Parno's Peril

by N. C. Reed

  And with that Case was away, leading his horse to the picket area after cleaning and inspecting his hooves while talking to Winnie.

  “Dang it, Winifred, when are you gonna learn?” she muttered to herself. “You got to stop takin' offense to ever little thing.”

  She decided she would make her rounds and look for those horse mounted women at the same time. No sense in not being economical with her time. And while she was at it, she'd figure a way to apologize to Case.

  Again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  -

  General Brandon Taylor was an early riser and today was no exception. There remained a bit of work to be done for the 16th Infantry, but he expected them to be finished with their encampment preparations by the end of the day.

  Unity appeared to have been a thriving village in the past but had been abandoned ahead of the Imperial advance. He couldn't blame them, really. Having a half-million soldiers of a foreign army in the neighborhood would bring down the property values, that was certain.

  The abandoned homes and buildings had made establishment of a facility here much easier than anticipated, and he and his officers had taken advantage of the empty homes to make their quarters in something other than a tent. Thanks to stables and hotels there were actually very few tents needed, but Taylor had ordered roughly half the tents put up anyway in the event they had a visiting unit such as one of Stone's cavalry outfits. He had ordered three modest homes that sat empty set aside as VIP quarters as well, just in case.

  Taylor was beginning his day by looking over reports brought in the previous night while he had his breakfast when he heard yelling in the camp. The last time he had heard such yelling, the camp had been under attack so he didn't ignore it. Instead he grabbed his cap and sword and stepped outside to see what was happening.

  To find himself and his 'elite' division under attack by Soulan Cavalry once more.

  -

  Samuel Walters had deployed the men of the Soulan 9th Cavalry as well, if not better, than Gerald Allen himself could have. Despite the predawn darkness they had assembled in, his horsemen were all in position and ready to go by the time it was full light.

  “Ready Sam?”

  “We are, sir,” the brigadier nodded.

  “Then have at 'em,” Allen ordered simply.

  “Pass the word, forward at a Walk, wait for bugles. Two minutes,” Walters ordered. Rather than using bugles or whistles, they would pass the order by word of mouth to avoid noise. The two-minute rule was for those at the center of the line. For those at the end, they would begin moving as soon as the order reached them. While it wasn't perfect, it was workable. And a proven tactic.

  So it was that two minutes after the order was given, the center regiment of the 9th Cavalry's line began moving forward at a walk, along with the rest of the line.

  They were less than a ten-minute walk from the Imperial position.

  -

  Imperial pickets and guards had drawn their attitude straight from their leader. Like Taylor, they felt they were being punished, given duties better suited for units that had not seen combat. There were no Soulan forces out here, nor was there anything else for that matter. The only good thing about this mission was to be away from the rest of the camp and its incessant drills, inspections and lectures.

  All of this attitude also made them a good bit more lax than normal. Alert levels were low among the guard posts and things that should have rated further inspection were ignored. Signs like the night birds going silent. Insect noises ceasing to fill the night, even close to dawn. Wildlife running toward the camp even in the early predawn light.

  Yet none of this made an impression on the guard posts surrounding the 16th Infantry as they grumbled to one another about the unfairness of their being given such mundane jobs as establishing a new camp, regardless of who it was for.

  And all the while that they spent moping over these and other considerations, three full Soulanie Cavalry divisions were walking right up on them, blood in their eyes and vengeance in their hearts.

  -

  “I think we're about as close as we're gonna get,” Walters said quietly. “I'm amazed they haven't sounded the alarm already.”

  “Agreed,” Allen nodded. “At your command, Walt.”

  “Bugler, sound Forward Canter if you please,” Walters tightened his grip on the reins of his horse as he drew his sword.

  With the clear notes of the bugle the line lurched forward, moving much faster now.

  -

  “What was that?” one Imperial guard said, standing up straighter. As a picket post, his job took him much further out on the edge of the camp than a mere guard post. “Did you hear that bugle?”

  “It's time for bugles all over camp, you idiot,” his partner said. “They're blowing Rise to Ready all over camp.”

  “This wasn't Rise to Rea-” was as far as he got before a Southern arrow pierced his chest, stopping him from worrying about what he had heard. A second arrow ended the shock his partner felt at seeing his friend killed before him.

  “Forward at a Gallop,” Walters ordered at once. “Take them at a run!” he yelled for those around him and the line broke into a slow run.

  -

  Taylor had for just an instant thought perhaps the rumble beneath his feet was a quake. This area was well known for them so it wasn't uncommon. But the rumble continued and began to grow. And now it wasn't just... it was...

  “Soulanies!” the cry rose from all over the camp. “Horsemen! Attacking from all directions! Soulanie Horse-” the cry was cut off and Taylor didn't have to see it to know why. He felt a few seconds of panic as he realized this was the worst time for his men to be hit by such an attack. Then he shook his head and began shouting orders.

  “Parade!” he yelled. “Fall back to the Parade Ground and hold! Box in the Parade Ground!”

  The Parade Ground was hardly a true parade type field but rather the center of town where the well was located. It was also contained by the square of the town and cut down the angles of attack the Soulan horse soldiers could attack his men as they defended the place. And with access to water, his men stood a better chance there than they would spread out through the small town.

