Sturm Country (Musket Men Book 9), page 1
MUSKET MEN
BOOK 9
STURM COUNTRY
By Gilbert M. Stack
Amazon Edition
Copyright 2025 by Gilbert M. Stack
Cover Copyright 2025 by Chris L. Adams
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Map of the Three Empires and the Surrounding Regions, 1197
Table of Contents
Map of the Three Empires and the Surrounding Regions, 1197
Dedication
The Commandments of Wotan
The Rule of Wotan
Prologue: Treason
Chapter One: Enlisting
Chapter Two: Caldor Returns
Chapter Three: The Grandmaster of the Granite Knights
Chapter Four: Disappointing News
Chapter Five: The Earl of Fortaleza
Chapter Six: Countess Gudrun Adler
Chapter Seven: Monsignor Martin
Chapter Eight: Lieutenant Sherman Bell
Chapter Nine: A Little Information
Chapter Ten: Running
Chapter Eleven: Sergeants
Chapter Twelve: Southern Brothers
Chapter Thirteen: The Plan
Chapter Fourteen: The Traitors
Chapter Fifteen: Zain’s Mission
Chapter Sixteen: The First Battle of Forte Firme
Chapter Seventeen: Hope and Pride
Chapter Eighteen: Baron Spero
Chapter Nineteen: Vigilância Sul
Chapter Twenty: A Final Glorious Gesture
Chapter Twenty-One: Instructions
Chapter Twenty-Two: Stirring Up a Little Discontent
Chapter Twenty-Three: Enemy Sighted
Chapter Twenty-Four: First Blows
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Slopes of Puoco Firme
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cavalry and Muskets
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Assassin
Chapter Twenty-Eight: More Bad News
Chapter Twenty-Nine: New Targets
Chapter Thirty: Preparing for Battle
Chapter Thirty-One: Knives
Chapter Thirty-Two: Cannon
Chapter Thirty-Three: Opposing Orders
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Leadership of the City
Chapter Thirty-Five: Effective Defense
Chapter Thirty-Six: Panic
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Tactics
Chapter Thirty-Eight: Recognition
Chapter Thirty-Nine: Grape Shot
Chapter Forty: A Partial Victory
Chapter Forty-One: A Treasonous Invitation
Chapter Forty-Two: Trapped
Chapter Forty-Three: Another Setback
Chapter Forty-Four: Contar Tiago Lopes
Chapter Forty-Five: An Unmistakable Message
Chapter Forty-Six: Arrests
Chapter Forty-Seven: A Daring Plan of Attack
Chapter Forty-Eight: The Rule of Wotan
Chapter Forty-Nine: A Sleepless Night
Chapter Fifty: Darwish’s Charge
Chapter Fifty-One: Fighting Back
Chapter Fifty-Two: A Small Mistake
Chapter Fifty-Three: Sturm Front
Epilogue
Excerpt from Leverage
The Kriegsturm Calendar
Ranks in Kriegsturm and Anjou
Ranks in Ahl-Alnaar
Army Units in Kriegsturm and Anjou
Army Units in Ahl-Alnaar
About the Author, Gilbert M. Stack
About the Cover Artist and Mapmaker, Chris L. Adams
Other Works by Gilbert M. Stack
Contact Gilbert M. Stack
Dedication
This one is for Larry Correia and his excellent novel, Son of the Black Sword. Correia always—and I mean always—gives his readers an action-packed tale focused on wonderful characters, but in Son of the Black Sword he did something which reminds me very much of Marshal Sturm. He created a hero who is completely devoted to enforcing the laws of his world just as the Sturm Front is dedicated to living the Rule and Law of Wotan. And I really enjoyed getting into his head and watching his hero do what was right even when it hurt him to stay the course. Thank you, Mr. Correia, for Son of the Black Sword and all of your novels.
The Commandments of Wotan
Thou shalt always remain faithful to Wotan.
Thou shalt always defend your king.
Thou shalt always maintain your oaths.
Thou shalt always face your honorable foes blade-to-blade on the field of battle.
The Rule of Wotan
A man is:
Brave
Loyal
Trustworthy
Strong
Steadfast
Zealous
And
Right
Prologue: Treason
Contar Afonso Borges’ Estate, Al-Andalus, Kriegsturm
The Worm Moon, Day 31, Year 1197
Sir Leandro Lima, Knight Captain and second in command of the Order of Granite Knights, kept his face impassive as he entered the room with the treacherous scum who had gathered at the invitation of Contar Afonso Borges to discuss their response to the invasion in strength of the empire of Ahl-Alnaar Ashomal. Were they honorable men—were he still an honorable man—the only response to the incursion would be to rally in support of the high king with every man they could arm and fight to the last drop of blood to drive the southern worshippers of Naar out of Al-Andalus again. But the high kings and their privy counsellors had long ago lost the right to be called men of Wotan. They would do nothing to counter this invasion. After all, it was decades of their weakness that had prompted this latest attack. It was almost as if they wanted to lose the southernmost province of the high kingdom.
