by N. C. Reed
“The simple fact is that we’ll be lucky to live out the week,” he said flatly. “So, concentrate more on doing what you can with what you have, because it's all we do have. I've sent a runner on one of our last good mounts north, to the camps around Lovil. I don't expect them to have much, but maybe they can meet us half-way with what they do have. I'd settle for empty wagons to help haul our wounded in. At this point we're building travois to pull behind horses that may or may not be able to do the work. So, while I understand your problems, I can't do anything about them that isn't already being done.”
“I see,” the doctor nodded. “Perhaps... have we considered appealing to the southerners?” he asked hesitantly. “Perhaps even surrendering, or suing for peace in exchange for safe passage north and medical supplies for our wounded?”
“First of all, how do you think the Emperor would respond to that news?” Springfield asked and the doctor paled a good bit. “Secondly, the Soulanie are engaged in Black Flag warfare, doctor. That means they will not offer nor accept surrender. They intend to fight to the death and will kill every one of us if they get the chance. Including killing every wounded solider left on the battlefield and that were in the hospitals they destroyed. I seriously doubt they will be interested in any suggestion that they provide medical assistance to our men.”
“Good God,” the doctor almost whispered. “They're... barbarians!”
“Are they, Doctor?” Springfield asked. “If the situation were reversed and they were invading the Empire, do you not think we would follow the same practice? For that matter we have followed that practice in every war, including this one.”
“We have?” the doctor blurted.
“Ever treated a wounded Soulanie soldier or civilian?” Springfield asked.
“Well... no.”
“And that's why,” Springfield nodded firmly. “So, no more talk of asking for mercy. The Soulanie are all out of mercy, doctor. They carry the Black Flag with them in every operation. A statement of their intent to kill us all. Now, return to your duties, do the best you can, and start preparing the wounded to move.”
“Some of them won't survive such a move,” the doctor noted.
“None of us will survive if we stay,” Springfield shrugged. “We do what we can, with what we have.”
-
“Well, this is a mess,” Baxter muttered and Venable nodded. The two men were riding together for a while, discussing their problems as well as what awaited them.
“Nothing like a good rain to make things more difficult,” Venable agreed. “That idiot Wilson,” he shook his head. “This was my idea, you know,” he admitted. “We lost two division along this road, or else in that town, for no apparent reason. Made Wilson think there was something here they didn't want us to see. I was tired of sitting still so I suggested we take the damn town in force, dig in and force them to take it back. 'Dare' was, I believe, the word I used. If it wasn't, I was certainly thinking it.”
“Did you know about his plan to attack the southern lines?” Baxter asked.
“Hell no,” Venable shook his head. “He said nothing of it to me, and I'd be willing to wager he said nothing of it to any of the other commanders. Always keeping secrets, that one. He tried to use us to lure their cavalry away I'd wager as well. They probably made it appear as if they were pursuing us and then looped around to take a position where they could wait and see what happened. You'd think he would learn that needlessly complicating operations just makes them more risky.”
“Well, if he hasn't learned after this, he won't ever, I guess,” Baxter shrugged.
“I doubt he’ll live long enough to learn anything else,” Venable said darkly. “This is his third major failure, and this one will likely end the war, at least for now. He had to be relieved because he was babbling on the command tower and trying to continue the attack with broken troops. He left our supply areas wide open to attack and the southerners took full advantage of it. I would imagine the Emperor will order his execution for this. I can't swear to it, of course, but... the Emperor abhors incompetence. He didn't replace Wilson before because the failures he made weren't from incompetence or negligence. It's a fact that the enemy sometimes does something right as well, and the Emperor recognizes this. But...” he paused and shook his head, “this is something else altogether. Wilson tried to be smart, and ended up walking into a trap that has cost the Empire a hundred thousand casualties and probably the war. That won't be forgiven so easily.”
“I'd imagine that is true,” Baxter replied carefully. “In any event, his return to command has to be doubtful at best.”
“True,” Venable nodded. “The one I pity the most is Springfield. He did what had to be done to preserve what remained of the army, but... I don't know that the Emperor will see it that way. Seizing control of the army, retreating in the face of the enemy, and now giving up territory we had already conquered and held in strength? I don't know,” he shook his head slowly. “He did the right thing, but the right think sometimes doesn't look the same from a thousand miles away. He took a great risk, personal risk, to save the army from destruction. I hope the Emperor will recognize that. The man probably deserves a medal, but medals aren't often awarded from a debacle like this.”
Baxter said nothing, taking in what Venable was saying. He had said nothing that wasn't true, certainly. But Baxter knew that Venable also didn't know of his relation to the Emperor. At least he was pretty sure he didn't. And perhaps Abe Springfield was in the wrong, Baxter didn't know, but he was automatically conditioned to accept Springfield's side over Wilson.
And he was certainly not above writing the Emperor and letting him know what had happened and what Springfield had managed, assuming Springfield was in the right. He would have to wait and see what transpired, assuming, of course, that he lived through all of this.
