by N. C. Reed
“Sir, I have no idea what that message says,” the much younger man replied. “My orders were to bring it personally to you and await an acknowledgment.”
“Acknowledgment?” Springfield repeated as if amazed. “Acknowledgment that Wilson has lost his fucking mind?” he all but bellowed. The young courier blanched at that but held his ground.
“Sir, I'm afraid it would be entirely improper for me to comment on that... comment,” the young man hid a grimace at how stupid that sounded but it was all he could come up with.
“Give him a message acknowledging receipt of orders,” Springfield told his Chief of Staff. “Then assemble all division commanders. Half an hour from now.”
-
“This has got to be a joke,” General Joel Vanhoose looked at the orders he'd just been handed. “Got to be.”
“I took it from Brigadier Sterling's hand myself, sir,” the courier informed him.
“I'm going to Wilson's headquarters,” Vanhoose got to his feet. “I have to make sure this is accurate. That's not a reflection on you, Lieutenant,” he informed the young courier who was about to make a protest. “Assemble all division commanders here in one hour,” he ordered his staff. “I’ll be back by then.”
-
Gerald Wilson sat behind his desk, pleased with the effect his orders had on his command. Three of the five available corps commanders had arrived at his headquarters within fifteen minutes to 'check on the accuracy' of the orders they had received. He had assured them all that yes, the orders were accurate, and suggested the should be carrying out those orders rather than wasting time in Wilson's own office complaining, whining and moaning.
All had realized the truth of that and hurried back to their own commands to begin making preparations. Preparations that would last deep into the night for those who had allowed their commands to sink into complacency.
That was their problem, Wilson decided. If they couldn't maintain order and discipline in their commands, then they had no business being in command. Simple as that.
-
“What are we doing now?” Fordyce wondered as the column drifted further and further to the south. A young lieutenant came galloping up to him and saluted before handing over a small roll of paper.
“General Allen's compliments, sir,” the lieutenant saluted and then was off again, galloping further down the column. Fordyce opened the scroll and read through it quickly, then read it again, slower.
“Well I’ll be damned,” he chuckled to himself. He stuffed the scroll into his tunic as his second in command looked on, puzzled.
“We're going a little further,” was all Fordyce would say.
-
“All right, remember now,” Parsons warned the assembled scouts and the archers from the Black Sheep. “No Imperial scouts get through. We sew this side of that road up tighter'n a virgin's skirt. Get me?”
“Yes sir,” a multitude of voices replied.
“Then get going and get it done,” Parsons ordered. “No one gets a look at this cavalry no more!”
-
“Word from Parsons,” Davies handed over a small slip torn from a notebook with a message scrawled over it. “They're working to isolate the Imperial scouts now. Allen has turned his men south and the battalion you ordered to Unity is still on the move, projected to pick up speed and allow themselves to be glimpsed this evening late and again tomorrow around noon.”
“Excellent,” Parno nodded. “Killing two birds with but one stone.”
“So long as the Imperial cavalry doesn't try to intercede,” Davies nodded. That was a real risk.
“I don't think so,” Parno mused. “If they believe it to be the same heavy column they saw moving west then they will know that their cavalry stands no chance against them in open battle and unsupported. They won't risk it. Instead they’ll plan to deploy their men as they arrive in Unity and attack with their entire force. Infantry supported by artillery should be able to drive an unsupported cavalry column out of the town. Everyone knows that.”
“Except it's not an unsupported column,” Davies interjected.
“True,” Parno nodded. “But it's what they think that counts. If they think it is, then we're in good shape. Hopefully, anyway.”
“Hopefully,” Davies echoed with a sigh.
-
Major Sven Andreasen rode at the head of his small battalion, keeping his horses at just under a gallop. He had to make sure he and his men arrived in Unity at least a day before the Imperials, and preferably longer. His orders concerned him, more like dismayed him, but he acknowledged that the Imperials were just as likely to destroy the town when they left it. If doing it themselves denied the enemy the use of the town then... well, so be it.
He and his men had completed their training along with the rest of Wilbanks division just in time to race to Nasil and help put out fires. Now here they were, racing to start one. He shook his head at the irony but didn't slow down.
He had his orders.
-
Gerald Allen was tired when his horse made the rendezvous point. He hadn't gotten a great deal of sleep the night before and this had been a hard day to say the least. He dismounted and stretched before looking to his Chief of Staff.
“Send runners to the division commanders and have them report here as soon as possible. General Davies has men already here to set up camp, though we have only a few tents. Let them set the divisions into order since they lined this up. They should be cooking for us as well.”
“Yes sir,” the man nodded.
“It shouldn't be necessary but issue general orders through the column to check all horses and report any problems up the line.” The man nodded again and hurried to his post. Allen watched him go and handed his reins to the corporal behind him.
“There's an apple in my saddlebags,” he told the young man. “Give it to him when you're done.”
“Yes sir,” the young man smiled, leading both horses away. Allen looked at the tent set up for his use and felt a twinge of guilt, but only a twinge. His men would sleep on the ground tonight, but he would work deep into the night unless he was uncommonly lucky. He imagined they would sleep better than he did.
-
“What's got you so stirred up?” Stephanie asked as she brushed her long hair out. It was a nightly ritual that Parno was becoming accustomed to. He had enjoyed watching her go through the exercise more than once, but tonight his mind was much further away than merely across the tent.
“What?” he asked her.
“I said why are you so stirred up?” she repeated. “You're walking like a cat in a room full of rockers as my mother would put it.”
“I didn't notice,” he admitted. “I'm just thinking, that's all.”
“What about?” she asked.
“About... stuff,” he shrugged. “There's a lot going on and I'm trying to keep it straight.”
“Can you tell me about it?” she asked, putting her brush down.
“No, because I don't know myself,” he replied after a long pause. “All I have is still guesses and conjecture. I'm trying to move my troops to counter the Imperials moves, but they have a lot more troops than we do.”
“How bad is it?” she asked softly.
About two to one,” he informed her. “And that's with probably fifty or sixty thousand more on the road west right this minute. We don't know the actual number, but we've identified over twenty-five divisions in the last two months. Two of them have been completely eliminated, but... twenty-three is still a lot. Well over two hundred thousand infantry. I have a little less than half that.”
“That is a lot,” she nodded.
“I have a lot more cavalry,” he hastened to add, less she be worried for nothing. “They have about fifteen thousand cavalry, while I have over sixty thousand all totaled. Still, it leaves us outnumbered two-to-one. And with such a large force on the move I have to make plans to counter their movements.”
“Have you?” she asked hi
m.
“Yes,” he replied with a nod.
“Anything more you can do about it tonight?” she asked, her hands rubbing his shoulders now.
“Not that I can think of,” he admitted. “I was just wondering that myself.”
“Then come to bed,” she whispered in his ear. Without waiting for an answer, she turned the shuttered lamp very low, leaving just enough illumination to see by. She took his hand and led him where she wanted him.
“Let tomorrow take care of itself,” she told him softly. “If you can't do any more, then you can't. Let it go. You have to rest,” she told him, her real concern showing now. “You're exhausted. Doctor's orders,” she gave him an impish grin.
“Lay down,” she told him. “Hold me close and sleep,” she ordered.
He followed the doctor's orders.
-
“We don't have to leave first thing in the morning,” Allen informed his generals as they sat around his fire. A watch was posted to prevent eavesdroppers from getting close enough to overhear anything that was said.
“What?” Vaughan asked, frowning. “How will we catch up-,”
“We aren't going to,” Allen replied. “The Marshal thinks the Imperial move to the west is a feint, intended to draw us,” he indicated his fellow generals, “away from the lines. If so, he now thinks he has done it. It's entirely possible that we will hear sounds of battle by sunrise. If we do, we will move behind a screen of scouts to a position about two miles west of the lines and hold there, waiting for orders. As the Nor hit our lines, we're going to hit theirs,” he grinned.
“And if they don't attack?” General Bellamy asked, leaning forward. He commanded the 6th Cavalry and he, like Fordyce, wasn't thrilled at being 'attached' to a command like Allen's.
“That's up to the Marshal,” Allen spread his hands. “He will tell us when to move, if we move at all. Meanwhile, if there's no battle tomorrow, we rest our men and horses here and enjoy a little fresh air and sunshine.”
“And some smoked beef,” General Coe nodded, rubbing his hands together.
“Indeed.”
-
“All corps commanders report preparations completed,” Sterling reported at nearly midnight. “All qualify that with 'as much as is possible in the time allowed',” he added.
“If they were on their jobs then there would have been only a few preparations to see to and they would have been prepared and ready for any orders they received,” Wilson replied flatly. “We have an opportunity here and I intend to make use of it. We have maneuvered the enemy into a situation of our choosing, at a time and place of our choosing. It doesn't get better than that.”
“That is true, sir,” Sterling nodded. He wanted to argue but could not find a flaw in Wilson's logic.
He would keep looking into the night.
-
“Aaron, you are up late this evening,” Tinker noted as he walked out onto the porch of the Hogshead Inn. The tavern had long since closed for the evening and whatever visitors were still upstairs had no impact on them.
“Can't sleep,” the younger man admitted.
“Something in particular that keeps you from your rest?” the older man asked.
“Just jumpy,” Aaron admitted. “Something feels off, that's all.”
“I see,” Tinker nodded. “You have these feelings often?”
“No, I don't.”
Tinker frowned in the dark. Aaron was not normally so taciturn. While never talkative he was at least sociable. Not so, this evening.
“Do you trust these feelings?” Tinker asked after a few moments of quiet.
“I do,” Aaron admitted. “But just cause I got a feeling don't mean I know why.”
“I understand that all too well,” Tinker nodded. “Perhaps... perhaps we should be prepared in case things... change, so to speak.”
“We already are,” Aaron told him. “Wagons is packed with food and water already, lined up in the barn. Anything happens, we hitch the teams and go. Ladies can grab their stuff while we get that done.”
“I see,” Tinker didn't let his surprise show. In truth there wasn't much of a surprise. Aaron Bell was always ahead on things of that nature.
