by N. C. Reed
“Very little in terms of loss,” Case replied. “And it could mean more people will take part. I don't know. We can do the same thing the day after in Carroll, which is on the trade route to Jason. From Carroll to Jason will take three days in good weather and with no other difficulty. So.... five days, six at most so long as we don't have any major trouble, and we can be in Jason and still have accomplished a good deal more than if we just passed through. The choice is your milady. It will take at least another two days if not more for the riders we dispatched to reach all the towns in their assigned areas, and still more time for people to travel there. In terms of that, we do have time to spare.”
“Part of what we do in Jason will be to help with their defenses,” Winnie mused. “Waiting for others to arrive wouldn't be a hassle since we'd be using that time anyway. I don't see why we can't do this,” she tapped the map to indicate she meant Case's idea. “And it might mean helping more people.”
“We have to be careful, milady,” Case warned. He traced a finger up the map, not nearly as far as he'd like, and tapped another spot.
“The lines are near here,” he told her. “We are less than two days ride behind the lines at this point for a fast-moving cavalry raid such as the one that hit Nasil. Probably only one day for a Tribal raid. We will have to be extremely careful on the trail. Returning from Shelby we will follow a different route that will be at least as difficult terrain wise but much safer in terms of enemy activity. On the return from Shelby our most dangerous obstacles will be a few bandits and perhaps another river crossing. But at least being so much further removed from the war we stand a better chance of finding an operating ferry that's manned. That would help immensely. We may even find a ford somewhere.”
“With our luck?” Winnie raised an eyebrow.
“We managed not to lose anyone or anything despite what happened yesterday,” Case reminded her. “You can't say we didn't have good fortune there.”
“Well put,” she nodded in agreement, smiling. “Thanks for reminding me of that. Very well. Let’s adjust our plans according to what you've just laid out. If we have to change them again we can, but I do like trying to use at least a little time helping those close to the front.”
“Very well, milady.”
-
“How are you feeling, Harrel?” Parno asked as he sat down so that Harrel could see him without looking up.
“I have felt better, milord,” the 'secretary' admitted. “I am sorry I could not prevent-”
“Not another word,” Parno told him, holding up a hand to silence the young man. “Not one word about anything that even resembles failure. None of that was your fault, and if not for you I'd be dead. If anything, I owe you an apology. Had my personal life not resulted in lax security for my privacy then those three would never had been able to do the damage they did. You're laying where you are because of me, so I don't want to hear anything resembling an apology from you. Understand?”
“As you say, milord,” Harrel nodded.
“Now, do you want the good news or the bad news?” Parno asked.
“Is there any good news?” Harrel asked.
“You're alive,” Parno nodded. “And you're going to recover, barring any unforeseen problems. That's the good news, and so far as I'm concerned it's very good news.”
“So, what's the bad news then, milord?”
“It's doubtful you will ever be able to return to service with the Regiment,” Parno dropped the boom all at once rather than draw it out. “There was a great deal of damage to your back, though thankfully not to any of your internal organs. Still, the muscle damage will almost certainly prevent you from being able to serve in the field. I'm sorry.”
“It's alright, milord,” Harrel said softly. “Many men have died in the war so far. I'm already more fortunate than they are.”
“Well said,” Parno nodded. “You are not without options, Harrel. But we can discuss those once you're back on your feet, okay? For now, I want you to concentrate only on your recovery. Nothing else. For the next few days at least, there's not much more you can do anyway. It's likely though not yet certain that you’ll be heading home to Nasil in the next few days. Once there you will be a guest at the Royal Dispensary until such time as Doctor Corsin-Freeman deems you cleared for limited duty. Once that happens then I’ll be putting you back to work.”
“I thought you said-” Harrel began but Parno stopped him.
