Red atop Green

 The crisp air of a cold spring dawn was the first thing Merrick felt on the day of the battle. He hadn’t slept well the night before, mostly due to the ale he had drank with the others in his battalion “for morale.” He wasn’t one for drink, he was a simple man of simple things. He was raised on his family’s farm and he would die there, at least that was the plan until an armoured man on horseback rode into his village with a strangely colourful banner. On the other side of the tent, Lukas was already fully geared up, aside from his helmet, letting the small amount of sunlight which came through the tent play on his head of spiky red hair. Lukas had always been a little odd, the only redhead in the village in generations, athletic compared to the other stockier farm boys, and always full of energy and looking for adventure. That was what had drawn Merrick to him in the first place, despite being the direct opposite of him, having had a reputation for dozing off in the fields. He was a little bit of life in the dull years working the fields, although that energy was the thing that got Merrick into this situation.
Suddenly, something dry and crumbly hit Merrick on the nose.
“Eat up, mate,” Lukas said smiling, “That little biscuit is all you’re getting for your energy today. Better make the most of it before you nod off again”
“Very funny, Lukas,” Merrick mumbled, brushing away the crumbs from his grass-stained head. “How’re you holding up? Last night wasn’t too fun.”
“Last night was a blast! You’re just moody because you passed out after the second song. You are heavier than you look, you know!”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pass me my stuff will you. The legs need a few more minutes, even if the commander thinks otherwise.”
“Alright, see you for practice, assuming Forsyth doesn’t kill you first.”
As Lukas marched out of the tent, Merrick managed to pull himself out of his bed, if you could call it that, and started putting on is his armour. It wasn’t the best armour, that’s for sure, only very thin pieces of metal with a little leather on top. It wouldn’t fully halt a spear, but it would at least weaken the blow. He stumbled out of his tent whilst putting on his boots before joining Lukas at the inspection.
“Where have you been, greenhead?” roared from across from the other end of the line. Commander Forsyth marched over to Merrick. He had the roar of a lion, despite being the size of a small goat. A funny little man with a funny little moustache who could-
“Answer my question, boy. Where were you?”
“He was just helping me with my armour, sir,” Lukas piped up.
“Is that so, ginger?” asked the commander, “Very well, but you must always be ready. We never know when Grustia will attack this camp. If you are asleep, that’s already putting them at an advantage. Alright, kit up.”
Suddenly, a horn blew across the camp. “Men, battle formations!” Forsyth roared, “Cavalry lines behind the infantry! Archers, behind them! Someone fetch me my horse!” This was the day Merrick had been dreading, the first battle. Today could be the day he dies. He turned to Lukas to see not fear, but fire in his eyes. He had a grin from ear to ear. “Alright Merrick, this is what we have been waiting for. The opportunity to protect our homeland! Time to stop this Grustian scum!” This was the most energetic Merrick had ever seen Lukas. They marched to where the other men had lined up and got into position with their spears ready. They hadn’t been given shield, they were only common foot soldiers, expendable.
Merrick scanned the horizon for any sign of the enemy. The camp was surrounded by a forest and a hill so that restricted where they could be. He could see Forsyth riding around the formation on his horse. The same armoured man Lukas had dragged him to several weeks earlier.
“Men of Aritia! Today is our day. Whilst today will be the last day for you, it is only the beginning for Aritia! We will emerge victorious! On the first horn, archers fire. On second, the cavalry charge and on the third horn, the infantry go into the fray. Do not make this your last day, but if it is, go down fighting your best for your families and your home!” If there was one thing Forsyth was good at, it was booming speeches.
A thin black line started to emerge from the top of the hill, slowly getting thicker and thicker until it started to rapidly spread down the hill.
“Archers and cavalry ready!” The first horn blew, and arrows filled the air like a flock of birds. Merrick was not sure if any of them had hit, but they at least slowed down the Grustian approach near the bottom of the hill. Merrick turned to Lukas with a face of worry, only to be met with a face of excitement. The second horn blew. Armoured knights on horseback flew past the lines of infantry, letting Merrick’s face to get hit by the wind and some kicked up dirt. Finally, the third and final horn blew. Lukas smiled at Merrick and sprinted ahead. Merrick jogged closely behind. He could see the two seas of horses become one with both man and horse falling. He saw Lukas running into the fray and picked up the pace to catch up to him.
Merrick thought that Lukas wouldn’t have been the best at fighting. He lacked discipline and never thought things through, but Lukas was like a wild beast. When a footman ran up to him, trying to catch him off guard, Lukas parried away his opponent’s lance and plunged his own into their gut like it was nothing, then proceeded onto the next enemy. Even cavalry wasn’t a problem for him. He simply dodged to the side of the horse and quickly jabbed its shoulder before knocking the rider off his riled mount and pushing his lance through a chink in the knight’s armour like a seasoned seamstress threading a needle. Merrick focused back to his own fights. He saw men on both sides falling, but not yet dead. Their screams filled the air, although it didn’t seem to phase those still fighting, especially Lukas, who kept mowing through footman after footman, not paying attention to the blood spattered over his face. Merrick finally found some solider who didn’t look too frightening and charged up to him with his spear ready, but then he stopped. The opposing soldier had very little armour, especially on his face. He was sweating and shaking. His eyes weren’t full of rage or passion like Lukas’s, but fear. He didn’t want to fight. He must have been conscripted, not really wanting to join the army, just like Merrick. It didn’t matter if they died, it didn’t matter to the nobles, or even to the more prestigious soldiers like Forsyth. It didn’t matter who won…
Merrick felt the wind rush past him… and into his gut? He looked down, he had a large gash running from hip to hip. Trying to plug the blood with his hands, he fell to the ground. He could see Lukas glance over for a second from his fighting.
“MERRICK!” He screamed, running over to Merrick. He held him in his arms. “Merrick, no, you can’t go. You can’t die here. We’ll go back to the village and it will all be-”
Lukas was cut off by an arrow piercing his neck. He fell on top of Merrick, dead. In his last breath, Merrick embraced his friend, slowly waiting for death as their blood turned into a sea of red over the green of the battlefield, surrounded by pointless fighting between insignificant men.

By Murray McKenzie

1330 words.