“Nothin' don't happen I can always unpack it,” the younger man added a few moments afterward.
“Indeed,” Tinker nodded in the dark. “Very well, Aaron,” he stood. “I believe I will leave things in your capable hands then.”
“Night Mister Tinker,” Aaron nodded absently, still looking into the dark at nothing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
-
Doak Parsons had faced a manpower shortage as he tried to both keep watch on the Imperial Army and still keep the Imperial Army from keeping watch on them. The Marshal had solved that problem by giving him a company of archers from the Regiment to supplement the scouts screening the cavalry, which had allowed Parsons to pull his best men back to the lines.
Anthony Felds was one of those men. He had spent the early morning hours crawling to within one hundred yards of the Imperial lines, where he had laid quietly, listening. He had no way of knowing exactly how long he had laid there but suddenly the Imperial camp was lit up, torches and lanterns burning down the line. Felds sat up in the dark and used his glass to try and get a look into the enemy camp using their own lights to see by.
There was a lot of movement. He couldn't make out individual ranks but he could see men bellowing at other men, and those men moving into position. He watched for several minutes, moving every so often to look at other areas. Satisfied, he made a bird call in every direction around, but for a bird that would not be active in the night, at least not here.
He heard the call repeated even as several returned his sign with another letting him know they heard. Soon someone would be hurrying to tell the Marshal what was happening. Meanwhile, Felds would watch as long as he could safely do so.
Something big was going on for sure.
-
“Why can't we do this without so damn much noise!” Wilson almost shouted but caught himself just in time. Wouldn't do for the General of the Army to be bellowing loudly about keeping the noise down.
“Too many men moving, sir,” Sterling said softly. “A teeny bit of noise for one man becomes a symphony of noise for so many.”
“Very poetic, Sterling,” Wilson's reply was acidic. “You should write that down.”
“Yes sir,” Sterling fought the urge to sigh.
“Please send a runner to the artillery line and make sure they are ready to support this movement,” Wilson asked.
“Right away.”
Wilson went over a mental checklist, trying to see if he had missed anything. As far as he could tell, he had not. He had succeeded in drawing the enemy cavalry away while he still had the bulk of his army in camp, ready to go. He was about to send four corps, over one hundred and fifty thousand men against a southern line estimated to have roughly half that. And would still have a full corps of nearly fifty thousand in reserve.
And he had issued orders that should lessen the impact of the Soulan Army's new weapons as well. It wouldn't stop them from hurting his men, but it would help. At least some.
Besides, if his plan worked, they wouldn't get off too many salvos.
-
“Milord!”
Parno had slept deeply. He slowly swam up from the depths of that sleep to an incessant and insistent knocking noise which he finally realized was someone knocking at his 'door'.
“What is it?” he called out as he got to a sitting position.
“Massive movement among the enemy milord,” his messenger informed him.
“Where at?” he asked as he grabbed his pants.
“Everywhere, sir,” came the answer. “All along the entire line.”
“I see,” Parno felt his stomach drop a little. “Very well, then. Please have someone alert Captain Simmons and Captain Pike for me. Ask them to ready their men and bring the carriage for Lady Edema. You should
wake her staff as well.”
“Right away milord,” came the reply. “General Davies is waiting in the command tent.”
“Tell him I’ll be there straight away,” Parno promised. He stood into his boots and held his pants as he hurriedly drained his bladder, not knowing when the chance would come again. Then he walked back to the bed and gently shook Stephanie awake.
“No,” she rolled back into a ball. “Not now.”
“Get up, Stephanie,” Parno said quietly but urgently. “You have to get up. Your time is up.”
“What?” she sat up, blinking. “What did you say?”
“You time here has ended,” Parno told her softly. “The enemy are about to attack. Gather your things. I've already sent someone to alert Edema and her men, and alert your escorts. You have to make a decision about Harrel, now. Do that as you get ready to leave. You have until it's light enough to safely travel to get ready.”
“What?” she was still working on getting awake. “What about you?” she demanded.
“What about me?” he repeated. “I have to go and command the army, Stephanie,” he stroked her hair softly. “That's what I do, remember? Now hurry. Gather your things and be prepared to depart as soon as they can safely see to get you out of here. If you can take Harrel with you then do so, otherwise he will have to stay. But you and Edema are leaving. And I mean as soon as it's light enough to see.”
“But I... I...” she tried to find something to say, to protest, but Parno was shaking his head.
“No. You're going. And I don't have time to argue about this. Your time is running out and if you aren't packed by the time the carriage can leave then you’ll be loaded on it without whatever you didn't pack. Now move.”
“Alright,” she nodded, getting to her feet. “Please come back to see us off?” she pleaded.
“If I can, I will,” he promised, and with that she had to be contented, because he was out the door and gone.
-
Edema Willows awoke to Benson's voice.
“Milady, we must arise and away,” he told her softly. “The enemy is upon us and Prince Parno has ordered us to depart. You must prepare. The carriage is being hitched to the horses now and the escort are preparing to leave as well. You must ready yourself. Quickly now,” he urged as Edema resisted.