“I said you wouldn't be able to return to service with the Regiment, Harrel. That doesn't mean I don't still need you. I'm Crown Prince and Lord Marshal now. There's more work to be done on my behalf than what you can do here. And, I need someone I can trust to represent me in Nasil when I'm in the field. Someone who can weed out all the ass-kissers who want to bend my ear, that sort of thing,” he grinned and Harrel laughed slightly only to have it end in a fit of coughing. An orderly was there at once to wipe his mouth and offer him some water.
“Look, we can discuss this stuff once you're back on your feet,” Parno sensed that Harrel was tiring and that the orderly wanted him to go. “Just worry about recovery for now. You're awake, but a long way from being healthy.” He stood and carefully patted Harrel's shoulder.
“Rest and try to sleep.”
-
“He took it better than I thought he would,” Parno said to Stephanie later on in the day. “Service in the Black Sheep meant a lot to him, even as just my secretary. Still, there's plenty of work for him at home once he's well.”
“I think another week, perhaps week-and-a-half and he can make the trip home,” she told him. “He's doing remarkably well considering his injuries.”
“Probably because he has an excellent doctor,” Parno smiled and she laughed.
“Ten days then,” Parno declared. “Ready or not, in ten days at most you and Edema are headed back to Nasil. I'd rather you go now, but I'm willing to wait if it means he gets better care.”
“You know, the proper thing for you to have said was 'if it means I get to spend more time with you',” she raised an eyebrow as she gave him a sour smirk.
“I'm hoping to spend many a long year with you,” Parno replied. “But not on a war front. You've been here too long already. And being with me makes you a target. You have to go.”
“I know,” her voice was soft. “I will.”
-
“Why are we stopping?” Therron demanded of the Captain commanding his escort. “There has to be at least two hours of light left!”
“Protocol says we stop here,” the Captain said stiffly. “We don't take these trails at night and this station… ” he indicated the small collection of buildings, “is where we will billet for the evening. There is a small stable and-”
“We should keep moving!” Therron said in exasperation.
“Protocol says-”
“Can you say anything that doesn't begin with 'protocol'?” Therron demanded. “Now I said we keep moving!”
“And I say we won't,” the young Captain said stiffly. “I'm following my orders, sir. We will be staying here overnight. We're on schedule. Now if you will excuse me I need to issue orders for my men.”
Therron almost screeched but caught himself at the last second, realizing that he wasn't looking very much like a King's candidate. He resigned himself to another wasted afternoon and dismounted.
Behind him the Coastal troopers exchanged a look with the Royal Marines, who merely shrugged as if to say 'what can you do'.
-
“Orders are written and ready to be dispersed on your say so, General,” Sterling reported.
“Very well,” Wilson nodded. “Remember, this is between you and I alone, Sterling. If our own people are surprised then the Soulanies will be as well. Right?”
“Hopefully sir,” Sterling nodded.
“That is not the proper attitude, Britton,” Wilson sighed.
“I'm working toward it sir, I promise,” the younger man replied. “I can't help but worry, that'
s all. General Venable-”
“I don't really like or dislike Venable, but he is at the least a capable commander,” Wilson said. “He's no Milton Fairmount, but few are. Still, he should be more than able to pull this off. Let’s do our best to have a little faith.”
“I will sir.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
-
Jerome Baxter led a tired and dirty group of men into the main Imperial Army camp, limping slightly as he led his horse. Almost twenty percent of his horses were missing shoes and a good number of others were lame from over use. Walking helped the horses but was hard on the men.
“Get us settled in,” he ordered his senior brigade commander. “And have the wrangler collect our worst-off horses right away,” he told a senior aide, a Lieutenant Colonel. “I want smiths working on their shoeing before the sun sets. Take the others to the vets’ encampment and have them looked at. Hopefully they aren't too far gone to be saved.”
“Sir,” the men said in unison, the aide then taking Baxter's own horse, save for his saddlebags and courier bag. Baxter caught a ride by wagon to Wilson's headquarters.
“Lot of movement going on,” he noted to the driver as they made their way through camp.
