[center][h1]Chapter 2[/h1]
[img]https://www.goldmedalwineclub.com/media/gm/user/gmwc/img/russian-river-wine.png[/img]
[h3]The Pursuit[/h3][/center]
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The 6th Dragoons, bloodied and having suffered its first losses, remained in the small village for two days as the least of the wounded rested and those who could recovered their courage. For some the vision of what was to come was to much and they deserted during the long nights punctured by the boom of cannons around Darmstadt. It was a herald of things to come.

On the second day, beneath ominous dark grey skies, the 6th began to move out. The wind had freshened from the South bringing with it the sweet smell of rain and the first drops that "plinked" against helmets as troopers pulled themselves into the saddle. Few spoke as scabbards clinked against stirrups and spurs, instead ensuring their powder would remain dry, most wrapping rags or leather around their carbine breaches to keep out the threatened cloud burst.

A-Squadron was chosen to lead the advance and they moved out quickly across the bridge where the first of their friends had died. The stones were still stained with blood and the butchered carcasses of horses lay nearby. A mound of fresh earth and stone showed where those had died lay buried but nothing else served to remember who had died. 

Hecht forced himself not to look down at the blood as he rode across the bridge. He felt his guts twisting as they rode, he hadn't been able to shit in two days as fear clenched at him. The woods where the Imperial cannon had been seated were empty now as they passed into them, riding among thick trees, the cannon dragged away to be used by the Rhaetian forces ahead of them. 

The crackle of musketry echoed down the long valley, pushed by the ever freshening wind that now plucked at horsehair plumes and jacket lapels. Above the long column of riders the clouds continued to build in a dramatic fashion, made all the more impressive by sunlight striking them from the west. The first rumble of thunder rolled across the land and Hecht saw lightening crackle through the clouds; he had never seen anything like it.

The river was to their right now, running hard and fast southward toward the promised battle. A few bodies in yellow coats lay tumbled next to the road as they went, dark stains showing where blood had seeped from wounds. One, a drummer boy of no more than twelve, was curled around his small drum, the stomach wound that had killed him would not have done so quickly.

There was little conversation in the ranks as they rode and still the rain held back. The clouds looked like massive towers as they advanced toward Hecht and A-squadron in the far distance. They were close enough now to see the first of the powder smoke smearing the skyline and the sound of individual cannon were easy to determine. Hecht swallowed and clutched his reins more tightly with a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening.