Parno's Gambit: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book 3

by N. C. Reed

  So long as they were visible, 'made lots of racket' as Vaughan had put it, then they were doing their jobs.

  ~*~

  “C'mon boys, lets go! We need to make today a good one so lets get to it!”

  Lucas Silven was walking through his encampment shaking his sailors out of their bunks. He'd love to give them a day to rest but he couldn't spare the time. Poling against a current like this was exhausting and his men had been at it for over two weeks without let up. Every day from light until dark they were pushing their boats up river, and didn't have a great deal to show for it as yet. So in spite of the need to let them rest even a half day, he insisted they get up and get moving.

  “Shake a leg, lets go!” his chief NCO was less kind than the commander as he walked along, kicking the feet of anyone who was still in their blankets. “On your feet Bailey! Thomas, get your ugly ass up and ready to go! Beale, didn't I already tell you once to get up and get moving?!”

  It took the camp fifteen minutes to stir from its sleep and get packed. Another fifteen minutes to pack gear into company wagons to resume the trip south. Still another half-hour to get everyone fed, allowing for calls of nature and a brief time for hygiene.

  Finally, one hour and twenty minutes after Silven had first begun his 'shaking out' of the camp, the first boat was ready to make its way into the river. It was forty-five minutes later than Silven had hoped for, and a fact that Greeley didn't allow to go unnoticed.

  “If you people were more disciplined you could get your camp up and moving on time,” the cavalry officer sneered. “But instead we have to wait and wait while you get going at a more leisurely rate. My men were awake and moving before sunup!”

  “I'm aware of that, Major,” Silven nodded. “I'm sure that riding a horse all day is exhausting work. Meanwhile poling our boats is easy by comparison so you're absolutely right. There's no reason we couldn't be up and moving ahead of your men, yet we deliberately chose to wait until now.”

  “You know you're lucky you don't answer to me,” Greeley snarled.

  “I remind myself every day how lucky I am not to be in any way subordinate to you,” Silven assured the cavalryman.

  “My men are combat soldiers!” Greeley hissed. “They deserve better than playing babysitter to a bunch of lazy ass sailors who act like they're on leave!”

  “Well, perhaps you will get your wish once we get to General Wilson,” Silven replied calmly. “I'm sure he will be able to find work for such a crack outfit as yours.” He turned to walk away as Greeley spluttered behind him, unwilling to continue the conversation.

  It was going to be a long day as it was.

  ~*~

  “Something riding you, Gerald?” Allen turned to see Wilton Vaughan beside him, tall in the saddle. At times like this he was reminded of just how huge the black skinned cavalry man was.

  “What you mean?” he asked.

  “We're riding pretty hard this morning,” Vaughan shrugged. “You seem almost like you know something we don't and are in a hurry to get there.”

  “I don't know anything,” Allen admitted. “I just have a strong hunch. Nothing more than that.”

  “Fair enough,” Vaughan nodded. “Nothing wrong with following a hunch. Think it's the boats? That the Nor are maybe using them on the river?”

  “River flows north here,” Allen mused. “I suppose they can use them, I just can't see how. I guess they could pull them with horses from the bank, but that's not an option everywhere. There are places you couldn't do that at all.”

  “Could pull them from the water and move them overland to the next good spot,” Vaughan suggested.

  “If you have enough horses to haul the boats, you have enough to haul supplies with,” Allen replied. “Why use the boats?”

  “They may not be hauling supplies,” Vaughan shrugged. “Maybe they aren't hauling anything, just bringing the boats to where the Imperial Army is and then try to carry men past our positions and land them south of our position.”

  “Like the Marshal believes,” Allen nodded. “What do you think of him?” he changed the subject suddenly.

  “Seems to know his business,” Vaughan replied. “He's not afraid to take risks, or to ask what others think. I haven't seen him trying to foist responsibility off on anyone else, whether for decisions that need to be made or for the results for those decisions. I think he's smarter than most of us gave him credit for, myself included.”

  “That is true,” Allen nodded. “I'm hoping that his plans will help us turn things around. We are absolutely up against-” He cut himself off as there was a stir in the line ahead of them. In less than a minute a pair of scouts drew rein before Allen.

  “Sir!” one saluted. “Sir, we've spotted a column of Imperial horsemen with a baggage train. They seem to be shadowing the river at the moment. And we've spotted a dozen boats on the river. We think that many at least. We can only get a glimpse of them through the trees where they are at the moment.”

  “How far are we?” Allen asked.

  “No more than five miles as of half-an-hour ago, sir,” the breathless scout replied.

  “Any size estimate on the cavalry detail?”

  “At least battalion strength, sir.”

  “Very well,” Allen nodded, clearly thinking this over. It took him less than a half-minute to make his decision.

  “”Wilton, your troops are first in line, correct?”

  “They are,” Vaughan looked eager.

  “Very well,” Allen nodded. “Shake them out and take this outfit. I suggest you send one brigade south to cut them off from getting by us. Otherwise it's your operation. Tear them apart.”

  “Yes sir,” Vaughan nodded. He drew his reins around and was soon conferring with his brigade commanders. Fifteen minutes later thousands of horses were thundering by Allen's position on their way to the river.

