by N. C. Reed
“Oh yes,” Wilson sighed. “Most definitely.”
“We have to at least double our security, sir,” Sterling was saying as Wilson mulled over the situation. “If they can do it once, they can do it again.”
“True,” Wilson agreed. “See to it. Today. I don't think they'll be back, at least not unprovoked, but let’s not assume that. And let’s get the Corps Commanders together after lunch. Perhaps it’s time we consider making a move against the Soulanies, even if it's just to keep them occupied.”
“Yes sir.”
-
Jaelle's funeral was supposed to be a small affair with just the members of the Tinker's group present, but word of how she had saved the Prince had spread and by the time they were ready to proceed with her ceremony most of the army knew what had happened.
Rosala was still bitter as she stepped outside to follow the wagon that would carry Jaelle to her pyre and stopped short at what she saw.
One hundred men, decked out in their finest uniforms of the Prince's Own, formed in ranks of two, half in front of the wagon bearing Jaelle's body, the rest behind it.
Gathered around and further behind were many hundreds more, perhaps thousands more uniformed soldiers, their ranks looser but still formed and prepared to march.
“What is this?” she asked, looking around.
“This is their way of paying respect,” Tinker's voice was quiet.
“For what?” she asked him, puzzled.
“For Jaelle,” Tinker explained. “She saved their Prince. That makes her special to them. Were it not for the enemy across the way I dare say all of them would be here to pay respects and render honors.”
“But she... I... since when do such as they have anything like respect for the likes of us?” she finally stammered.
“For some of them perhaps just since Jaelle's sacrifice, but most of them take their cues from the Prince, and he does not look down on us. Any of us,” he emphasized. “Thus, neither do they.”
The older woman was clearly shocked by what she saw and had nothing further to say. Karls Willard suddenly appeared, resplendent in his dress uniform. He stood at attention before them before speaking.
“Sir, ma'am, we are ready to escort you to Miss Jaelle's final place of resting. You have only to give the order.”
“We do not bury our dead, Colonel,” Tinker said softly.
“So, I'm informed sir,” Karls nodded. “In which case we will render honors until such time as the ceremony is complete. With your kind permission of course.”
“Gladly,” Tinker nodded. “Let us go then. It does no good to delay.” Even as he spoke another group of horsemen appeared, smaller, but no less impressive.
Parno McLeod rode at the head of the small column, his face drawn and haggard. He stopped a respectful distance from the group and dismounted, handing the reins to Berry as he strode forward to where Tinker, Karls and Rosala stood.
“Karls, Tinker,” he nodded and then turned to Rosala.
“Ma'am,” he bowed to her, shocking the woman further. “I have come to pay my respects if you will allow it. I know that Jaelle was special to you, and I wanted you to know that she was to me as well. And not because of what she did for me yesterday, either,” he added. “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I would rather he stabbed me a hundred times as to stab her but once. I... I have never had... no one has ever...” Parno trailed off as words failed him.
Rosala was clearly stunned and looked to Tinker for help.
“Rosa would normally be rather acid tongued, my Prince, but your appearance seems to have...” He trailed off as yet another group of mounted men, also arrayed in Parno's livery, forced their way through the growing mass of men to lead a carriage to the front of the inn. One of the troopers dismounted to hurry over and open the door, letting down the steps.
Lady Edema Willows, Duchess of Cumberland, stepped down with the assistance of said trooper and made her way immediately to where Tinker and Rosala stood.
“Tinker,” she embraced him briefly and then turned to Rosala.
“You are Rosala?” she asked politely.
“I am,” Rosala nodded warily.
“I wish to join you in paying respect to that beautiful young woman,” Edema spoke even as another, younger woman stepped down from the carriage. Stephanie Corsin-Freeman walked to where Edema stood, nodding to all and hugging Parno very briefly.
“Why?” Rosala asked, now thoroughly confused.
“Firstly, because she was so good to the young man I consider my son,” Edema didn't mince words. “She showed him nothing but love and concern, and for that I will ever be in her debt. But that debt pales next to the fact that because of her I still have him. She will always be precious in my sight. Always.”
“I see,” Rosala nodded, though she didn't really. Or at least she couldn't see clearly just yet.
“I would offer you to share my carriage to wherever our destination is,” Edema said.
“It is customary that we walk,” Tinker explained.
“Then I would ask that we be allowed to join you,” Edema didn't hesitate.
“I see no reason that cannot be,” he smiled faintly. “But we should start.”
Without further talk the group moved to the rear of the wagon. Karls set out leading the procession at a slow walk behind a single man with a small drum that he would occasionally beat. The rest followed quietly.
-
It was a simple affair. A group of six women in black carried Jaelle from the wagon to a small funeral pyre and placed her there with a tenderness that brought tears to many a battle-hardened soldier's eyes. Flowers decorated her body, placed there by mourners, and her hands, pressed together on her torso held a small bouquet of black roses.
There was no eulogy. Those who had things to say would do so later. Once the flowers had been placed, Rosala took the torch they had brought with them and Tinker lit it for her. As she started for the pyre, Karls called out a command;
“Render honors... FRONT!”
