| |
Varin leaned against the wall inside an old musty inn near the outskirts of Vindholm. The hour had grown late, yet the dining area was alive with the chatter of crusaders. News of Godfrey’s vision had spread quickly from the Temple of Spes all the way to the far corners of the city. Gossip traveled faster than anything else Varin could think of.
Mildly amused, Varin watched two knights sitting at a table in a heated debate concerning the prophecy. Wild speculation was what most of their opinions boiled down to. Normally, Varin would hold his tongue, content to listen, but his desire to correct the two knights was quickly proving stronger than his natural inclination to remain aloof.
“What do you think it means?” the knight named Euric asked another knight named Rodair.
“It can’t be a real dragon.” Rodair shook his head. “Such monsters are all but extinct.”
“Is it a fortress to be taken?” Euric’s imagination seemed to run wild. “Perhaps it’s an enemy to be assassinated?”
“Prophecies are such amusing things,” Varin interrupted the two knights, tilting his head slightly in their direction. “We can never know their true meanings until they have already come to pass.”
Startled by the sudden disturbance, the knights exchanged a quick glance before tacitly agreeing to include the peculiar ranger in their conversation. Varin did not care what they thought of him. His own contempt for most people was enough to insulate him from most of the strange looks and half-muttered insults people tended to exchange when they thought he could not hear or see them. His rare efforts to join in any sort of social contact would usually only reinforce Varin’s opinions concerning why he did not like people in the first place. He doubted this conversation would prove any different.
“Well,” Sir Rodair began. “We know the gods must not be happy with the direction of the crusade.”
“They would not send us a prophecy like this one if they wanted us to stay the course,” Sir Euric agreed, taking a sip of ale from his flagon.
“And what direction is this crusade going?” Varin asked, raising an eyebrow. “What course are we following?”
The knights’ expressions contorted in consternation.
“We relieved the siege at Biorkon,” Euric offered. “And now we are going to Epsberg.”
“But was going to Epsberg the right choice?” Rodair countered. “Some of the lords wanted to push north.”
“And east is not where the Clans’ high king is,” Varin explained. “Word is that the Nordsman high king is from Clan Black Dragon. I think we should be seeking him out, vanquish him in battle.”
Rodair and Euric appeared unable to refute Varin’s reasoning. Now that the seed of doubt had been planted, going to Epsberg seemed like a very bad idea. Varin wondered if this was this how Godfrey would interpret his prophecy? Could this young noble barely coming into manhood be trusted with such a critical task?
***
“I don’t believe you.” Conrad shook his head bluntly. “You are just making this up to gain popularity.”
Conrad, Tancred, Godfrey, and their entourages had gathered at the Temple of Spes in response to news of the prophecy. They were in the chambers of the high priest on the upper level. Each wall was lined by bookcases filled with copies of sacred texts Godfrey had grown accustomed to seeing in similar settings.
Madeline was there too. She stood defiantly next to Godfrey as if daring her father to forbid it. Tancred gave his daughter a disapproving glance, but said nothing about her proximity to Godfrey. He would reprimand her later, Godfrey was sure.
The group stood in an uncomfortably close circle while the high priest himself was busy consulting the augers in the temple’s main sanctum for further clarification on the vision. Godfrey was not entirely sure the high priest was doing anything but wasting his time consulting bird-watchers at this hour.
“Why would I make this up when the crusade is already going to the Eastern Marches as I argued it should?” Godfrey countered.
“He has a point.” Tancred rounded on Conrad. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what you believe. What matters is containing this information.”
“That’s going to be hard.” Godfrey scowled. “All of Vindholm already knows about the prophecy by now.”
Godfrey was still grappling with the prophecy’s meaning. He did not like any of the answers he came up with. Nobody wanted to hear that they were going on the wrong path. Nobody wanted to hear that the crusade’s true objective would be as hard to accomplish as slaying a dragon.
“But the crusaders outside the city have not heard yet,” Turpin noted.
“Wait,” Walaric cut in. “If this is a true prophecy from the gods, shouldn’t we act upon it? Even if we could keep it a secret, I don’t think we should. Besides, you can’t swear the whole city to secrecy on this. Someone will tell.”
Turpin turned to Walaric. “How would you suggest we act upon it?”
Walaric stammered for an answer but came up with nothing.
