by N. C. Reed
-
“There was a lot of activity tonight as I was coming in,” Stephanie said as she brushed her hair. She was seated at her own nightstand which now occupied Parno's tent. She had apparently meant what she said about not caring about scandal or anything else.
“Cavalry returning from a raid,” Parno nodded. He was restless and didn't know why. Perhaps it was having her so close. It wasn't that he was uneasy but rather... he didn't know what to do or say. He'd not been in this exact position before.
“Calm down,” she told him, running the brush through her long locks. She normally kept her hair swept up if not in a high bun to keep it out of her way, so she brushed it out each night.
“I'm calm,” Parno tried to assure her.
“No, you're not,” she replied. “Are you that intimidated by my being here?” she turned to look at him. “Is my presence causing you so much fluster?”
“Yes. No!” he stammered. “I don't know!” he finally admitted. “I... this is new to me,” he admitted.
“Really?” she raised an elegant eyebrow.
“You know what I mean!” he exclaimed at the implication in her voice. “I... I don't...”
“Relax,” she told him again, putting her brush down and standing. She crossed the room to stand before him. “It's alright.” She put her arms around him and pulled him in tight.
“It's not... I don't...” Parno struggled just to speak but finally gave up and just returned her embrace.
“I'm the one who will have to deal with the looks and the talk and the innuendo,” she reminded him. “And I will. I told you, I don't care.” She pulled back to look at him.
“My God, Parno McLeod, have you truly no idea how much I love you?” she asked him softly. “Had I been where Jaelle was I would gladly have done the same thing she did to keep you safe.”
“Don't say that!” Parno closed his eyes, trying not to picture what Stephanie had said. “Don't say anything like that again! I can't stand it!” he tried to turn away but she tightened her grip around him, pulling him back to her instead. She pulled his head down to her shoulder and held him.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean to make you think of it. Of her.”
“You're so foolish to be so smart,” Parno's muffled voice was plain nonetheless. “I wasn't thinking of her. I was thinking of you in her place. Maybe I don't realize how much you love me, Stephanie, but I don't think you know how much I love you, either.”
Stephanie was startled by that admission. It had never occurred to her. She had always assumed that hers was the greater love because of Parno's distance. She was learning that Edema was right and that his distance was a defense mechanism, nothing more. He didn't show love because he was afraid to. It had been used against him too many times. She reminded herself once more that despite all Parno had accomplished, all that he was responsible for, he was still only twenty years old. Twenty years old and emotionally crippled by his family and those around him during his formative years. Having someone actually care for him wasn't something he'd seen much of.
“I'm right here,” she whispered. “I will always be here when you need me. I will never desert you. You are the great love of my lifetime and I will cherish you always.”
They stayed that way for a long time, the two of them. They had both learned something this night.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
-
General Westcott looked at his ragged infantry plodding along and knew their suffering. He had walked much of the way with them, leading his horse rather than riding.
“Just five more miles,” he said aloud but to no one in particular. “Five miles back to the main camp and we can rest,” he promised anyone who could hear. He stopped as a horse mounted officer rode up to him and halted.
“Sir, we aren't going to make it,” the man said. “The men have covered almost twenty miles today and that may well be a record for a forced infantry march, but it's an hour, hour-and-a-half at most before full dark. We can't make the main camp by then, sir. We've got to stop while we can still see to make a safe camp.”
Westcott sighed, admitting defeat without actually surrendering to it. He had known pretty much all along that he couldn't, that his men couldn't make this march in one day. They had done damn well, though, and he was proud of them.
“Call the halt and make camp,” he ordered. “Scouts out to take a look around and pickets posted as before. Guard is still doubled but cut guard watches to one hour. Let everyone get a least a little sleep.”
“Yes sir,” the man saluted and went on his way. Five minutes later words moved down the column; halt and prepare to camp.
“Thank God,” was the most muttered phrase in the entire division as the men fell out.
Westcott spent an hour walking down the line, alone and leading his horse, telling his men how proud he was of them and why it was so important to get back to camp as quickly as possible. Why is was so important to keep the guard doubled and everything else that was the cause of all this trouble.
By the end of his walk, Westcott's esteem and reputation had risen much higher in the eyes of his soldiers.
-
General Brent Stone was seated at his desk, still feeling the effects of that rotten beef. He was getting treatment as were his men and they were all recovering nicely, but... Stone was looking at the figures for his divisions and could not see this foray as anything other than a disaster.
He had departed Lovil with almost twenty-five thousand troopers, all well-trained and equipped. Between the battles against the Soulan army and the losses to illness, he could now muster only sixteen thousand three hundred and twelve men.
Almost ten thousand casualties. Of those, roughly one-third were combat casualties. The rest were lost to the dysentery brought on by eating that ruined beef. Some would recover, others would not. Many had already perished on the return trip. Even now temporary hospitals overflowed with sick soldiers who were losing water at both ends and couldn't keep anything down. He tossed his pen down on his desk and rubbed his head.
