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

by N. C. Reed

  What the hell had happened to their escort? Had that incompetent idiot Greeley ran off and left them? He knew they were defenseless out here. That was the whole reason for Greeley and his men being there to start with!

  “Where the hell is our escort sir?” his senior NCO echoed his own thoughts.

  “I was just wondering that myself,” Silven told him even as he worked to get one of the boat oars into the water. “That idiot Greeley probably ran off and left. . .” he trailed off as a horse with a rider wearing the uniform of a Imperial cavalry man plunging off the bank right out of the woods and into the river.

  “What the hell?” he and the chief petty officer asked at the same time.

  The cavalry man managed to stay on the horse until it hit the water. The horse had fallen perhaps fifteen feet into the river and hit the water hard. As Silven watched the rider was vaulted over the struggling horse's head and into the water. Three arrows were visible sticking out of his back.

  “I think I know what happened to our escort, sir!” the chief petty officer called out as he fought the tiller under the influence of the current that now trailed and pushed the boat rather than opposed.

  “No shit!” Silven called back even as he put his back into the oar he had grabbed. “Wonder if they got Greeley!”

  “We're due some luck, sir,” the other man shot back hopefully. “Something has to break our way sooner or later.”

  “Does. . .it?” Silven grunted between oar strokes. “I'm not. . .so sure!”

  ~*~

  Wilton Vaughan surveyed the work of his division with a grim satisfaction. His men had done an excellent job of destroying the Imperial horse unit. A small number of them were headed north as fast as their horses would take them, thinking they were escaping.

  “They should hit Shelby right about. . .now,” Moore said, just as they could hear faint shouting to the north of their position.

  “I don't guess we need to worry about leaving any of them alive since those sailors are headed north again,” Vaughan mused, humor hinting at his tone. “What word on the boats?”

  “They turned, used the current and moved across the river, General,” Moore reported. “We managed to kill several of the sailors though we don't have a definite number, sorry, and at least one of the boats devoid of crew crashed into the bank on our side and we set fire to it.”

  “Are the boats still headed north?” Vaughan asked.

  “Last word was yes,” Moore nodded. “I have a squad tracking them down river a short way to see if they stop. Their orders are to go no further than three miles.”

  “Excellent,” Vaughan nodded. “Sound recall and lets get this mess cleaned up then,” he ordered. “I'd like it to look nice and neat when General Allen arrives,” he semi-smirked.

  “Yes sir.”

  ~*~

  “One hundred seventeen wounded still in the boats sir,” one of Silven's officers reported. He nodded, still a bit shocked at what had taken place.

  “How many lost?” he asked, dreading the answer.

  “We're missing one hundred nineteen sailors, sir,” George Stenopolous came up just then. “Presumed dead, I'm afraid. And two boats missing and presumed lost.”

  “Damn it,” Silven muttered under his breath. “How seriously injured are the wounded?” he asked.

  “Some probably won't make it to nightfall, sir,” Stenopolous fielded that one as second ranking officer. “We have almost no medical supplies and no surgeon. There's really nothing we can do for them.”

  “We don't have much of anything I'm sure,” Silven nodded. “We don't have any choice but to continue down river until we hit help, gentlemen.” There was no point in putting off the decision. “We've lost our escort, our baggage train, our supplies and means to cook them, everything. Get everyone loaded and let's get under way.”

  “Shouldn't we bivouac here tonight sir?” on officer asked. “To care for our wounded?”

  “Were you listening?” Silven asked. “We don't have a way to care for our wounded, mister. The only thing we can do for those who might live is get them back as quickly as possible. We 'll be lucky not to starve as it is, not to mention the need to find safe drinking water since we've got nothing to boil the river's water in. Now get loaded I said!” he snapped out. “Every minute we waste here talking is a minute we could have been traveling. Get a move on!”

