Wolfpacks of Harnoth
"Goddamn it, you fucking child." The captain's words broke the silence upon the lieutenant leading his refugees to camp after a brief skirmish. "Goddamn it. *You* led them right into your communications. Now they know where our bulk is. How many legged on?"
"I saw one mounted. I got it spent, and no fresh gun, as yon kunkers shot out me swab." spoke the girl with three muskets and hunter's finery and was rather arg. The lieutenant was very much aware of what had happened, yet realized not just how horrendously he had fucked over the pack. He was standing in the middle, with his spent boys with a couple of casualties, and was expecting a level apology any moment now. 'Ahoy, Captain - I did precisely as instructed. Find the pack?' He would not have told that it was one of the corpses to have lead him thus far, as he had himself sought to orienteer, yet found himself on the wrong side of the hill, figure of speech and literal meaning both. "I send a fella to round up their scouts. With the horse, we need to move. I imagine we'll have a battalion storming not one hour from now."
"Lieutenant, move with my sergeant. Swab for her."
"Swab?" the lieutenant was utterly flabbergasted. He knew what the word meant, but--
"Load her muskets." the captain sounded as if talking indeed to a half-witted child. "Go. Hands better than ya sense? Go! To the picket. Skirmish lines. Have one of the sixties with the pickets, the rest move this shite out-a-here."
"Dead, then, wounded?" the girl spoke. She had chased in the night eyes, and had been starving.
"Leave the dead. Wounded-- if they can ride."
"Yor'ze. Lieutenant, follow me."
They might have beaten the shiten noble officer there and then and left him to the Bloods had they not spied his accent being cut above common trash bastards. 'Go on' thought lieutenant Eregieth the Son of Harkgan. 'Go on, let us see if I can be humiliated further--' this he said with his mind's voice which was nearly trembling, knowing he'd be demolished if he failed again. 'But what the bloody hell kind of company does not wish to engage in a strenghtened position?!' thought he. Then the pickets joined the fight, and faced another skirmish with some battalion lights coming to poke on and call on the Wolves, see gif they can pick a pup or two for the grinder. How's sausage made? Both them knowsies, and both they luncheon on it, either way. The fight was brief. The son of Harkgan had his hands trembling the entire time, and he was a below average swab-- the girl kept shooting, ducking, switching positions and bloody hell did she know every inch of the field, both sides. Eregieth counted six men to fall, out of twenty five shots, some of which grazed, or punched someone in the plated gut. She was going all-hog to smack the taste out of some officer's mouth. Eregieth realized: she was switching to stay alive 'acause the swab, the lowest possible job for a Wolf, was virtually incompetent.
"Thro' it, focks'ake." she had to yell a couple a times, as she was still sighting, trying to get her new swab to the ryhthm. Not that many Taergaledian Bloods used to getting two shots from the same markswoman in what feels like a blink. Humming a bit every now and then, she was with little fear. Eregieth himself kept down more than her, with knee sitting on a tree stump, or some moist Spring moss. "Throw! Damn you." Then she started to tirade on about Vaerg-varans and their repulsive line fighting. Eventually, the Taergaledians pulled away in good order, as they tried the side door, and faced crossfire. Not worth it-- pondered the Harkgan. Just some supplies. What's in here that's so important?
"You live." spoke the captain, having himself seen to the complete eradication of the mid camp, and sent word to chain to displace the next two, both ways. 'So five in total' thought the Harkgan. 'I did cock it up.' The captain's words were directed at the musket missy.
"He--" she spoke. "Not a waste of limbs. Clumsy though."
"Fine. If *he* can find this pit, I suppose Bloods would have, either way. Who *was* in the picket?"
"I was." the girl said.
"What'd you do.'
"Spoke!"
"Spoke an ear-picket. Level, Yeherit?"
"That, or see the lot fall. They were right on course with the *enemy* pickets. We need the men. Butcher's bill's high enough." she said, completely secure against counter-arguments, as she was right. The cap'n said naught. He eyed his new stone of agony, the one he'd might have to carry, or mayhaps roll down a slope and meet at the bottom.