“My point exactly,” Turpin replied to Walaric’s lack of response. “Godfrey, what do you think we should do?”
Godfrey’s eyes were drawn to Tancred’s tabard. His stomach sank. The tabard’s heraldic device was a dragon rampant. He had noticed this when they first met, but now it took on a completely different meaning. So much doubt clouded his mind. He bit his lip, putting the thought away.
“We press on,” Godfrey answered. “There’s no point in trying to keep this a secret. The gods are with us. Perhaps their desires will become clearer in time.”
“You should address the men as soon as possible,” Tancred suggested. “Arrest their fears, keep them in good spirits. We need to focus on reaching and capturing Epsberg until we can rejoin the other crusaders.”
The others nodded in agreement.
“Summon the men,” Godfrey said. “Do it first thing in the morning.”
He met Tancred’s eyes.
“I want to speak to all of the crusaders.” Godfrey frowned. “And I want the soldiers of Pavik there too.”
***
The next morning was warmer than the previous day. Godfrey supposed the weather was going to go back and forth like this for a little while before it finally decided to be spring in the Nordslands. Glancing behind him, Godfrey better appreciated the grandeur of the Temple of Spes in the full light of day. It was a magnificent structure, though it was old, and falling into disrepair. It was a relic from another era.
Below Godfrey, at the base of the steps leading up to the temple, all the crusaders in Vindholm had gathered together. Madeline, her father, and a number of other Azgaldians both common and noble were also present. Many in the crowd were murmuring. Godfrey had wrestled all night with what to say. He still had no idea. All eyes had turned to him. The time was now.
“Men of Bastogne,” Godfrey said, clearing his throat. “Men of Errans, Pavik, and Vindholm, hear me. There is a rumor that I was touched by the gods and made a prophecy. I will not deny it.”
An uneasy murmur surged through the crowd. Tancred covered his face with his hands, and Walaric clenched his fists apprehensively. Madeline’s and Turpin’s reactions were lost in the crowd. Godfrey did not care how Conrad reacted, and did not bother to look in the direction of the Duke of Errans.
“I have wrestled with the prophecy’s meaning.” Godfrey gestured down into the audience. “And I do not believe that any of the possibilities promise an easy victory. Then again, easy victories are not why anyone goes on crusade.”
The muttering subsided again.
“Many mortals have doomed themselves when acting too rashly upon a prophecy,” Godfrey continued. “I do not know what the words I spoke last night mean, but I think the gods will reveal more in time. For now, this is what I do know: there is but one omen—that a man must fight against evil.”
Godfrey drew his sword, flashing the blade high over his head.
“A new inscription was written upon this blade by the finger of Loxias,” Godfrey explained. “It is now a holy blade. Take comfort, crusaders. The gods are still on our side. Make your devotions, take what provisions you need from the temple stores, we strike out for Epsberg at first light tomorrow.”
With a swish of his cloak, Godfrey turned towards the temple and made his way back inside. He sheathed his sword as he paused just in front of the temple’s solid wooden doors. One of the priests from the previous night pulled Godfrey aside. He gave Godfrey a long, hard stare as he gripped Godfrey’s tabard in a balled fist. Meeting his gaze, Godfrey deliberately pulled the priest’s hand off his tabard.
“We agreed to provision your men, not all the crusaders in Vindholm,” the priest spat as Godfrey released his hand.
“Did you want half the men to desert?” Godfrey countered. “An empty cellar is better than not having an army to protect it at all. Find a way to make it happen.”
Grinding his teeth, the priest stormed away. The temple doors opened with a heavy creak for Godfrey. Solemnly entering the Temple of Spes, Godfrey knelt at the altar between the statues of the twin angels. He produced a small golden coin from his satchel, and handed it to one of the acolytes nearby. The acolyte left and returned with one of the white quails for sacrifice.
Godfrey knelt in silent prayer as the priests and acolytes burned the sacrifice. The aroma of burning quail meat intoxicated Godfrey’s senses. Wrestling between the distraction of the savory meat and the fatigue from his lack of sleep the previous night made concentrating on prayer all the harder. The clergy’s chanting was supposed to help direct the supplicant’s thoughts towards the divine. Yet once again the divine provided no answers for Godfrey when he wanted guidance the most as far as he was concerned. Obediently, he continued to kneel until the end of the ritual, though Godfrey had given up hope of further divine manifestations well before.
