by N. C. Reed
“I have indeed,” Whipple nodded. “Early to rise and work out as the sun comes up,” he said. “Keeps me in good shape for shooting from horseback.”
“Could have told the rest of us about that,” Beaumont was still heaving a bit but was at least able to talk normally. Mostly.
“Could have,” Whipple was really struggling not to laugh now.
“Bastard,” Beaumont growled under his breath.
“That is the rumor,” Whipple did laugh then. “At least we don't have it as bad as they do,” he nodded to where the men of 2nd Corps were basically laying on the ground after their morning run. Few of them had finished where all of Beaumont and Whipple's men had. Barely perhaps, but they had finished.
“As hard as they had it when the war started, I can't say anything bad about them,” Beaumont replied. “We hadn't been on patrol when the Imps hit the bridges, might be us over there with them.”
“That is true,” Whipple mused. “I was just making the comparison. There's no doubt they have fought hard and against huge odds. They've done well. I hope they can get back to muster soon.”
“You know as well as I do that they won't be more than a shadow of the Army Corps that managed to slow the Nor advance,” Beaumont shook his head slowly. “Too many veteran soldiers lost for good. Those kids they have training up to replace them just won't be as good.”
“They will in time,” Whipple noted.
“They ain't got that kind of time,” Beaumont reminded him. “None of us do.”
There was no answer for that.
-
Commodore Anthony David stood on the command deck of his cruiser Ocoee as it cut through the seas. To his port was the frigate Turner, and beyond that sailed the cruiser Warrior, which had escaped serious damage due to inadvertently ramming a Soulanie frigate in the last-minute maneuvering Admiral Semmes had ordered during the battle. The frigates Simmons and McCoy sailed on the port and starboard of his small line respectively. A line that represented virtually every seaworthy ship left in the Eastern Fleet.
“Report Mister Riddell,” David said to his flag secretary.
“All ships reporting seas are clear, sir,” Riddell informed him. “We're maintaining a one mile spread between ships as ordered, with lookouts doubled, sir. We're at the limit where we can see signals.”
“Very good then,” David nodded. “Carry on.”
“Aye, sir,” Riddell departed, already forming his next log entry in his mind.
David looked out across the rampaging ocean waters around him and contemplated his mission. It really was rather simple, but far, far from easy. A renegade Navy captain had seized the former Lord Marshal from captivity in exile and was now apparently taking him to Norfok, the major seaport of the Coastal Province Coalition. It was likely that the traitorous Therron McLeod would try and secure assistance from the CPC in returning to his 'rightful place' atop the throne of Soulan.
David felt like retching every time he considered that. It was like some kind of sick joke. Therron McLeod's twin sister had killed her own father, the King of Soulan, and then attempted to murder her own brother the Crown Prince in an attempt to place her twin on the throne and the Imperial invasion be damned.
And now this idiot, Chastain, had played right into Therron's hand and taken him by force from the Royal compound on the Keyhorn, taking him right back into the fray that his exile had removed him from. David's already churning stomach stilled at the idea that this witless fop was running with the former Marshal after all the navy had done to secure the shores of the Kingdom against the Imperial Navy.
He would find him and return him to Savannah in irons, his ships crewed by his own men and marines. Likely the men of Chastain's ships didn't know what was happening but David would take no chances of that sort. And if Chastain refused to surrender? Well...
It would be easier to return just his head to Savannah, anyway.
-
“Any word from our scouts further west?” Parno asked, even though he knew that if there had been he would have already been informed.
“No, milord,” Enri replied. “Wherever those Imperial troops went, they are not between us and the Great River. So large a body of horsemen could not hide in the open country for this long.”
“True enough,” Parno mused. Where had they gone? Or had they gone anywhere?
“For now, we’ll work on the assumption this is a ruse,” he said finally. “That they were moving troops around out of sight so that we'd go looking for them. For all we know it was just a couple of brigades moving. Even a whole division, strung out for miles, and then when the road disappears they turn back, out of sight of our scouts. I think they want us to weaken our forces here to go in pursuit of a phantom cavalry force.”
“That is possible,” Enri Willard agreed. “It would be a good way to try and get us to weaken our front here. Or even to weaken Shelby so they could make a run at the bridge. But I think it more likely that this is a prelude to a renewed assault on our position here.”
“Is our scout network solid enough between here and the Great River to ensure they can't get around us, assuming they do cross the river and try to move south?”
“Yes sir,” Enri nodded. “We have scouting posts no more than five miles apart and they are riding circuits in both directions at least twice each day. It takes a heavy toll on both men and horses, but it does work. There's not much of a chance at all that a force that size could get by them. There's just too many of them to hide or sneak by.”
“Make sure we send couriers to let them know such a move could be coming their way,” Parno ordered. “Just so they're aware of it. There may well be Tribal horsemen among them as well, so add that to the warning,” he told Harrel Sprigs. “We may be assuming this is a ruse but let’s make sure our scouts know that it may be for real so they don't let their guard down.”
“Yes sir,” Sprigs scribbled a note in his ever-present note book.
“Things look pretty good along the line,” Parno noted. “4th and 5th Corps seem to be settled in well. And they look ready.”
