Barton sat in his sadle, filled with both anxiety and frustration. He turned to the other young pistolier, Galway, mounted next to him, and asked,
“Why wont they let us ride out?”
Barton glanced around him. He was in the middle of one hundred and thirty five other pistoliers, most of them young noblemen like himself, and saw the frustration and fear on their faces, that he knew showed on his. None of them had ever been in a big battle like this before. They had sat on this rise, watching the battle unfold before them. The Greenskin forces descending on the massed infantry below, the infantry fighting viciously, then the Greenskins withdrawing again, only to regroup and attack once more. There had been nearly eleven thousand infantry at the bottom of the rise. Now well over a thousand men had been removed, either dead or dying.
“We must wait for an order to ride. The General must have a plan.” it was just like Galway to trust the general. Barton had much less faith in other men.
From their vantage point, the pistoliers watched as the infantry began to part in the center, making room for the knights positioned behind the main body to ride through. Pendants snapping in the wind, plumes bobbing with the trot of their horses, they rode through. This was the sign most of the Pistoliers had been waiting for. Barton turned to Galway.
“This must be it. We’ll ride in with the knights.”
But as the pistoliers waited, the knights formed up in front of the infantry, making ready, and still no messenger came from the generals staff to herald a glorious charge.

The greenskins were making preparations to repell the charge, but the General was holding back. A rider broke away from the generals staff, galloping back up the slope towards the massed cavalry. To the pistoliers dissapointment, the rider sheered off to the artillery battery. A minute later the cannons and mortars boomed out, crashing into the Greenskins ranks. But there were so many of the cursed things that the artillery only muddied up the ranks a little, blowing the orcs out of their formations. After a few minutes a horn from the Generals staff signaled the Knights to advance. A moment later, after the leader of the knights had rode out in front, yelling something to his men, the heavy war horses began at a trot towards the Greenskins, in an effort to end this stalemate and break the horde.
A pistolier somewhere infront of Barton said loudly,
“Why wont they let us ride? The Knight’s will break them and we will have been wasted! I haven’t even fired a shot yet.”
Nobody answered. Everyone was watching the knights increase their pace to a gallop. In perfect usion the Knights lowered their lances. It definitely looked impressive. A few orcs let fly with bows as the knights entered range. Barton could only see one knights horse fall. The knights kept going, faster and faster towards the wall of green muscle, teeth and sharp, pointy metal. The knights’ trumpets began sounding. Dozens of them. From across the battleground the pistoliers could hear the cheering of the knights.

The impact of the knights on the Greenskin infantry was like water over sand. They hit the orcs, and kept riding over them, eventually losing momentum and slowing to a stop. The melee that broke out was difficult for the onlookers to watch. You could see knights cutting down orcs, but you could also see knights plumes disappearing under orcs, who were mercilessly pressing in on the attackers. Horses were dying, knights were getting wrenched from their saddles, or hideously falling under huge swings of the orcish swords. Greenskins were dying by the dozen, yes, but the cost was horrifying. The pistoliers watched on jelously.
Finally the Generals horn signaled the retreat, and the knights who were still able, swung their horses around and galloped away from the Orcs. Many knights had had their horses killed under them; so they began to run. The Greenskins were heartened by their success and chased the knights with enthusiasm.

Whoever was in charge of the Greenskins was clearly having trouble with controlling his troops, because many of them were trying to follow up the knights’ retreat, while others were holding the line.
In a flurry of movement, the Empire Generals staff broke into movement. Riders galloping everywhere. Including one towards the pistoliers. Clearly the General had seen the weakness in the enemies line that he had been looking for.
Up came the messenger. It was a the Duke of Arschel. Barton knew him well. Arschel was near Bartons home town of Wahnfurt, the closest town to Nuln. He was the leader of the Pistoliers.

The Duke screamed out to his troops,
“Men! We ride to the Greenskins center body! We’re to break them there, or hold them, while the infantry fights through the ‘skins who’re following up the knights, and catch up to us. We’ll have to hold for ten minutes of hard melee or more! Ride on!”
It was the kind of suicide mission that every young nobleman dreamed of. They had ten minutes of combat to either break the enemy, stop them from reinforcing the other orcs, or to die gloriously.
Everyone seemed to have forgotten that a few moments before, triple the number of knights as to the pistoliers had just been handily beaten by the orcs. But as the pistoliers checked their weapons, nobody seemed to think of defeat. Just glory and promotion.

The horn sounded and the lightly armoured pistoliers kicked their horses into a gallop down the slope, swinging out to the right flank of the Empire infantry, who were marching double-time towards the advancing orcs. A cheer went up from the spearmen as the pistoliers rode past.
The orcs saw the pistoliers riding past but made no attempt to attack them. They kept going. They wanted another shot at the infantry.

The rest of the Greenskin army who had held their ground saw the pistoliers coming and began to prepare again. Barton didn’t notice the infantry clashing behind him. Or the mortars hitting the infantry infront of him. He was only aware of cocking his pistols, and watching as the front of the pistoliers formation firing their weapons and crashing into the Greenskins. Like the knights before them, the pistoliers had enough momentum to ride over the orcs for half a minute of so. Barton saw men engaging orcs all around him. He saw one infront of him, swing an axe at a pistolier, Barton fired a shot at the greenskin, puncturing its chest. The orc cut the pistolier down, but fell on the ground, writhing in bloody pain. Barton dropped the pistol and fired another into an orc further to his right. He drew another two pistols from the holsters and tried to find new targets. Galway was firing away to his left. Orcs were far more aggressive on that side, and were hacking down pistoliers, pressing forward, trying to cut the riders formation in two. It was working. Barton fired two shots into an orc that was trying to tear a man from his saddle.