  “Look,” Stenopolous said softly, a hand coming up to point across the river. Silven looked that way to see a dozen Soulan cavalry troopers watching them calmly from the other bank, thankfully out of bow range.

  “Bastards,” Silven muttered under his breath.

  “Can't really blame them,” Stenopolous said quietly. “We are invading their country.”

  “I don't give a damn about their country,” Silven spat. “All I care about are the men under my command!”

  “Then maybe we shouldn't have brought them here,” Stenopolous shrugged. “Because they damn sure don't look like they're giving up on the idea of killing us all just yet,” he nodded across the river.

  “All the more reason to get moving, George,” Silven growled. “Now go!”

  “Aye aye, sir,” Stenopolous touched his hat brim and made his way back to his own boat. Silven watched him go then clambered aboard his boat, ready to cast off.

  “Down river, chief,” Silven ordered.

  “Aye sir,” the man replied and turned the boat with the tiller as the two front men pushed them off.

  “And stay as far from the other bank as you can,” Silven added, watching the milling cavalrymen studying them.

  “Was gonna do that anyway, sir.”

  It would be a hard and dangerous trip back to friendly territory. Not all of them would make it.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  -

  Wilhelm Greeley's would not be the only Imperial Cavalry command to find itself in dire straits that day. One hundred miles to the east, General Brent Stone was receiving yet another report of a blocked trail and destroyed bridge from his scouts.

  “Is there a single trail in this cursed country that isn't blocked off?” Stone demanded in disgust. “I always heard the Soulanies kept their roads in good shape for trade!”

  “Ah, sir,” the lead scout, a nervous looking Captain stammered, “these trails are. . .that is the debris blocking them is fresh cut, sir.”

  “What do you mean?” Stone asked, unease settling instantly in his stomach.

  “Sir these trails have only recently been damaged and obstructed,” the young officer clarified. “Its been done deliberately it appears in order to slow or obstruct our advance.”

  “How the hell could they know we were coming?” Stone demanded. “We didn't know until maybe three weeks ago and we've only been across the river half that!”

  “Sir it would appear that they have blocked the roads as a deterrent to a raid such as ours,” the captain shrugged helplessly. “I don't think they knew we were coming, they were preparing for anyone who tried to come this way.”

  “That might explain all the deserted homesteads we've seen,” Stone's aide remarked.

  “So it might,” Stone nodded. “Can we get through it?” he asked.

  “Which one, sir?” the scout commander asked.

  “Any of them, Captain!” Stone almost managed not to sound pissed off.

  “It will take a good while, but with axes we can cut our way through,” the man nodded.

  “Then get to it,” Stone ordered. “We don't have any Pioneers with us so commandeer the first company in line and get them working to cut those roadblocks out of the way. Take the first two in fact and one can rest while the other works. Perhaps that will speed things up.”

  “Yes sir,” the man saluted and moved to carry out the orders. Soon one hundred and eighty horsemen were moving south to the first blockage in the road they were following.

  “Do the same thing to the other blocked roads,” Stone ordered his aide. “Lets get these roads opened up goo
d in case we need them.”

  “Sir,” the man nodded and rode over to the nearest units, shouting orders to milling cavalry troopers.

  “And get some security out!” Stone called out to no one in particular. “Sitting here in the open like this is just asking for trouble!”

  ~*~

  'Trouble' was already watching the Imperial horsemen, Stone just wasn't aware of it yet.

  “Looks like they're gonna try and cut the roadblocks out,” one man said softly, rolling a wad of chewing tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other and spitting. “Reckon better let the General know that, Sam,” he told his partner.

  “Will do,” 'Sam' nodded in reply. Backing down off the small ridge he'd been using to observe, 'Sam' mounted his horse and was soon spurring it toward General Pierce's field headquarters. The newly promoted Brigadier had spread his command out only slightly, using the 31st as the central unit, being the largest single command he had. Colonel Jared Whit was waiting with Pierce to see when or where his men would be needed. It would take 'Sam' just twenty minutes of hard riding to reach Pierce and report.