  The buglers began to sound Parade in all directions and many of his soldiers knew at once what their general was trying to do. Breaking contact regardless of their position they broke and ran for the center square, hoping to find more support there to form an organized defense.

  But not all of Taylor's soldiers would understand, there having been no drills for this eventuality. Some assumed it was the wrong call made by a scared bugler. Others thought Taylor had lost his grip on reality or perhaps didn't realize the scope of their situation. Regardless, many of the soldiers didn't follow the directions, choosing instead to fight or run on their own.

  And that actually helped those of Taylor's command who did run for the square as Soulan's horse soldiers were occupied with rounding up and putting down those who continued to fight and move in the town proper and its outskirts.

  Leaving Taylor and his men time to erect a sturdy defense around the well by the time the Soulan horse soldiers got there.

  -

  “Well, this is an issue,” Vaughan said as he eyed the closed off streets leading to the town square.

  “It's not, really,” his senior Brigadier, Charles Lockhart said calmly.

  “Oh?” Vaughan looked at Lockhart, eyebrows raised. “What would you do? Burn them out?”

  “Exactly.”

  -

  Taylor looked at the collection of men he had to assume was all that was left of his division. Less than a full brigade of soldiers, perhaps two thousand men at most, remaining out of ten thousand and more.

  Their position would be a strong one against anyone but such an overwhelming number of Soulanie horsemen. Even then it wasn't bad, but he knew it would eventually fail.

  “Sir!” he heard someone call and looked up to see a young
Captain coming his way.

  “Sir, there is a single rider with a flag of truce waiting for you are the south barricade, sir!”

  “Very well,” Taylor tried to sound confident. “I suppose I should see what the gentlemen wants, aye?” He accompanied the Captain to the barricade where a horse soldier with black trousers and a green jacket waited for him.

  How did they pick those atrocious colors, I wonder? Taylor asked himself.

  “You have a message for me?” he said aloud to the trooper, who nodded.

  “Surrender or be killed to the last man,” he said simply.

  “Is that it?” Taylor asked.

  “That's it,” the man nodded.

  “Well, tell your commander he can do a little better than that, I'm sure,” Taylor laughed. Rather than take that as an insult, the southern rider merely nodded and rode away, leaving Taylor concerned.

  “Let’s make sure they can't get in here unseen, boys,” he called out. “Archers to stay back from the line to cover engagements!”

  -

  “He refuse?” Allen asked and the rider nodded.

  “Well, figured he would but it was worth a shot. I didn't think on this,” Allen admitted. “Didn't see it coming.”

  “Rider from General Vaughan, sir,” an aide galloped up. “Message for you.” He handed over a small piece of paper. Allen read it grim faced.

  “Well, that would work, wouldn't it,” he sighed, passing the note to Walters.

  “So, it would, sir,” Walters agreed. “Seems a waste, but better than the lives we lose attacking a strong position.”

  “True,” Allen nodded. “All right. Get the orders out. Half-an-hour. God forgive us.”

  -

  “What was that?”

  “What was what?” an Imperial infantryman had just been dreaming about the breakfast he had missed.

  “There it is again!” the first trooper pointed. “It... I think it's fire arrows! They're burning the town!”

  “Fire!” another soldier down the line called. “Fire! Fire in the town and spreading this way!”

  “Just when we thought we were in a strong spot,” the first Imperial muttered. “Damn that bunch anyway.”

  “General Taylor, there are fires all around us!” a young Major reported. He was one of the more senior officers to have survived.

  “Well, so long as they don't make it to us, we're fine,” Taylor said.

  “They are coming straight at us, sir,” the young major reported. “What isn't being blown by the wind is being fed with fuel. We're surrounded on all sides by fire and it's drawing the net closer and closer.”

  “Damn them,” Taylor swore, bitterness clear in his voice. “Raise the white flag; we surrender.”

  “Yes sir,” the Major looked glum. “Right away.”

  -

  “White flag approaching on foot, General,” an aide reported.

  “Cut him down,” Allen said without a thought. “It's what they’d do to us.”

  “Yes sir,” the man nodded and returned with his orders.

  “What do you think of that?” Walters asked once they were alone.

  “Of what?” Allen asked, trying to watch the battle.

  “The Black Flag,” Walters specified.

  “I think if we'd done it two wars ago we'd be at peace right now,” Allen replied. “That's what.”

  Walters nodded in reply and there was no more talk of the Black Flag policy.

  -

  “Sir, the Soulanies aren't accepting our surrender,” the Major appeared to be in a mild state of shock as he was faced with his own doom.

  “What do you mean not accepting it?” Taylor demanded. “They have to!”

  “Perhaps if you told them, sir?” the Major said. “They have cut down everyone we've sent forward so far.”

  “That's a violation of the rules of war!” Taylor shouted, jumping to his feet. “Where are they?”

  “Everywhere, sir,” the Major made a sweeping motion with his hands that including their entire surroundings.