Far behind the Pistoliers, the Empire infantry was tangled up with the Orcs who had chased the Knights. The Empire infantry had long ago lost their pretty lines and square formations, now they were fighting viciously or uselessly, often being killed in four against one fights. However, the orcs were losing. The Empire had enough weight to drive the Orcs backwards on the edges of their halberds. They had a goal in mind. Push the orcs back, and keep up the momentum to drive the main body back. And the noblemen leading the infantry reminded them all the time.
“The pistoliers would hold the main orc body back! Just keep pushing forward!”
And the infantry responded. They threw the orcs into a retreat, and chased them down, killing them by the scores. As the infantry ran, the scene of the outnumbered and surrounded pistoliers fighting the main body ahead filled their minds. As they ran towards the riders, they (like the well disciplined troops on Nuln that they were,) unconsciously regrouped into their detachment and parent unit formations. When they hit the main Orc body exactly 6 minutes after the pistoliers had engaged, most of the riders were dead, dismounted, or wounded.

Barton had fired all of his pistols ages ago. He had drawn his sword as was desperately trying to fend the Orcs off. His beloved horse Brunhild had been cut down underneath him, but he had wounded the Orc who had done it, sending it reeling backwards, as Barton threw himself back to his feet. For a few panicking and disoriented moments, Barton thought he was the only Pistolier left, but he glanced behind him and saw more.
With the same glance he had seen the Infantry on its way from having routed the Orcs they were sent against.
Barton was no hero with a sword. He was a fair shot with his pistols, but with a sword he was feeble at best. The orcs pressing in on him seemed to realise this, and several tried to lunge towards him. A dismounted man who Barton didn’t know, fired a pistol from behind, and moved forward to help, as Barton slashed wildly, trying to keep the Orcs at bay. Luckily the man next to him knew his way around a sword, and brought his sword down across an Orcs face. The pistoliers were backing into a defensive group, with no more than half still mounted.
With a cheer the Empire infantry crashed into the Orcs, instantly relieving the pressure from the Pistoliers. A Major General who was leading the Infantry came galloping up the the pistoliers,
“The General says to withdraw! Good show! You boys did a hell of a job!”
The Major General was pointing to the piles of Orc bodies before the Pistoliers. The young noblemen didn’t wait around. The men still mounted helped the others to double up on their horse. Barton was looking around for Galway, who had lost eachother in the fight. Without success, he took the proffered hand from a Amosstein nobleman named Count Alois.

They rode away from the fighting, back to the slope next to the artillery. The Duke of Arschel, the leader of the Pistoliers had been slashed across his leg, several times, but he rode around, dripping blood, making sure the remainder of his men were in order. Many were wounded in similar ways to Arschel. As Barton looked around he became aware of how few Pistoliers were returning. Out of the one hundred and thirty five pistoliers who had ridden out, now only fifty of sixty were here. And only about thirty of them had their horses with them. The rest were either dead or so badly wounded that they had been unable to climb upon a horse. Barton looked around once more for his friend Galway. But he already suspected the worst.
A man laying on the ground near Barton, said,
“With so many dead, so early in the campaign, how can we go on?”

Barton agreed. With so many Knights, and Pistoliers dead or wounded, how could they continue their expedition into the Badlands? Even as he thought this, a scream of pain from a man clutching his wounded chest made Barton harden his features. He was supposed to be the proud son of Baron Evert of Wahnfurt.
He turned his back on the dying and wounded. He saw the Empire infantry turn the tides against the Orcs, and turn a hardfought battle into a rout. Barton said a small prayer to Sigmar, not for preserving him through that day, no. But to end this campaign. As the infantry chased down the Orcs, he saw the hundreds and thousands of black Nuln uniforms laying in the grass.
A few cannon crewman were wondering over from the battery, no longer having anything to do. They were all commoners, and hesitant about talking to the young noblemen. One saw Barton.
“Sire, you men had a hell of a fight, beggin’ your pardon, sire.”
“For the Emperor, the Empire and for Sigmar.”

Barton said the words. But he didn’t believe them. It had been a useless expedition, all to win glory for a few favourite noblemen from Nuln.

The young Baron Barton sat at his desk in his fathers manor in Wahnfurt, just south of Nuln. The Battle for the Grey Plain, (as the battle was now being called) had taken place nearly five weeks ago. The infantry had routed the greenskins, the pistoliers had been able to sit on the slope and recover as best they could. There were barely any knights left, but they had secured there place among the halls of legends, their defeat causing victory for the Nuln forces, by breaking up the Greenskins’ line.

Galway had been killed in the fighting. A few hours after the battle, Barton went back to the place where the Pistoliers had fought, and found his friend. It had been horrible. Galway’s chest was shattered by some mace as he struggled to get out from underneath his dead fallen horse. He was drenched in blood. Barton fled from the place, secretly hating himself for his weakness. He couldn’t even do the decent thing and carry the body back to where they were burying the dead.

The whole campaign had been called off immediately after the battle. The army had marched back North towards Empire lands. As soon as Barton could, he bought a horse from a farmer and rode ahead back home towards Nuln, leaving the black uniform clad infantry behind. The other knights and pistoliers had been doing the same.
Upon their return, the fifty or so Pistoliers and the dozen knights who were stil alive, were the flavour of the week. Their names were spread around the entire City State of Nuln, and their heroic charges were immortolised in the form of a song created in an Inn one night in the City of Nuln. It was certainly a welcome change from the regular stories of cannons or handgunners that Nuln was plagued with.

Fifteen Pistoliers were immediately rewarded their spurs by various Knightly orders. Barton had been one of the ones who missed out. He had no idea why. He had been considering leaving the Pistoliers Battalion out of sheer dissapointment that his involvement in a glorious charge against huge odds had gained him nothing and cost him money and time, when others were gaining Knighthood and wealth. But then he had woken up one morning to find his father, Baron Karl Evert, in discussion with General Sir William Gunther.
As Barton entered the study, his father stopped talking abruptly. But then remember his manners and introduced the General and Barton. It seemed to slip everyones mind that Barton had been in Gunther’s army for the last nine months, but Gunther had made no attempt to socialise with the low ranking Pistoliers in his ranks.
“Son, come here and meet Sir William Gunther. We knew eachother back when I was an Engineer, in command of an artillery battery. What was that William? Fifteen years ago?”
“Closer to twenty-five, Karl! And good morning to you Barton. I’ve been hearing good things about you.”
Barton tried to make a response that would satisfy his superior. He mumbled something and got a laugh out of the two older men. He quickly tried to beat a retreat, excusing himself and heading for the door, but his father called him back.
“Wait, Barton. The General is here to talk about you. He wants to make you a very generous offer. He’s asked me, but I’ve told him it’s up to you. Go ahead William, tell Barton what you told me. Don’t worry about his feelings either, speak bluntly.”
The two men turned their eyes on Barton. The General began to speak. He was an old man, with a short grey beard. Barton grudgingly respected him, he had won a battle with his quick mind and good tactics. The decision to send the knights into the Greenskin army, and then to pull them back, drawing the Orc’s apart had been brilliant work, and a . The General had been given a small fortune to raise an army and sally forth into the wild Badlands. His clothing suggested only that he was an officer, it didn’t reflect his wealth at all.

