The Adventures of Gravedigger, Volume One

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The Hessian spat out the blood that filled his mouth, hefting his saber for another attack. He was standing in ankle-deep mud, his uniform stained with grime and gore, and the men he faced were poorly trained Revolutionaries. Their main advantage was the fact that they knew the territory well but the Hessian also knew that a man fighting for his home and family was given extra strength and ferocity.

The Hessian roared, stepping over the severed limb of one of his compatriots. He approached an opponent from behind, reaching around with his blade to slit the man’s throat so deeply that the head was only attached to the body by a thin strip of gristle.

The rain had begun again and the roar of thunder, coupled with the sounds of battle all around, made it hard for the Hessian to focus. He dodged the thrust of a young man’s bayonet before finishing the youth with the point of his sword.

It was moments like these that filled the Hessian with joy. Unlike many of his fellows, he had volunteered for service, rather than being conscripted by Landgrave Frederick II. He was a soldier in wartime and a killer in peacetime. The names mattered little to him. He had grown up the youngest of six bloodthirsty brothers, trained to be rabid murderers by their drunk of a father. The only thing that the Hessian enjoyed as much as battle was sex, and both were done with equal amounts of violence and glee.

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