information

Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons

Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes

Discipline: 56%

Morale: 43%

Loyalty: 39%

Strength: 99%

 

[Grimgravy]

Certainly, you can vouch for the success of such an approach yourself. After all, those same regulations meant that you had been given a free hand in the training and preparation of your own troop before Blogia, something which may have saved your life and the lives of many others in that great battle.

Hah! Our unit always sucked.

2>3 At least they will have consistent training and maybe they will be cohesive.

 

[Lithium Flower]

Certainly, you can vouch for the success of such an approach yourself. After all, those same regulations meant that you had been given a free hand in the training and preparation of your own troop before Blogia, something which may have saved your life and the lives of many others in that great battle.

Hah! Our unit always sucked.

Ah yes, most certainly. Was going to highlight how hilarious that little bit was but got distracted.
Incidentally I've almost forgotten about making a semi-detailed write-up on the effectiveness (or lack thereof) of your unit's training in Sabres. I will do it at some point or another, but won't promise it will be done soon.

 

[Kalarion]

2.

 

[Major_Blackhart]

2. The Lieutenants should still mandate training, but we should require a specific approach and a form of unity.

 

[ERYFKRAD]

3>2

 

[Reinhardt]

3.

It should not be long now.

 

[Lithium Flower]

If you are to have something done well, you must do it yourself.

Your lieutenants are, of course, rather displeased at the turn of events, but they are still men in your squadron, under your command, and they have no right to refuse your orders.

You do, however, still have to choose a particular direction in which to focus your efforts. Conventional wisdom would state that the best way to build unit cohesion would be simply to drill them as an entire squadron.

There is, however, another option. While some of your NCOs are battle-hardened veterans, others are newly raised from the rank and file, with barely more combat experience than the green men they are leading. Perhaps if you were to emphasize improving the skills of these raw corporals and sergeants, you could make your squadron as a whole more effective.

Then again, you also have an opportunity here. In taking direct control of the training of your men, you could easily build personal support within your unit. If you were to identify and cultivate the men who see you in the most favourable light, you could create a cadre of loyal men whom you could trust in any circumstances.

How shall you focus your efforts?

1) I focus upon drilling the men together and maintaining good order among the ranks.
2) I delegate the work to my NCOs, building their skills and confidence.
3) I single out the men most loyal to me for promotion and reward.

Personal Information

As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 953
Income: 15

Soldiering: 75%

Charisma: 43%

Intellect: 5%

Reputation: 24%

Health: 65%

Idealism: 78% Cynicism: 22%

Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.

You have no decorations as of yet.

Unit Information

Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons

Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes

Discipline: 56%

Morale: 43%

Loyalty: 39%

Strength: 99%

 

[Grimgravy]

All have some merit. 3 smacks of nepotism, but it would be good to have some loyal people. 2 would likely irk the lieutenants even more.
Eh if we're going to take over, let's take over.

1

 

[Major_Blackhart]

2

 

[ERYFKRAD]

2

 

[Reinhardt]

1. What is the point of taking over if we are not.

 

[Kalarion]

2. A disciplined, competent NCO corps that is capable of taking battlefield initiative in the absence of direct orders is core to the kind of fighting we specialize in (run and gun).

 

[Lithium Flower]

You begin to drill the squadron as a unit, but you make sure that the lion's share of the work falls to the greenest of your sergeants and corporals. Progress is hard at first, but after a few days, even the rawest of your non-commissioned officers begin to get a feel for exercising their authority.

Every night after drill, you assemble your NCOs, and together, you go over the day's events.Your long years of soldiering serve you well here. Those newly made sergeants and corporals who had not been with you in the years before Blogia gain a healthy respect for you when you demonstrate to them the wealth of experience and expertise you learned in those years of hard campaigning.

By the end of the second week, your NCOs are more than capable of taking on the task of drilling the squadron by themselves, and their newfound confidence is already spreading to the men under their command.

-

The next morning, you note with some pleasure that Garing's new guns have already made significant progress in creating a breach. Even from your distant vantage point, you can see the city's fortress walls begin to give way.

Rumour has it that the breach will be wide enough to be assaulted in less than a month; good news, for summer is beginning to draw to a close.

Until then, you will still have time to see to other affairs. What shall you do?

1) I would like to see how Lady Katarina is faring.
2) I shall visit Master Garing and see what he is up to.
3) I think I shall begin writing my recollections on my military service.

