by N. C. Reed
“Yeah,” the other two men nodded in agreement.
“If you found yourselves in danger of being cut off, for instance,” Davies replied. “If you realized that the Nor have found a way to entrap you or otherwise damage your command. If you came across actionable intelligence that there was an attack in the offing and your presence here could turn the tide. Anything of that sort gentlemen would be grounds for you to abandon your mission and return here as expeditiously as possible. In a way that does not further endanger your command,” he added as a warning.
“Yes sir,” Vaughan nodded, falling silent once more.
“Your combined strength is tallied at twenty-two thousand seven hundred and forty two effectives as of this morning,” Davies continued, consulting a note in his hand. “I assume you have horses for all of them?” Three heads nodded. “All in good repair and ready to ride?” Davies stressed, and again received three nods.
“Very well. General Allen, I will leave the rest to you. You know your orders and your mission. Godspeed, gentlemen, and may He go before you.”
“Thank you General,” Allen said, taking Davies proffered hand, as did his two temporary subordinates. The three men departed for their own commands, a hectic afternoon waiting as they readied their commands for the coming dawn.
“What do you think?” Davies asked after the three had gone.
“It's a good plan,” Freeman said at once. “One that historically has worked well. Which of course is an argument against using as well as for,” he conceded. “Still, the plan here isn't to try and win the war with this tactic, but just to stall the Nor. I think it can work.”
“I agree,” Herrick nodded thoughtfully. “I'd feel better about it if they were stronger, but I realize why that's not possible. We have to maintain enough strength here to be able to withstand an attack if it does come.”
“We've stripped most of the Kingdom of men as it is,” Davies nodded. “Raines has only one cavalry division left, along with some militia and mounted infantry. There isn't a cavalry force larger than a regiment that isn't committed to one front of the other aside from the men at Cove Canton. It's all we can do.”
“So it is,” Herrick agreed. “Well, we've been away a good bit. Time to head back I think. General,” he nodded to Davies and took his leave.
“Reckon I better go as well,” Freeman nodded in agreement. “No telling what that bunch of mine has been up to while I been gone,” he chuckled.
“Take care,” Davies shook Freeman's hand and watched the other man depart. Looking back to the map before him, he took a deep breath and released it slowly. It was a lot of territory to cover and there was a lot that could go wrong, but . . . they had to do something, and there was just as much that could go right as well.
It was a good plan. They'd just have to wait and see what happened.
CHAPTER TWELVE
-
Captain Anthony Chastain, commanding officer of the cruiser HMS Halifax, Soulan Navy Gulf Squadron, observed the small collection of buildings through his glass from the command deck of his vessel. As part of their anti-piracy patrols the naval presence in the Gulf would check on these outlying areas for the presence of pirates or raiders, or signs of their activity.
This particular settlement was actually not a settlement at all, but was rather a collection of buildings that belonged to the Royal Family. Rarely used even in peace time, the last thing Chastain had expected to see was signs of occupancy. Smoke rising and movement that he could make out from off shore had put that expectation to rest. Someone was definitely there.
“Something wrong sir?” his executive officer, Commander Jerome Hart, asked.
“I'm not sure,” Chastain admitted. “Take a look,” he passed his glass over. Puzzlement written on his face, Hart did as ordered, taking the glass and surveying the shore.
“Pirates again?” he asked, lowering the glass and then returning it to its owner.
“Could be,” Chastain nodded. “Signal to Seadragon and Seasnake,” he ordered. “Prepare to lower boats to send shore party ashore. All Marines to go ashore prepared for engagement.” Seadragon and Seasnake were frigates, escorts for the heavier Halifax.
“Order Major Guilford to stand to with his men as well,” he added. “We'll take all our men ashore in case this is a problem. Perhaps it's just a visitor, or a party from the Family seeing to the upkeep of the place, but in time of war I doubt it.”
“Aye sir,” Hart nodded and went to issue the proper orders. Leaving Chastain to turn his attention back to the compound on shore. It had been used by pirates more than once and Chastain had cleared it twice himself over the years since he'd been assigned to the Gulf. Nothing brought pirates and brigands out like war.
He'd see soon enough.
~*~
Captain of Inspectorate Dennis Johnson had never been happy with his assignment, and that had not changed in the time since they had arrived. Therron McLeod should be six feet in the ground right now for what he'd done (or better still burned to ash and the dust scattered across the Kingdom), and yet he was sitting here pretty as you please with a house full of servants and a life of leisure. Had it been any of them that had committed such treason they'd be lucky to be sentenced to hard labor for the rest of their lives.
But orders were orders, and General Brock had shown great trust in Johnson to give him this assignment. Sixty men in the guard force he commanded plus a dozen support staff for the Prince had not completely filled the billets around this place. Having been designed and intended as a retreat for the Royal Family, there was sufficient billeting for a complete household staff and a full regiment of cavalry each as escort, including sufficient stables for so large a force.