Hundreds, perhaps thousands of boots snapped as the soldier came to attention while the honor guard all drew swords and presented them, moving to form a tunnel of sorts for Rosala to walk through. Startled, she almost fell, but Karls was there and offered her his arm as an escort.
After a brief pause she took it and let him lead her through, emerging on the far side next to the pyre itself. Karls left her there, taking his place among the others.
The older woman spoke a few simple words in a language few present could understand, then gently placed the torch in the middle of the pyre's lower level. The oil-soaked logs caught at once and the fire began to spread. Soon it was burning so hot that anyone near it had to move away.
When the flames finally died down, Jaelle was gone.
-
Parno rode back to camp in silence, Berry and his men surrounding him rather than following at a respectful distance. There would be no more of that. From now forward there would always be a bubble around Parno McLeod. If you weren't personally known, you wouldn't be getting through it.
Parno scarcely noticed. He made it back to his quarters and handed care of his horse off to an aide before entering his tent and removing his dress uniform. After that he did something he rarely ever did.
He laid down in the middle of the afternoon and went to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
-
General Gerald Allen looked at the hastily scribbled orders he'd just been given with a combination of rage and satisfaction. He had sent runners to find Generals Coe and Vaughan. They had plans to make and they didn't have a great deal of time to make them.
Things were about to heat up.
-
General Wilson read the report he'd just received from his cavalry force with mixed emotions. He was glad to read that Stone had, in fact, reached the Soulan Royal City and effectively sacked it but he was alarmed at their losses both in combat and due to sickness. This report, sent by a healthy
trooper on a good horse had likely reached Wilson before Stone's battered command had returned to Lovil.
One of Stone's commanders was smarter than the others and his command had avoided the food poisoning that had laid low the rest of Stone's command, but then in defending the sick troopers of the other two divisions General Baxter's command had suffered more battle-related casualties than the other two combined as they were forced to fight alone and unsupported. There was no official count of losses as yet, but it was almost certain to be high. Wilson's cavalry corps was out of commission for the foreseeable future.
Wilson wanted to be angry and he was, but... Stone had warned Wilson that he was sending Stone and his men to fail. They had marched without adequate preparation, including rations. Eating that Soulan beef had been too easy, but it had been a way to feed his men when they hadn't had time to acquire enough field rations to carry with them.
“Sterling,” he called. “I want you to have a good medical team dispatched to Lovil to help Stone's command. Save as many of them as they can. Provide them an escort and have them carry supplies they need with them in case there aren't sufficient supplies in Lovil.”
“Yes sir,” Sterling nodded and departed.
Stone's report had mentioned in passing what it called a 'reiteration' of his actions in Lovil as detailed in his report sent before the incursion into the Soulan interior, but Wilson didn't have that report and hadn't seen it.
Except, the next envelope he opened contained a terse report from one Lucas Silven, whom Stone had promoted after executing one Commodore Haskings for rape. Silven's report detailed how his boat force and their escorting cavalry battalion had been attacked by a large force of Soulanie cavalry. The Imperial cavalry had apparently been wiped out to a man and the boat force had been attacked by archers who had killed over two hundred of Silven's sailors. The loss of so many of his personnel had resulted in a large number of lost boats and the loss of their supplies had left them no choice but to allow the current of the northern flowing river to return them to Lovil.
Wilson sighed as he read the tally. What should have been simple assignments turned into massacres. Massive losses of life and war material during what should have been a simple movement. The damned Soulanie cavalry had thwarted him once more.
“Sterling,” Wilson called and his Chief of Staff returned at once.
“Send someone to find that heathen savage Blue Dog,” he said bitterly. “See if he will come and meet with me. Make sure whoever you send knows to be polite and phrase it as a request. The bastard is brazenly independent and usually on the verge of insolent. Make sure your messenger knows that and is prepared for it. They have to remain calm regardless of what the bastard says.”
“Yes sir.”
Wilson reread Stone's report after Sterling had departed, wondering in the back of his mind what else would go wrong today. All because of an apparently botched assassination attempt by the Imperial Secret Police.
-
General Ezra Crandall, commander of the 33rd Imperial Infantry division, was not in the best of moods despite his division's good performance. His ill mood had nothing to do with his division's performance, however, and everything to do with why they were out here to start with.
He had received orders from General Wilson the night before last to have his division on the road at first light the next morning, yesterday, on a forced march to a small town some twenty-five miles west of the Army's main position. They were to make the march in three days at most and on arrival relieve Taylor's 16th Infantry of the position they had established, completing the camp and holding it until relieved themselves.
He knew for a fact that Taylor's division had just departed five days earlier, so what the hell was the rush to get out there and relieve them to start with? Five days was no real hardship for a well-provisioned unit. Crandall considered Taylor a blowhard and braggart, always crowing about his division's 'great and exemplary performance' during the massive Soulanie cavalry attack a few weeks back. Taylor was always more than willing to recount his division's brave stand in the face of overwhelming odds in holding the flank after two other divisions failed to... blah, blah, blah.