"Good. Yeherit - ropes are yours. Train this poncer. And 'lieutenant' - drop that plate. 'Tll kill ya."
Eregieth had a proven plate. Good one. It was polished, and well set on leather with no chain, and carried no dents to see - he was not about to take it off unless skin under it started flaking off with mange. He would have questioned the request, but the Cap'n simply nodded and went on to see how many wounded needed what care, and if someone would have to be left behind-- Some corporal shot through the gut would have to be slit right there, and someone with a shot leg would get a sting of something Botanist, and wait under camo until the Bloods passed on. Someone would hold the Capn's hand and wish him well, having served the duration and to likely come to an end because of some child stumbled through the woods-- The Harkgan knew it was on him.
Composition
Manpower
Any Harnothi-speaker is potentially one of the Wolves. Being home to some nine million people in 7-600s, House-lands would give their pick of the litter to the packs.
Equipment
Wolfpacks would move and fight light. Generally, few men or women fought in more armor than a jerkin to turn aside stray blows from swords, most of whom went in what garb they wore as civilians, only better - Rye-flower, a blue bloom associated with a past deadly cold winter was worn as is, a flower, or ebroidered onto shoulder.
Weaponry
Swords, short-blades, 'trench-knives', grenades, muskets and specialized weapons such as the vaunted Qum-sprung crossbow. Wolfpacks would move and fight as apparent mobs, or skirmish in the flanks and pick off priority targets via 'far-patrols' and vanish into the wilds with nobody being able to pin them down in time.
Vehicles
Prophet's Horse, or foot - this was the preferred method of transport. Wolfpacks would build simple enclosures to harbour their gear and supply, and retreat within to evade, or defend - these would create a line from the operation camp, usually being constantly patrolled and resupplied by men marching to and fro. Virtually no donkeys, mules or horses; some very northern operations used reindeers and sleds, with the Northern 'Huövar' troops engaging with skis. These were Rämenaran, and not applicable to most of Houselands.
Structure
A Wolfpack would be build around the Captain, who is the 'owner' of said moniker, usually numbered with the captain's birthplace for added recognizability. E.g. 'Thvas-kertan 13th'. The name would change according to the new captain, but the number could remain in use for decades or more. Pack-Captain was in charge of a company sized unit or light troops. Captains would convene, and roughly five of them would spread out a in a single operation, and work as a small unit. One would find the enemy, and the others would priobe for flanks and supplies, and call in assistance if a juicy lump was found, or even some gibblets for the dogs.
Tactics
Wolfpacks would seldom, if ever, engage head on. They would not participate in large battles, unless skirmishing or mobbing on supply camps, and marching through treacherous ground to surprise and flank. Indeed, they were ill-equipped to fight on open ground; if, however, a hostile unit were to enter a woods, and face a company of Wolves, they would be mauled, and likely unable to advance, if not outright routed or slaughtered. Forward elements would be driven back virtually within minutes, and soon enough pin-point musket fire and grenades would rain down on the hostile battalion, who would be foolish to open fire, as gunpowder smog further destroys visibility: should they do this, the packs would form a line, and cast incendiary devices, grenades and eveything from bee-hives to axes into the fray, and charge; given enough resistance, the pack would disperse, likely drop a type of tear gas, to which most Wolves would be accustomed to by exposure, and scramble.
Wolfpacks are a residue from a barbaric past.
Training
Being an excellent infantryman is an absolute must. There is no mercy for those to fall behind whilst marching, or of poor constitution and unable to suffer freezing temperatures in the mid-winter wilds. The Wolves are trained in marching, and are required to kill a man, one way or another, in order to make sure they can, if required. Fear of failing the Pack was to be the greatest fear, more powerful still than that of dying or being left behind. Wolfpacks, at times, commit atrocities, such as torching villas or killing civilians. This is to create a solid pack mentality, that if one man committed a crime at the captain's behest, all are responsible, and must therefore fight the enemy and beat him in order to prove the enemy was unworthy of mercy or nobility.