When Godfrey arose from the ritual, he found a queue of crusaders standing behind him. They were staring at him. Godfrey shifted uncomfortably. One of the crusaders stepped forward. Godfrey immediately recognized him as Sir Euric, one of the knights from Bastogne.
“Do you really have a sword blessed by the gods?” he asked, proffering his hand.
“See for yourself.” Godfrey unsheathed Uriel.
Handing the blade to Euric, Godfrey watched the knight study it carefully. The knight frowned, then Godfrey frowned. What was Euric looking for?
The knight held the blade close to his eyes as he tried to take in every detail of the inscription. Euric held the blade for a long time before returning it.
“It’s true,” Sir Euric announced as tears streamed down his face.
No sooner had Uriel returned to Godfrey’s hand than other knights and footmen were crowding around to examine the sword for themselves. Some had reactions similar to Euric’s. Others walked away disappointed. Finally, Turpin and Walaric came in to disperse the crowd surrounding Godfrey.
“You know who wears the dragon rampant on his heraldry, don’t you?” Walaric asked as soon as the last of the crusaders had dispersed.
“The Duke of Pavik.” Godfrey grimaced.
“And the King of Azgald,” Turpin added darkly. “Both families claim dragon-slayers as ancestors. The Wyrmwind Peaks were filled with dragons long ago.”
“No.” Godfrey shook his head. “It’s not King Lothar.”
“Then you think Duke Tancred is trying to sabotage the crusade?” Walaric asked.
“The thought has crossed my mind,” Godfrey admitted.
“Well that will spoil things between you and Madeline, won’t it?” Walaric furrowed his brow. “Killing her father might complicate a marriage.”
“No one said anything about killing the Duke of Pavik.” Turpin raised his finger at Walaric in a silencing gesture. “Nor did they say anything about a wedding of Godfrey and Madeline.”
Godfrey ground his teeth at that last statement. Who was Turpin to say such things? He did not know of Godfrey and Madeline’s meeting the night before, the secrets they shared, their kiss. Godfrey bit back a retort as Turpin started to speak again.
“Focus on what we know,” Turpin continued. “Godfrey is right. We need to wait before we act on the prophecy. We can only press on as we initially intended until we learn more.”
Godfrey wandered through Vindholm in search of Madeline. The rest of the day, he was unable to find her. He was sure her father had everything to do with her absence. Godfrey almost wished the gods would identify Tancred as the dragon to be slain.
Finally, Godfrey found himself back at the Temple of Spes. There was still a crowd of crusaders gathered around the structure. Some were walking away with sacks or barrels filled with food. Most of those present buzzed in agitation at the high priest at the top of the stairs.
“I’m telling you there is no more.” The high priest waved his arms in exacerbation. “We have no more provisions. Your friends already took everything.”
“Let’s go in and see for ourselves,” a particularly vexed crusader suggested.
The color in the high priest’s face drained. Menacingly, the crowd of crusaders began to ascend the stairs. The high priest’s eye caught Godfrey and shot him a pleading look. Could Godfrey just stand by and watch this happen?
The priests of the temple had held Godfrey captive the previous night. They had threatened him with torture. How far would they have gone before they were satisfied that Godfrey was not an enemy agent? Were these angry crusaders not exactly what those priests deserved?
“Stop,” Godfrey shouted over the crowd.
The crusaders halted, and looked down at Godfrey.
“Looting the Temple of Spes would not reflect well on this crusade,” Godfrey continued once the angry shouts subsided. “The Church has given what it can, and the gods will provide the rest. Go rest now. There is a long way ahead of us still.”
Godfrey was surprised at how easily the crowd dispersed at his word. If being the son of a duke and one of the crusade’s leaders did not lend him a certain amount of authority, possessing a magic sword certainly did. The high priest let out a sigh as the last of the crusaders left the temple. Godfrey moved on without hearing the old man’s thanks.
There were several well-kept inns near the temples in the high city. Without giving it much thought, Godfrey simply chose the closest to where he was standing as dusk approached. Entering the inn through its creaking door, he was overwhelmed by the noise of performing jongleurs and the boisterous conversation that came with heavy drinking. The inn was warm, and the fire from the hearth inviting. There was a large group of crusaders Godfrey recognized sitting at the tables eating, drinking, and singing songs slurred by ale. Spotting the innkeeper passing out a tray of drinks to a table of knights, Godfrey waved at the portly man wearing a stained apron.