“So, since we are all finally here,” Contar Afonso Borges announced, “we can begin.” The chief viper of this nest of snakes did not rise from his chair to greet Lima, but gestured grandly at a place close to him at the upper end of the table. That was probably because of all the men present, Lima was the only one with a professional military force at his command. The Granite Knights were far fewer in number than they had been even a hundred years ago, but they were still worth any four of the rest of cowardly scum who dwelt in Al-Andalus.
He took the chair without comment, letting his eyes pass over the other twenty-two men that Borges had gathered. Most were inconsequential knights—northerners whose grandfathers’ or great grandfathers or even great-great grandfathers had performed some favor for either Harald the Conqueror or Wilhelm the Scourge or performed well in their armies and been granted a small fief in Al-Andalus as their reward. As a rule of thumb, the descendants were never the men the grandfathers were. Greatness always seemed to skip a generation or two, which was why the Granite Knights took vows of celibacy and elected men to high office on the strength of their faith and the merit of their skills at arms and warfare.
Lima did not shy from the fact that he was no longer worthy of his own high office. His faith had been shaken by two generations of losses and abandonment by the men Wotan had placed over them. His order’s millennia of service, fighting back against the worshippers of Naar was at an end and he did not want to lead his brothers to their final ignominy at the hands of those southern bastards.
With Lima finally seated, Borges stood. He had always been a smarmy character who got along well with the last earl of Fortaleza. They were very alike in their love of sensuous pleasure and enjoyment of humiliating all who were socially beneath them. It saddened Lima that he and the contar both shared Peosan blood.
“When I invited you here,” Borges began, “I thought it was to discuss how we could tip the scales in favor of Joachim Adler and so secure from him very preferable status in the new Al-Andalus that he would effectively rule.”
“Adler’s dead,” one of the other contars interrupted. “His own men killed him when Sturm put a one thousand crown price on his head.”
Sturm was the one bright note in the disaster that Kriegsturm had made of its southernmost province. A genuine war hero, if the high kingdom had been willing to support him with even a couple of army regiments, it was possible that Ahl-Alnaar would have hesitated to invade. But sending him south alone, with only his privately raised militia had sent a clear signal that the high kingdom did not plan to contest anything that happened in Al-Andalus.
“Both of those things are undoubtedly true,” Borges admitted. “When I first heard of it, the speed with which that tyrant—that butcher—destroyed Joachim shocked me. But now that I reflect on what I learned about Sturm during my time behind the barriers, I think this outcome was inevitable. Marshal Sturm is a very hard man and Joachim was not hard in the ways that really mattered. Let’s face it. That is why we were all hoping Joachim would win.”
Men nodded in agreement all around Lima and he had to admit that while he hadn’t wanted the pretender to win, Borges’ assessment was correct. Joachim Adler would never have exerted any real control over these men. They would have all paid him lip service and fawned at the appropriate times and been left alone while Adler busied himself with his harem of pretend wives and prostitutes.
“So, now we must make an accommodation with Sturm,” one of the barons declared with a dramatic sigh.
An expression of concern lit up Borges’ face. “What? Why would we do that?”
“I can think of two reasons,” the baron responded. “First, as you have just pointed out, Sturm is a very hard man and it is exceedingly dangerous to be on the wrong side of a hard man’s temper. And second, my sources tell me that Ahl-Alnaar has invaded Al-Andalus with a sizeable army.”
The news surprised no one, Lima noted. Bad news always traveled quickly.
“Yes, they have,” Borges conceded. “Does anyone have firm numbers on the size of the invading army?”
Numbers, most of them absurd, began to be shouted from around the table.
“Fifty thousand.”
“No, it is seventy thousand!”
“I heard it was a hundred thousand.”
Lima decided it was time to bring them back to reality. Good decisions could never be made if their basis was bad information. “Anyone who believes those numbers is a fool. Ahl-Alnaar has come forward with between twenty and thirty thousand men. There may be reinforcements coming, but at this point, twenty or thirty thousand is all that we face.”
“Do we know how many of those are Ghulam?” the baron asked, a glimmer of hope appearing on his face.
