[center][h1]Chapter 1[/h1]
[h3]Baptism of Fire[/h3][/center]
[hr]
To say that Frederick felt nervous would have an a colossal understatement. He had been nervous when he proposed to his fiancee, or when he had asked her father for her hand in marriage. He had been nervous the first time he kissed a girl and the first time he had ridden a horse. No, this was not nervousness, this was fear.

For three days now the 6th Dragoons had been riding Northeast along the main coach road, all the world drowned out by the noise of thousands of steel shod hooves clattering on the flagstone. They could not see the enemy, nor smell him, but they could hear him. The occasional "boom" of a distant cannon told them all that the war was still on. Rumours circulating throughout the regiment had been confirmed by the Lieutenant that morning, Imperial troops were trying to force the bridge at Darmstadt. The town had a sizeable garrison, a narrow bridge, and steep river banks to protect it. It was no place for cavalry. 

Instead, in a cloud of dust, a trooper from the 3rd Dragoons had arrived that morning with orders for the 6th to begin riding north. They were ordered to parallel the river, in an effort to find another crossing and perhaps turn the enemy flank, or the very least relieve the pressure on the garrison at Darmstadt. 

"Sergeant Hecht!" He was startled out of his thought by the crashing bark of Captain Kraus who was cantering along the column toward them. Like the rest of the regiment he already looked woebegone, the green dye having run into his white pants, and the cheap metal helmet showed signs of damage already. 

"Sir!" Hecht identified himself, raising a hand unnecessarily, almost like a school boy in class when the teacher called his name. He jerked his hand down quickly; the Captain ignored the motion.

"Take your Squadron and relieve Sergeant Paulsen, he has C Squadron scouting ahead of this mess." He gestured to the mismatched trail behind them. Mess was being generous, the two infantry regiments that had come with them were more a series of gaggles strung out along the roadway. The only two nine pounder guns that could be spared were being towed even further back by lame looking oxen that out likely not even make good eating. What a way to ride to war.

"Yes sir." It was all he could say as he turned his horse off the road and into the rolling green grass that made this particular part of the country an absolute cavalry paradise. In truth he was happy to be here, and even more so now that he was off the road. Yes, he was afraid, but a small part of him could not ignore the grand adventure he was now on. "D Squadron, with me!"

The men and women of his small command swung their own mounts off the road and followed him into the long grass. He could hear more than a few sighs of relief. Riding on flagstone tended to jar your back at the best of times. 

They rode in silence for the next several minutes, two thin lines of horsemen on the massive expanse of green. Other squadrons watched them go with something akin to jealousy. The whole regiment wanted to be riding in search of the enemy but spare mounts were scarce and the Colonel had forbidden any free range riding. There was always some infantryman who would like to fill a saddle, but horses to mount them on were almost as rare as good cannon.

It did not take them long to reach the head of the column and Hecht quickly spotted Sergeant Paulsen, a dour looking older man with a head of grey hair, drooping moustache and runny nose. He commanded the current scouts and cast a disgusted eye over the troopers who rode behind Hecht.

"How the hell we're expected to win a war with this..." He jutted his chin toward the line of horsemen, Hecht strongly suspected Paulsen meant the female troopers who were quite evidently a woman beneath her helmet. "I will never know."

"Well, we can't all be possessed of the wisdom of old age, yet." Hecht retorted, blushing slightly as he heard someone snigger behind him. "You are relieved." He continued before the older Sergeant could reply.

Paulsen gave him a glare that could have killed before violently wrenching his horses around so violently that it squealed in pain, shouting at his own squadron to follow him. A few of them offered waves as they rode by, but the majority just looked tired.

"Right, up to us then. Welser, Schuster, Ulmer, you're up front. The rest of you fan out on either side of the roadway. Stay within eyesight of each other. We're looking for a ford, which means we need to get to the river. If you run into trouble, don't play hero, get back here and we'll deal with it."

There was a smattering of "Yes Sergeant" and the Squadron broke up, riding ahead of the column, hooves now sinking slightly into the fresh earth. This truly was the breadbasket of empire. There was little cover for anyone among the rolling hills, though dead ground was all around. Ahead, Hecht was not quite sure how far, was the river. Here the road would turn North and continue to match the river but at a distance to great to spot any useful ford. They would be forced to leave the roadway. 

A thick band of trees, now only a dark green smear on the edge of the brighter green hills, marked the river itself. Smoke could be seen some ways further north, likely the sight of a village, and villages sometimes meant river crossings.

Hecht checked his sabre to make sure it was loose in the scabbard, tugged out his carbine and ensured it was loaded, and then rode forward along the verge of the roadway. Trooper Sperber, trumpet thumping into his thigh, rode close behind.