by N. C. Reed
“We'll call an officers meeting tonight after evening mess,” Beaumont nodded. “We need to do that anyway.”
“Have you given any more thought to my proposal?” Whipple asked.
“I have,” Beaumont nodded again. “I suggest we discuss it with our regimental commanders this evening as well. And I have an idea I want to run by you on that accord. We shall have to be in agreement on it, and then send a message to the Prince asking his permission and input.”
“What is it?”
“Well...”
-
“We've made good time despite the wind not being friendly to us,” Captain Anthony Chastain noted as he and Therron McLeod sat on the command deck of the cruiser RSN Halifax. The frigates Seadragon and Seasnake sat to the port and starboard respectfully, in escort positions.
“We need to make better time than this, however,” Therron complained. “I need to be in Norfok sooner than later.”
“I agree, sir, but this is the best we can do with the wind not cooperating. We're using the oars as well when we tack up but doing so exhausts our men quickly. And it takes them away from other duties. While I have relaxed certain standards that we often let slip in time of war, there are some duties that we cannot shirk since they affect the efficiency of the ship. Still, I estimate we will be in Norfok within the week. We will actually be in Coastal Territorial Waters in the next five days or less, so long as conditions don't worsen.”
“I could make better time by land,” Therron mused, though his voice was contemplative rather than complaining. “Do you think there is somewhere we can put ashore and I can acquire sufficient horses for myself and a small escort? A squad of your Royal Marines perhaps?”
“I honestly don't know, sir,” Chastain admitted. “Let’s examine the map and see what we can find.” The two looked at the map table and Chastain ran a finger along the coast.
“Port Charles is the last major port in our Kingdom, and we could be there in a little over a day, barring a change in conditions. Port Winton is the last port of call along our own seaboard before we enter Coastal Waters. I admit I've never made port there, so I don't know what the conditions are. You would need at least a dozen horses along with saddlery and tack, plus additional animals for packing. You would also need to lay in supplies for the trip. We can provide food stuffs but have no gear like tenting or camp ware to speak of.”
“Poll your officers and men and see of any of them have first had knowledge of this Port Winton,” Therron ordered. “Port Charles is out of the question. My brother's rot runs deep, I'm afraid, so trying to make port there is too risky.”
“Very well, sir.”
-
“Are you sure this is the route you wish to take, sir?”
In truth Chastain was thrilled at the idea of getting Therron McLeod off his ship, but it would never do to say so.
“No, but I do think it for the best,” the prince replied. “I need to reach the Coastal Province Governor as soon as possible, and as you said, the wind doesn't favor us. This will have to do. Thank you for your help, Captain. I won't forget.”
“Godspeed, sir,” Chastain settled for saying. “Boat away!” he called. The long boat carrying Therron McLeod began to lower to the sea. Soon, that boat and three more were on their way inland. Horses were already waiting for him and his ten-man Royal Marine escort. Chastain had almost been forced to place Major Guilford in irons due to his protests of sending his marines on such a mission when the evidence was clear that Therron McLeod was in fact a traitor to the Crown. But Chastain was perfectly willing to sacrifice ten Marines in an attempt to save his own skin.
And now he had done so.
“I want us underway the minute the boats return,” he told Commander Jerome Hart, executive officer of the Halifax. “We're going back where we belong at best speed.”
“Aye, sir,” Hart nodded.
“I’ll be in my cabin.”
-
“No movement to speak of milord, other than what Dagger reported this morning,” Doak Parsons reported to his Prince. “I've got men prowling all around their position and they are stirring a bit here and there, but the most activity we've seen other than that one division on the move has been unit training in camp. Most like just keeping the rust knocked off, same as we are.”
“Sounds likely,” Parno nodded, looking at the map. “I don't like this, Mister Parsons. Their army is twice our size and yet they just sit there. Why?”
“They're winning just where they are, sir,” Parsons offered a rare opinion. “I'd imagine they know it, too.”
“Why do you say that?” Parno asked, interested in what Parsons would say.
“They're occupying a big chunk of our bread basket, milord, and an equally large piece of grazing land. We’ll be hurting before winter is over without the food that land would produce, and without the hay and grass that would normally be feeding horses or beef. If that Nor general is smart enough to play the long game, then they're winning just by sitting there. They know we can't throw 'em out, and they can keep us from growing a crop there. Meanwhile, they aren't throwing their men away battering our defenses.”
“Exactly,” Parno nodded. Parsons' explanation agreed with his own. “What can we do about it?”
“Nothing, sir,” Parsons replied. “We can harass, we can interdict supplies like we have been, we can irritate them, but... it would be like a wasp trying to stop a bull. The bull would know the wasp stung him, but he'd just keep moving.”
Parno nodded again, hating to have to agree but knowing it was true. There simply wasn't anything to be done at the moment other than hold the line and try to make the lives of the Norland soldiers as miserable as possible.
“Keep me informed, Mister Parsons,” he said finally. “I depend on you and your men above all others to be my eyes and ears. Please make sure I see and hear what's happening.”
