Kaffein

In the rhythm and beat of drums and the sound of bugles, men marched in practiced unison to their cadence and their captains’ calls. Red coats blazed under the bright sun as each man stood in line, muskets at their shoulder. They waited, standing proud under the commanding gaze of the Union Jack, unbreaking and ceaseless to the arrows whizzing overhead.

Entire sections of a line, dozens of men fresh and veteran alike, would fall under a single bowmen’s volley. The officers dare not let the enlisted route nor break, their position more valuable than the loss of life incurred by the barrage. The men stood their ground in stillness, waiting for further orders as their brothers-in-arms fell all around them.

If they were struck, all they could do was fall. Their cries of pain would be heard by none. The men still standing were not permitted to help, only ignore. It was the nature of warfare. All the men could do was wait in silence and hope to God they weren’t next to be chosen by fate.

On the other side, the Indians charged, roaring their war cries with great fire and passion as British lines moved and shuffled to compensate for their losses. Halfway through reaching melee distance, grapeshot tore into their ranks.

Thousands upon thousands of tiny metal scraps flew across the battlefield to tear into skin and bone, digging through muscle and arteries and turning the bravest and most skilled soldier into nothing more but a pile of mangled flesh yearning for death’s release.

The shrieking, pained screams of agony halted their advance. All for but a moment they stopped, their battle cries for naught. They could do nothing but let their fallen bleed before them.

They were standing on fields they had once owned, the ground lost and matted with their own people’s blood and gore. They broke, retreating without a single kill to avenge their fallen.

They screamed bloody murder as they ran, sparking fear into the hearts of their comrades who moments ago bore witness to genocide. They were up next. This, all the while the British closed the gap in their lines, forming a solid block once more, an endless sea of red to the Indians’ eyes.

Far behind the lines of infantry, cannon batteries sat under the watchful eye of the unified blue, red, and white of Britain’s flag. Cannons, standing smoking, restless, and deadly to all under their gaze, were manned by those who wasted no time in feeding the artillery gunpowder and shot. The men moved like machines, making sure every volley would cost the enemy more men than the ammunition’s worth in trade. A bloody cog in the great war machine that was Britain.

Some distance away, just on the outskirts of the forest, a soldier on the saddleback of a thoroughbred sighed, breathing in the tangy scent of burnt sulfur wafting throughout the company of mounted infantry. He coughed.

“Do not breathe in too deep, Kaffein, lest you want to end up falling off thy horseback in midst of the gallop behind enemy lines. It’d be a task and a half to carry your carcass all the way back to Europe,'' the man beside him, who he came to know as Frederick, joked.

Wiping his mouth, Kaff took a firm grasp of his mount’s rein and waved the younger man off. “Mayhaps this old bastard’s about to keel over. Give him a minute to recover, and he may just outclass the loud-mouthed neophyte.”

“There’s the old coot I know,” Frederick said, lightly bumping his horse with Kaff’s in a friendly manner, his broad smile not lost under the shade of centuries-old pine trees blanketing the forest grounds of these foreign lands.

The two formed up and fell at attention with the other soldiers. Some fell silent or kept their distance away from Kaff. The few guards that tolerated him would simply nod at his arrival without much banter, understanding that the Captain had let him into his entourage informally. Kaff nodded back.

With the distant sound of crackling gunfire, the company of eighty or so mounted infantry—or more accurately named dragoons—trotted through the forest. The men idly chit-chatted earfuls about the other regiments in the division. News such as the shortage of both officers and enlisted, the midnight raids, or whatever else newsworthy the Indian tribes managed to sprout in the midst of war became the normal topic of conversation.

They casually spoke while roaring cannon and mortar fire boomed across the sky. The sound of those shots would make itself known to its intended targets moments later, pounding enemy lines into submission.

“Good soldier, what do you make of this war?”

“Pardon me, sir?” Kaff asked in response, darting to look the Captain in the eyes while doing so.

Chest puffed with medals worn proud on his overcoat, the Captain reiterated his words, “I’m curious to know what a Prussian thinks of this whole back and forth us Brits and the savages are going through. Surely you have a comment, seeing as your countrymen are some of the most war-torn grunts in the whole entirety of Europe.”

Kaff took a moment to form a reply, as angering his superior was not his intention. “Savages, sir? Surely these locals merit more respect from us after the amount of fighting they’ve managed to put up.”

One of the sergeants spoke up and answered for the Captain, “They don't believe in God, they’re fine with nudity, and they refuse to kneel to both the church and the crown. Need I say more, soldier?”