  ~*~

  “Are the archers in place?” Pierce asked. The assembled commanders all nodded.

  “One company of bowmen at every trail blockage sir,” Whit assured him. “We're reinforcing that number right now, as planned.” The plan had called for each block to receive a second archer company if the enemy was approaching.

  “Excellent,” Pierce nodded. “Have we had word from any other scouts?”

  “Not as yet, sir,” his aide shook his head. “It's possible that the Nor General won't divide his command this far into enemy territory on his own,” he suggested.

  “I suspect you're correct, at least for now,” Pierce nodded. “Remember that we hurt their cavalry badly in that first engagement the Marshal led. I would imagine they're at little better than half strength overall.” Pierce looked at his map for a minute.

  “We'll leave things as they are for the moment, but,” he raised a hand before anyone could speak, “I want our men here ready to ride on five minutes notice. If there is a breakthrough among our road blocks, we have to counter it at once before too many of their horsemen get through here.”

  “For now all we can do is hope that our archers are up to the task.”

  ~*~

  “And here we sit, waitin' for the bloody Nor to come and kill us all,” Rye March grumbled as he spat on the ground in front of him. “Is this really the best we could come up with you think? Felling a buncha trees to block the roads and then shoot from ambush when the Imps try 'n clear 'em?”

  “If you'd rather shoot from out in the open, Rye, you go right ahead,” Sergeant Mike Cado told him, rolling his eyes where the irritable old solider couldn't see him. “Me personally I like the idea of shooting from cover just fine.” Several grunts of agreement went around their position as the others let their opinion be known.

  “Ain't no fit way fer a man to be fightin' no war, that's all I'm sayin',” March shook his head stubbornly. “Last war, we rode right at the bastards and pushed 'em all the way back to their house.”

  “Last war you was maybe ten,” Cado snorted. “You wouldn't know no more what happened than the rest of us would.”

  “My daddy rode with the Marshal back then,” March sniffed. “Have you know that I know exactly what happened count o' I got it straight from my old man.”

  “And he was as truthful and unlikely to exaggerate as you are, right?” another man asked.

  “Damn straight,” March said firmly, not realizing or perhaps ignoring the sarcasm pointed his way.

  “Lord deliver us from igno-” someone started.

  “Quiet,” Cado hissed suddenly, his right hand up. “Listen.” Straining ears waiting and could finally make out hoof beats approaching.

  “Here they come,” Cado said unnecessarily. “Get set but remember; no one shoots until the Captain does. Got it?” Affirmative responses came from up and down the position as men moved into place, arrows nocked and ready.

  Cado watched for the enemy to approach, also keeping an eye out for where his Captain was hidden, waiting for just such a moment as this.

  ~*~

  The Imperial Army did not as a rule carry axes in great number outside their Pioneer companies. Units on the move like Stone's cavalry however would carry at least one ax per company, and often more than that if they were doing independent and unsupported operations. This was such a time.

  Captain Wayne Barrows had collected axes from every company in the brigade his company was part of and acquired a few more elsewhere throughout the command until he had enough to equip his entire company with a tool. Normally he would not have had everyone working like this, but with a second company not far behind he assumed he would have sufficient security on hand that he could set all of his men to working on the brush and trees that were blocking the army's way.

  He was about to learn that 'assuming' was the bane of any military man.

  His men had been working perhaps five minutes when he heard someone shout. Looking up from his notebook where he was dutifully recording his part in this historic war effort to reunite the Empire, Barrows could see one of his men on the ground.

  “Already?” he shook his head, making another assumption, this time that one of his men had already succumbed to heat exhaustion and passed out. He had warned them all about staying hydrated, esp-

  His thought process was cut off by a cloud of arrows erupting from the tree line on both sides of the road. Right before his eyes his men began falling as hundreds of arrows struck the area where his men were working. Not all of them found a target but enough did that he could see right away that he was taking casualties.