“They are,” Enri nodded. “They've seen no action thus far so they're rested and ready and their kit is in good shape. With both Corps on line now we're mustering just over eighty thousand troops either directly on the line or in immediate support.”
“Seems like a lot, doesn't it,” Parno sighed. “Trouble is that the Imperial Army is sitting over there with more than twice that number. Not to mention an army across the river from Shelby.”
“That is true sir,” Enri nodded. “But if we can buy the time for 1st and 2nd Corps to refit and train up, then we will have a formidable force to oppose them with. We would still be outnumbered, but the odds would be much closer. Close enough not to matter when our troops are so much better quality than theirs.”
“It's dangerous to make that assumption,” Cho Feng spoke for the first time. “As you have seen, their troops are better quality than you have faced in the past. Do not assume that your edge is sufficient to easily offset their advantage in numbers.”
“No, I don't,” Enri assured him. “I just believe that quality tops quantity so long as the numbers are close enough. And while the Imperial troops are better than we've ever seen, I think our men have proven they are superior, sir. We've held back numbers far greater than our own so far.”
“That is true,” Parno nodded. “But holding them back isn't the same as pushing them back. And I am all out of tricks to surprise them with, too. While we have an excellent supply of Roda Finn's weaponry, it's no longer a surprise to them. They will have developed at least some kind of counter for it. It may not work, but we won't know until we see it. And that's dangerous. We will have to adjust on the fly when the enemy has the advantage of numbers and picking the timing of the attack. And I doubt they will be content to wait until we have 1st and 2nd Corps back and ready to fight, either.”
“Not likely, that is true,” Enri sighed. “But we do at least have
1st Corps nearby, and their losses were not so severe. That is a strong reserve if it's needed. And we now have several cavalry units on hand and in good shape. Well fed and rested horses and veteran troopers.”
“All true,” Parno nodded again. “They are in fine fettle. It's good to see them here facing off against the Imperials and allowing our exhausted troopers a chance to rest and refit. And perhaps you’ll get your wish and they won't hit us until we get at least 1st Corps back. I just can't depend on that. Their Emperor has to be goading them to move. They are an impatient people. Always have been.”
-
“Some of the generals are losing patience.”
General Gerald Wilson, commander of the 1st Imperial Army turned to look at the man who spoke. Tall, slender, a hawkish nose and jet-black hair, the young brigadier might seem out of place serving as Chief of Staff to someone like Wilson. But the truth was that Britton Sterling was a fighting soldier, well trained and well educated. He could and would help Wilson keep track of what was happening, just as he was doing now.
“Again?” Wilson asked, eyebrows raised. “Are they in that much of a hurry to die?”
“Some appear to be, yes sir,” Sterling nodded. “Sir, if I could make a suggestion?”
“Of course,” Wilson motioned him to continue.
“The chief complainers and agitators are the infantry division commanders. Their men are restless behind fortifications and that makes the generals restless as well. Have them assemble their men and make a forced march. Twenty miles or so due west. Not only does that burn off their excess energy, it will also give the Soulan Marshal something else to think and worry about.”
“Hm,” Wilson looked at the wall map. “Can't send them all at once,” he murmured, looking at possible marching routes.
“Order one division on a three-day forced march to a point about... twenty-five miles distant. Have them go there and make camp, holding until relieved. On the third day, give that same order to a second division, ordering them to relieve the first, carrying orders for the first to return here within three days. Then the third, and so on,” Sterling carefully outlined his plan.
“Given this some thought, have you?” Wilson raised an eyebrow.
“Yes sir,” Sterling admitted. “It's my job to anticipate problems you may have and come up with workable solutions.”
“So, it is,” Wilson nodded his agreement. “Anyone in particular who needs to get this exercise?”
“I'd have to suggest starting with General Taylor's 16th Infantry,” Sterling indicated the area where Taylor's division was camped. “He is one of the most vocal and uses his participation in 'repulsing' the Soulan cavalry attack as a reason to listen to him.” The younger man then traced a route west.
“They can follow this minor trade route here,” he tapped a small map symbol indicating a medium sized village. “Unity.”
“Unity,” Wilson repeated. “Not a bad place to choose considering our issue,” he nodded. “Very well. Have this go through the Corps Commanders as a training exercise, but I want you to detail who goes on these marches and in what order. If any of them object make sure they know these are my orders. If they object after that, let me know.” He turned to face his young chief of staff.
“It's time I reminded them who commands this army.”
CHAPTER TWO
-
Parno spent a large part of the day riding the lines, reviewing dispositions and checking on the welfare of his troops. With two new Corps in the line it was important for them to realize the same things that 1st and 2nd Corps had learned; the new Marshal cared about the wellbeing of his men.
Having the Marshal stop suddenly in random places and ask soldiers how they were faring caught them by surprise, just as it had their predecessors. How was their trip north? Were they getting enough to eat? Did they lack anything? Did they have ample supplies? Was their equipment up to standards? Their opinion of the Lord Marshal had undergone a massive shift by time the sun began sinking in the west.