“Barton. The Duke of Arschel died of his wounds earlier this week. His blood was poisoned by the dirty blade that cut him.”
The Duke was dead? He had been the commander of the Pistolier Battalion. Barton knew he was badly wounded. He remembered the day of the battle, Archel had been riding around making sure his men were looked after, but wouldn’t let anyone tend his own leg wounds. No wonder he was dead.
“Wallace, the next in command was killed too. I was about to promote Landebert, but he was given his Knights’ spurs. Most of my other options were given their spurs too.”
He paused, glanced at Barton’s father, and then decided to continue.
“You’re not the best rider I’ve seen, neither the best soldier or fighter. But you’re the best one that I have left. I’m here to offer you command of the Pistolier Battalion; if you want it.”
“Sir. I appreciate the gesture, but we barely have any pistoliers left. I wouldn’t be in charge of a brigade. More like a large platoon.”
The General smiled.
“Never mind about the numbers. You want the job or not?”
Barton couldn’t think of a reason not to. He had nothing else he could do, except maybe help his father run their estate next to the Reik.
“I’ll take the position sir.”
Barton saw approval in his fathers eyes. Maybe even a little pride too. The General spoke again.
“Good choice. I’m having twenty five new pistoliers recruited from some of the nobles sitting around Nuln with nothing to do, and five score Pistoliers transfered in to us from other Battalions. You’ll have a large command.”
He directed the rest to Barton’s father.
“I’m rearming my Regiment. There’s stirring in the North. Kislev is gathering their armies. Countess Emmanuelle wants to send me out as Nuln’s contribution to combat the Chaos. She’s promoting me. I’m getting a whole Corps. She says she’ll give me a brigade of helbardiers, two brigades of Handgunners, a brigade of pistoliers and an artillery battery with no less than fifty cannon. I’ll have to try to scrape together as many knights as I can get. I’m hoping to march in another six weeks, with no less than fifteen thousand infantry and five thousand cavalry.”

Barton whistled. That was a massive force. He couldn’t believe that a simple “stirring” in the North would send Kislev calling for the Empire’s aid, especially on such a large scale. A single state sending 20,000 men? Including ten-thousand expensive handgunners, and a massive artillery battery of fifty cannon? Those numbers suggested open warfare.
But Barton didn’t want to think about war yet. He had just recieved his first command, and he was as excited as a boy recieving his first knife from his father. He just wanted to get away and digest this news. He quickly excused himself from the older men, who were going on to talk about problems with assembling the massive force. The General said one more thing.
“Barton. You’ll have to lead by example. Go get yourself some nice new pistols, and a strong breastplate. You’ll be the first one into combat, and the last one out. You don’t want to die because your armour had a weakspot.”

Barton strode out of his fathers mannor to their stables. He was taking general Gunther’s advise seriously, he wanted to go and buy a good brace of pistols, and good spares. He had lost his old ones on the battlefield, and had not had the willpower to go and pick through the corpses for them afterwards.
Their mannor was situated in the middle of Wahnfurt town square, so even just next door to the stable meant that he had to jostle his way through the crowd. He saddled up his new mare, with the help of a fussing old servant who clearly believed tending a horse was below the dignity of the noble son of a Baron. But Barton wanted to get to know his new horse, whom he called Fatana. So far he knew her as quick and intelligent warhorse. Barton was confident she would serve him well.

The crowd parted when the mounted nobleman with bright feathers in his cap rode out onto the street. He steered his horse up the road to the North, he was heading for Nuln. A few people waved at him as he rode past. Some recognised him as Baron Karl Evert’s son. Others recognised him as one of the Pistoliers who had made it back to Nuln alive. Barton made it to the town gates, and returned the salute of the guards there, who also recognised him.
It was a short ride through the countryside to Nuln. The dark clouds rising from the city from the blacksmiths and forges that were at work, always made Barton bristle with pride, that his homeland was the one that kept the Empire technologically superior to their enemies. Without Nuln, the Empire would never be able to suply her handgunners with shot, or their armies with cannons.