“Calm yourself, Sergeant. He’s a man of culture! One who is used to serving the nobility. If I required the opinion of a common man, I could have simply asked you instead.” He turned back to face Kaff. “As you were.”

In the corner of his eyes, Kaff could see the other men staring at him after the Captain had made that comment. He strung his next words carefully. “Well, I have to say I did not expect our forces to march this far deep into the Americas. Our supply lines with the colonies are starting to thin. And the locals proved to be far more cunning than what meets the eye, or so I observed.”

While it sustained the Thirteen Colonies, the Americas still left much to be discovered far inland. Discounting the Hudson, this plot of land wasn’t even connected with the rest of his Majesty's colonies. And to think they were marching straight into the heart of the continent, right through Indian territory.

“Hmmph, yes. If those cannoneers were more thorough in destroying their abandoned equipment, I’d say these brutes would’ve never gotten their hands on our twelve-pounders. God knows how long artillery takes to arrive from the factories. The last thing we need are savages firing cannons willy-nilly in our direction.”

Kaff nodded. The Captain didn’t budge with his choice of words so he pressed no further. “Though it would seem we’re nearing a stalemate, sir.”

The Captain was taken aback by Kaff’s comment. “Why would you say that, soldier? We are cutting right through their numbers. I don’t see how a stalemate could possibly happen with how fast we’ve been, how do I say… exterminating them.”

“Well ...wrong word, sir. Pardon my mistake. Numbers are exactly the problem. I meant to say that us spearheading right through their lands didn’t spur that much of a reaction from their forces. One would think they would throw everything they have, but so far we’ve only encountered a fraction of their armies.”

“A fraction? We’ve cut down plenty of these Indians! The other officers and I have only heard victories from every battle we’ve fought on these, soon-to-be-our lands.”

Kaff shook his head. “I’ve sourced and gathered data regarding numerous topics on this continent, one of which being an estimate on the local population. And despite being divided, they do have a common interest, which is a rather unsettling thought.”

The Captain raised an eyebrow. “What are you implying, Kaffein?”

“Well... let us take stock of current events. Cannons missing, midnight raids which lead to the shortage of officers for many of our regiments, and if we also take into account the lack of resistance…”

“A trap? Hah!” the Captain exclaimed, the smug grin on his face overlooked by none. “You’re a fool to think these brutes can even fathom the idea of intrigue.”

The Sergeant from before made himself known once more. “Good to see you’re not taking any advice from the ex-pat, sir.” He turned to Kaff, his brow furrowing. “Here’s a suggestion: how about you leave the actual fighting to the professionals.”

Kaff offered the Sergeant a neutral response, “Aye, Sergeant.”

The Captain, still barely settled from his outburst, added, “Oh, you humour me, Kaffein. Such a waste of manpower and land for one guise. If we hadn’t burned down so many villages, perhaps your proposal would have made the slightest bit of sense.” He waved him off. “I believe that is all I need for now. Thank you, Kaffein.”

“Aye, Captain,” Kaff said, keeping the professionalism in his tone.

Seeing that he was no longer needed, Kaff slinked back to the rest of the company with his head held low to not draw attention, scanning the squadron for Frederick.

It wasn’t until he reached the rear of the formation did he find the man of the hour. On his way, he had received plenty of pushes and jabs, but he heeded them no mind. Like their words, their actions too fell on deaf ears.

“A little disappointed, Kaffein?” Frederick asked. “Chin up, friend. The rain will let up soon.”

Kaff offered him a smirk. “Oh, no. Their words are hollow, but I do appreciate the concern,” he said matter-of-factly. “It would seem that common decency is a luxury for a Prussian.”

A pause hung in the air before Frederick spoke once more. “You know the reason for it.”

Kaff sighed. “Yes, but I have matters more pressing than public image.”

Kaff gestured a shush and motioned for him and Frederick to put some distance between them and the squadron.

“And it would seem that the Sergeant couldn’t bite his tongue; keyword expatriate. I’ve no doubt he told the entire company everything by now. And though you know I’m no ex-pat, the Sergeant does not.”

Kaff sighed his frustrations, as he eased his shoulders ever so slightly.

Finally calm, Kaff added, “Least enough I encountered a decent fellow back in Nantucket before kissing the book and signing my soul for two shillings.”

The younger man rolled his eyes. “You’re a fool of the highest order.”