Word passed quickly among them that not only was the Marshal personally checking on the wellbeing of his men, but at lunch time he had dropped from his horse and joined a random group of line infantry to take his meal with them, eating the same thing they were served and griping about it just as they did, laughing, joking and talking to them as equals. It was as if he were just another soldier and not as if he were the Crown Prince and Lord Marshal. It was an eye-opening event for soldiers who still only knew of Parno McLeod as the brawling, womanizing 'Playboy Prince'.
Parno and his retinue returned by early evening, the sun not yet fully behind the horizon. Meetings were held with officers voicing concerns over everything from enemy dispositions to food allocations to supply issues and even where they should place latrines. Finally, Enri Willard had enough.
“That's it!” he declared, slamming a fist onto the table and startling several of the assembled officers. “How dare you waste the Marshal's time with such inane drivel as where to place the frigging toilets!” his anger boiled forth. “Did you learn nothing at all in training? Have all of you not been to Royal Officer's School? I wager some few of you have even been to the Royal War College and even one or two of you to the bloody Royal School of Engineering! And despite all of that you sit here with the gall to ask His Highness where to put the Army's latrines!”
“God have mercy on us if this is the quality of officers we have in this Army,” his tone was scathing. “Get out,” his voice was now low and had taken a new edge. “Get out and never dare set foot in here again with such mundane questions and complaints. Get out!” The last two words were all but a scream of rage as the staff officers were not moving fast enough to suit him.
They got out, scrambling to collect notebooks, forms, papers, maps and all the other trivia they had brought with them. Fifteen seconds after Enri Willard's tantrum ended the tent was effectively empty.
“Are you alright, Enri?” Parno asked after a few seconds of quiet.
“Of all the ridiculous, stupid, idiotic...” Enri seemed to run out of adjectives and trailed off.
“Well, you got rid of them, anyway,” Parno patted the older man on the shoulder. “I appreciate it. Wouldn't do for me to start yelling and throwing people about. Ruin my image.”
“Indeed,” Enri snorted in rye amusement, recognizing that Parno was trying to get him to loosen up. “Indeed, it would. We can't have that.”
“Is there anything that actually needs my attention?” Parno turned to more serious matters.
“Not at this time, sir,” Enri assured him.
“All right then,” Parno slapped him lightly on the back. “In that case I think I will get me something to eat!”
“Thinking of returning to the Hogshead, then?” Enri asked, grinning.
“No, I don't know that I can take another round of that beer tonight,” Parno shook his head. “And if I keep staying out all night people will start to talk. Say I'm unfit to be a Prince. A disgrace to the uniform and the Kingdom.”
“They already say that,” Karls Willard laughed as he walked into the open tent entrance. “Behind your back, of course,” he added. “I have come to inform you both that there is a good meal waiting at your tent, milord,” Karls bowed theatrically and stood aside to allow Parno precede him through the door.
“Well that is just excellent timing, then,” Parno nodded. “Let’s go eat.”
-
“We're here, ma'am,” Captain Winters reported as the carriage jerked to a halt. Both women were relieved to be outside and standing.
“We’ll overnight here, My Ladies,” he told the two of them. “Horses are winded a bit and more than a little skittish. Seems to be some weather in the air,” he looked at the sky. “This inn is comfortable and has good food. They also have a bunkhouse that most of the Company will sleep in and shelter enough for the horses. We’ll have a watch set inside the Inn and outside as well, so you can rest easy.”
“Thank you,
” Stephanie smiled up at him. “We appreciate it.”
“Yes ma'am,” Winters nodded and began to give orders.
“Well, let’s see just how comfortable this place is, shall we?” Edema asked brightly, starting for the door. Stephanie followed her, much less enthused.
The place was surprisingly clean for a roadside inn. Clean, well-lit and comfortably furnished to boot. There was a large dining room, a smaller tavern and even a comfortable sitting room with lamps and a fireplace.
“This is almost like someone's home,” Stephanie murmured. “Beautiful.”
“Thank you,” a voice startled the two women and they turned to see a dark-haired man of average height and build walking toward them. “I'm Milton, the proprietor. Welcome. Will you be needing rooms?”
“Yes,” Edema nodded. “I require a suite with a bath if you have it for my companion and I, as well as two other rooms, preferably on either side of ours.” As she finished four tall troopers in McLeod colors walked inside and stood waiting for orders. Milton frowned for a second, then realization dawned as he turned back to Edema.
“Of course, dear lady,” he smiled. “I have something along those lines. However,” he frowned ever so slightly in concentration. “I have a suite for you and you companion with a room next door, but... I can only offer you the second room across the hall and down one door. Will that be acceptable?”
“Completely,” Edema nodded. “Thank you.”
“Not at all,” Milton assured her. “Now, I guess I need to warn my kitchen that we’ll have extra to feed this evening. How many are in your escort, milady?”
“Sixty,” Stephanie said when Edema turned to look at her. “Most will be staying in your bunkhouse if that is alright. Some of them will occupy the two extra rooms and a few will undoubtedly spend the evening here,” she motioned around her.
“That will be fine of course,” Milton frowned again. “I must see to it that we can provide for so many this late, Milady. Agatha!” he called and almost immediately a young woman in serving maid attire appeared.
