Iron Powder and Spellcasters

   Chapter 148 Departure

The    roster has been sent to Gervodin. While waiting for the transfer order, the Wolf Town Centuries began to conduct some routine training.

The    subjects are formation, weapon use, and marching.

   Winters does not expect to turn a farmer into a qualified warrior in a few days. But even an auxiliary soldier requires discipline and obedience to survive in the army.

  This is a typical local army, and Winters tries to make every ten-man militia from the same village as much as possible.

   Because when there was a beast disaster a while ago, all the young men in Wolf Town participated in the beast trapping team.

   So who in the Centurion is capable, who is honest and reliable, who speaks and who is willing to listen... After the test of a beast disaster, Winters knew something about these.

   The ten commanders he appointed were all candidates who could convince the public, but there were no militiamen who were unconvinced.

   Except for Pierre Mitchell.

   "Brother Winters." At the dining table of Mitchell's house, Pierre was still uneasy: "Why am I not the ten commander?"

   Without waiting for Winters to answer, Girard reprimanded with a sullen face: "You are on duty, and you need to be called a commander or a centurion. I dared to call a commander that way when I was on duty, and I'll give you all you can eat with a whip."

   Ever since Pierre joined the militia, Girard has been on fire.

  Gillard couldn't beat his wife, so he could only count on his son to persevere, rather than die. Unexpectedly, Pierre is also a **** in front of his mother.

  Old Mr. Mitchell is now angry when he sees Mr. Mitchell.

   "What's the matter." Pierre whispered.

"No, listen to your father, it's very important." Madame Mitchell shook her son's arm and said gently: "You don't think it's a big problem, but being heard by others will destroy M. Montagne's prestige. The second lieutenant has already helped you a lot, don't cause trouble to those who have helped you."

  Pierre was not afraid of his father, but he was afraid of his mother. Mrs. Mitchell spoke, and Pierre was silent.

  Girard said angrily, "Wait, boy. When you get to the barracks, people like you will keep you obedient for a few days."

   Leisure time after dinner—also jokingly called "gentlemen's time" by the Mitchells' maids—men moved to the living room as usual.

   There were no other guests today, and Girard lay comfortably in the leather chair, filling his pipe, pouring wine, and chatting casually with Winters.

   In the past, there was no Pierre in this room, and sometimes there were priests, old Dussacs, and the owner of the estate on other leather chairs.

   But since Pierre's name was written on the roster, Mr. Mitchell elder tacitly allowed Mr. Mitchell to join.

  Pierre held it aside for a long time, and finally he couldn't hold back and asked again: "Then why is Vasya able to be the ten commander?"

   My little friend became the ten commander, but he was still the main soldier, why? Why? Mr. Mitchell was full of this.

  Gillard was about to get angry when Winters comforted old Dussack and explained seriously: "Because Vashka is older than you."

   "Just because of this?"

   "The Dussacks in the Centurion are all too young. If you are nineteen, you are also the ten commander."

  Pierre was speechless, and after a while he couldn't help but ask again, "When will we be able to practice firing guns?"

   "What are they practicing now?" Girard also asked the second lieutenant curiously.

   "Queue, I plan to focus on practicing marching in the next few days."

   "It's just walking around the playground. It's very boring." Pierre hurriedly said: "Circle after circle, like a donkey pulling a mill."

  Gillard stretched out his hand and hit his son on the back of the head: "Don't underestimate the march, the march is a matter of knowledge. The old duke has led us to victory after battle by marching."

  [Note: The old duke refers to the "butcher" Duke of Arleans]

   "What kind of knowledge? Isn't it just walking?" Pierre said aggrievedly, covering his head.

   "Let you take a centenarian to walk 60 miles a day, from Langtun to Gervodan, with no one left behind. Can you do it?"

   "Yes, why not? Why don't you just follow?"

"You can be a fart! If you don't have the ability, you can be tough." Girard slapped his son again angrily: "Let you lead the team, you can't walk 30 miles away, and the person at the head and the person behind you can be two kilometers away. You don't even know if someone deserted halfway along the way!"