Logistics
Logistical Support
Able to live off the land. Campaigning an entire season, with no support from cities or depots of any sort. These were considered 'must' by most captains, who generally trusted in the maxim 'Ten enemy bundels of wheat equal one of our own.' Weaken the foe, and grow stronger; the resource in war is their resolve, and not truly manpower or number of guns.
Wolfpacks were in part a scary force, as they commanded the resources of the wood and bog, which were difficult for foreign armies to project.
Auxilia
Liaison officers frequently visit the captains, and see that communication exists betwixt the main force the absolute front of the axis of advance. Many nobles train with Wolfpacks in peace time, and bring home stories of brawls and broken bones, dead men in the ring and they want all part in this, very often becoming a part of a pack at the family's elders' leave. Auxilia are not trusted: only members of the pack are truly worthy of sharing the stood line.
Upkeep
No upkeep - captain's often get pension. State supplies some equipment, but much of it is looted from the enemy, and sometimes standardized. Muskets barely ever accept the same caliber either way, and Wolfpacks press their own ammo either way, according to company's needs.
Recruitment
Mostly honour-bound to serve, Wolves tend to be volunteers. Harnothi-speakers, usually common, are called according to their ability, generally starting with woodsmanship and orienteering, stunted needs for sleep and sustenance, as well as marching. Packs have eyes here and there, and one of the reasons for soldiers to behave and better themselves, is that a Pack might call for them. At times, usually dire ones, Packs ask for officers and men to serve. This is risky, as there is no guarantee that the parent unit sought not to get rid of problematic individuals, or dump the sickly and weak into a foreign, often 'despised as honourless' unit.
History
Wolfpacks form the extreme flanks, and front of any formation i.e. pickets of regulars, and beyond nothing but unsecured ground, with Wolfpacks prowling and stalking any scouts or spies. This is in 7-640, and has been the role of Wolves. They hunt, they are, as saying goes. Literally hundreds of battles have been fought and won with Wolfpacks pointing the Captain-General, or the Duke, or a King or Emperor where to push, and topple the foe-- Wolves smell blood, and they are excellent scouts.
It is difficult to say when, precisely, they were formed. First noted, named captain was a particularly vicious man called S'zian-tem, or Iron-elbow, in 5-57. The man was a brute, volatile and crude, yet a sound military mind, who did little to endear his form of warfare to supplicants or men-at-arms. He was known to hang prisoners on trees, and use them for punching bags, or leave them lined up in the freezing night, and pour water on them - the first one to speak where whatever the Wolfpack was searching would live, and likely die, with the few to survive the original Freeziing Vigil (term likely used for sub-zero training as a joke) being offered to join the Pack. These packs would virtually act against all codes of Mihurite conduct of war, and do so with cruel glee. They were known to carry home amounts of loot, weapons and luxuries, that hundreds of greedy merchants took up the blade only to take in a share - and the Iron-elbow welcomed them. Drinking and bub became customary during this time.
Druidic faith became central to the Packs with the Empire being formed c.a. 5-225, and Slëmonoch becoming the Seat of Kiri-ara. The Packs were seen as the swords around the throne at this time, and the Captain-General became an important second-in-command to whatever House was ruling at the time. The Wolfpacks were soon seen as the embodiment of the wild in Man, and came to be officially called Wolves.
Historical loyalties
Wolfpacks defend their land, and mainly pose their loyalty to those to earn it, and speak the Harnothi tongue.
During the Wars of the Coalition Horde, Wolfpacks were virtually only loyal to the Duke Harkgan, who was a major champion for them, having served with them in the past. The older Wolves remembered him a bumbling fool, and knew now this act was in part due to him not wanting to seem like a threat to command - this they thought, either way. Or, perhaps, he was indeed a poor soldier, and grew to become a good one in some two years of marching. They told stories of him training day and night, and eventually becoming one of them - acting a surgeon, and eventually seeing to the captain himself, being offerd the spot upon the 11th losing their leader at 2nd Tvbéra.
Type
Special Forces
Founding
n.a. / ancient
Overall training Level
Professional
Assumed Veterancy
Trained
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