“Big movement on, sir,” the brawny corporal replied. “Don't know the particulars but all of 1st Corps has been pulled off line and put on stand-by to move. They won't be ready for another day or so at least but they're working into a tizzy getting ready.”
“Nothing about where to?” Baxter asked.
“Nothing I've heard, sir,” the man shrugged. “But then I'm just a corporal, so that don't mean much.”
“Don't feel bad,” Baxter told him with a dry laugh. “I'm a brigadier and I don't mean much either.” The two shared a laugh as the wagon slowed and Baxter dropped to the ground.
“Thanks for the ride,” he nodded.
“Anytime, sir.” The wagon bounced on its way as Baxter made his way to the house where Wilson was headquartered.
“Halt!” he was surprised to be challenged.
“State your business!” the sergeant bellowed.
“Sergeant, I know I'm a little trail worn, but I'm still a damned Brigadier of the Imperial Army,” Baxter growled. “You damned well better show me a little more respect than that. I'm going to assume you didn't see my rank, since it was so dusty,” he brushed his collar tabs off, making a show of it, then looked back at the non-com.
“Now what say you try that again?”
“State your business, sir!” the red-faced sergeant barked, coming to attention.
“That is only marginally better,” Baxter replied. “Inform General Wilson that Brigadier Baxter is reporting. With a report from General Stone.”
“Sir!” the sergeant nodded and disappeared inside. Baxter looked around as he waited, wondering what had happened to make all this necessary.
“The General will see you, sir,” the sergeant opened the door to allow Baxter entrance.
“You work on that attitude or I’ll see you up on charges,” Baxter whispered as he walked by and the sergeant's face got even redder, though he dared not say anything. Baxter moved inside to find Wilson standing, waiting for him.
“Brigadier, welcome back,” Wilson smiled slightly.
“Brigadier Jerome Baxter reporting sir,” he snapped to and saluted. “My men are still coming in but I'm fairly sure we will all be in before dark. This is from General Stone, sir,” he handed over the reports he had been given, having included is own as well.
“Thank you,” Wilson handed the reports to Sterling without so much as a glance. “Tell me, Brigadier, how many men do you have at present?”
“Sir, General Stone removed the bulk of healthy troopers from the other two division and placed them with me,” Baxter explained. “We are running about twenty percent or a little more over nominal strength due to that. Last count was fourteen thousand, nine hundred and twelve.”
“Good, good,” Wilson nodded, liking what he was hearing. “How soon can you be ready to ride?”
“Sir?” Baxter blurted. “Ride where?”
“I need you to screen a major troop movement, Brigadier,” Wilson seemed oblivious to Baxter's incredulity. “How soon can your command be prepared to move out?”
“Sir... sir we need days to be ready for movement, and that's not even taking into consideration how exhausted my men are,” Baxter tried to be tactful. “They've been in the saddle for weeks and in combat for much of that. Our horses have got to be seen to properly and many of them are quite possibly lame beyond service at this point. Over twenty percent have lost shoes somewhere and over half have shoes that are threatening to come off. My men have had one proper meal in the last twelve days, sir, and have eaten many of the bad meals either in the saddle or else while walking and leading their horses. We'd be lucky to be able to be ready to move in less than a week, Sir.”
“A week?” Wilson looked shocked. “Why so long?”
Baxter had to fight not to goggle. Had Wilson not heard a word he had said?
“Sir, I just told you,” he said respectfully. “Our horses are shot, sir, and my men aren't far behind. I'd wager that if you put them through a physical at least a quarter of them would be ruled unfit for duty without at least two days rest. We walked the last two miles because we honestly didn't think some of our horses would make it. I've already ordered all the horses to be re-shod, and the lame horses to be carried to the veterinarians. I hope we don't lose too many of them, but I know several have hooves that have cracked because we didn't have an opportunity to shoe them properly before our last mission.”