  Old Dussack looked at Winters: "Second lieutenant, train him hard and let this kid suffer a little, otherwise he won't know what to do."

   "I've been training in the town square these days." Winters replied with a smile: "Tomorrow I'm going to take them for a walk in the wild."

  …

  …

  The Wolf Town Centuries in different clothes are marching in single column in the wilderness.

   Pierre carried a musket and limped forward, each step painfully.

   But the queue kept urging him to move forward, making him unable to rest.

   In the morning, the second lieutenant handed out the weapons from the town arsenal to the militia, and Pierre thought he was going to practice firing guns today.

   He rushed to the front and grabbed a arquebus, happily thinking he got a big toy.

  While Pierre was waiting to fire the pellets, the second lieutenant ordered everyone to bring their weapons and follow him.

  This walk is a whole day.

  I don’t know when we left the road, the team went all the way to the Big Horn River in the wild, and then marched along the river bank.

   There was laughter and laughter in the queue at first, but in the end there was only painful silence.

  Pierre can hardly even breathe now. He only feels stiff and sore muscles in his legs, and his feet, shoulders, and crotch hurt as if being rubbed by iron sand.

   has completely lost the concept of east, west, northwest, and he just followed numbly.

   The luckiest militiamen were given only one bow, and the unwound single bow was like a stick in his hand.

   The militiamen who were assigned armed swords and halberds were slightly less fortunate, and these two weapons were heavier.

   The worst unlucky guy is carrying a musket. The arquebuses I bought from Gévordan were 16 pounds each, and they didn't have a belt.

   Pierre seemed to have a thousand weights on his shoulders, and the flesh on his shoulders was knocked unconscious.

   He finally understood the faint smile on the second lieutenant's face when he saw him rushing for a musket.

   "That fellow," Pierre thought bitterly, "must be comfortable riding on his silver-gray steed, smiling and watching us suffer."

   Right next to the surging Big Horn River, Pierre, who was on the verge of the limit, had an idea: just jump into the river, and he would not suffer such torture.

   He was startled by his own thought and shook his head sharply.

There was a voice in his heart that kept tempting him: "Why do you want to find yourself guilty? Why don't you take a break? Take a break, you will be very comfortable. Don't care what others think, why should they? evaluate you?"

   Finally, Pierre threw away all his self-respect. He sat on the ground and shouted loudly as if to declare to someone, "I'm not leaving!"

  The people behind him just glanced at him, silently bypassed him and continued to follow the queue, as did everyone.

   Pierre, who was sitting on the ground, first felt an indescribable joy, followed by an endless sense of shame.

   He lay on the ground and buried his head in the wormwood.

   "Huh? What's wrong with you?" was Vashka's voice.

   "I can't walk," said Pierre, sniffling. He wiped his face indiscriminately, not wanting others to see that he was crying: "I don't want to leave."

  Washka picked up Pierre's musket: "Keep going."

  Pierre stood up on his hands and nodded silently.

  Washka carried Pierre's gun and his halberd on his shoulders, Pierre limped after him, and the two rejoined the queue.

   "Vassya," whispered Pierre.

"Um?"

   "I know why you can be the captain of the ten."

   The loud trumpet came from the front, and someone was shouting: "Rest in place! Rest in place!"

   Hearing the order to rest, the weary militiamen threw their weapons and collapsed to the ground.

  Pierre took off his boots impatiently, his feet were swollen like radishes, and a series of blisters had been ground.

   "I feel like my crotch is worn out." Wasika said with a wry smile.

  Pierre didn't answer, and the area between his legs was also burning hot.

   A person came from the front of the queue, and the militiamen along the way bowed their heads in salute - they couldn't stand up.

   walked up to Vasica and Pierre, who they recognized as Lieutenant Montagne.

The second lieutenant, carrying a musket, passed by the two Dussacs and nodded lightly at them.

"Gentlemen."

   "Sir."

   passed by like this, and the second lieutenant walked towards the back of the queue.

   "Did you see it?" Vashka stabbed Pierre with the elbow, and whispered, "With a saber and a gun, I walked all the way as if nothing happened."