  “Pass the word to General Coe to come up,” Allen ordered. “And inform Brigadier Walters to join me as well.” Sam Walters had taken command of Allen's division while he lead the combined command. Soon the two men were with him, one on either side.

  “I saw Vaughan's men take off,” Coe mentioned as soon as he was there. “What's up?”

  “Scouts found a small Imperial column, at least a battalion, moving along the river and some boats on the river moving with them or vice versa. Vaughan is taking his division and moving to attack. We need to be prepared in case something else pops up or in the unlikely even he needs assistance.”

  “Have to be way more than a battalion for him to need help,” Coe nodded. “We can strengthen our flankers and push them out a bit more. I'd suggest putting some additional scouts out past our flankers as well. In both directions.”

  “See to it,” Allen ordered, nodding his agreement. “Meanwhile we will continue on until we hear something else.”

  ~*~

  Lucas Silven had taken his turn at the pole of his boat and was now taking his break. Soon he would take the other pole and spare his tiller man after that. Most officers wouldn't perhaps be taking a turn, but he couldn't just sit and watch. It wasn't in him.

  It also gave him the chance to excise his anger against that idiot Greeley instead of killing him as he really wanted to. He'd never met anyone he wanted to drown more than the pompous cavalry officer. There was no reason whatsoever for the man's animosity or his attitude toward the boat crews or himself. Silven was fair enough to admit that the situation that Stone had found when he'd arrived was grounds for some animosity but this was ridiculous.

  And it wasn't as if he, Silven, had asked for Greeley to come along. He was following the orders of his own general officer, so if the man had an issue with those orders, he needed to take them up with Stone. But that required a level of intestinal fortitude that Silven just didn't think Greeley was capable of to-

  “Captain, you hear that?” The soft spoken question startled Silven out of his thoughts about Greeley.

  “Hear what?” he replied to the man
at the tiller of his boat, his senior NCO. “I don't hear-” He broke off as he heard what might have been distant thunder from somewhere west of them.

  “Might be gonna storm, sir,” the petty officer on the port side front pole mentioned. “Can't see for these blasted trees,” he added, his gaze on the western sky.

  “That would be all we need,” Silven muttered to himself. “A good, driving downpour on top of everything else.”

  “Begging the Captain's pardon,” the starboard petty was shaking his head. “I don't think that's thunder, sir.”

  ~*~

  Major Wilhelm Greeley was a rather arrogant man. His family were considered nobility among the Empire, his relatives having a distant kinship to the Emperor's family that was some generations old. Well off, well educated and knowing it, the Greeley family held a great deal of land and power in the northern provinces of the Empire.

  Military service having long been recognized as a political necessity in the Empire, there had never been much doubt that Wilhelm would be enrolled in the Imperial War Academy, and from there be inducted into the Imperial Army. Determined to make a name for himself in what might be the final ever war between the Empire and the Kingdom of Soulan, Greeley chafed at this escort duty.

  He and his men had faced the Soulan army and been hurt badly in that engagement, then spent weeks with General Stone chasing shadows behind the lines that never materialized into anything. Now, with Stone riding into the central areas above the southern capitol, sure to find action more suitable to a cavalry engagement and against more favorable odds (where a man with a hard driven and well trained unit could make a name for himself), here he was, stuck once more behind the lines, playing babysitter to a bunch of useless Naval types and their toy boats.

  This was nothing but scut work and Greeley was furious at the time it was assigned to him and was no less furious now. In the just over two weeks this had lasted his men had seen not so much as a Soulan firefly, let alone an actual enemy combatant. There was no glory to be had in escorting a collection of lazy boat crews down the river! At this point he had stopped even sending out scouts or flankers, save only a handful of scouts ahead of him to find the best trails to use in shadowing the river.

  His executive officer, a sound tactician if not an overly bright individual, had tried to maintain their flankers at least, citing regulations for moving in enemy territory. Greeley had argued that this was scarcely enemy territory, what with the Imperial Army controlling everything for hundreds of miles. The man persisted nonetheless until Greeley had threatened him with court-martial for his disrespect. Never a man with a great deal of moral courage, his first officer had faded away at that threat, leaving Greeley in peace.

  That decision was about to come back to bite Major Greeley rather hard on his pompous ass.

  ~*~

  “No sign of scouts at all?” Vaughan asked, frowning.

  “None sir,” the lead scout shook his head. “No flankers whatsoever. We have caught sight of what may be a few scouts to their front, essentially breaking trail it appears, but nothing else. And we've confirmed there are a number of boats on the river, sir. More than the original dozen. We aren't sure exactly how many more, but over fifty at a minimum.”

  “So the Marshal was right,” Vaughan nodded. It was a stroke of genuine luck for them to come upon the boats like this out of the blue. Allen's hunch had paid off as something finally broke Soulan's way in this war.

  “Brigadier Charles, you will take Colonel Cambry's Brigade and move to intercept the front of this column. Attack when ready and we will base the rest of our attack on your timing. Try to pick a place where your archers can engage the boats if possible.”