  “Fall back!” he called at once, his notebook forgotten. “Fall ba-” he was cut off by a hammer blow striking his chest and knocking the wind from him. Looking down to see who or what had dared strike him like this, he was shocked to see a crossbow bolt emerging from his tunic, the bulk of it buried in his chest.

  “Med-” he tried to form the word medic but his mouth was suddenly full of blood that spilled out as he tried to talk. He was still trying to form the word when he hit the ground, dying.

  Seeing their Captain on the ground, his men ran. Grabbing the nearest horse to them without regard for who 'owned' it, each man ran for his life. In their hurry to get away from the ambush they ran headlong into the supporting company that was almost on their position. Horses spurred on in a blind panic slammed into horses ridden by men who had no idea their companions were under attack until the arrows started falling around them as well.

  “AMBUSH!” one of Barrows luckless men cried as he galloped by. “There's thousands of 'em! RUN FOR IT!!”

  Without a pause the follow on company did just that and turned tail.

  Behind them, Sergeant Mike Cado and his men were out making sure that all the Nor on the ground were truly dead, and if not then helping them on their way. Distasteful but necessary work.

  “Ain't no fit way for a-” Rye March began to mutter.

  “Shut up Rye,” Cado told him sharply. “Last thing we need right now is that gob o' yours mumbling a crock o' that mess you're always spouting. Don't make me tell ya again,” he warned when March looked as if he was about to complain. March took one look at his sergeant and decided he didn't really want to talk about it anyway and kept quiet.

  Ten minutes later all the Soulan bowmen were back under cover, waiting to see who came calling next.

  ~*~

  “Make sure our scouts are keeping a close eye on their main body,” Pierce ordered as reports began filtering in from nearly a dozen such engagements so far. “They're almost certain to make a move of some kind after suffering so many casualties for no gain. I don't want any one place overwhelmed.”

  ~*~

  “What the hell is going on here?” Stone demanded as the third company in ten minutes came streaming back into camp, what was left of them at any rate, so
me men wounded and others babbling about 'thousands' of enemy archers in the trees.

  “Ambushes set at the roadblocks, sir,” his aide supplied.

  “I can see that, Captain,” Stone's tone was acidic at best. “There's no way in hell there are 'thousands' of Soulanies around here! Find me someone who actually knows their ass from a hole in the ground!”

  “Captain Barrows and his first Lieutenant were both killed in action sir,” the aide didn't react to Stone's temper tantrum. “Captain Sligo is wounded and his First Lieutenant didn't return. I don't know which company came in after-” he cut off as yet another group of Imperial horsemen came galloping back from the direction they'd ridden off just minutes before.

  “Who is that?” Stone asked flatly, feeling a headache forming.

  “I'll go and see, sir.”

  Over the next half-hour every single group sent to cut out roadblocks obstructing the roads and trails returned. Rather some of them returned. Many of them would not return at all.

  “There can't be that many southern troops in this area,” Stone refused to believe it. “Can't be. They've got every man jack they can scrape up confronting 1st Army in the west. This is just a bunch of locals trying to keep us out.”

  “They're doing a good job then,” Brigadier Silas Weir noted, unafraid of Stone's volcanic temper. “These 'locals' have cost us better than three hundred dead and over five hundred wounded, we don't have a single kill to answer for it and the roads are all still blocked!”

  “Which of these roads is most important to us?” Stone asked, ignoring Weir's comment. Silas Weir was his oldest and most able Brigadier and commanded Stone's 2nd Division. He was also the meanest and most prone to challenging someone to a duel. No sense poking the bear if it wasn't needful.

  “This one I'd say, sir,” his aide stepped in and placed a finger on the central road. “This one will take us through the heart of their central highlands area and straight to the river opposite their capitol, if we're so inclined. If we want to make sure the Soulan Army feels they have no choice but to come after us, I submit this road is the one we should be taking.”