A bigger smirk made its way into the conversation. “Well, this fool has a plan.”

“Aye, I know.” Frederick glanced back between them, before looking around to check for any stragglers. “What of him? The Sergeant, I mean. He proved himself to be a loose end in all this. Thus far we’ve been careful, but I still fear the possibility of discovery, for your sake, at least,” he spoke in a hushed tone.

Kaff’s grin almost went unnoticed. “I admire your caution, friend. However, I believe the matter’s already settled. Everything I’ve told them is nothing short of vague, half-truths mixed with schools of red herring. Our tracks are covered for the time being. They may know our origin, but they do not have the full story.”

Frederick held his reins a little less tightly. “Ah, is that the reason why you’ve managed to live this long?”

Kaff chuckled. “Perhaps yes, perhaps not. Oversight has a habit of creeping up on you at the worst possible times.”

“Aye.” Frederick nodded his agreement. “Let’s hope we reach one of the colonies southward before they catch wind of our goals.”

Before they ended their conversation, Kaff added a last note, a much more serious tone befalling his demeanour, “We proceed as planned. Know that our next encounter with the Indians will be the last time our fealty lies to their King.”

The squadron kept on marching as the sun burned through the day. Kaff chatted with Frederick once or twice more, but that did little to distract him from the droplets of sweat racing down his forehead as well as his shirt and uniform. He silently wished his canteen was a little heavier.

He joked to himself that he would’ve reached France by now if he was still in Europe, but the humour did little to keep his mind occupied for long. The forest didn’t seem to have an end in sight either. The endless crisscrossing between heavy tree lines steadily became natural to him, almost requiring no thought to execute.

The men too became restless after the hours’ worth of trudging through dense woodlands. The soreness crept from Kaff’s heels and up to his thighs. Military-grade saddles were never made to be completely comfortable. He reminded himself that they were behind enemy lines, and did his best to remain vigilant.

Kaff trotted by some of the men while staying out of their peripheral. Not so accidentally, he overheard one of them relaying what they had heard upfront. Something along the lines of the Captain refusing to turn back despite many of the sergeants' concerns regarding their current estimated time and position, or rather the inaccuracy of it.

To Kaff’s relief, after roughly an hour more of marching, they soon entered a clearing. He saw a cliff out in the open just across a small valley. Kaff and Frederick were still at the rear when the Captain ordered the men to rally down at the bottom. The open sky was certainly a welcoming sight.

Kaff stopped just before they left the treeline. “Frederick, would you be so kind as to help me off my horse?” Kaff wiggled his left leg. “I think it loosened.”

“Aye.” Frederick was already dismounting his steed. He made his way over quickly.

Finally finding firm footing, Kaff set his prosthetic on the ground with Frederick helping him. He bent down and pulled on where his knee used to be, making sure it was strapped on correctly after the day’s worth of horseback riding.

Kaff wiped off a bead of sweat on his brow and remounted. Frederick made sure the leg was set properly with the saddle before he climbed back up his horse.

Kaff slung the carbine musket back up his shoulder and straightened his uniform once more to look presentable. “Thank you, Frederick.”

Once ready, they marched to where the other men were already standing at attention without much hassle.

The Captain and a few of his men were off on their own moving up the hill opposite to where they came from. The men no doubt appreciated the bit of fresh air and rest after the hours of marching, but it wasn’t until the Captain reached the top and saw the other side when a familiar sound reached the company’s ears.

Atop the hill and next to the Captain, the squadron’s bugler frantically sounded the order. Retreat.

The soldiers below waited for a direction from the Captain as he galloped downhill, hastily unholstering his sabre.

The bugler was a few notes away from finishing his cadence when small mists of red exploded all over his body and the poor man crashed and tumbled downhill, crushed by his neighing and hole-riddled horse along the way. The same fate was said for the rest of the Captain’s entourage as a loud boom roared from behind the squadron.

“Artillery!”

All heads turned behind them. To some, it was already too late, for another twelve-pounder had already fired. The gore of men and horses alike splattered along the grass beneath them as confusion spread throughout the squadron.

The officers who stayed tried desperately to reclaim some semblance of order, but inexperience won as their hesitant and unsure cries of command were drowned out in the panic. The squadron was already cut from the head.

Many screamed, their uniforms tainted with the blood of men who once stood mere feet away from them. A few veterans attempted to form a line but were quickly failed by another volley of cannon fire.