A rather large assumption at the moment.
-
Everyone on both sides had much to do and when busy, time seems to speed by. In fact, when you are racing against the clock, time seems to go by much too fast for comfort. Meanwhile, when you are eager to get something started, time can crawl.
Calm weather and easy conditions saw Winnie's wagon train rolling into Jason right as the sun was sinking behind the trees the next evening. Her train was welcomed and pulled into town to take advantage of accommodations available. For the first time in many days, the people on the wagon train slept in beds and ate food that hadn't been prepared over an open fire. While there were nowhere near enough stables for their horses, there was silage available and the horses seemed appreciative as they ate a combination of oats and corn.
Winnie called community leaders together that evening and explained over supper dishes why she was there and what she hoped to accomplish. Mention of Tribals operating in concert with the Nor were enough to convince everyone to help. It was decided that they would start with first light the next morning.
Meanwhile, Venable and Baxter camped their men now within a day or perhaps a day-and-a-half of the main Imperial camp. Heavy guards were set and the men camped in line of battle, just in case.
Parno looked at the plan Karls had come up with, nodding with approval and making preparations to put it into operation if the opportunity afforded itself. It would depend on what the enemy would do. If they departed and gave Parno the opportunity to lay such an ambush, then he would take it. Scouting efforts were increased and movement warnings went out to all cavalry and mounted infantry units.
Blue Dog was satisfied with his men's preparations over the two-day period. They had sufficient supplies to ensure a good hunt when they reached this town Blue Dog had told them of. Their horses were well rested, as were they. They would leave with the sun, headed south. They were confident that they would have a good hunt with most southern men away at war. But there was one thing he hadn't thought about and hadn't figured into his plans.
A single scout, a member of Parsons' command and one who had encountered the sav
age Tribal warriors before he ever heard of Doak Parsons, had stopped to rest his horse and take a look around him. Creole Perkins was his name. He was tasked with carrying word south to the pioneer company that the Nor had left Unity headed back toward their own camps. Creole knew there were supposed to be Tribal warriors in some strength around him, and while his main mission was not to look for them, only a foolish man didn't watch for such danger.
As he examined the area around him he saw a hunting party taking an unattended cow, slaughtering it on the spot and taking large bloody hunks with them by horseback. His skin crawled as he realized that had he not stopped to rest his horse in a covered area, he would have rode right into this hunting party and paid for it with his life.
As he watched, they rode south, away from him. Perkins waited for some time before moving again, uncertain there weren't more of them somewhere. Once satisfied that he was alone, he mounted his horse and begin to head slightly southeast, away from where he thought the Tribals might be and toward where he was supposed to meet up with a pioneer company. While the Imperial Army might not be headed this way, the Tribals damn sure were.
The men waiting for him needed to know that. And so did anyone in their line of advance, assuming they were still headed south.
-
“I wish we knew what was going on,” Stephanie mourned as they made their final stop. Tomorrow would see them back at the palace, where Edema would rest for a night or two and then head home.
“I know dear,” Edema nodded. “I wish that myself. I've been watching for a courier to pass by on his way to the palace, but so far, I've not seen one. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Perhaps,” Stephanie nodded. “I know he had a plan, and it was a good one, assuming he was right about the enemy intentions and movements. If all went well then... well, perhaps tomorrow,” she ended with Edema's words. She didn't trust herself to guess at what might have happened.
“Parno is very good at what he does, Stephanie,” Edema reminded her. “So are the men around him. I know it's useless to tell you not to worry but do try not to worry so much. He won't be in combat, after all.”
“One assassination attempt already, and Harrel isn't there to protect him this time,” Stephanie almost moaned.
“No, but his security will be much tighter from now on, too,” Edema nodded. “Concentrate on what you can have an influence over and try to forget the things you can't.”
“At this point I don't seem to have much influence over anything,” Stephanie sighed. Edema gave her a secretive smile but didn't bother to add more.
Her young friend would figure it out soon enough.
THE END
A MESSAGE FROM AUTHOR
N.C. REED
And so, another installment in the life of Parno McLeod comes to an end. For a tale that was supposed to be a trilogy this story has morphed into something much greater than I had ever imagined. Over 600k words at the moment and still at least one more novel to go.
Then of course there is what happens next. Will Parno invade the north? Or will he choose to retire to his valley and raise fat cows and fat babies, hoping for peace in their future? Or will it be something else entirely? At this point who can say.
And finally, there is the tale of Tyree himself. Who was he? Where did he come from? And how was it that he became the first king of Soulan in the aftermath of the Great Dying? One day we may get to see how all that came about. See how we arrived at the life of Parno McLeod.
Until then, however, I hope you enjoy this installment of Parno's tale. Thank you for reading, and for those who recommend me to others, I sincerely appreciate that. A reader's recommendation or compliment is always worth its weight in gold to me. I mean, if I had any gold. Thank you all who have made Parno's tale so much greater than it sounded in my imagination.
N.C. Reed