Personal Information

As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 968
Income: 15

Soldiering: 75%

Charisma: 43%

Intellect: 5%

Reputation: 24%

Health: 65%

Idealism: 78% Cynicism: 22%

Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.

You have no decorations as of yet.

Unit Information

Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons

Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes

Discipline: 54%

Morale: 54%

Loyalty: 39%

Strength: 99%

 

[Grimgravy]

2

 

[Major_Blackhart]

2

 

[ERYFKRAD]

2

 

[Reinhardt]

2. See? You train them all now and there will be nothing to do later. Free time is a curse.

 

[Lithium Flower]

It is not in any way difficult to find Edmund Garing. Indeed, you are able to locate him even from the ground before your own tent. The arms merchant sits at a folding table on top of a low platform of pounded earth and wood, not far from the cannon which he had helped design.

When you climb up the stairs to the top of the platform, you find the black-jacketed man in a frenzy of motion, rapidly alternating between scribbling something down on a notepad with a pencil and peering off into the distance down some strange brass combination of slide rule and telescope which seems only vaguely familiar to you.

"I would suggest depressing the guns by perhaps half a degree," Garing says, still focused on his device and notebook, perhaps mistaking you for one of the engineers tasked to sighting his guns. His voice is taut and clipped, quite unlike the last time you spoke to him. "Some of the shots are going high now that we've deconstructed much of the top level of the wall." He turns over his shoulder, only to stop, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. "Wait a moment, you're not Major Diaz."

Garing purses his lips for a moment. "You are…" He snaps his fingers in a rapid succession born of irritability, once, twice, three times. "You are Ortiga, of the Dragoons, correct?"

You nod. "I was, last I checked, Master Garing," you reply with a sardonic grin.

Garing chuckles for a moment at your little jibe. "Excellent, excellent. Anything you need?"

"I wanted to ask if the new cannon were performing well."

"They are performing brilliantly, sir," Garing replies, his voice full of enthusiasm. "Already, I have identified over sixty faults, including several which make each gun wholly inefficient for the military use for which they are currently employed."

You cannot help but be puzzled by that. "How could you say that these guns are performing brilliantly if they are so plagued with defects?"

Garing smiles. "You must remember, sir, that these guns are not just weapons, they are also prototypes, works in progress, if you would. Every defect that we discover here shall be corrected in the next iteration. In the meantime, the current versions," he gestures towards the battery of iron monsters before you, "will still serve the purpose for which His Grace, the Duke required them."

You nod. Once the black-coated man puts it that way, it makes a great deal more sense.

The arms merchant smiles at your comprehension. "Was there anything else?"

"I wished to know how you have been settling in, sir."

Garing pauses in thought for a moment, then nods. "I suppose things have been going well enough, though I cannot say that I shall miss living in a tent."

He takes a breath, purses his lips, and gives you a faint grin. "Aside from the lack of what I might consider basic amenities, I have not had much difficulty. Most of the rankers among the Engineers know their business well enough, which means I barely have to deal with their officers at all, thank the Saints."

"Are the Engineer officers really so bad?" you ask.

Garing frowns and shakes his head. "Some of them are decent; Major Diaz, for one. The problem is that even the good ones are uniformly useless."

Your eyebrow rises in curiosity. "How do you mean, sir?"

The black-coated man shakes his head and sighs. "They lack professional knowledge, to the point where they do not even understand the basics of the duties which their men must perform. I would imagine that they had no schooling in the finer points of engineering on the day they purchased their commissions and have had little opportunity to pick them up in the meantime. They are, in fact, glorified couriers, passing orders from high command and leaving the burden of interpreting them to their non-commissioned subordinates."

You nod; that would be a problem. You cannot imagine how a unit could properly function whilst commanded by an officer who did not know his business. It would be akin to a company of foot commanded by a man ignorant of musket drill.

"At least the sergeants and corporals know their business," Garing concludes. "Sometimes, it feels as if they are the ones who should be running things."

-

Before you can reply, you hear the sound of booted feet rushing up the wooden steps leading to the observation platform.

The source of the sound reveals itself quickly enough: a young lieutenant, perhaps eighteen or nineteen, in a burnt-orange Line Infantry jacket faced with the iron grey of the Engineers.

"Master Garing, Sergeant Worthing wants you down by the guns," the boy says, a complete lack of self-assurance in his voice. "He says that he's found some sort of problem in the, ah, elevation screw?" he reports, the pitch of his voice climbing into a question with the last two words as if they had been wholly unfamiliar to him.