Barton passed unnoticed through the city gates. There were too many noblemen in the city for the guards to be able to recognise one who entered the city every foughtnight. The streets back home were bustling, but the streets at Nuln made Wahnfurt look deserted. He could barely press his horse down the road. The slow pace made Barton give in, and take his horse to a nearby stable, continuing his journey on foot. He headed first to an armoury named “Fine armour and barding.” It was the one that provided most knights and noblemen with their gear. Barton wouldn’t buy a full suit of armour, but should be able to make him a high quality chest piece for his new command.
He entered the front of the store, where racks and racks of armour were hung all over the place. A salesman swooped out from behind the counter, clearly sighting Barton’s high quality clothes and wanting to accomodate this wealthy customer.
“Good day, sire. May I help you?” Before waiting for an answer the salesman continued. “Could i interest you in a full suit of our finest Dwaf hammered armour? Or perhaps a new set of our fashionable lightweight-”
Barton cut in,
“No. I need a strong breastplate. I just need a piece that covers my front and my back. I want it with leather straps on the shoulders and sides, so not a full breastplate like a knight would wear. Just a light piece, but a very strong one. Can you make me one of these?”
The salesman looked dissapointed that this customer wasn’t after anything too expensive,
“Yes sire. In fact, we already have a few sets made up. Would you like to try some on? You wouldn’t be a Pistolier would you, if you don’t mind me asking?” asked the salesman, making his way back down the racks of armour.
“I’ll try some on. And, yes, I am a pistolier.”
“One of those who made it back from the Badlands?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my! Good show indeed, sire! I heard about the battle you men had. Couldn’t have done a better job myself, sire. Charging into that fray even after seeing four hundred knights get walloped! Bravery at its finest.”
The salesman pulled a chest piece from a shelf. It certainly looked nice and strong to Barton. The man helped Barton into it. It was a little too small, only reaching down just past his belly button. The next one he tried on was a perfect fit.
It cost Barton fourty eight gold pieces, just because the quality of metal was so high. The salesman swore that it could withstand a crossbow bolt fired from fifty meters away. Barton wasn’t convinced, but paid the money anyway. A massive amount of money. But Barton felt the investment was worth it, as it might one day save his life.
Next stop was a pistol store. Barton knew the people who ran the store were the same people who crafted the pistols. Hence they had actual knowledge of each item. This place was known for its high quality products, as well as it’s high prices.
Barton entered and was relieved to see a burly looking craftsman standing at the counter, making no rush to flatter his customer or make polite small-talk. Barton approached him.
“Good day. I’m looking for the best pistol brace you have. Also, I need spares, but I want them too be good quality also.”
The man almost rolled his eyes.
“What do you mean by ‘best pistol brace?’ Each set has a different quality. Some are accurate at short distances, some fire further, some require more blackpowder, and fire more powerful shots.”
Barton thought about it. Feeling a little stupid.
“Well in all likely-hood I’ll be close to my enemy, and need to kill him with a single shot.”
“Close to your enemy? Who exactly will you be fighting?”
Barton took the chance to regain some dignity by mentioning his new posting.
“I’m in command of a Pistoliers battalion. We’re being sent up north to kislev to fight a chaos army that’s gathering as we speak. You’ll hear more about it soon, I’m sure.”
The man nodded. Clearly the mention of Barton’s new command was enough to tell him that Barton wasn’t some noble with money to spend on a new toy.
“I understand. You want an accurate pistol, but also one likely to kill a chaos warrior with a single shot. My brother made a fairly good brace a while ago. I’ll go ask him if he’s sold it yet, sire, if you’ll wait one moment.”
The man quickly walked out to the back, where Barton assumed they made the pistols.
A minute later the man returned with his brother, who was holding a pair of intricately detailed, expensive looking pistols. The brother spoke.
“Sigmar’s blessed you today, sire. Young man, not much older than yourself wanted to buy these earlier. His father only wanted to get him a single pistol though, and we never sell brace’s seperately. He had to buy a different one.”
The man who had spoken to Barton before spoke,
“These are some fine pistols. Good enough to wear to a royal wedding, sire. But they’re hardy, and fit a double charge of gunpowder in the barrel. That should chip down a Chaos warrior. It’s also got a nice long barrel, which, as I’m sure you know sire, makes it quite accurate.”
“You recommend these then?”
“Yes, sire. They’ll cost you twenty two gold each.”
Now that was a large sum of money. He could buy twenty new cattle for his fathers property with that money. But he reached into his money pouch and counted out the fourty four gold coins.
“Now, sire. How many spare pistols do you want? And how much are ye willing to pay for ‘em?”
“I’ll have to take about six more. i wont be back to Nuln for a long time, and I don’t want to have to settle for Kislevite made pistols because I’ve lost all the ones I brought from home.
“I’ll tell you what. I will spend another fifty gold coins, you try to pick out the best pistols I can get for that much.”
They moved around the store, taking pistols from their cases, presenting them to Barton, who turned down two, because they didn’t fit his hand well, or because they were poorly balanced.
He also bough holsters for his eight new weapons. Some to strap to his saddle, two for his belt.
He walked out of the store, knowing that he had paid too much, but not caring. His father could afford to lose a bit of money.
Last of all, Barton wandered into a sword store. He bought a flashy sword, that the man inside promised was strong. Barton paid thirteen gold for it, finally feeling that he hadn’t overpaid.

It was Barton’s first day in command of his new Pistoliers battalion. He had exactly one hundred and fourty four Pistoliers under his command. The were based in Nuln’s barrack’s unless you lived nearby and could make it to the parade ground before six o’clock in the morning. Barton had stayed in the Baracks with most of his men for the last two days, while pistoliers rode in from all over Nuln’s countryside. Now having all of his men together, he could get started drilling them with their pistols, then doing horse manouvers, and then manouvers without their horses.
Barton had been told by the General Sir William Gunther, that his first day should begin with a speech. So Barton had spent last night composing one in his mind as quickly as he could. The news that had flooded the Empire. Kislev was getting hit hard by an invading Chaos host. It was truly a massive forces, but the numbers were still disputed. Volkolamsk had fallen after a day of fighting. The numbers were considered at least two hundred thousand men.

Now he was facing his men, all of the mounted, in what was supposed to be neat lines thirty men across, and five ranks deep, coming together to look like a long rectangle. It definately looked more like a shapeless herd than a rectangle.
“Men. Some of you know me already. I am Baron Barton Evert of Wahnfurt. We’re the twenty ninth Pistolier battalion of Nuln. We are one battalion of five in our Brigade. In a few weeks our brigade will ride out, with approximately fifteen thousand infantry, and a currently unknown amount of knights, to go and fight the Chaos forces in Kislev. You’ve all heard about what happened. They’re being invaded, by a quarter of a million Chaos warriors, supported by cavalry and warmachines. We will be part of a brigade of a little over seven hundred men. We will be expected to scout, harrass, shadow, flee, counter enemy light cavaly, shoot, fight and die. No other position in the entire Empire army is filled with more risk than the position of a Pistolier. But, no other position is filled with more chance of fame, glory, and if you want your spurs as a knight, you came to the right place.”

