Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

Chapter 381: Chapter 37: Muskets and Spears

At last, the Venetian and United Provincials also experienced what it meant to have “connections” in Paratu.

When they arrived at the legion’s Arsenal, there was no need for Winters to talk much. The Arsenal readily agreed to replace Jeska’s company’s weapons and equipment.

The hook spears were changed for brand-new matchlocks and steel crossbows, and the sword shields and extra-long spears were exchanged for ordinary halberds—Colonel Jeska thought that with the level of training the militia had, they were unworthy to be sword shield bearers.

As required by the Colonel, the number of militiamen equipped with guns increased to half of the total number.

Now each hundred-man team had three tents of musketeers and two tents of crossbowmen.

The head of the ordnance department made a big gesture and approved over twenty half armors; thus, Winters gained another tent of armored halberdiers under his command.

Previously, the Arsenal had issued only one kilogram of lead per musketeer, which at most could be melted into thirty-odd lead bullets, not accounting for the gunpowder consumption.

Although the Standing Army’s shooting practice wasn’t extensive, the paltry reserve of thirty-odd bullets per person and a total of six barrels of gunpowder made the three lieutenants dare not use it.

Up to now, the only firing practice Winters’ musketeers had was to take turns shooting aimlessly at the ground.

The purpose was to familiarize these militiamen, who were farmers not long ago, with the sound of gunshots and flashes, so they would not be startled when they really had to fire.

But this time, the legion Arsenal issued six hundred kilograms of lead and sixty barrels of gunpowder to Jeska’s company in one go, and even seemed to be suggesting they were welcome to ask for more.

With the new equipment in hand, the lads cheered merrily. Dusack, in particular, scrambled to be an armored halberdier or a musketeer.

But Winters felt a vague sense of unease.

Pierre was originally assigned as a sword shield bearer, but now Jeska’s company no longer retained sword shield soldiers. Mr. Mitchell didn’t want to be a spearman, so he came running to Winters, pleading to let him try the musket.

“What’s wrong, commander?” Pierre, bursting with excitement, found the Centurion only to discover his furrowed brows and stern expression. “We have new guns, new armor, and enough powder and shot. Why do you seem unhappy?”

“Do farmers feed pigs oats so that the pigs are happy?” Winters asked coldly in return. “Besides, what are you happy about? Don’t you still owe ten lashes?”

…

In accordance with the company commander’s orders, the punishment was carried out before nightfall.

They had just moved the new weapons from the ordnance depot back to the camp when the whipping followed.@@novelbin@@

In the Paratu army, the punishment wasn’t with a common riding crop or hemp rope but a nearly two-meter-long soft whip made of leather strips.

The whip had to be soaked in vinegar before use to ensure that each strike was agonizing for the punished.

Additionally, four lead balls the size of grapes were tied to the tip of the whip to increase its force.

When the experienced military police handled the punishment whip, one lash could split skin and flesh, ten lashes could knock a man unconscious, and thirty lashes could kill a man outright.

The Three Town militiamen, once again, assembled in the small drill ground to witness the punishment.

Lieutenant Montaigne stepped into the drill ground with the punishment whip in hand. Vashka, who was previously acting tough and comforting Pierre with “What’s the big deal about a whipping?”, suddenly realized that his knees were trembling uncontrollably.

The military camp punishments were simple: physical labor, riding the wooden horse—with a musket tied to each leg for a march—whipping, or hanging.

Winters, holding the whip in his hand, also felt a certain uneasiness.

This instrument of punishment had been given to Winters on the first day he arrived at the Maplestone City camp, but he had never used it.

In fact, the harshest punishment Winters had ever meted out to the boys he brought from Wolf Town was physical labor.

“Let’s start with the Centurion!” Winters bit his teeth and, with a grim face, began the roll call. “Vashka Morozov!”

Vashka, his face ashen, stepped out of line.

“Tie him up!”

Two military policemen from the Monta hundred-man team—Xial and Heinrich, sprang to action upon the order.

They brought Vashka next to a large cart, forcing him to kneel in front of the wheel, his hands tightly bound with hemp rope to the carriage.

Xial, sympathetically and silently patted Vashka’s shoulder, while Heinrich gave him a towel to bite on. The two military policemen then turned and walked away.

Now only Vashka remained.

Before his eyes was only the mud-stained cart board, and behind him the unknown timing of the whip and the eyes of everyone else.

Immense humiliation and fear engulfed him.

The sound of the whip tearing through the air came before the strike itself, followed by a pain that pierced to the marrow. Vashka’s breath halted sharply, and before he could recover, the second lash arrived.

The two-meter-long punishment whip was very cumbersome to use, and Winters, gritting his teeth, delivered lash after lash without the slightest restraint.

He now finally understood why the one-eyed Colonel had insisted he carry out the punishment himself—Jeska intended to whip not just the Wolf Town militiamen but also the Wolf Town Centurion.

The Colonel was telling him, “Take a good look, this is the troop you lead.”

The whip lashed not just Vashka but his own face. If the militia’s discipline was lax, was it not ultimately the fault of ineffective control?

During the first three lashes, Vashka managed to keep silent.

After the fourth lash, Vashka began to scream inhumanly.

By the seventh lash, the screams also gradually weakened, and eventually, all that could be heard on the drill ground was the whip’s tip striking his back.

After fifteen lashes, Vashka, bloody and unconscious, was carried away from the drill ground by Xial and Heinrich.

“This is military law! It doesn’t matter if you are a militiaman or a war soldier!” Winters, gripping the whip handle tightly, roared at the parade ground: “Deserting camp, whipping! Theft, cowardice in battle, hanging! Defection, the family is implicated!”

The ranks fell silent as a tomb.

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