“Godfrey de Bastogne.” The innkeeper’s surprise was ill-contained. “Would you like to stay here tonight? I will offer you my finest room at a great discount, only one gold piece.”
Godfrey was unsure how much of a discount that really was. Searching for an appropriate coin in his pouch, he realized his share of gold pieces was beginning to diminish. Spending so much time in the high city was proving expensive. Little wonder it was only the wealthier knights he saw at inns like this.
Handing the gold to the innkeeper, Godfrey was led up the stairs to his room. The furnishings were lavish, far more so than what he required. A bottle of fine wine and a tray of rich cheese were brought up by the innkeeper’s son. Now Godfrey understood why the room had cost him so much. He promised himself he would be more frugal at the next city he stopped at.
***
Tancred’s soldiers led the crusaders out of Vindholm at dawn as planned. A crowd had gathered to see them off with cheers and the singing of hymns. In vain, Godfrey searched for Madeline in the crowd as he rode Baruch through the procession. The terrible thought crossed Godfrey’s mind that he might never see her again if Duke Tancred had anything to do with it.
Though the crusaders marched to Epsberg with all the speed they could muster, Godfrey had plenty of time to brood about Tancred preventing Madeline from seeing his departure from Vindholm. Godfrey just knew this was Tancred’s fault. Tancred, likewise, seemed aloof to Godfrey. This only confirmed Godfrey’s suspicions. It was in this dark mood that he first caught sight of Epsberg Castle.
The castle was a tall, daunting fortress made from dark stone. A moat partially surrounded the wall by its imposing southern gate, where the ground was flat. The northern end of the castle wall was instead protected by a steep rock face.
Godfrey, Tancred, and Conrad surveyed the Nordsman castle atop their steeds from the relative safety of a distant hill to the southwest. The majority of the crusaders and Tancred’s men waited at the base of the hill out of view from Epsberg’s defenders. Even from this distance, Godfrey was sure this was going to be a tough siege.
“The eastern and western slopes are going to be hard but manageable,” Tancred observed. “But the northern side is going to be impossible to scale.”
“Leaving us three angles of attack,” Conrad finished Tancred’s thought.
“There is an upper, lower, and middle bailey.” Tancred noted the walls trisecting the castle’s courtyard. “We should assault from all three directions at once, taking the three courtyards simultaneously. That should minimize resistance once we take the walls.”
Shivering, Godfrey noted the thin layer of ice only partially covering the water that filled the moat by the southern gate. The only plausible path to the gate was a narrow causeway. It was designed to only let a small number of people across at once, to minimize the number of attackers in the event of a siege. Godfrey pitied whoever was going to have to assault the gate.
“Who is getting stuck with the gate?” Godfrey crossed his arms.
“You of course,” Tancred sneered without hesitation. “Loxias blessed your sword after all, did he not?”
“So he did,” Godfrey replied curtly after a moment’s pause.
“Then it is settled.” Conrad smirked. “I will take the western wall, Godfrey has the gate, and you will take the eastern wall, Tancred?”
“Yes,” Tancred agreed. “I can reach the middle bailey easiest from the eastern side if our catapults can knock out the towers watching the approach.”
Godfrey’s hand trembled. He was being given the toughest part of what was already going to be a hard siege, and he had no say in it. As long as Conrad and Tancred were in agreement, Godfrey could do little to protest.
Shaking his head ruefully, he slowed his breathing. He remembered Cheldric’s unenviable task in the childhood tale. So too would the bards remember Godfrey in this siege. His hand stopped trembling. He would do his part and trust the gods to deliver him. If they did not, glory was his anyway.
“One last thing,” Godfrey added. “We should not leave the northern wall unguarded. Both of you should extend your forces to cover the northern wall as well.”
“You see that rock face?” Conrad pointed at the distant castle. “No one is scaling that.”
“Forgive me, Conrad,” Godfrey sardonically replied. “But we can’t even see most of the northern wall or the rock face from here. Besides, I’m not talking about attacking the northern side. I’m talking about preventing any of the Nordsmen from getting out. There could be footpaths leading down from the wall.”
“Even with fifteen thousand men,” Tancred cut in smoothly, “I am not sure we can spare the manpower to completely surround the castle. We want to take Epsberg as swiftly as possible after all.”