Crandall knew he wasn't the only one tired of hearing it and has assumed that was the reason that Taylor had been given the 'honor' of making the march to this Unity in the first place. But Crandall's division had arrived just after the failed attempt to carry the Soulan Army's position and had not been a part of either action. While Crandall had been critical of the policy of Wilson's 'victory through inaction', he had not thought his criticism had been severe enough to warrant his division being forced out of camp with twelve hours notice.
Apparently, he had been mistaken in that as he and his men were now on their second day of march, heading for this Unity township and whatever awaited them there.
At least the weather was better than Taylor's men had endured. He had no way of knowing that his day was about to get very hot indeed.
-
Allen and his cohorts had devised a simple plan to accomplish their simple orders. The terse message from Davies had been short and to the point. Trap and destroy the division now on the road, eliminate all but one piece of evidence, and then proceed to Unity and repeat the process.
Those were orders he could definitely get behind, and both Vaughan and Cole had readily agreed. Their plan was to attack from three sides, cutting the Imperial infantry off from all avenues of escape except for running toward Unity, where they would finish them off later.
Allen would attack from the south. Coe would cross the road ahead of the enemy and attack from the north, while Vaughan would move in behind the Imperials and attack from the east. Simple but effective.
They were to take no prisoners.
Word of the attack on the Prince had spread like wildfire through the whole command and left over twenty-thousand Soulan cavalry troopers seething with anger. They were ready for payback and considered this the first installment. No one other than the chaplains had any problems with not taking prisoners, and the chaplains weren't part of the chain of command. Their objections fell on deaf ears at any rate.
Vaughan would initiate contact since he had to be in proper position in order to prevent any runner from escaping.
Coe and Allen would await his signal before launching their own attack.
-
General Vaughan's family had served the House of Tyree since before it was a House. Vaughan's direct ancestor had been one of Tyree's closest retainers. Service to the Crown was imbibed in the milk of mothers in the Vaughan family.
Well educated in the art of war, Vaughan was a natural at his job and was the perfect choice to start the battle off. His scouts reported the moving Imperial division had passed their position almost twenty minutes ago. Vaughan quickly calculated the distance the column of men on foot could have traveled and decided it was enough.
“Form line of battle with 2nd Brigade centered on the road,” he ordered. “1st Brigade to the south, 3rd to the north. Each brigade to keep one battalion in reserve to ensure no one manages to escape back toward the Imperial camp. We'll begin moving in five minutes and will move in silence until ranks are dressed. Bugles will sound Canter and that will be the signal to move forward. Maintain your lines and interval at all times until contact. Remember the Black Flag.”
Runners took off at once to pass these orders. Vaughan waited the five minutes and then nodded to his 2nd Brigade Commander, Brigadier Brandon Webb.
“Let’s get moving.”
“Sir,” Webb nodded. “Forward to line of departure and then hold!” he called out. Slowly the mass of horsemen began moving.
-
“Are we on line?” Coe asked.
“We are sir,” his chief aide replied. “I've checked the orders myself. All brigade commanders know their missions.”
“Outstanding,” Coe nodded. “Have the scouts continue screening and let’s move into position.”
“Yes
sir.”
-
“Sam,” General Gerald Allen said quietly. “Are we ready to get under way?” Brigadier Samuel Walters had taken over the lion’s share of work commanding the 9th Cavalry while Allen commanded the newly formed 1st Soulan Cavalry Corps.
“We are sir,” Walters promised. “Brigades are all in position and orders passed.”
“Let’s move to line of departure then and have the scouts keep us out of sight.”
“Right you are, sir,” Walters nodded and started issuing orders. Thousands of horsemen began moving toward their places.
-
“Do you hear that?” one young company officer asked a counterpart.
“Hear what?” his tired companion asked, trudging along the gravel and dirt-packed road. “All I hear is a bunch of grumbling and cursing.”
“You don't... feel, that?” his friend asked. “Like a rumbling feel?”
“No,” his companion shook his head. “We're at the back of the entire formation, though, Wil. There are thousands of boots ahead of us tromping on this road. Tens of thousands actually. That's probably what you're feeling.”
“No, I... if that was it we'd have been feeling it most of the way, right? This is... I think this has-”
“Has what?” the companion asked without looking. “You're para... noid... Wil?” He looked to see his companion gone.
“Wil?!”
He found him finally, twenty feet or so behind, face down in the road with an arrow sticking out of his back.
“Oh shi-” he managed to get out before another arrow buried itself in his chest. The last thing the young officer heard was a distant bugle call.
-
“What the hell is that?” Crandall demanded, hearing the bugle call in the distance.
“Sounds like a bugle, sir,” a young aide mentioned from behind him. Crandall actually stopped his horse and turned in the saddle at that.
“No shit? Well aren't you just fucking brilliant? Able to identify a bugle call after only a few notes.” The young man's face flushed but he wisely remained silent.
“That's not an Imperial call, sir,” a senior aide said softly. “We've got company.”