That certainly got their attention. He got the officers together. There were four lieutenants who each had thirty five men each under their command. He gave them their orders.
For the next three weeks, Barton would exercise the men on their horses, teaching them how to patrol and scout, teaching ten man formations, then entire one hundred and fourty one man manouvers, riding them in neat formations, through tough terrain, then yelling,
“We’re being ambushed from the right flank, fighting retreat!”
The men would get to work doing their jobs, keeping in line, firing their pistols if they were in a position to do so, then wheeling out of the danger area. Soon after, Barton would yell,
“We’re ordered to charge the unit that just ambushed us! Battalion, about turn!” and the men would swing their horses around, then on the order “charge!” they would spur their horses into a gallop, while reaching for their pistols, only to hear Barton change his orders and send them wheeling off the the left.

And when their horses needed rest, he would train the Pistoliers with their pistols, firing dozens of shots every day, learning how to reload their weapons as fast as possible, then learning how to make a defensive dismounted circle during combat, while firing and reloading.
The men were frustrated. Most of them were young noblemen just like Barton, and hence they were unused to being told what to do. They hated the hard work for the most part. They had mostly expected to just turn up and be able to ride into combat, ride out again, put on their knight spurs, and live happily ever after. But they also appreciated the need for hard work.

Finally the day came where the General had fully assembled his infantry and knights. He had mostly gathered Knights from the order of the Panther, but Barton knew of at least one company coming with the Nuln forces by the Order of the Black Bear. It was about four and a half thousand knights. And the General had managed to get another Brigade of around five thousand handgunners, making the total number of the army just over twenty five thousand men. Barton had no idea how many men the other provinces and city-states were sending. He suspected that the total would number around one hundred thousand men from the Empire alone.

The army began its march. The seven hundred Pistoliers formed the advance guard, rearguard and forward scouts. They moved North East, heading from Nuln, along roads that would eventually take them through the Empire into the lands of Kislev. It was a long march for the infantry. And often disheartning news would arrive of defeats would arrive. Praag was still holding out, but most of the surrounding towns and villages had been overrun and destroyed, hence the city was completely cut off, with no hope of a force with strength enough to lift the siege. But the city was strong. It had been on the front line for so long that the people were hardened and able to go without luxuries that the siege would cut off.

Barton heard news of other Empire armies striking out towards Kislev, which was to be the meeting ground before the armies would head even further Northward, to try and relieve Praag. It took the Nuln army six weeks to reach Kislev. When they arrived they found armies from Stirland, Talebacland, Middenheim, Nordland, Hochland and Ostermark already there. They were waiting on Altdorf, Wissenland, Averland Talabheim, Middenland and Reikland. The other Provinces and states weren’t coming for various political reasons. But so far, with Nuln’s twenty five thousand men, assembled at Kislev was already ninety thousand men, not including the twenty thousand men that Kislev had assembled to march out with the Empire forces.

The Empire forces that had already arrived were camped on the Dobryrion, a massive, freezing and windswept field that was nearly three hundred miles across. All the different brigades had their own seperate area. Barton’s battalion was amongst the other four Nuln Pistolier battalions, who were some distance away from the infantry and knight’s camps.
They were a fair distance from the city, amongst the high grass of the big plain, but Barton wanted to reward his men by letting them go into Kislev for some well deserved time off. Barton himself had somehow forgotten how cold it would get this far north, and wanted to ride into Kislev city to buy some fur or woolen clothes. Barton waved his second in command over. He was one of the more capable lieutenants, named Count Hawton.
“Count, I will ride into the city. You make sure the men set up camp properly, we might be here for some time. And I want the camp to look sharp, we’ll be having Knights and important men riding through here for several weeks. And have some of the men erect my tent also.”
“Yes, sire. Will you be taking your messenger?”
“I will.”
Barton rode off towards the big city in the distance, his messenger Rudolf trailing behind. The army camps were becoming concealed by the tall grass far behind. Riding through the long grass was difficult for the horses, as they couldn’t see where they were putting their feet, so the pace was slow. Barton’s mind wandered off to what he was going to buy in Kislev. He was predicting much profiteering by the shop owners who would know that the army would bring excited soldiers, all eager to buy souvenirs, good food, of warm clothes. The price of goods inside the city would be unjustifiable, to say the least.
They had ridden down into an old dried up riverbed, which was overgrown with the same high grass that the rest of the plain was covered with. Barton was still thinking about the city when he heard his messenger call out behind him.
“What in Sigmar’s name-!”
Then in a loud shreik,
“Sire! There’s something there!”
Barton swung around in his saddle, in time to see grass parting off to the left and something moving away from the riders. Barton swung his horse around,
“What was it?”
The frightened rider was looking through the grass, trying to catch another glance of the thing, whilst also drawing his pistols. Barton thought that was a good idea and drew his own.
“Did you see it, Rudolf?
Quietly, Rudolph replied, his voice shaking
“Sire, I think it was a Chaos warrior.”
Gently Rudolph sturred his horse in the direction of the movement. Barton followed.
Then in the space of about five seconds, to Barton’s horror, a chaos warrior leaped from the grass next to Rudolph, and drove a sword into Rudolph’s side. Rudolph screamed in agony, but fired a pistol into the chaos warriors face, blowing it to hell, sending it crumpling into the ground. The sword was still in Rudolph’s side, and he slipped from his saddle, collapsing on the ground. Barton spurred his horse over to his messenger, calling out to him, but remained wary. He was about to dismount to help his man, but from ahead, the grass moved and another warrior came charging. Barton had ample time to take aim and fire. The figure screamed and fell writhing in the ground, a bullet lodged in its chest just under its throat. It confirmed his theory that there were more chaos around. He glanced down at Rudolph. He was dead.

Barton couldn’t risk dismounting, so he pulled his reigns around and began riding away through the grass, reloading his pistol as he rode back towards camp. He heard movement behind him, and movement in front of him. Barton reigned in his horse again. Listening. Movement to his right, he fired into it before he could properly see the thing. It kept coming through the grass, and he caught a glimpse of it. It was a disgusting abomination of a thing. With a tenticle growing out of its green cheek , its mouth deformed, and black armour strapped to its warped and mutilated body. Barton fired another shot into it, but still it didn’t slow. Barton dropped a pistol into his lap and pulled another from a holster on his saddle. He fired a third shot, finally sending the thing crashing down to the ground, belching disgusting bloody vomit. Barton rode hard away from there, emerging from the dried out river bed and galloping back to camp.