  “I'll do it myself,” Taylor muttered, grabbing a more or less white bed sheet from the bed he'd been using and walking into the street. He grabbed a pike from a stunned and useless infantryman going into shock and tied the sheet to the pole as he moved toward the southern barricades.

  Waving the flag as he stepped through the blockade closing the street, Taylor waved the flag non-stop so that any blind Soulanie could see it. He slowed that waving as he approached a group of mounted soldiers, barely visible in the smoke. Clearing the smoke, Taylor saw a Soulanie general along with several brigadiers and colonels.

  “Why have you been cutting down my men who have offered you our surrender?” Taylor demanded to know without preamble.

  “You in command of this lot?” the southern General asked by way of answer.

  “I am.”

  “In the leg,” the southerner said next. Before Taylor could think he felt a searing pain in his leg as an arrow pierced his flesh. He fell, unable to keep his balance even with the pike pole.

  “Wha-” Taylor tried to gasp but the southern general had dismounted by now and was standing before him. The southerner reached down and grabbed the arrow, giving it a little shake which made Taylor scream.

  “Know what this is?” the southerner asked. 'This' was one of the nastiest weapons in existence that Taylor knew of. A krishank blade used by the Imperial Secret Police.

  “It's a dirty assassin's blade fit only for the fires of hell!” Taylor managed to grit out.

  “Well, on that at least we can agree,” the southerner nodded. “And because of that I'll grant you a quick and painless death. Which is more than you granted ours.” With that the southerner kicked Taylor over onto his back and left him there, slowly bleeding out. But not for long.

  A Soulanie Trooper appeared over Taylor, sword in hand and raised high.

  General Brandon Taylor, commander of the 16th Imperial Infantry, died in the dusty streets of a small town that had been abandoned in the face of Imperial aggression. He died quickly, and rather mercifully all things considered.

  The remainder of his men would, for the most part, not be so lucky.

  -

  “Report,” Allen ordered even as the last of the fires were being put out. All things considered, the damage wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

  “We lost four hundred seventy-five dead, nine hundred and twelve wounded,” his Chief of Staff reported. “Seventeen horses are unfit for use. Six never will be again.”

  “Place them, the wounded and the dead on the Imperial wagons along with all this gear we've taken and start them for home at daybreak with a one regiment escort. Give them a route south of us that will put us parallel to their movements and keep us between them and the enemy. We will bivouac here tonight and then move east down this trail tomorrow behind a screen of scouts. If we encounter another Imperial division we'll stomp if flat, but otherwise we're returning home. Get the orders out and let’s get settled for the night.”

  “Cold camp again, sir?” Walters asked.

  “I don't see the need,” Allen shook his head. “Imps were gracious enough to leave us all this, we may as well make use of it and have a good meal and a good night of sleep!”

  Morale in the three divisions went straight up at that.

  -

  “You're in a fine mood this morning,” Winnie tried to keep her voice sounding amused as she rode up beside Captain Case. She had elected to ride again rather than use the carriage after she and the other single women had indeed helped each other with massages the evening before. One woman's advice was simple; keep riding or else pay for it the next time. So, Winnie decided to keep riding.

  Case hadn't spoken to her all morning unless he had something he had to report, and when he did it was 'milady' this and 'milady' that. The friendliness of his tone was long gone after the damage done by her run away mouth the night before.

  “You have a specific compla
int, milady?” Case asked her.

  “I don't need one just to point out what a rotten mood you're in,” she replied, trying to sound teasing.

  “If you believe me to be in a 'rotten' mood, milady, you are wrong,” Case replied flatly. “I am in no mood at all, to be honest. I am merely attentive to my duties, as I should be.”

  “You ain't spoke a word to me today you ain't had to,” Winnie accused and to her surprise Case nodded in agreement.

  “I have not, nor will I in the future,” he assured her, catching her by surprise. “You will never again have the opportunity to semi-accuse me of such impropriety as you did last evening. I have gone my entire career without such accusations and you shall not be the first.”

  “Look, that was just me talking,” Winnie tried to semi-apologize. “You can't-”

  “Such talk may be nothing to you, but it has ruined more than one good man's career, and I have worked far too hard to get where I am to have my life ruined by the words of one girl who has become accustomed to getting her way regardless of anything else. Now, if you will excuse me I need to check on our scouts.” Without waiting to be excused, Case put heels to his horse and galloped to the front of the column where scouts were indeed arriving to report in.

  The word 'girl' had automatically put Winifred's back up, but the barb about being 'accustomed to getting her way' had hit home hard. Too hard. She frowned, knowing that Case was right at least in that. She had become accustomed to getting what she wanted. Being the 'King's Intended' had gotten her a lot of attention, and people tripping all over themselves to get her whatever she wanted. And despite her best intentions, she had become accustomed to it.

  It was clear that any chance she had of simply apologizing to Case and making good were nil. If she wanted to work her way back into his good graces, she would have to earn it.

  Somehow.

  -

  “How is he?”

  “His condition is unchanged, which in this case is good,” Stephanie told Parno as she emerged from the tent Harrel was being treated in. “His breathing is less ragged this morning though, so that in itself should rate as an improvement. I am almost to the point where I could say he will definitely recover.”