   Only then did Pierre remember: Lieutenant Winters Montagne was not riding when he set off.

  …

For several days after   , Winters led the Centuries through the field every day.

   The militiamen from peasant households generally did not complain much, because participating in the training not only managed the food, but also got the salary.

  Strictly speaking, Winters' training intensity is not high, about fifteen kilometers a day on a cross-country march, with only weapons.

   If it is a standing army, the field march must be at least 20 kilometers per day, or on the premise of carrying a full set of weapons and camps.

   All the little Dussacs were still tortured to the point of crying, and according to Girard, Pierre even urinated blood. But this kid didn't say anything to discourage him, he went back home and fell asleep.

   Pierre suffered, and the Mitchells saw it in their eyes and felt pain in their hearts.

   But Gillard still patted his chest and said to the second lieutenant: "Train this kid hard, he'll be mine if he's exhausted."

   Ellen Mitchell became more and more intolerable, and every bruise, redness and blister on Pierre's body made her suffer.

   Winters was surprised to see a subtle shift in the wind at the Mitchells.

  Mrs. Mitchell, who advocated sending her son to the militia, now hopes to hire someone to serve Pierre, or simply let Pierre leave the militia, and wait until she is full.

   And Girard, who was originally adamantly opposed to Pierre's entry into service, is now reluctant to agree to substitute, nor to allow Pierre to leave the militia.

The   Mitchells had another big fight.

   In the end, Pierre made his own decision: "Dad, Mom, stop arguing, I want to stay in the militia."

  …

   Time flies by.

   On the fourth Tuesday in October, a foggy day, Winters received the order.

  The militiamen gathered in the town square, and their families came to see them off.

  The son leaves his parents, the husband leaves his wife, the father leaves his children, and the elder brother leaves his younger brother... a miserable scene.

   No matter how many times he went through it, Winters couldn't feel numb to it.

   He couldn't bear to watch, and silently went to help Girard load the car.

  The newly cultivated land is sparsely populated, and most of the time along the way, you have to camp in the wild. Cooking utensils and food were loaded into four double carts, and the tents were carried by the militiamen.

The draught horse and the cart were bought by Girard with the money from the town. Girard Mitchell was not only a good mayor, but a good man, and Winters had nothing but inexpressible gratitude to him. .

   Winters bought an extra double cart, which he only said was a second lieutenant's suitcase, but the lion cub was actually hidden inside.

  Bell was no longer able to take care of the lion cub, so Winters took the lion cub from the hunter's hut to the police station and fed it with boiled minced meat mixed with goat's milk.

   Seeing that the body of the little guy is getting bigger and bigger every day, it has grown to seventeen pounds in a blink of an eye, and it looks like a big dog when hugged.

   Winters couldn't help but seriously consider Bell's proposal: give the "white lion" to a certain Hed tribe on the grassland, and then don't have to worry about it, because the other party will definitely be happy to present the white lion to their Khan King.

   Sounds absurd at first, but it’s feasible when you think about it.

  The life of seeing is unbearable to die. He really can't bear to let Winters kill the little lion who will lick him intimately.

   No matter how bad it is, it is also a way to take the lion to the wilderness far away from Wolf Town.

   So Bell and the Cubs both appeared in the team, and Bell served in place of Ashley Wilkes.

   It's just that the little hunter didn't know that Winters returned the money from the Wilkes family in private.

   is reflected in writing, Bell is not a substitute, but a voluntary service, which can also be deducted from Dussac's first period of active service.

  Ralph should also hope that his son can be accepted by the Dusa again.

  No one came to **** Bell, and no one came to **** the pony Anglo. The two orphaned boys sat in the cart and silently watched the militiamen who were warm with their families in the town square.

   Among the people who came to see him off, there was another person who should not have appeared here: Franz "Famous Teacher" Schmidt.

  Winters walked to the southeast corner of the town square. In an unobtrusive corner, the old gray-haired executioner was talking to his grandson.

  The executioner's grandson was wearing a plain grey coat, completely different from the costumes that they displayed on the execution ground.