“We'll do so, milord.”
-
“This has turned into a pleasant evening,” Edema said as she joined Stephanie on the inn's covered portico. “After last night's storm and this morning's fog I wasn't sure what the day would be like. This breeze is welcome,” she sat down.
“It is very nice,” he younger companion agreed. “Captain Winters informed me a few minutes ago there's no reason we can't continue on tomorrow.”
“Wonderful!” Edema exclaimed. “Another two days, three at most, and we will be there. It will be good to see Parno once more. I've not seen him since Tammon's funeral.”
“He's not going to be pleased to see us,” Stephanie warned yet again. “The best thing to do is turn around and go back. We are asking for trouble if we do this.”
“Pish,” Edema waved her complaint away. “He may be put out but he won't be angry. Well,” she amended, “he may well be angry but he'll get over it.”
“If you say so,” Stephanie sighed. She had fought this battle many times in the last few days. There was no point in fighting it yet again.
“I know you think this is useless, and it may well be,” Edema surprised her. “But you have to know. So, does he. This is too hard on both of you to leave it unresolved. And what if something were to happen to one of you? The other would be left with a bag full of 'what if' and 'if only' that you could never get rid of. Even if the two of you cannot mend your relationship, each of you deserve some kind of closure. If nothing else, Parno doesn't need such a distraction hanging over him. And neither do you.”
It was the first time that Edema had actually acknowledged that this might not work. At the same time, Stephanie was forced to admit that Edema made sense. They did need closure, she supposed. She at least needed the opportunity to say she was sorry.
“We'll see, I suppose,” she settled for saying into the silence.
-
“Going to the Hogshead this evening?” Karls asked as he entered Parno's tent and sat down uninvited. He was one of perhaps five people in the entire camp that could do so without fear of
reprimand. Karls was dirty and sweat-stained, showing signs of his having been working with the training of 1st Corps.
“I hadn't planned on it,” Parno replied as he signed yet another form and placed in a pile for Harrel to have delivered. “And please, take a seat. Relax and be comfortable.”
“Thanks,” Karls smiled. “I brought you something,” he offered up a bottle of the Germanian home brew beer that was so popular. Parno took it thankfully.
“Your sins are forgiven,” he promised Karls as he removed the cork. “I don't know what they do to this, but damn, it's good,” he said after a long pull. “It's on par with Tinker's brew, and that's saying something.”
“I need to get over there and give that beer a try,” Karls nodded. “I hear the food is good, too.”
“Wait for the brisket,” Parno nodded. “They serve smoked brisket usually once a week at least, along with roasted potatoes and fresh bread. I promise you'll like it.”
“I'll do that,” Karls nodded. “1st Corps is coming along pretty well,” he grew serious. “I don't think it will take six months to get them up to muster, either. Graham is seriously motivated, and he is passing that on to his men.”
“Don't let him get out here in this heat and have a stroke or anything,” Parno replied. “I'm still not sure I like him personally, but I have decided that he's probably not an enemy. And he apparently is an able commander if nothing else.”
“Seems so, and he has his men's respect,” Karls nodded. “After we went through culling out Therron's plants he called all of his officers together and they had a nice long chat about loyalty. I think some of his men were surprised and the rest were glad to see something being done about it. It was a win all around as far as I can see. And, like I said, I don't think it will take so long with them. They were in pretty good physical shape to start with.”
Before he could say more the sound of several horses arriving outside reached them. A minute later Bret Chad and Preston Wilbanks entered, both removing their hats and saluting.
“Well, you two are a sight for sore eyes,” Parno smiled, shaking Chad's hand and then Wilbanks. “I got your reports from the action in the Royal City but I'd love to hear your first-hand stories. Are you too tired to sit and have a beer and maybe something to eat and tell us about it?”
“Give us a few minutes to wash some of the dust off, sir?” Chad asked.
“Let’s say a half-hour?” Parno offered. “Supper should be close to done by then and that will give Karls time to go and get the beer he volunteered to get.”
“I did?”
“Half-hour then, sir,” Wilbanks nodded.
“When did I volunteer for anything, ever?” Karls asked.
-
“... and in the dark, I just didn't want to risk trying to get down the mountain,” Wilbanks' voice was still bitter. “Had we been a little faster off the mark, we could have made it.”
“Not your fault,” Parno shook his head. “And I've been thinking about that since your report. I've got an idea about that problem and I'm going to run it by one of the Royal Engineers but first I want your opinion. What I want to do is widen the trail and pack it down, then establish a line of lamps or torches along the entire path. Establish a small post at about the half-way mark with a couple of men who aren't able to serve on the line but can still ride. As dark approaches, they make the ride up and down and light the lamps.”
“With a more secure footing and adequate illumination, movement up and down that trail should be possible even at night, don't you think?”
“I do, actually,” Wilbanks replied and Chad was nodding his own agreement. “If the horses can be sure of their footing they won't be so skittish, and the lamps will give us a corridor to stay inside of if nothing else. The trail really isn't a bad one, it's just that making it up and down in the dark is dangerous.”