Barton reached his battalion’s camp, and screamed to the men, who were still setting up there tents to prepare for battle. He sent riders to the other camps and one to the general, informing them that there were chaos scouts in the riverbed about two miles from Kislev city, while he had his own pistoliers mount up and ride towards the riverbed. He had his men draw their pistols and ride through the riverbed in a long line. Barton himself only saw another couple of chaos warriors through the grass, whom he and other men were able to shoot down easily. But he heard other fighting happen further down the line, although he couldn’t see it happening. They stumbled across a battalion of Hochland Halberdiers who had struck out after the warning of Barton’s messenger, so Barton sent an order down the line for his men to withdraw. One thousand halberdiers was strength enough to deal with a few dozen chaos warriors, and he didn’t want to have any jumpy pistoliers shoot other Empire troops.

The Pistoliers work was doubled now that Chaos troops were found so far south. It had been thought that they were alll occupied with the siege of Praag, but apparantly they had enough troops to send some scounting down to Kislev. By now every town North of Bolgasgrad, with the exception of Praag, had been overrun. So the Pistoliers were sent on patrols all over the area near the Empire camp, and around the city of Kislev. Barton had already butt-heads with a commander of another light cavalry battalion of Outriders, from the newly arrived army of Middenland, over who’s job it had been to patrol a certain area between the Empire camp and Kislev city. However for the most part it was easy work.
Now the Empire army numbered nearly one hundred and seventy thousand, and twenty thousand Kislevites who would march out with the Empire force. The Reikland and Altdorf armies had contributed fifty thousand men together, and their troops were considered the best in the Empire. The Reiksguard and other knightly order based in Altdorf had rode out too, it was a grand army, even though the Emperor Karl Franz wasn’t coming. This last point was strange. The Emperor had asked for each province to send its troops, but hadn’t called the Elector Counts or Burgomeisters to supply an Imperial army. So technically each state had its own army, individually commanded. This meant that the army had no unified command. But so far it was working, each of the commanders had agreed on a plan.

The plan was to march to Praag and defeat the Chaos by using as much firepower as possible. Artillery batteries, handgunners, crossbowmen and archers. If the chaos fought empire men in melee combat, the cost in casualties would be massive. To Barton it seemed that he and his men wouldn’t play much of a role in the upcoming battles.

The army marched out with nearly two hundred thousand men. They struck out North along the Kislev-Praag road, the Nuln Pistoliers Brigade forming the advance guard- the most dangerous job- to the delight of Barton’s men. However, the only Chaos they saw were some mounted scouts that sat on a hilltop some distance away, near the sacked town of Nereditsa. Some Pistoliers from another battalion chased them away.

It took ten days to make the march. The night before the battle the army camped just before the rise that would show the Chaos army. Some officers and noblemen rode their horses up to the rise to get a look of the besieged city and the Chaos army surrounding it. Barton rode up there with the commanders of the other Nuln pistolier battalions. Nothing could have prepared Barton for the horror that he saw in the fading twilight of the evening. Legions of horrific, mutilated warriors. Massive formations of evil men, wearing skulls and other unspeakable items. Thousands of disgusting naked and rotting forms, with organs barely held in place by their skin. There were demons and monsters and things indescribable, there were massive half man made, half demon war machines that were belching fire and disease over the walls into the city. The other four men Barton was with reacted in the same way as Barton did himself. They reeled backwards, pulling their horses around and galloping from the scene. They understood now why the Generals wanted to finish the battle with missile weapons. It seemed amazing that anyone could even consider melee with those abominations.

Barton got up in the morning after a restless night without much sleep. The sun was yet to rise, but the army had to be readywell before daylight. The artillery batteries were already at work, men and mules dragging guns over to the slope. Ready to be dragged up and begin firing whenever ordered. Other troops were rising too. Barton’s pistoliers were mostly saddling up their mounts or checking or cleaning their pistols. This was it, Barton thought. The battle of a lifetime. Glory, death, promotion, honour, sacrifice. It would all be his today. Men would die, but hopefully his pistoliers would be able to avoid the hardest combat. A messenger came riding up to Barton.
“Sire, the Nuln Pistolier brigade will be holding the handgunners right flank, behind the other infantry. The Captain wants your battalion to be on the very end of the flank.”
“Thank you. Tell the Captain my men will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
The messenger reeled off. That wasn’t surprising news. It was a moderately safe position. They would have several thousand infantry directly in front of them. Barton quickly checked his own weapons and then swung himself onto his horse, and rode around telling men to form up outside of camp and be ready in ten minutes. Infantry was now moving up the slope and descending down the other side to prepare their positions. Swordsmen from Talabheim, spearmen from Ostland, halerdiers from Altdorf. Thousands of them marching past in perfect formation, straight lines, all in step with the drums.
Barton’s psitoliers had formed up next to the infantry column.
“Men, we’re to hold the right flank of the second line of infantry. Our battalion was picked to have the honor of being on the very end of the flank. So if any of those scum want to try to outflank us, we’re the ones who have to stop them.”
The men understood. It seemed like a good position.
“Twenty Ninth Pistolier Battalion, immediately left wheeling, quick-march.”
The cavalry set off up the slop next to the infantry. Some knights were already going over the top, near the artillery batteries which were being pulled up after them.
As the Pistoliers went over the rise many couldn’t help but gasp. They were seeing the same sight that Barton had seen last night. But now the Chaos army was preparing itself to do battle up-hill against the empire relief force.