The place had an older couple as caretakers to keep it clean and pest free, but they didn't live here. Otherwise the place was deserted when not in use. Of course it would be in use now, at least for the foreseeable future, as the home of Therron McLeod. He shook his head again at the thought of such a terrible punishment. This place had near ideal weather year around, save for the occasional storm. Yes, a real punishment to be living here. Fully stocked library, servants, fresh food, all the comforts of home. Must be nice, being the son of a-
“Sir,” Johnson's musings were cut short by the word. He looked to see Lieutenant Smith standing beside him.
“Yes?”
“Sails to the west, sir,” Smith reported, pointing in that direction and offering a glass. “At least three vessels. Approaching slowly.”
Johnson raised the glass, looking to the approaching ships. He couldn't make out any flags as yet. Could be pirates, could also be part of the Gulf Squadron. He said as much to Smith.
“Yes sir,” Smith nodded. “But did you notice they're launching boats?”
Johnson had not noted that and took another look. Barely visible even with the glass were a dozen small boats. He couldn't be sure at this distance but it did look as if though they were headed in.
“A dozen more or less,” Johnson mused, lowering his glass. “Figuring ten men per, they'll outnumber us two-to-one or close enough it won't matter. Sound the alarm, mister,” he ordered Smith, who snapped a salute and ran to carry out his order.
Dammit! Johnson sword mentally. He had told Brock that his short company wasn't enough for such an isolated post as this. And that was before he had learned from the caretakers that the place had been overrun by pirates at least twice in the last five years. Cleared each time by the Navy, they had managed to do a good deal of damage in the meantime, not to mention using the place as a base.
“Could be this is the Navy, and they think we're pirates,” he mused aloud. “Or it could be pirates coming to take the place again,” he sighed. He had sent word to Brock upon their arrival that he was too exposed here and needed at least as many men again as what he had, but had received no reply. In truth he hadn't expected any but the Army ran on paperwork the joke went. If something went wrong here, he had a written record of the fact
that he'd asked at least twice for more troops. He knew there was a war on, but if you wanted to keep a seditious member of the Royal Family alive and yet separated from everyone you had to be willing to part with the manpower to get it done.
The bell in the courtyard began to ring, jolting Johnson from yet another reverie. Shaking his head he made his way to the main house to tell the guard there to keep Therron McLeod inside the house until he could sort this out.
~*~
Inside, unaware that Captain Johnson thought so poorly of him (not that he would care or even notice), Therron McLeod looked up from his book at the sounding of the bell. Realizing what the bell meant, he closed his book and stood, walking to the window of the study and looking out at the ocean.
The house, indeed the entire compound faced westerly, placing the reinforced rear of the strongly made buildings toward the most likely direction of any storms. As a result he could see the ocean clearly and in the distance sails. Ships!
Even as he turned toward his door it opened, then was filled with the large form of Lieutenant Hans Bruckner. Very large man was Bruckner.
“Beg pardon sir,” the man's voice was predictably deep. “Ships approaching. Captain Johnson requests you stay under cover until he knows who it is. For your safety, sir,” he added.
“Thank you,” Therron nodded. “I will be here.”
“Sir,” Bruckner nodded and closed the door. Therron almost laughed when he heard the audible click of the door locking. So predictable. As if he was suddenly going to become a threat to nearly one hundred people. He returned his attention to the approaching boats, wondering who was coming to dinner.
~*~
“Activity on the beach sir,” Major Guilford reported.
“Very well,” Chastain nodded. “There wasn't much chance they wouldn't see us coming. Ready your men, Major.”
The marine nodded and began flashing signals to the other long boats. Each boat had a crew of four and carried one dozen marines, a full company. Whoever was using the Royal Compound Chastain doubted their ability to withstand a full company of marines and a platoon of sailors.
He'd soon test that theory.
~*~
“All men standing to, sir,” Lieutenant Smith reported.
“Very well,” Johnson nodded absently, his gaze still fixed on the boats as they approached the shore. “They appear to be in uniform so it's possible this is a visit from the Navy.”
“Yes sir,” Smith nodded. “I would imagine activity here would attract their attention after what we were told about the pirates sometimes making their base here.”
“Just so,” Johnson nodded. “I'll take two men and meet them on the shore when they land,” he said suddenly. “No point in having more, and if they are Navy boats then there's no reason to, either. Maintain the men at their posts. If we're wrong and it's an enemy force, then carry out your orders.”
“Sir, you should let me-” Smith began but stopped at Johnson's raised hand.
“One day, perhaps even this day Mister Smith, you will find yourself in a position of command. When you do, command. Lead. But today is my day I'm afraid. You have your orders.”
“Sir,” Smith snapped to attention, nodding, and then hurried to his own place. Smith indicated the two nearby troopers to follow and then started for the beach.
“A good walk before dinner never harmed anyone.”
~*~
Chastain allowed half the force to beach before his boat went into shore. With both himself and Major Guilford aboard he couldn't afford to let the boat be sunk or the occupants killed. He had not thought about that at the time or he would have put Guilford on another boat. By the time his boat made land there was a man in a Soulan Army uniform standing on the beach a short way from the boats, watching them carefully. Two other soldiers were standing behind him at rest.
“Major, this appears to be Soulan Army but we 'll proceed with caution,” he ordered Guilford.