"Very well," Garing replies, his voice laden with an admirable amount of patience. "I shall see to it presently."

The black-coated man stands from his chair but stops and turns to you before taking more than a step away. "Ah yes! Before I forget, Captain: there is something I would like to show you. Come to my tent at this time next week." He scrawls a quick sentence in his notebook before tearing out the page, folding it in two, and handing it to you. "I am quartered with the Engineers. Give this to the men at the door, they will let you in. Now, if you will excuse me, good day."

With that, Garing hurries off, the nervous, clueless engineer in tow. You tuck the folded note away in your pocket, wondering what exactly one of the men behind the Unified Kingdom's greatest gunmaking firm would have to show to a captain of dragoons.

-

The first thing that you notice about Edmund Garing's tent is the smell: raw iron, sawdust, glue, and the sharp stink of gunpowder. The reason behind it becomes obvious, for in the place of a desk, Garing has set up a small workbench covered in pliers, awls, knives, and a truly immense assortment of drawings.

The man himself sits over one of these drawings now, adding a new line to the diagram of some intricate-looking mechanism with the aid of a pencil and ruler. "Good morning, Captain Ortiga," he says absently as he continues his work.

How could he have known it was you? After all, you did not introduce yourself. "How did…" you begin to ask.

"It is the morning of the eighteenth, and the guards let you through. If you had been anyone else, I would have heard gunfire," Garing replies as he puts aside his ruler and pencil. "I trust they gave you no trouble?"

You shake your head. "I showed them your note, they let me through."

Garing smiles. "Excellent. In that case, let me show you what you came here to see."

-

Garing reaches into the pocket of his vest to pull out a small cylindrical object, perhaps twice the length and thickness of your thumb. He holds it lengthwise between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to the level of your eyes. "Take a look at this," he says.

Upon closer inspection, you find that the cylinder itself is mostly made of brown paper, closed on one end with a paper plug and on the other with a lead ball. You're not quite sure what to make of it.

"A self-contained cartridge," Garing explains. "It is something I have been experimenting with on the side for some time. Using the same principles as the percussion fuze, it is possible to create a cartridge which might be loaded into a musket as a single package: ball, powder, primer, all at once."

You nod numbly. Even a fool could recognise the repercussions. Instead of laboriously priming a flintlock's pan with powder, then ramming ball and powder separately down the barrel of a musket or a pistol, the entire thing might be loaded at once, increasing a trained soldier's rate of fire immensely. Not since the invention of the flintlock in the days of Saint Stanislaus six centuries ago could a single soldier's fighting power have been increased so drastically.

"How does it work?" you ask.

Garing frowns. "It doesn't," he replies sourly. "A flintlock requires the primer and the powder to be separate, unless you want to cause the entire mechanism to burst. As far as the firearms which you and your men carry are concerned, this new cartridge is useless."

"Oh, that seems a shame," you reply.

Garing nods. "Indeed. My partners, Master Gutierrez and Master Truscott, believe that it would be better to create a system which replaces the priming powder with a quicksilver cap." The other man sighs bitterly. "It would be a step forward, but it would be nowhere near as revolutionary as a self-contained cartridge."

You're not quite sure exactly what Garing is talking about, but you get the impression that he sees the abandonment of his invention to be a great lost opportunity.

"I have done some preliminary design work on a weapon that might be able to handle a self-contained cartridge," Garing continues. "Unfortunately, Gutierrez and Truscott will not allow me to use company resources to pursue the project; 'too much time, too much money, too much risk,' they say." The black-coated man shakes his head. "Which is why I must turn to you, and men like you."

You look back, puzzled. "What could I possibly do?" you ask. "I'm a soldier, not a gunsmith."

"You are a baneblood and an officer in the King's Army," Garing replies. "I will need money to support such a project and influence in military circles to see it adopted. You could offer me both."

"Could you tell me how much you would need altogether?"

Garing recoils, eyes narrowing as if someone had asked him what the colour green tasted like. "Of course not, sir."

Why the bloody Martyr not? You are about to demand an explanation when Garing appears to realise his own error. He puts his hands up placatingly. "I assure you, sir, this is due to no subterfuge on my part, it is simply that only a fool would attempt to assess the required costs of a project such as this one."