Wilson winced at that, stung by the fact that he was responsible for forcing the cavalry out into the field absent proper preparation.
“I see,” he sighed. “I can give you three days, Brigadier, but that's all. I want your men in the saddle in three days.”
“We can't do it, General,” Baxter didn't hesitate. “You may as well relieve me now because I can't make that happen. I doubt using every blacksmith in this camp we could get our horses prepared to move in three days. And some of those horses simply can't make another trip like that without some rest and proper care. We didn't have feed bags with us and foraging was poor in those highlands. Some are so gaunt I was ashamed to have to use them it was so much like animal cruelty. We simply can't do it.”
Wilson was frowning mightily at this 'refusal' by the time Baxter had finished, but Baxter himself had already robbed him of the 'find someone who can' argument with his mention of being relieved. He had made the same threat to Stone to force him out when his men and horses weren't properly prepared.
“My men and horses have been on constant duty in the field for nearly five weeks, sir,” Baxter continued. “The last two or better without support of any kind, let alone the proper support we need for field operations. They are shot, sir. Without proper rest and recuperation, they are unfit for duty. Those that might be able to get into the field would be defeated in the first engagement they had with a properly prepared enemy. Our horses have a hard enough time in combat against Soulanie war mounts as it is. Underfed and exhausted we may as well just slaughter them ourselves. It would be faster and we'd at least preserve the men to use as infantry.”
“Enough,” Wilson said, raising a hand. “I’ll give you an extra day but in four days your division will take the field.”
“Then I request relief, sir,” Baxter said at once. “I just led my men into one debacle that cost roughly a quarter of them their lives. I may not can prevent it from happening again but I won't be the one to lead them to slaughter like that.”
Wilson's face reddened at that but he held his tongue rather than speak in anger. Few knew it, but Jerome Baxter was a favored nephew of the Emperor. It wasn't widely known because Baxter neither wanted nor had asked for any special or favored treatment. Unlike Daly, who has simply been some distant cousin, Baxter was close to the Emperor. If he were relieved, the Emperor would want to know wh
y. Explaining that would be problematic at best.
“I'm not accustomed to being told 'no', Brigadier,” Wilson settled for saying.
“Maybe if General Stone had said no last time, sir, we'd not be in this mess,” Baxter decided he had had enough. “Our men were put into the field already in poor shape. Honestly, we're fortunate to be in as good a shape as we are. I will not sacrifice my men like he did, sir. I won't. My education as an Imperial officer taught me that my men and horses are assets of the Empire and are not to be wasted or used frivolously. While your mission may not qualify as frivolity, it will qualify as wasteful, sir. I will not be the one to throw away my trooper's lives. Sir.”
Wilson almost rocked back on his heels at that declaration. To have the Empire's military diction thrown back at him like that came as a surprise, and an unwelcome one at that. It did serve to remind him once more, however, that the state of the cavalry in his army was one almost entirely of his own making. He thought through his options rather than speak off the cuff.
“I will put every blacksmith in the army to work ensuring your horses are shod correctly,” he said finally. “Any horses that cannot be deemed serviceable I will replace even if it means stripping officers of their horses. Moreover, your entire division will be granted three days leave with no duties of any kind, followed by two days of preparation in order to move out. On the sixth day, you will depart, screening 1st Corps as they move west to take and hold the township of Unity,” Wilson walked to the wall map and placed his hand on the town in question.
“We have lost an entire infantry division, as in gone to a man save for the body of its commander, in that town. We lost another in the same exact way on the road between here and there. All this in the span of three days time.” He turned back to face Baxter.
“I'm not sending you there alone, or even to necessarily fight. I'm sending an entire corps along with all support functions to this town. What I need from your men is to screen that movement so that they are not caught unprepared and demolished while they're in column of march, as what happened to at least one division. Now, given those five days, starting tomorrow, with all the resources I've promised, do you still believe your men incapable of doing their duty?”