“Aye, sir,” Guilford nodded. “Dooley, Johansen, take a point. We are not hostile unless we are met with force. Understood?”
“Aye Major,” the two men answered in near unison.
“Off with you then,” he ordered. “Form squads and follow!” he ordered the others. The sergeants from each boat had already organized their men so it remained only to set them in motion. Guilford's three lieutenants watched this action with a wary eye, knowing better than to interfere with the NCO's work. Two of the junior officers, the men commanding the frigate detachments, were fairly experienced and more steady. His third lieutenant, a gangling youth of nineteen fresh from Officer Training School and on his first tour, looked both scared and lost. Guilford shook is head sadly and looked back to the soldiers in the distance. He'd thought having the boy with him on Halifax, training him up himself, would help the lad but thus far he could see no sign of that.
Well, he would learn. If he didn't then he'd die or be mustered out. There was no room in the Navy for useless baggage. This wasn't the Army after all!
“Forward,” he waved. “One squad to flanks to cover, the rest five up, five back. Make it so, gentlemen.”
“Aye Major,” he heard three voices reply, one a bit hesitant but still loud enough.
“Caution is the word, Major,” Chastain urged. “Mister Reed, you will remain here in command of the boat detachment. Be ready to come to our assistance if needful, but be also ready to make way in the event we need a quick retreat.” Lieutenant Reed, Chastain's own Third and also on his first tour, nodded.
“Aye Cap'n,” his voice was steady and firm. Chastain almost smirked. His Third was much better than Guilford's.
“Steady lads,” the Major's voice brought Chastain back to the present and he turned to follow the marines up the beach.
~*~
Johnson watched the marines approach warily, fairly certain that he was facing Soulan forces now and thus friendlies.
“That's far enough,” he said calmly when the marines were in easy speaking distance. “Advance, be recognized, state your business. This is Royal Land and property of the Crown.”
A man in the rugged shipboard livery of a marine officer stepped forward flanked by two hulking marines.
“John Guilford, Marine Detachment Delta, Commanding,” the man reported. “Stationed aboard the cruiser Halifax. We're charged with keeping this area clear and saw activity so we're investigating.”
“Quite a party for an investigation,” Johnson observed.
“Last time we lost nine men killed and fourteen wounded clearing this place,” Guilford nodded, sounding in no way apologetic. “We investigate in force after that.”
“Sounds like a good policy,” Johnson nodded. “I'm Captain Dennis Johnson, Office of the Inspector General and commanding this detail. There is currently a member of the Royal Family present, convalescing. We're his protection detail.”
~*~
“. . .protection detail.”
Chastain frowned at that. Since when did the IG do that kind of work? He stepped forward now.
“I'm Captain Anthony Chastain, Commanding Task Force 3 of Gulf Squadron, Soulan Navy. Also, commanding the cruiser Halifax. Forgive my ignorance Captain, but since when does the IG provide protection details for the Royal Family?”
“This is a special case, Captain Chastain,” Johnson replied easily. “Normally we do not, you are correct. In this instance, however, we are.”
“You'll forgive me if I ask for some kind of verification of that I hope,” Chastain replied. “It would not be the first time that someone tried to make use of this place by pretending to be part of the Soulan Military.”
“I can well understand your doubts, Captain,” Johnson nodded. “We were informed of the history when we arrived. I was somewhat put out that I hadn't been given that information before hand, to be honest.” Johnson walked forward, pulling a leather wallet from inside his coat which he opened. Removing a paper from inside he passed it to Chastain.
“My credentia
ls,” he offered. Chastain took the paper and inspected it. It did, indeed, identify one Dennis Johnson as a Captain of the Inspectorate. The description of Johnson matched the man he was speaking to and the seal on the paper was authentic. He passed the paper back, feeling a bit easier.
“Thank you, Captain,” he said politely. “I appreciate that.”
“Not at all,” Johnson accepted his papers back and returned them to the wallet which he once again stored inside his jacket. “Do you need anything before returning to your vessels?” he asked.
“I would prefer the men be able to rest a short while before rowing back,” Chastain admitted. “And if you have water that would be much appreciated.”
“I think we can accommodate you alright,” Johnson replied with a nod. “I assume you will want to send your men up in groups so as to maintain a guard on the boats?”
“I doubt anyone would try to take one with the ships just offshore, but yes,” Chastain nodded. “Major, you may divide your command and send half to water now, the other half when they return. Mister Reed, you will do likewise for our own men and maintain command of the boat force, ensuring that all men are allowed the chance to get water and rest.”
“Sir!” Reed barked and began issuing orders that weren't needed but had to be given nonetheless. Chastain watched for a few seconds as Reed worked, then nodded in apparent satisfaction and turned back to Johnson.
“If you would, please Captain.”
“Right this way, Captain.”
~*~
“What's the matter with you?” Beaumont demanded as he watched Whipple squirming in his saddle.
“I don't know,” was the uncharacteristic reply. “I just get the feeling something is off, somewhere. I can't put my finger on it but I also can't seem to get rid of the thought, either.”
“It 'll pass,” Beaumont promised. “We're making good time, too. You were right. This is better than trying to follow or anticipate Callens.”