He had burned Nasil, the Royal City. Maybe that would count for something, but he doubted it. He was meant to draw troops away from the main battle front, but the troops he had encountered were either in place already or had come from the east, not the west. His mission had failed but he was still faced with these horrendous casualties.
Like it or not, his unit was out of action for the foreseeable future.
-
“I've taken the majority of the troopers who aren't sick from the other divisions and added to yours,” Stone told a wooden faced Baxter. “It should put you just over your nominal strength, but then you’ll have to shake down and train again to make sure they can work as a unit. So, take them, and this,” he handed over a sheaf of reports, “and head for the main army camp and report to General Wilson. I'm sure he will have use for your men. The rest of us will follow once we are sufficiently recovered.”
“Yes sir,” Baxter nodded, accepting the reports. “Will there be anything else”
“No,” Stone shook his head. “It's entirely possible that you will end up in command of the remaining cavalry of the Imperial Army in this sector,” he said quietly. “If that happens, learn from my mistakes. Take better care of your men than I have. And try to get some mounted archers.”
“Yes sir,” Baxter wasn't quite so wooden now. “I will do my best. I'm sure the rest of you will be back with us soon.”
“From your lips to the Emperor's ear,” Stone nodded. “You have your orders.”
-
“Harrel was awake this evening but has gone to sleep now,” Stephanie reported as Parno returned to 'their' tent for the evening. “His condition is much improved. In another week I think we can look at getting him off that table without tearing anything.”
“That's good news,” Parno nodded. “How long do you intend to stay?” he asked, removing his jacket.
“I will stay until I'm certain of hi
s recovery or until I'm summoned by the King,” she replied.
“I'm glad,” Parno told her. It was clear that he was tired.
“Why don't you get cleaned up and try to get some rest?” she suggested. “Even an easy day for you seems more than enough to tire a man out.”
“Doesn't it, though?”
-
“So, regimental commanders will remain the same while the seconds will move with their respective battalions and take over as Executive Officers for the new regiment. Is that clear?”
“Yes sir,” chorused back twelve voices. Beaumont nodded in approval.
“I expect regimental commanders to make full use of their new Seconds in order to get the maximum use out of their combined regiments. I won't tolerate anything less and neither will General Whipple. Is that also clear?”
“Yes sir,” the chorus sang.
“Now, off the record and without reprisal, are there any of you who have a problem with this arrangement. Any of you who don't think you can manage this or make this work?”
“I don't have a problem but I do have a question,” an archery commander raised his hand.
“Go ahead then.”
“We're going to have to completely relearn how to deploy our men and how to use them to the greatest advantage. That's going to take some time and a lot of training. Do we have that kind of time?”
“We have some time,” Whipple answered that one. “We are far ahead of schedule on the retraining regimen and because of that we can dedicate some of that time to retraining, which is what we will be doing starting tomorrow. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes sir.”
“Anyone else?” Beaumont asked. There were a few looks around the room, but no more questions.
“You are elite soldiers,” Beaumont told them. “You lead elite soldiers in battle. You can do this. So can they. And we’ll be better for it. If there's nothing else then you're all dismissed. And good evening to you all.”
-
General Westcott had his men up an estimated one hour before daylight to break camp and be ready to march. There was general grumbling through the ranks but not nearly as much as there might have been without Westcott's walk through the day before. His men now realized their precarious situation and wanted out of it as quickly as he did.
As soon as it was light enough to see properly, the 14th Imperial Infantry was on the march again.
“We can march easier today and still make it by noon,” Westcott repeated over and over as he rode his column, trying to raise the morale of his men. He would dismount on occasion and walk alongside them, laughing about how his feet ached and how much he looked forward to a hot meal and soft blanket in his tent. His men agreed, all wondering at how they could or would consider army food a delicacy, but three days of cold camping made almost any hot food appetizing. Even army food.
“Just three miles now,” Westcott promised as he remounted. “We should be hitting picket posts any time now!”
Just three more miles.
-
“You're telling me we have lost two entire infantry divisions?” Wilson demanded of a bedraggled Westcott four hours later.
“Yes sir.”
“Nothing to find from any of them?” Wilson demanded.
“We found Generals Crandall and Taylor, sir,” Westcott reported. “Taylor had this tied to his right hand” he produced another krishank dagger. “There were a few remains in the burned area of the town but nothing we could identify as being definitely Imperial. And not nearly enough bodies for an entire division. Sir.”
“So, you just turned around and came back,” Wilson said, eyeing Westcott carefully.
“Yes sir, I did,” Westcott didn't flinch. “Two Imperial infantry divisions disappeared along that road or in that town. That tells me that whatever did them in is going to require a larger force to deal with. I had one division and that obviously wasn't enough on at least two occasions. I saw no reason to give them the chance to destroy another.”
Wilson continued to examine Westcott for a full minute, then nodded.
“I agree,” he stood, walking around his desk and patting Westcott on his shoulder. “We’ll have to see what's happening out there, but you were right to preserve your command. Give your men two days stand down before putting them back on the line. I’ll examine the information you've brought me and see what I can come up with.”
“Yes sir,” Westcott saluted and then departed. Wilson sat down again, slumped down would be more accurate, looking at the krishank.
“Damn you, Smith.”
-
“We need to be especially alert to enemy movements the next few days,” Davies told Doak Parsons as the two studied the large wall map of the engagement area. “We've stung them hard and hurt them. We have to expect them to hit back, somewhere. They don't have the cavalry for a raid in force, at least not yet. Truthfully, I expect them to hit us head on, right here,” he slapped the middle of the colored lines depicting Soulan positions.
“I've got men strung out for several miles to our west,” Parsons showed him. “And a second line about three miles south of them. They can get through but doing it without us seeing them will take some doing. I can try to push forward more toward their lines, but... that really puts my men at risk.”
“No, let’s not do that,” Davies shook his head. “Let’s instead maintain the positions we've been using, though consider beefing them up a bit. Instead of trying to push further toward their lines, we add men into the areas we already cover. We can't keep them out there forever but we should be able to manage for the next week or so. Yes?”
“We can do that, sir,” Parsons nodded, already thinking about deployments. “I’ll start working it out right now.”
“Very good,” Davies nodded. “And don't forget to use our regular scouts as well as your own men,” Davies said. “No reason for your men to carry the entire burden.”
“Thank you, sir.”
-
Parno was still restless and he knew it wasn't entirely because of his new situation with Stephanie. He was sure that played a part, but it wasn't it. He visited Harrel briefly only to discover that he was asleep, then made his way over to Headquarters to meet with Davies.
“Something is up,” Parno said without preamble and was surprised when Davies nodded his agreement.
“I think you're right. I spoke with Mister Parsons earlier and we've strengthened the scout line. We're going to raise our alert level among the scouts for the next week. We can't keep that up indefinitely but we can go for that long anyway.”
“Has there been any further movement out toward Unity?” Parno asked.
“No sir, and the third division they sent out returned today around noon,” Davies replied. “The stories they're telling by now should be rocking through their entire camp.”
“That could work for or against us,” Parno mused. “Have to wait and see I suppose. What shape is Allen's group in?”
“Splendid,” Davies reported. “A day or two of rest for them and their horses would be ideal, but their losses, while substantial, were in no way crippling. And they killed over twenty-two thousand Imperial infantry in two days.”
“Few more battles like that and we could call the war and go home,” Parno couldn't help but grin.
“It would be helpful,” Davies agreed. “But I don't expect them to offer us that opportunity again. And if they do, it's almost certainly going to be a trap.”
-
“I want a meeting of all corps commanders this evening at one hour before mess,” Wilson told Sterling. “They should bring their seconds, and their chief of staff. Expect a long meeting and a working dinner.”
“Yes sir,” Sterling immediately went to get those orders out. Wilson was still examining the map before him.
“Is there something out there you don't want us to see?” he traced the route to Unity where two of his best divisions had been completely destroyed. “Or was it j
ust an attack of opportunity?”
That had been bothering him to no end since this all started. Were the krishanks left to indicate that this was somehow payback for whatever Smith had tried to do, or was that just to throw him off his stride and make him think that while they were, in fact, hiding something from him out on his western flank?
If I hadn't sent Stone on that ill-advised raid then I could send my cavalry to take a look, Wilson thought to himself. That savage Blue Dog might return with something useful but I doubt it.
Blue Dog's usefulness was limited at best, and Wilson had asked him to take his men west more in hopes of messing with the Southerners' heads than in their actually accomplishing anything worthwhile. If he got lucky and got something out of it then so much the better. But he didn't count on it.
He had decided that it was time to shake things up. They had sat on their asses long enough. He had a formidable army collected here, and estimates were that he outnumbered the available Southern soldiers almost three-to-one if not better. While they still had those damned exploding weapons of theirs, Wilson thought he had a counter for that. Something that would reduce their casualties anyway.
Tonight, he would explain his plans and ideas to his Corps Commanders and get their input. They were so smart, after all, knowing far better than him what to do and how to do it. He'd give them a chance to prove it.
-
“Do I wanna know what that is?” Whip Hubel asked cautiously.
“Ah, Master Archer!” Roda Finn rubbed his hands together as he saw Whip. “I'm glad you're here. You're just in time to see my latest invention. Or at least a prototype of said invention.”
“And just what is it?” Whip asked reluctantly, looking at the long iron... tube?
“In ancient days, artillery was capable of striking targets miles away,” Finn began to lecture. “Tens of miles in some few cases. They did this by using explosives more powerful than my own as a propellant for an exploding warhead as the term was used back then.”
“Okay,” Whip nodded.
“While we can't possibly duplicate such feats, my failed ballista rounds sent me back to the drawing board to see if I could improve that particular weapon or at least make use of it another way. That research led me to this!” he waved proudly to the... tube?