Kaff found himself galloping away from the other men who fled. He wasn’t about to let himself be such an obvious target. He made sure to keep his breathing slow and deep as he wiped his face clean off of Frederick’s blood.

He made a beeline back towards the forest where the cannons would lose sight of him, every second galloping uphill in a desperate attempt not to draw attention.

It took every ounce of his willpower to suppress the decades worth of experience as an officer to not shout and try to claim leadership of the men routing. Even as allies of the Seven Years War, these Brits weren’t his countrymen. They weren’t worth risking painting such a bright red target on his back. And so he fled.

Grapeshot; the bane of every formation.

The wind, brushing against his skin and sending shivers through his body, rustled leaves and bushes around him, bringing sound to the darkened forest grounds. The clip-clop of hooves on dirt echoed aloud, being the only other sound that could be heard, save for the owls, now awake. Their wide eyes watched and followed Kaff in curiosity as they laid in the comfort of their nests while Kaff shivered.

With his stomach groaning and throat scratchy, he stopped for a second, gazing at his surroundings and admiring them, taking a long look at where he’d end up in life.

There was nothing here. No deer, no rabbits, no remotely edible plants he knew of, and no end in sight. The trees were endless in every direction, and all the water murky beyond reason to drink.

There was his horse, but it was his only hope of finding civilization. His frail body was no longer capable of walking such long distances. His leg would probably break halfway in reaching for help if he’d travel on foot.

He contemplated staring down the barrel of his musket before the Indians or the pain of thirst kicked in, but decided against it. He wasn’t about to surrender now. Not after everything he’d done. Not after so much effort.

It was the indescribable feeling of being unknowingly watched or played as a toy that had given him the idea in the first place. He could be captured and tortured at any time, as these Indians were masters of their land. God knows what unholy things they’d do to invaders.

He sighed, looking up to the sky, bright moonlight giving him peace as he traversed the forest grounds, if not a little dreary.

He soon stumbled upon a clearing. A patch of grass in the sea of trees. Fireflies were twinkling about with crickets buzzing all over. He cracked a smile at the sight. Then, he saw it.

Farther off, on the other side of the clearing, there laid a house. Not a cottage, but a full two-story house that could be seen in a bustling city back in Europe. Tiled roofing and such as well. There was even a chimney with smoke coming out the top.

He moved in for a closer look. There was not a chance in hell he’d ignore such a sight.

Peculiar...

Once near, he dismounted and took a tentative step, one foot forward then followed by a prosthetic step slowly inching ahead, searching for even terrain while being sure not to make a sound. His eyes were focused on the house as he listened closely for anyone inside, putting an ear to the door.

Thumping on wooden floorboards. Two people, close to one another by the sound of it, but the walking patterns were at irregular intervals. Amputees as well, perhaps?

Well, he was indeed masquerading as a common soldier, but he still had manners. Wherever he was, this place was still private property.

Knock, knock, knock.

A pause, then rapid footsteps before the door opened up, the resident out of sight, likely hiding behind the door. This was all too surreal.

“Hello?” Kaff put a hand on the doorknob, gently prodding and trying to pull it back gently with little success. “I mean no harm. Do you speak English?”

No answer. And the person was determined to stay out of sight.

Kaff spoke up once more, “Deutsch? Français? J’ai besoin de directions, peut-être que vous avez une carte et une boussole que je peux emprunter?”

[I need directions, perhaps you have a map and compass I can borrow?]

It was no use. Kaff didn’t even know if they spoke French, he just assumed since he was right near their colonial territory last he checked.

Curiosity, or perhaps anticipation, was biting his lower lips. He wanted to greet this eccentric landowner so badly, but he was not foolhardy. If they did not want to be bothered, then he’ll accept their wishes.

He took a few steps back from the door, unconsciously walking deeper into the house. Too late did he notice there was an elevation where he had landed his left leg, causing him to stumble backwards, eventually falling to the floor.

“Ugh… mein bein…”

[Ugh… my leg…]

The door slammed shut with unreal speed. It being locked prompted Kaff to open his eyes, and he gasped.

Standing in front of him was a creature he’d never seen before in his entire life. What it lacked in size, it made up with… everything else.

What Kaff immediately noticed was the mane on its head. It was similar to that of a lion’s, but far more regal and majestic, as if from a work of fantasy. Its auburn form swayed ever so gently.

Its body was small, about the size and shape of a filly, but that description was a stretch. It was in no way a horse. It couldn’t be. There were red scales all over its back, hard and shiny. They were what Kaff imagined a dragon’s scales would look like if they were real.