“It would be a good project for the Engineering school,” Karls pointed out.
“I hadn't even thought of that,” Parno admitted. “I think I will forward the idea to Professor Pearl and let him run with it. He should be able to get something done on it.”
“Now that that's done,” he changed subjects, “tell me about Nasil. How bad is the damage, or at least how bad was it when you left? And what other news is there that you picked up on while you were there?
-
“My advisers and I have decided that the first day of autumn would be the ideal time for my coronation as King,” Memmnon said over the dinner table he shared with Winnie. Tonight, it was just them, since she would depart in the morning as soon as it was light.
“Autumn,” Winnie repeated. “That's still some time away.”
“There is a great deal to be done,” he admitted. “Honestly, it's all wasted and useless frippery in my opinion but... it is tradition and the people expect it. And I suppose there is something to be said for maintaining some semblance of normalcy in the times we're going through.”
“I guess that's a good point,” she nodded. “So, I recko-, I assume, that means I need to plan to be back a few days before then?” she corrected herself, about to slip into her old style of speaking.
“It's not required that you be here, or course,” Memmnon replied. “But it would mean a great deal to me if you were.”
“Then I’ll be here,” she promised. “Long as the Good Lord's willing, I'll be here.”
“At some point after that we will need to begin planning for our wedding,” he added, delighting in the blush that attacked her face. “I was going to suggest that you take at least one assistant with you who can take notes as you think of them. You may find certain styles or colors along your trip that you wish to have recorded for future reference.”
“That ai-, that's not a bad idea,” Winnie agreed. “I was gonna… I was going to take a secretary along anyway, so she can double as that I'm sure.”
“I believe that is a sound plan,” Memmnon smiled. “I shall miss these evenings with you, Winifred,” he said softly. “I shall miss you.”
“Me too,” she smiled. It was weak, but it was a smile. “But I'm gonna work as hard and as fast as I can to get my job done so I can get back here. I promise.”
“I will hold you to that, my dear,” he raised a small wine goblet in her direction. “I will hold you to it.”
-
“We split up here. From here on, we don't have any friends. We keep moving, and we make sure we arrive at the right time. Anything else is a failure.”
The speaker's comrades nodded.
“Then get moving. Keep to the schedule. For the Emperor.”
“For the Emperor!” the others chorused. After that, they split apart, each with his own trail and own mission.
CHAPTER FIVE
-
The new day was cooler, but clear. No fog hung over the valley as people began stirring.
Captain Winters watched as his troopers saddled their mounts while the carriage driver and his helper accepted assistance from the inn's hand to prepare the carriage. A brief breakfast had already been served and soon the ladies exited the inn, their baggage already stored on the carriage.
“A pleasure to have had you all here, my ladies,” Milton followed them out.
“A delightful place to spend the evening, Milton dear,” Edema smiled. “When next we pass this way, we will make use of your business again.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Milton beamed at that. “That is very kind of you. I wish you a safe and comfortable journey.”
“I wish to make as good a time as possible today,” Edema informed her driver before entering the carriage. “I want to be in camp before dark tomorrow if at all possible,”
“We'll do our best, milady,” the man promised.
The carriage was moving as soon as the two has settled in, and Stephanie couldn't fight off a sigh of near depression as the small inn fell from sight.
“It will be alright, dear,” Edema promised.
“No, it won't.”
-
It was a good weather day, suitable for travel. Rather by horseback or in a carriage, travel was made easier by the previous day of sun and wind which had helped to dry the mud left by heavy rains.
The 16th Imperial Infantry was still struggling miserably despite the better conditions. They had not been able to take advantage of any time to rest, marching through the mud and pushing or pulling wagons that became mired in the ruts left by wagons ahead of them. Shoes and socks soaked with water and coated with mud, pants weighted by mud caked along the cuffs and lower legs and rain-soaked gear made heavy by the water it carried all combined to leave the men exhausted and miserable. A cold camp had not raised anyone's spirits since fires would have helped them dry off and warm food would have helped them warm up alongside a nice fire.
Now with the break of day they were on the road again after a cold, miserable night and an equally cold breakfast of field rations. The road that still lay ahead of them would perhaps be in better shape, so there was at least that. But there was no mistaking that the men of the 16th were miserable. And angry. None more so than their General, Brandon Taylor.
Why the hell were they having to do such a forced march in such weather? There was no enemy out here! There was nothing out here of interest to a division of Imperial infantry. Fields that would not be planted this year, grass that no animals would graze, and trees that he couldn't allow his men to cut and build fires that would warm them up and dry them out. His orders demanded a cold camp and forced march all the way.
And all for nothing as far as he could see.
His men were veterans, elite members of the Imperial Army who had withstood an attack that had crushed two other divisions in a matter of minutes. His troops should be beyond meaningless marches like this. They should be in camp while lesser divisions were out here doing trivial work like this. Looking for what? Ghosts? He would bet the stars of his rank insignia that there wasn't a single Soulan trooper closer to his position than the established lines they had left yesterday.