The deployment of the Empire forces began with a massive line of infantry across the slope leading down the the city. That line was followed by a line of Handgunners, with a big body of knights in the center. Then a line of artillery right across the top of the slope. There were cannon, mortars, helblasters, rocket batteries.
There were other cavalry spread throughout the army, ready to dash out at a moments notice to take up a fight wherever advantageous. It took a full twenty five minutes to get all two hundred thousand soldiers in the right position. All this time the Chaos army sat at the bottom of the slope waiting.
When the army was ready, the Empire artillery began to fire with a roar. Almost like a signal, like that was what they were waiting for, the Chaos horde began its advance. The artillery hurt the advancing army, it showed; many of their warriors died. But the advance didn’t falter.
The artillery kept firing. Then the Chaos came into range of the Handgunners; and with a screamed order from some officer down there, the handgunners fired a volley into the enemy. The impact of that volley was brutal. The whole front line disintigrated. The Chaos kept coming however, and soon after with a roar, they charge into the Empire infantry. The charge was ragged, and the empire troops held their ground easily. The fighting went for several minutes, then the attack was called off and the Chaos troops fell back down the slope. The Empire infantry had taken amazingly few casualties. It seemed like the artillery barrage was working.

Then the Chaos changed tactics. Their massive Hellcannon warmachines were swung around, and pointed at the Empire army. With a roar they began firing. They blew holes through the empire ranks. Then the Chaos infantry began advancing again, with its new advantage from the hellcannons, things looked grim for the Empire forces.

The Chaos forces charged once again. And this time, the Empire infantry were in trouble. They had been badly shaken up by the Hellcannons, which were now trying to destroy the Empire Artillery battery. Barton watched, writhing in his saddle, wishing he could do something to help. The Empire infantry were taking massive losses. In some places knights were sent in to prevent the Chaos troops breaking through to the Handgunners. Finally, after twenty minutes of hard fighting, all up and down the line, the Chaos forces retreated again, regrouping for another attack. To Barton it looked as though one more attack might break the infantry. There were wounded screaming everywhere. Hellcannons were redirected to destroy the Empire’s ranks; and worst of all, the Chaos were already preparing for another assault.

Some riders came galloping down from the Commanders’ tent. One went to the Captain, commander of the Nuln Pistolier Brigade, said some words. The others were on there way to somewhere else, but a lucky Hellcannon shot killed all four of them.
The messenger who had spoken to the Captain then galloped over to the commanders of the individual battalions. Barton was the last comamnder to find out what was going on.
“Sire, the Nuln Pistolier Brigade is to ride out and destroy those Hellcannons immediately!”
Barton didn’t hesitate, but he was secretly worried. He ordered his battalion forward, around the infantry and waited while the rest of the brigade followed him. Barton was in command of a single battalion out of five in the Nuln Pistolier Brigade. He had about one hundred and forty men, and the entire brigade had about seven hundred and twenty. Seven hundred and twenty men attacking one hundred war machines, defended by nearly two hundred thousand chaos troops. Suicide.

The Brigade commander galloped over to Barton and told him the plan. Barton and his Battalion would lead the charge. They were to go around the flank of the Chaos infantry, and try to ride over any chaos cavalry that were sent against them. The idea was to keep riding no matter what. If they slowed, or were stopped by anything, the whole brigade would be slaughtered. When they reached the warmachines they were to slay the crews, and keep moving. There was a rumour that without the crews the Hellcannon couldn’t be controlled, and they might wreak havok upon the Chaos army from behind.
“Captain, are you sure we’re the only ones going? There were other messengers who were just killed over there, on there way to other brigades.”
The Captain nodded.
“I saw them. But our orders are to ride immediately. We can’t afford to wait.” His words were made even stronger by the explosions of more Hellcannon rounds in the background, killing more infantry. They would have to ride.
Barton turned his horse around to his waitng battalion. They were in their neat lines.
“Men, we’re to kill the crews of their artillery! We’re not to stop, no matter what.”
That was all he had time to say. The Brigade’s trumpets were sounding the charge.
“Forward men! For the Empire!”
The blowing of the bugles, trumpets and horns certainly stirred the Pistoliers. They began the charge with a cheer.
Barton led the charge down the slope, peeling off to the right, where they would ride past the Chaos infantry. The men knew a mistake had been made. They had seen the other messengers too. They knew this was a charge to certain death. But they didn’t falter. They rode hard, like they were eager to die faster.

The enemy were already sending horsemen from behind the infantry to cut off the attacking pistoliers. Barton led the way, both pistols drawn, steering his horse with his knees. The enemy riders was charging to meet the Pistoliers. They entered pistol range and Barton fired two shots at two enemies in front of him. Both hit. He jammed his pistols back into their holsters and drew another two, just as the two units of cavalry met. He fired his weapons, dodged an axe that was swung at him, dropped his guns, and drew his sword and another pistol. He heard the crashes behind him, as Pistoliers ran into the enemy cavalrymen, or were cut down as they rode past. Barton swung his sword at another rider, clipping it on its armour. It only took him about ten seconds to ride through the enemy cavalry unit, and then he was through, and still alive. With a glance behind him he saw others making it through, and nobody stopping to fight the cavalry, which was good.
Other Pistoliers were catching up to him now. He had the battalion standard bearer next to him. The bearer was holding the flapping thing as high as he could. Now infantry was running out to the flank to stop the Pistoliers getting to the invaluabe artillery. Barton knew that his men could ride over these soldiers. He raised his sword high and glanced over his shoulder, watching his men let fly a battle cry, as they once again charged into the Chaos forces.
The Pistoliers engaged the chaos warriors with pistol shot flying, swords flashing downward, horses crushing the Chaos scum underneath their iron-shod hooves. Barton was consious of himself crashing over several infantrymen, shooting another, then hacking downwards with his sword. He was also consious of his horse slowing down and spurring it hard. He saw the battalion standard bearer get his horse cut from underneath him, and fall to the ground. But he was a man who knew his duty, and held the standard up as high as he could, so that a Pistolier behind him reached down and took it up, just before the fallen man was hacked at by half a dozen warriors.
The Pistoliers managed to keep moving, running Chaos warriors through with razor sharp swords, and spurring their horses cruelly, they had to keep moving, otherwise more infantry would swoop down and slaughter them. The warriors at the back of the unit saw how brutally the Pistoliers were fighting and began to trickle away, running. The pistoliers had broken the unit!
Barton spurred his horse even harder, and along with the Pistoliers next to him, commenced chasing and cutting down the broken troops. Now the road was clear to the artillery pieces. But the crews of them were preparing to defend their Hellcannons. There were dwarfs there, armed with Handguns.