“What if a Nordsman gets out and calls for reinforcements?” Godfrey objected. “We don’t want to get caught in between the castle walls and an enemy relief army. We were all at Biorkon, remember?”
“No messenger will get out,” Tancred insisted. “I will have my knights patrol the northern side.”
“That might not be enough under cover of darkness,” Godfrey protested.
“We will take Epsberg so quickly, it will not matter if a messenger slips through our patrols,” Conrad spat.
Seeing the argument lost, Godfrey glowered without another word.
The crusader contingents and Tancred’s men positioned themselves around the castle at the agreed-upon locations. Immediately, craftsmen began constructing siege engines out of timber gathered from the nearby forest. The first siege towers and ladders were constructed almost overnight. Baldwin was right. There was no shortage of wood in the Nordslands.
Godfrey was overseeing the construction of a large battering ram in his part of the crusaders’ camp. He did not know much about woodworking. In truth, his overseeing was mostly helping to fetch timber or nails as the occasion required. Fortunately, there were artisans among the camp followers who actually did know how to construct such devices. More than one bemused craftsman saw the humor in the son of a duke following their instructions for a change.
“If you’re not careful,” Walaric teased Godfrey, “the moniker ‘champion of the common folk’ is going to stick.”
“That might not be so bad,” Godfrey thought aloud, trying to avoid hitting his thumb with the hammer he was using.
What started out as simply a large, rough-cut tree trunk was quickly smoothed out and suspended in a wheeled frame by ropes. Next, a steep, angular roof covered the frame. By the middle of the second day of the siege, a large, metal spike was fashioned to the end of the ram.
Elsewhere in the Bastognian section of the camp, a pair of trebuchets were nearing completion. Conrad’s men, likewise, had finished a trio of siege towers and several ladders. Tancred’s men also built a pair of siege towers and a few catapults were almost complete. After a week of nonstop construction, the crusaders had amassed a large arsenal of siege engines. The assault was almost ready.
Epsberg’s Nordsman defenders incessantly jeered at the crusaders from the castle walls during these preparations. Their speech was meaningless babble to Godfrey, though he could sense the Nordsmen’s contempt for the crusaders. He did not care. Soon they would be dead.
“Perhaps we should try to parley with them,” Walaric suggested, running his hand across the battering ram.
Godfrey and Turpin both laughed in reply.
“I’m serious.” Walaric’s annoyance was written across his face.
Whatever humor Godfrey felt quickly deflated. His feet squished the mud in the melting snow as he shifted his posture. Walaric had a point.
“It could save us both time and blood if we could negotiate Epsberg’s peaceful surrender,” Godfrey admitted.
Pausing for a long moment, Turpin eventually nodded in agreement.
“Let’s bring it up with Tancred and Conrad.” Walaric began walking toward the Duke of Pavik’s part of the camp.
Godfrey frowned, hesitating.
“Acting independently of those two could breed further hostility,” Turpin warned Godfrey. “That is the absolute last thing we want. We need them to know what we are doing, and we need them to be on our side.”
“You’re right,” Godfrey conceded. “Let’s go.”
Throughout the camp, all manner of preparations were still being made. Blades were being sharpened. Armor was under repair. More siege engines were being constructed. Priests took confessions or led the crusaders in song and prayer.
Walking through the midst of this, Godfrey still marveled at how many knights and footmen had flocked to his banner for the crusade. Did these men of Bastogne really trust him to lead them to victory, even with visions and magic weapons following him?
In Tancred’s section of the camp, the men of Pavik behaved much as the Bastognians did. Godfrey half-smiled at the sight. At least Tancred’s men did not seem as bad as their lord.
Finding Duke Tancred proved easy enough for Godfrey. Tancred’s tent was larger than many of his knights’, and it proudly displayed his heraldry. The Duke of Pavik was speaking with Conrad and one of his artisans as Godfrey’s party approached.
“Good news,” Tancred started as Godfrey came within earshot. “My artisans have secured a large supply of stones from nearby. We should have plenty of ammunition for the catapults.”
“Excellent,” Godfrey agreed. “However, I wonder if there is not a faster way to take Epsberg for the Silver Suns.”
“Get to the point,” Conrad huffed.
