Joe sat at the bar of a tavern inside the Jelbegi Castle. The other patrons, mostly soldiers bearing the heraldry of the FCC, avoided sitting near him. He was drunk, and in a dark mood. The Free Companies had lost every single one of their villages to an unholy alliance of Italians and homosexuals. Soon, these cruel invaders would begin attacking castles and cities. Cavalry was useless in castles and cities.
He was useless--powerless to stop the onslaught.
He swallowed the rest of his of Miller High Life. He threw the can over his shoulder, then reached into the dark, cardboard cavern of the half-empty thirty-pack on the counter and pulled out another beer.
The bartender, a fine Destrier, approached with some caution, a confused look on his dumb horse face. "My lord," he offered, "we have beer on tap if you'd like. We have lots of beer--you don't need to keep bringing your own."
Joe dribbled a mouthful of beer onto the counter. "Shut up."
"I-"
"Jesus, you don't even have hands. What the fuck are you doing back there?"
"You had the last bartender replaced, sir. Said you were more comfortable speaking with horses."
"Right you are." Joe sipped his beer, then turned in his seat and threw the can across the room. It exploded against a distant wall. He pulled a fresh one out of the box in front of him.
"Sir," the horse persisted, "Do you want to try one of our seasonal brews?"
Joe looked at the horse, silent. He drank from his can. The horse opened it's mouth to speak but Joe, still drinking, raised a finger. He drank at a slow, steady pace, his eyes locked on the horse's, until the can was empty, which took about five minutes. "Bartender," he declared, "This is the Champagne of Beers. The best brew in the world."
The animal didn't seem convinced, but nodded. "Right. Well, I guess you couldn't find a brew like it elsewhere. You could drink from one side of town to the other--do the whole village--and not find a thing like it..."
Joe wasn't listening. A voice echoed in his head, over and over. The whole village, the whole village, the whole village. He'd heard those words before, years ago...
In Vietnam.
Joe had been a rifleman--just another pair of boots. His platoon had been tasked with defending a little cluster of villages. A foolish assignment. He set up inside a hooch and waited. They sat there for hours, then days, waiting for the enemy was sure to come.
Then, one moonless night, the world reverberated with the crack of rifles and the screams of the dying. From his little house, Joe watched slivers of tracer fire stich themselves through the fabric of the night. Bullets hissed and cracked at super-sonic speeds around him, tearing through the dry lumber of the building he was in. After a few minutes the thing was ablaze, and Joe had to move--all this without firing a shot. He could only watch and run, helplessly, from fighting position to fighting position as they all were overrun by VC.
He got to his PL, in the heart of the surviving hamlet. The RTO was shouting grid coordinates into his handset. The PL looked at Joe, and at the wounded and dying around them all. He said to Joe, "Just run. We're dropping arty on us. We're gonna do the whole village if it means keeping it out of Charlie's hands."
Joe had ran, then.
A burst of clapping and laughter roused Joe from his flashback. He looked around the crowded tavern, which had broken into sudden applause. He was confused, some part of him still running through the dark jungles of south east Asia.
Joe grabbed at a passerby. "What the fuck's going on, sergeant?"
"Uh." The man swallowed, his eyes clearly recognizing Joe. "HoC is back apparently." The man shrugged. "Messenger came in and said so." He shrugged again, uncertain.
"Don't shrug at me boy, I was in the 'Nam."
"W-what?"
Joe stood, then peed himself. "I said," his voice rising, "VIETNAM!" He shoved past the man, cans of the Champagne of Beers clenched in each fist. He could hear the sound of gunfire and the scream of falling helicopters. Somebody--probably VC--stepped into his path.
Joe barked, then bit the man's face. He went down, hard, giving Joe room to leap out of the tavern and into the cool night air. He removed the rest of his clothing--finally free--and leapt onto the back of a passing horse. "TAKE ME TO CAMBODIA! WE NEED TO GET OUT!" he shouted. The animal leapt to his bidding, galloping towards the open castle gate and the safety of any place but there.