Barton waved his sword and pointed it forward, drawing another spare pistol. The Pistoliers charged for the nearest war machines. The crews put up a fight, shooting down several pistoliers, but then being killed themselves. The great hellcannon’s were chained to the floor, and Barton was glad. The thing was massive, and was struggling to attack the Pistoliers who were riding past. More Chaos infantry and cavalry was flooding back to cut down the Empire cavalry, who were riding hard, trying to kill as many of the crews as they could, before they were assaulted from their flank by the moving wall of soldiers trying to stop them. Some of the Hellcannons were coming unstuck from the ground, and they were charging into anything, killing dozens of Pistoliers, before charging into other chaos soldiers. Some even attacked eachother.
Now Chaos knights were attacking the pistoliers, but neither the Empire Pistoliers, nor the Chaos knights were in formed body’s, so most of the fighting was Pistolier against knight. Barton shot down a knight with his last loaded pistol. He swung his sword out wide, glancing off another knight. The pistoliers kept riding, cutting down the Hellcannon crews. With a glance behind, barton was appalled at how few Pistoliers were still alive. Maybe half were still mounted. it occured to Barton that if his horse were killed, he would be hacked to pieces by the Chaos infantry soon after. They were nearly at the last Hellcannon, and in a shock, Baroton realised he hadn’t ever recieved orders of what to do once they’d made it past the war machines. He guessed it was because the Captain had assumed they would all be dead by then. Barton ducked a knights slash, and saw a body of Chaos infantry formed up protecting the last few precious Hellcannons. Barton decided that they had done enough. He led the Pistoliers around the body of infantry, the pistoliers had no chance of destroying those last few Hellcannons, so the best thing to do now was try to make it back to the Empire lines alive.
By now the pistoliers had ridden past the Chaos left flank, around the back of their lines, cutting down the Hellcannon crews, and were now at the Chaos right flank. Barton decided to keep going the whole way around the Chaos forces, taking the shortest route back to the Empire lines, down the Chaos right flank. He swung his horse left, heading to the Empire lines. More Chaos light cavalry charged towards the pistoliers. Lots of them. Barton glanced behind, now there was a noticable lack of Pistoliers. Maybe one or two hundred left alive. He guessed maybe a thousand Chaos cavalry in the way before he could make it back to the Empire lines. In a flash of inspiration, he halted the pistoliers and called for them to reload their pistols, and reform into a battle line. They halted and began reloading as fast as they could, whilst manouvering their horses with their knees.
Chaos infantry was rushing to catch the pistoliers now that they’d stopped, and the Cavalry was galloping down upon them. Barton had time to reload three pistols before he signaled to his men to advance. Now with pistols reloaded, they stood a chance against the enemy cavalry.
They charged hard at the enemy. Then the two walls crashe upon eachother. In the first twelve seconds of fighting Barton had fired his three pistols and was back to using his sword. Now this time, the Pistoliers had been stopped cold. They couldn’t drive through the enemy cavalry against odds this high. It was a melee to the death for the pistoliers. The Chaos cavalry was between them and safety. The pistoliers fought like savages.
Barton had killed maybe five chaos when his horse finally slipped and he fell to the ground. He struggled to his feet, catching a sword blow across his breastplate as he did, he tried to swing back, but was slashed across his face by an enemy to his right. Barton stumbled backwards, stabbing a black chaos horse in the throat as he did. There were pistoliers falling to the ground all around him. One fell to the ground in front of Barton, and was then stabbed through the throat by a dismounted chaos rider before he could get up. Barton was horrified and tried to kill the rider, instead he merely cut the things chest. Barton heard another scream next to him and thought to himself that it was all over. They’d all be dead by the end of the minute.

Then Barton heard the most beautiful thing he could imagine. It was a knight’s horn. Washing down the hill was a wave of Knights that were riding hard for the cavalry fighting the Pistoliers. Barton felt like he was hit with a new chance at life. He pushed past a few Pistoliers to a horse who’s rider was dead. He climbed upon it and spurred himself forward. He slashed at a horseman in front of him, catching him across the stomach. Another Pistolier stabbed the same one in the face, sending the rider screaming to the ground. The Empire knights had crashed into the other side of the Chaos cavalry, and many were trying to flee, but they were caught between Pistoliers fighting for their survival, and Knights fighting for a self proclaimed ‘valiant cause,’ to save the pistoliers. The Chaos cavalry just didn’t have their heart in the fight, and made every attempt to escape, only speeding up their deaths.
The fighting continued until the Knights and pistoliers had reached eachother, at which point they galloped away hard before the Chaos infantry could cut off the escape route. Barton couldn’t believe that he was still alive. When he got back to the Empire lines he slipped off his horse with fatigue and lay on the ground. Handgunners watched him from their line, grinning madly.
“Sire, that was amazing. You’ll be a legend when you get back home.”

Barton walked to the back of the line. He counted that only two dozen Pistoliers had made it back. He was the last officer alive. In the space of about fifteen minutes he was knighted and offered a place in four different knightly order. Barton couldn’t choose which to join yet, as his head was swimming and the Chaos were launching their last final ditch, prolonged attack.
The empire troops shattered the Chaos charge with another volley of handgunners and artillery. The Chaos army broke before they even reached the Empire infantry, and fled back down the slope. They were spattered with artillery all day, and at nightfall began a hasty retreat back to the Northern Wastes. The siege was lifted, and the battle was over.

Barton was Promoted to Count, by the Grand Master of the Reiksguard, and given a large lot of land in Reikland, next to Wissenland. Barton decided to take up the offer of Knighthood in the Reiksguard; since the Grand Master had been so generous in rewarding him.

He was knighted, he had been promoted to Count, and he was in the greatest Empire knightly order there was- he was virtually a bodyguard of the Emperor- and to top it off, he had led the greatest charge the Empire had ever seen.