  The old executioner came to see his grandson Heinrich Schmidt.

  Seeing the second lieutenant coming, Franz took off his hat and bowed deeply: "Thank you for giving Heinrich a chance, my lord."

   "Hands up."

   No matter how you explain it, the executioner is killing. It's a cursed profession, and "executioner's bastard" is the most vicious swear word.

  People need executioners, but they also despise, spurn, and stay away from executioners.

   Because there is no other profession or crowd to accept them, the executioner often becomes a family craft in the end.

  Many families of executioners were appointed executioners because of their reputation, including the Schmidt family.

  Famous teacher Franz also dreamed of restoring the family's reputation. If not, at least let the descendants get rid of the fate of the executioner.

  The draw of Wolftown was an opportunity, after serving as a soldier, Heinrich would have the right to purchase new land in the Republic first.

   There, he may be able to remain anonymous, bury his family's past, and have the life of an ordinary farmer.

   "Don't be afraid of hardship, don't be homesick..." Franz rambled.

  Heinrich nodded, but what his grandfather did next took him by surprise.

  The old executioner took out the decapitation sword from the carriage and gave it to his grandson solemnly.

   "Bring this." Franz said word by word: "Remember the pain this sword brought to the Schmidt family, always remember."

   "Then what are you going to do?" Heinrich held the big sword in a panic.

   Franz sighed: "I should retire too."

  …

   "Brother Winters! The car is ready!" Charles ran to Winters and said out of breath, "When are you leaving?"

   "Charle." Winters patted Charles on the shoulder: "You have to call me a centurion now."

The    Wolf Town Centuries, with a full staff of 80 soldiers, two gendarmes, and an officer, have all arrived.

   Two gendarmerie places, appointed by Winters to Charles and Heinrich Schmidt.

   The procession was arranged in a neat two-way column, and Father Kaman presided over the blessing ceremony for the departure.

After the    ceremony, Kaman led two horses from the back of the church yard, one with a saddle and the other with a bag.

   "How can we do without a priest?" the young priest asked with a smile.

   Brother Reid walked over from the crowd seeing off: "Brother Kaman, do you want to follow?"

   "I don't worry if I don't follow." Kaman's tone seemed to beg for forgiveness.

   "Oh, you're gone, it's no use for me to stay here." Rhett sighed and said to the second lieutenant, "Boy, do you still need a scribe."

   Winters is no nonsense: "I'll let Ciel go and pack your bags."

   "What luggage do I have?" The old altar monk laughed: "When I came, I only had the wind on my sleeves, and I naturally left with only the wind on my sleeves."

   "Angelo!"

   The little horse herd came running in response.

   "Have Redmane saddle ready for Brother Rhett to ride."

   "You kid, I think you want me to die." The old friar glared at the second lieutenant: "Let me ride this old bone? You can't think of it. Don't you have a big car? I'll take the car."

   After saying that, the old monk walked towards the carriage dashingly.

  Winters stepped on Qiang Luck, his eyes swept across the faces of the soldiers, the wolf town in the morning mist, the forest, mountains and Wannian snow hidden in the distance in the distance.

   "Let's go." He clamped his horse's rib lightly, and was the first to walk out of the town square.

  The Montagne Centuries from Langtun Town were ordered to go to the Camp in Maplestone City.

   Old man Reid who almost had a heart attack: You want me to die!

   Thanks to the book friends who voted for the recommendation before;

   Thanks to book friends for the recommendation ticket of Stone last night;

Thanks to the book friend 20181010005850390, an uncle in the ideal 30s, the yellow rabbit of the flower gardener, the book friend 20191007064305842, walking on the road in the waves, calm gray, Jiang Xue Diao Weng, technology changes life, Kepler B22, sky lens , 92 sauce Mengmeng, 54 months, scorpion, don't know what it's called, Deng sama, last night's stone, Shili Fang, soda bird, hanging ass, moonlight front, no is Xiaogao, crazy cloth wind, book friends 120325172509365 recommended tickets, thank you all. Behart.

   (end of this chapter)