Garing gestures to the pile of designs piled on his table. "I might be able to create a successful prototype from one of these designs next week, or we may be facing a process of research and experimentation lasting twenty years. In either case, we would still need many thousands of crown to set up the machinery and facilities needed to produce the result, but how many thousands is an answer I cannot yet give you."

You suppose that makes sense, but the fact that Garing seems to know little about the eventual costs of the project cannot fill you with a great deal of confidence.

"What would I gain from such an undertaking?"

"Well, you shall receive a share of whatever profit which the end result earns, proportional to the amount you choose to invest, of course," Garing replies. "If the firearm which results from development ends up being adopted for general use by Grenadier Square, then that could be quite a substantial sum indeed."

'A substantial sum' is really quite the understatement, you realise. If the King's Army were to accept a weapon for general issue, then one would be needed for every line infantryman, with thousands more to serve as replacements besides. Even a small portion of the royalties from such a thing could make you tens of thousands of crown, if not more.

Of course, such an ideal result might prove an elusive one; any prospective weapon relying on new ideas and mechanical principles would be years, if not decades in the making. Even if a mechanically sound gun were to be the result, there would be no guarantee that it would be adopted for widespread issue.

The risk would be great, but given a little luck, the result would not only be an immense amount of money but the knowledge that you had helped pioneer a revolution in warfare.

"Surely there are richer, more influential men you could approach?"

Garing nods. "I suppose so. I would likely find interest from a great number of colonels and generals-of-brigade. If I felt the need, I could even go to Lord Havenport himself."

You suppose he could. Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott is hardly some back-alley gunshop. "So why don't you?"

The black-coated arms merchant smiles back. "Because it may take ten, maybe fifteen years to see this project to fruition. Where would those colonels and generals-of-brigade be then? Dead, or retired. Who would be standing in their place?" he asks, even though you both already know the answer. "Men like you."

"Not every captain ends up a colonel or a general," you point out.

Garing nods. "True, but some do, and you are not the only junior officer I plan to approach."

You nod back warily. You suppose it is good business to plan such redundancies, but you cannot say that Garing's apparent lack of faith in you personally makes you very happy. In any case, his words make plenty of sense to you.

"Might I take a look at your plans?"

Garing shakes his head as he extends one arm over his scattered technical drawings protectively. "I don't think that would be a good idea. I would rather keep these diagrams away from as many eyes as possible. I would not want a competitor to find out what I was working on, after all."

"Surely you could not expect me to commit my own funds without taking a look at what exactly I am to invest in," you reply. "I must insist, sir."

Garing sighs but ultimately steps back, allowing you to approach the mass of diagrams. "Very well, though I warn you that there are nothing more than speculations at the moment, and rather opaque ones at that."

You find out what Garing means by that almost immediately.

The technical drawings on the worktable seem little more ordered or rational than the scribblings of an incurable lunatic upon the walls of his asylum cell. You try your best to make sense of the jumbled tangles of gears, cogs, cams, and springs which distinguish each particular drawing, staring at the insensible configurations until your temples begin to throb.

Garing tries his best to assist you, helpfully pointing out what you assume must be the key characteristics of each design. Alas, it does not improve matters much, as the other man's descriptions are so utterly buried in technical terminology and scientific nomenclature that his exploratory efforts seem to add only a second layer of obfuscation.

"I cannot make any sense of this!" you finally exclaim, admitting defeat. "I suppose I must rely upon your assurances, Master Garing."

The other man sighs, no doubt just as exhausted from trying to explain these arcane workings to you as you have been trying to unravel them. "Yes, perhaps that would be best."

1) "I am afraid I must decline your invitation."
2) "I would be happy to invest in this project."

Personal Information

As of the Summer of the 609th year of the Old Imperial Era
Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga
Age: 21
Rank: Captain
Wealth: 968
Income: 15

Soldiering: 75%

Charisma: 43%

Intellect: 5%

Reputation: 24%

Health: 65%

Idealism: 78% Cynicism: 22%

Ruthlessness: 31% Mercy: 69%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.

You have no decorations as of yet.

Unit Information

Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons

Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Hernandes

Discipline: 54%

Morale: 54%

Loyalty: 39%

Strength: 99%

 

[Grimgravy]

2

 

[ERYFKRAD]

2

 

[Major_Blackhart]

2 Obviously. Sharps rifles for everyone!

 

[tindrli]

i agreed . 2 is the way to go