“I do not,” Lima admitted before bringing the man back to reality. “But even without the Ghulam, we will be looking at a substantial, superbly trained, cavalry force. As for the infantry?” he shrugged. “Historically, Ahl-Alnaar’s infantry has not been as big a problem as its cavalry. That is why they need their Ghulam—to stiffen their common soldiers’ spines and break holes in the enemy lines that their less capable infantry can then exploit.”
“What about their artillery?” a man called out. “Everyone knows that Ahl-Alnaar’s artillery is the best in the world.”
“Certainly, they will have artillery,” Lima informed him. “But I suspect that they will not have a lot of heavy artillery with this army. Not only would that slow them down tremendously, they must expect that Joachim Adler is in control of both Fortaleza and Cidade Foraleza. I do not think they will have prioritized an artillery train. And whatever cannon they did bring, I suspect that they have left it in the passes assaulting my brother knights at Vigilância Sul.”
“But surely, they must also need cannon to conquer Forte Firme,” a knight protested.
Lima shook his head, dismissing the idea. “I suspect not. Its commander was weak and greedy. I think it would have been easy to bribe him into betraying the trust that Kriegsturm placed in him.”
“But not your knights?” another man bitterly pressed.
“No,” Lima confirmed. “I suspect that my brothers were betrayed from the northern side of the pass. Such an assault might have caused them to lose control over the gate blocking traffic north and south and forced them to shelter in their keep. From there they could fire cannon at the pass, but not rapidly enough to cause significant damage—especially if the southerners moved at night.”
“But if you think your fellow knights are still holding out, why are you not trying to rescue them?” another man wanted to know.
Lima wondered if any good could truly come from conversing with such stupid men. “Perhaps you missed the part of our conversation when we discussed the twenty or thirty thousand southern soldiers between us and Vigilância Sul.”
“Which brings us back to the need to make an accommodation with Sturm,” the baron sighed.
“To which I once again ask: Why would we do that?” the treacherous Borges took control of the conversation again. “Does it not make more sense to make an accommodation with Ahl-Alnaar?”
“Not for me, it doesn’t,” Lima told them. “My order has been in the vanguard of every war against Ahl-Alnaar for a millennium. Helping them to win against Sturm would be a form of suicide. Those of us who survived would be forced back into poverty in Kasteel, desperately praying for the high king to come down from the north and restore us to our lands. But let us face facts, the true reason that all of you followed through on gathering here after hearing of Adler’s death is that none of you believe that the high king and his privy council are man enough to do what must be done to hold on to Al-Andalus. Even if Marshal Sturm succeeds in holding out in the short run, it is simply a matter of time before Ahl-Alnaar comes back and triumphs.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
“So why did you come to this meeting then?” another knight wanted to know.
“If Adler had triumphed, I thought that Ahl-Alnaar might have foregone formally conquering the territory. That would have bought my brother knights another generation of fulfilling our obligations to Wotan.”
“You won’t have any knights in another generation,” Borges flatly told him. “Your numbers have been plummeting for the last two hundred years.”
“That is not entirely true,” Lima corrected him. It was not a protest, just a simple statement of fact. “During the reign of the first earl of Fortaleza, we grew mightily. High King Harald and Earl Jacob understood our value and showered upon us the gold we needed to repair our fortresses and grow our numbers. Peosans such as yourself flocked to our banner. It was only after Harald and Jacob’s deaths that our fortunes turned. The second earl cared only about making money and investing in land that brought him even more revenue. He stopped favoring my order almost immediately after inheriting his title. And while Wilhelm the Scourge was mostly successful on the battlefield, his many wars cost a fortune and he covered a growing portion of the costs by lessening his patronage of the Granite Knights.”
“Harald should have given you lands instead of stipends to support your order,” the baron said with surprising bitterness. Perhaps he truly understood that they would not now be in this situation if the Granite Knights had had the resources to hold the passes as they had in days of old.
“The Conqueror didn’t do that because it would have made the Granite Knights independent of him,” Borges noted with his usual insight into the baser motivations of men. “He wouldn’t risk the knights mounting a rebellion against him to free Al-Andalus of both southern and northern rulers.”
“That is almost certainly true,” Lima agreed. “Not that we would have rebelled—we are true men of Wotan. But whatever his reasons, our situation became increasingly bleak when Bloody Hadrada starting losing lands in both the south and the west and then High King Torben bribed the nobility into accepting him by exempting them from most taxation.”
He returned his attention to Borges. “As for your original point about our diminishing numbers, you are also probably correct. I don’t see anything truly reversing our misfortune.”
“I still don’t understand why you’re here then,” one of the knights complained.
“Like all of you, I am looking for a way to survive,” Lima confessed.
“As a knight or as a man?” Borges pressed him.