“Do you think it’s possible we could force a surrender?” Godfrey looked Tancred sternly in the eye. “We do have a superior force.”
“It’s possible.” Tancred stroked his beard. “Nordsmen are stubborn but not stupid. If we can convince them that they don’t stand a chance, promise safe passage out of the Eastern Marches, they may yield without a fight.”
“Or they could stall us out in negotiations while they await a relief force,” Conrad countered. “Besides, they know a siege will cost us a lot of men. No, we should storm the castle as soon as we are able.”
“We should send an envoy to parley,” Turpin insisted. “If they do not agree to our terms within a day, we attack immediately.”
“I agree.” Tancred nodded. “But we have to be in the strongest position possible. Wait a few more days, construct a few more siege engines, show them we have the means to topple them without question.”
“Fair enough,” Godfrey conceded.
“In three days we send an envoy,” Tancred reassured him, putting a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder. “It will give them plenty of time to think about their mortality.”
Returning to the Bastognian section of the camp, Godfrey observed two more catapults being constructed. Walaric gave the siege engines a questioning look. Sensing Walaric’s confusion, Godfrey pivoted the acolyte from the siege engines to the gate.
“Since we have that large moat and only a narrow causeway to the gate,” Godfrey explained to Walaric, “I think trying to knock out a nearby section of wall would be best if the battering ram cannot breach it.”
“Good thinking,” Walaric agreed.
Looking at Godfrey’s sword, Walaric stopped himself short of whatever it was he was going to say next. Godfrey gripped Uriel’s hilt as it sat secure in its sheath.
“What is it?” Godfrey asked.
“What do you think your sword will do now that it’s been blessed?” Walaric asked.
“What do you mean?” Godfrey furrowed his brow.
“Well, swords that have been blessed by the gods get some sort of magical properties,” Walaric continued. “Some of them can cut through solid rock, glow when enemies are near, or set fire to the people they strike. At least that’s what the legends and stories say.”
“I guess we’ll find out the next time I have to use it,” Godfrey replied with a shrug. “I don’t want to tempt Loxias by swinging it around just to see what it will do.”
“I see.” Walaric rubbed his nose. “That’s a good point. I just thought you might have been given a clue in your vision or something.”
“No.” Godfrey shook his head.
“Then how do you know it was even Loxias who blessed your sword?” Walaric crossed his arms. “We were in the Temple of Spes. It could have been any of the celestial gods, demigods, or saints.”
“Loxias is the only god I pray to by name when not propitiating nature deities.” Godfrey cracked his knuckles. “Who else would bless my blade?”
***
The next morning, Godfrey was stirred from his sleep early. Walaric was shaking him.
“Enough.” Godfrey stretched groggily. “I’m awake.”
Walaric stopped and stood over him. Sitting up, Godfrey rubbed the sleep from his eyes. The acolyte’s expression was apprehensive. Whatever sleep remained in Godfrey’s eyes instantly vanished. Something had gone wrong. Very wrong.
“Well,” Godfrey said, rising to his feet. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure.” Walaric frowned. “But it’s trouble. You need to come out and see.”
Godfrey huffed in agitation. He hated it when people would not just tell him what was going on. He pulled on his armor as quickly as he could, and left his tent with Walaric.
The air was crisp outside. Several knights and men-at-arms stood, staring at Epsberg’s gates. Walaric directed Godfrey’s gaze to what the others were staring at.
A body hung from a rope in front of the gate. The corpse was armored and wore a blood-stained tabard. It was one of Tancred’s knights.
“I don’t understand,” Godfrey started.
“Tancred tried to negotiate with Epsberg’s defenders in secret last night,” Turpin explained as he approached Godfrey and Walaric from his own tent.
“But he said to wait a few more days,” Walaric spat. “He must have thought he could leverage a better deal for himself.”
“Well...” Godfrey grimaced. “I guess Epsberg isn’t surrendering today.”
A horn blew from Conrad’s part of the camp. It was the signal to begin the attack.
In confusion, the Bastognian crusaders looked to Godfrey for orders. Tancred had acted in direct contradiction of his own counsel to Godfrey, and now Conrad was signaling the attack without any consultation. Godfrey’s frustration would have to wait, though. Now was the time for action and unity.
“You heard it,” Godfrey shouted to the soldiers around him. “To the siege engines. For Bastogne. For the gods!”