  “Sir,” Charles nodded. He and Cambry reined around and moved back to the latter's command. Just minutes later several thousand horsemen were on their way around to cut off the Imperial advance.

  “Colonel Shelby, you will take your brigade and move to a point well back along their trail, then slowly come forward to envelop them, keeping a careful watch on both the river and your trail. Ensure that we aren't caught by surprise during the attack, and as with Colonel Cambry's men have your archers engage any boats that are in their range.” Shelby and his second in command moved immediately back to their command, and were only two minutes later than Cambry in departing for their part in the attack.

  “Colonel Moore, what say you and I take your men and see what havoc we can wreak on these heathen invaders of ours?” the huge general asked, his face splitting suddenly into a wide smile.

  “That sounds like a fine idea to me, sir,” Moore grinned back. “Gentlemen, set your commands in line and advance slowly to contact or until we hear Colonel Cambry's men engage.” His three regimental commanders moved at once to deploy their men. It took ten minutes for them to be online in the broken territory, after which Vaughan gave Moore a nod. Moore raised a hand, looking right to left until all his commanders were responding in kind, then lowered his arm in a forward motion. In fits and starts the lines began moving forward, dressing as they went to maintain or reform lines. Vaughan watched as the lines moved forward, then turned to Colonel Moore.

  “Let’s see who these people in our neighborhood are, Colonel.”

  ~*~

  Greeley was still fuming from his exchange with Silven when one of his scouts came galloping up. Greeley absently noted the man's uniform was torn and bloodstained but ignored it as being a result of his pushing through rough country.

  “Sir, we're under attack!” the man exclaimed even as his horse slid to a halt in front of his commander.

  “What? Preposterous!” Greeley exclaimed. “Attack by who?”

  “Soulanies, sir!” the man said breathlessly. “They'll be here in just a minute, sir. I'm the only one who managed to get away. There are thousands of them sir!”

  “Stop your rambling and be accurate you dolt!” Greely demanded. “There can't be thousands of Soulanies this far into territory we control!”

  “Sir, I'm telling you there are thousands of southern cavalry coming right for us!” the man insisted, bordering on panic. “We have to get ready or they're gonna roll right over us, sir!”

  “Don't presume to tell me how to command my battalion you insolent jackass!” Greeley stormed back. “I'll have you tied to a wagon wheel and whipped until. . .until. . . .” Greeley frowned, trailing off his diatribe as the distant sound of thunder came to him. “What is that?”

  “Sir, I'm trying to tell you it's the Soulanies!” the scout stormed. “I'm getting out of here!” the man put heels to his mount and shot past his commander, heading for the rear of the formation.

  “Come back here you cowardly scum!” Greeley shouted. “Sergeant, get that man back here!” he screamed at a nearby NCO.

  “Begging the Major's pardon, sir,” the wide-eyed man said evenly, slowly raising a hand to point a finger past his commander. “But we got bigger problems.”

  “What?” Greeley turned to follow the pointing finger, finding-

  “My God,” he breathed as line upon line of southern cavalry emerged from the woods to his front. At the sight of the Imperial horse soldiers a shout went up along the southern lines and suddenly the entire formation was barreling toward Greeley.

  “Sir!” he heard the sergeant shouting but Wilhelm Greeley's mouth was suddenly too dry to answer.

  “But we're in safe territory!” he managed to exclaim just before a southern lance tore through his chest, the men in front of him already dead or dying.

  Wilhelm Greeley would not have to worry about his political fortunes being affected by his not having an opportunity to make a name for himself. He would be forever remembered as one of many who had not returned from the Kingdom of Soulan.

  ~*~

  “What in the hell?” Silven muttered. He and his men could hear shouting from the shore, but it was difficult to see what was happening along this stretch as the trees were somewhat heavier and were blooming nicely in the waning spring.


  “Sir, I don't like this,” his chief petty officer said from the tiller. “That sounds a lot like-” He was cut off by shouts of consternation from behind them. Silven turned to look behind him and saw one of his men falling into the river with an arrow protruding from his chest.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Silven cursed, shocked. Even as he watched a shower of arrows from somewhere on shore fell among his boats, some finding flesh and blood targets. His men were being shot, dying.

  “Sir!” his chief petty officer exclaimed.

  “Come about!” Silven shouted, motioning for the chief to turn their boat as well. “Move across the river with the current!” he cupped his hands and shouted to the other boats. “Pass it on!” Others took up the call down river, carrying the orders down the line. Boats began to turn away even as another volley of arrows came flying from shore. The quick turns of many boats placed them out of the target areas but not all of them had turned quick enough and more of his men fell victim to arrows.

  “Damn it!” he exclaimed. His men were dying and he was helpless to stop it. All he could do was try and get them out of the line of fire because they had zero ability to fight back.

  “Move with the current!” he called again. “Use the current to move across the river!” Another volley of arrows flew from the trees toward the boats but he couldn't see any of them strike home. Shouts from down river told him that might not mean none had, however.

  “Use the oars!” he called out. “Pass the word to unship oars! Use them to get to the other bank and out of range!” The call was picked up and relayed down the river as oars appeared over the sides of boats in view. Satisfied that his men were doing all they could do, Silven turned his attention toward shore once more.