Kaff was staring, and it stared back. With impossibly large eyes, the size of dinner plates, it watched him. No. It studied him. With great curiosity and purple irises that couldn’t be found anywhere else on Earth.

It inched closer, but Kaff didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t force himself to move, every part of him was fixated on the creature. It was bright blue. The colour only complemented the eerie, uncanny aura surrounding it.

Its horn glowed. Before, parts of the creature were hidden in the dark, but now the light revealed a horn. A red, demonic horn that was longer than its entire skull, protruding out its forehead like it was some sort of parasite, like a lantern glowing in the night, calling, whispering to the ears of whoever laid eyes upon it.

Kaff suddenly found himself encased with the same glow as the creature’s horn. It poked and prodded his skin, sending chills down his spine as whatever sorcery grabbed him.

He breathed heavily, eyes bolting everywhere as his heart beat endlessly, badly wanting to leap out of his chest as he slowly ascended to the air by the creature’s sorcery. He wanted to vomit.

“Lass mich runter! Put me down!” His screams were met with deaf ears.

The aura... it didn’t feel right; it was as if he was being drowned in a lake, but yet he could still breathe. It felt like liquid seeping into him, cold, crawling under his skin, and moving through his body like a snake.

The creature began playing him like a puppet, and he was powerless to stop it. His joints were all pushed in the wrong directions to test and gauge a reaction out of him and whenever he would protest, the aura would double down, and push his body to its limits.

Then, all of a sudden, the eeriest thing of all happened. He didn’t feel anything anymore. No, not didn’t. Couldn’t. All sense of touch was lost. Not his uniform, nor his prosthetic could be felt touching his skin. Hell, he couldn’t even feel any phantom pain! It was all gone, just like that.

What came next was a blur; his eyes heavied, and his grip on reality began to loosen.

At first, it was on his forehead, but then it spread to the rest of his skull. It was faint, like a minor headache. Then, he felt something new, something eye-opening. The best way to describe it was a sixth sense. He could feel his surroundings again, but yet it wasn’t physical; not touch, no. It was fuzzy, like a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Then, it snapped. He screamed bloody murder, the greatest pain he ever felt in his entire life. The new sense was gone, ripped apart and thrown away.

When he thought it was over, it started again. It came in waves, repeating over and over until he could no longer think. He wanted to feel numb, but he simply wasn’t. Everything was vividly clear. He was completely aware that something terrible was happening to him. He just couldn’t do anything about it. He was powerless.

It was like his brain was being torn apart like simple pieces of paper. It always kept its onslaught until his mind was just shy of broken, before quickly restarting all over again.

He couldn’t tell when, but it stopped. It could have been hours, it could’ve been minutes. He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell anymore. All he cared about was that it had finally stopped after so many times hurting him.

From then on, it was all downhill. Everything inside him screamed in anguish. He could feel his bones and muscles shifting under his skin, all the more pure, agonizing pain to add to his torment. Soon, he couldn’t even feel any fingers on either of his hands.

The worst of all was on his back. He could feel bones from his spine piercing out of him, warm blood dripping on his back and down his legs. He wished for death, but it never came.

When it was all said and done, he hung there in the air, limp, near-lifeless. He opened his eyes, the creature seeming satisfied with what it had done to him. With tears matting his cheeks, Kaff pleaded to the creature for it to end.

But no, it wasn’t done. His twitching body was moved through the air, stopping dead above something hot. He looked down and saw it: a lit cauldron filled with boiling water.

Tears dripped down his cheeks as he spoke, “Please… mercy...”

Right after uttering those words, Kaff was plunged straight down into the water.

It was deep. He was completely submerged. Kaff jerked his body, trying, struggling to swim to the surface, but his efforts were futile. He didn’t have hands or feet to propel him forward. His body was foreign, his attempts seeing little success. He didn’t know how to swim like this.

His breath was short, it wasn’t long until he started choking. His lungs clung to the last bit of air inside of him. Everything he did now was in vain, and deep down he knew. There was nothing else he could do, nothing but scream, but even that was a mistake as the water around him drowned and silenced his pleas. There was nothing for him here. Nothing but the absolute certainty of his demise.

He couldn’t fight it anymore. His body gave in. Water flooded his lungs as he could no longer stop his mouth from gasping. But, instead of air, his body was confronted with more and more water that would force its way inside him, filling up his lungs till it could take no more.

Everything began to darken.