Chap 7 - CHAMPION'S HILLS

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Lieutenant Sharpe completed his scan of the horizon, once more ending the circuit by unconsciously looking at the bare patch on his uniform where his Captains insignia had been. Colonel Huntington had lashed out after his girl had been mauled by the guard dog.

He characteristically laid blame for the incident everywhere except on his own child's stupidity. Ordering the beasts death was not enough, he had ordered that the handler be hanged, that the Celti Elders who organised the event all be flogged, that taxes be doubled and the curfew tightened. John Sharpe could not let any of this happen. He stepped forward and told the Colonel that as Captain of the guard, the responsibility was entirely his, no one else need be punished but him, so punished he was.

The Colonel knew that with John's family connections, it would be unwise to hang him or dismiss him from service altogether, so instead he had him demoted and flogged with twenty lashes. The demotion letter was written so as to ensure that John would never be promoted above Lieutenant again. The Colonel then took delight in tasking his 'new' junior officer with every patrol, guard duty, and menial job he could think up. He was allowed a six hour sleep period every night, but that was only if all his duties were completed on time.

John did not mind the work, or begrudge the demotion. He just didn't like the fact that he was no longer around the Keep to protect the men from some of the Colonels wilder demands, or stupider orders. Ever since he had arrived here, he had tried to be a barrier between the Colonel and the men.

He had been given this posting as a 'reward' for his service in the border wars against the Gorthians far to the south. He longed for a return to those days. The fighting had been hard, the days full of blood and terror, but then he had served a real commander.

General Hawkesbury had been the most brilliant leader the Petrosian Empire had ever had. With only a few hundred men, the General held off an army of thousands of Gorthian soldiers, all in unforgivingly harsh mountain terrain. John had been saddened when the great leader announced his retirement and then disappeared completely from public life.

Before he left office though, he made sure that all of the officers and men under his command that had borne the brunt of the heavy fighting, were taken off the front lines to allow them time to rest and recuperate. John thought that the sleepy, relatively peaceful Northern provinces would be just the place. Instead he had been met with boredom, poorly trained and undisciplined men, and service under an idiot.

He fixed the first two with a rigorous training and patrol program, but there was nothing he could do about the third, except try to buffer the men from the worst of the Colonel's decisions. His commander's biggest mistake was underestimating the danger of rebellion from the local Celti.

Simmering hatred for Petros was waiting to explode from an increasingly unhappy populace. The Colonel was a strong believer in that most stupid tactic 'a tight fist keeps the best order'. John had been taught better.

General Hawkesbury had once held a discussion with his officers about counter insurgency tactics. A hard line and harsh punishments may have an immediate effect on quelling a population, but they were ultimately doomed to failure. The rebels would gather greater popular support, enabling them to become sneaky.

Hiding among supporters, obedient to your face, then stabbing you in the back. The only way to stop it was to make the population genuinely like you more than they liked the rebels. You had to actively help, protect, and nurture them.

In his five years in Cromdar he had enforced many changes, but still the racism among his soldiers was so ingrained he had to fight them at every stage. He often found himself at loggerheads with the commander, as the simpleton thought he was being soft instead of tactically prudent.

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The Colonel made matters worse when he constantly spouted his personal views about the Celti people in public, and rewarded those troops that shared them. John was kept extremely busy 'putting out spot fires' by actively engaging the Celti Elders in talks, persuading them that the Colonel didn't really mean what he had said.

He had gained much support from them, averting many disasters, by listening to them, and acting on their suggestions, all behind the Colonels back. All it took to undermine his work though, was bored soldiers acting out, or public announcements made by his dim witted superior. Now he was not in a position to stop them.

It came to him that he had not thought of the old days, the campaign against the Gorthian's, for years. Seeing the Generals nephew at the Emperors Feast two nights past had brought back old memories. A smile crept on his face when he remembered the contest.

The boy had been impressive. Everyone had written the half-cast off due to his small size, and mixed blood, but John knew that if he was anything like his uncle, he would have a plan, and the drive to see it through to the end. He had never seen anything like the way that boy had moved, using his feet as fists, hands so fast they were hard to follow. The lad had turned his biggest disadvantage, his size, into an unbeatable advantage. The other contestants couldn't lay a finger on him.

John had been doubly impressed by the way young Hawkesbury dealt with the coward Michael. The only soldiers that survived battles were the ones that had the combat awareness to detect rapidly changing threats in an overwhelmingly distracting environment. It took years of hard training to develop. This boy had it at sixteen. He imagined how deadly he would be with a sword and a little more training.

Unfortunately, in this land, that would never happen due to his mixed parentage. Instead, Michael the bully would take his place in the army. John had been commanded to enlist the boy, and as soon as his arm mended, send him on the long training patrol to the west. He was in no doubt that the ruffian would end up as an officer, not because of his size or ability, but because he had the right bloodlines.

Something caught Lieutenant Sharpe's attention. A cloud of dust to the south west announced riders approaching his watch post. Alerting the men, he loosened his sword in its scabbard, he was not expecting trouble, or concerned that this was anything out of the ordinary, just simply being professional.

Normally these posts were only used in troubled areas, they were not necessary here. This was just one of the Colonels ways of keeping him busy. They had had an added advantage though. Being away from the garrison, with only himself and one or two soldiers, the locals had felt more akin to speak openly with him, they had even sought him out specifically.

He had heard many rumours and bits of information about the feelings of the populace recently. Some was mundane, such as; knowing that the senior Elders had left for their home counties, who was courting who after the festival, the current prices of produce. Some was useful such as; knowing that the festival had improved Celti and Petrosian relations, livestock was being poached along the edge of the woods, the population was genuinely concerned about Lady Penelope's recovery from her injuries, and their relief that the Colonel had not ordered a crackdown because of the incident.

Some of it was just plain ridiculous, such as; odd little green 'Goblins' being seen in the forest, bears with heads like owls roaming about, and strange lights deep in the woods. John suspected that some of the locals had taken to licking poisonous mushrooms again, he would talk to Maeve about it when he returned. Right now though, his mind turned to the rapidly approaching riders. Their speed put him on guard.

Indicating to his two men to take cover with their bows ready, John stepped into the road with a hand out to halt them. He thought they would ride him down, but the trio reigned in with military precision a few feet short. Their rapid halt brought the trailing cloud of dust over their heads, John had to focus all his discipline to not cough and splutter. When the air did finally clear, he had to struggle to not let his jaw drop.

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