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

by N. C. Reed

  “Even if they didn't mean to the fire will likely spread out of control anyway,” Chad sighed. “If Wilbanks were here, and Pierce, we could muster against them and drive them out. As it is, this is all we can do.”

  The troopers and civilians of Soulan lined the walls of the fortress and watched as Imperial cavalry continued to ravage their kingdom's seat of power.

  ~*~

  “What have you found?” Stone asked Baxter. The young general shook his head.

  “Nothing, sir. The banks are empty save for furniture and a few personal effects of those who work there. The safes were emptied. Also the jewelry on display in some of the shops isn't real. Just cheap costume junk. The real jewels are gone. There's nothing of value left in the town save for what's in those storehouses.”

  “And we can't risk opening them,” Stone sighed. “Very well. Burn it all,” he ordered. “Banks, shops, everything. If we can't get anything out of this forsaken place then we won't leave anything for those who live here. They can spend the summer rebuilding.”

  “Yes sir,” Baxter nodded. “Sir, has it occurred to you that by doing this we risk inciting the ire of these people? Angry people fight harder,” he pointed out.

  “I'm angry right now, General Baxter,” Stone shot back. “And this is how I fight. Burn it.”

  “Yes sir,” Baxter sighed. “Do you want it burned now? And if so where will we make camp? We don't want the fires to threaten our camps.”

  Stone took a minute to think that over, looking at the sun overhead.

  “It should be dark in what? Three hours?” he looked at Baxter.

  “Roughly, yes sir,” Baxter nodded.

  “Send runners out and have all commands return here,” Stone said finally. “You're right, we don't want this place burning down around us. We'll make camp, then set fire to everything in the morning before we head north. Sound good?” he asked solicitously.

  “Always your call sir,” Baxter replied diplomatically. “Will be nice to rest a bit before dark. Maybe we can find something decent to eat.”

  “Corral those cattle we found this morning, slaughter some of them and get them over a fire,” Stone ordered. “We'll eat their beef tonight.”

  ~*~

  “Why did we leave those cattle there instead of sending them south with the rest?” Memmnon asked. “They're feeding our enemies right now.”

  “And most will be sick by morning,” Gideon Philo smirked. “Those few cattle were left there because they're ill, Sire,” he explained. “They would have been harvested for their hides and the meat destroyed had we not had this incursion. They were isolated from the other herds in the city for that reason. The yard they found them in is one used by the tannery. I hope they all eat hardy,” he almost spat. “By tomorrow they will be experiencing dysentery as well as fever, chills and rash. Good riddance.”

  “What ails the cattle?” Memmnon asked.

  “They have Triggin Syndrome,” Philo almost gloated. “Advanced at that. We caught it through the blood test required for slaughter animals.” Triggin Syndrome was uncommon but not unheard of. A disease left from before the Dying, the original name had long since been lost to the ages as Triggin Syndrome became the 'official' name. Parasites in the infected animal would be passed to the humans who ate it. Not even cooking the meat thoroughly would prevent it and the effects on humans could be fatal if left untreated. Extreme dysentery alone accounted for many of the deaths related to the disease as people died of dehydration.

  “A good call, assuming they would take them,” Memmnon complimented.

  “Thank you, Sire,” Philo bowed slightly. “We could not risk placing the infected animals with the others to move them, so left them where they were. If they had anyone among them who could recognize the signs they would see that the cattle are ill. If they do not, well,” Philo raised his hands. “Then they will be very sick come morning.”

  “Excellent.”

  ~*~

  “Meat's ready sir,” Stone's aide mentioned. The general looked up from his report and nodded. The aide handed him a plate and cup, already prepared. Along with the slab of fresh beef there were beans and a piece of hardtack.

  “Makes a nice change from jerky and parched corn,” Weir noted as he dug into his meal with relish.

  “Does that,” Blake agreed, doing the same.

  “I don't. . .this isn't right,” Baxter was shaking his head, smelling the meat.

  “What now?” Weir rolled his eyes.

  “I'm just saying there's something off about this beef, General,” Baxter kept his tone calm. “Sir, I'm not sure we should be consuming this,” he said to Stone.

  “Why?” Stone asked around a mouthful of said meat. “Tastes fine to me,” he added.

  “There is a smell to it that's. . .off, sir,” Baxter insisted. “I can't place it exactly, but I know it from somewhere.”

  “Let me guess,” Weir snorted. “You read a smell.” The derision in his tone was plain.

  Baxter sighed, falling silent. He stood, taking his plate and leaving the fire, heading for his own command which was just now eating.

  “Don't serve that beef to my men,” he ordered the cooks, who were just troopers who happened to know how to prepare simple food on a large scale.

  “Sir?” one of the men looked up.

  “I don't want the men of my division eating that meat,” Baxter repeated. “It's tainted.”

  “Ah, perhaps the General will explain that to his men before they come through and threaten to tear into us?” the cook asked hesitantly.

  “I will,” Baxter nodded. Soon he was speaking to his assembled brigade and battalion commanders.

  “I know we were all looking forward to a slab of beef, but that isn't going to happen,” he told them flatly. “This meat,” he held up a plate, “is off, somehow. It smells off, I mean. I know that smell if I could place it, but I can't. If we eat this we 'll all be sick come morning.”

  “Sir, the men were looking forward to-” one brigade commander began.

  “I'm aware of that,” Baxter cut him off semi-gently. “And I'm sorry. But make sure no one takes that beef. If they do they'll be sick as a dog by morning.”

  “What about the rest?” another asked.

  “I told General Stone, but he was already eating and said it tasted fine to him,” Baxter shrugged. “I'm telling you it isn't. So pass the word; beans and hardtack with jerky tonight. I'll make it up to them when we're back in our own camp.”

  “Yes sir,” the assembled officers replied and headed off to break the bad news to their men. Behind them, Baxter again lifted the tainted beef to his nose, trying vainly to remember where he'd smelled that off-putting odor before.

  ~*~

  “We could push on, sir.”

  Wilbanks considered it for a minute, then shook his head, reluctance in every movement.

  “No. As much as I'd like to, we can't. If we had gotten down the mountain before dark that first day we'd be there by now, or close enough to make no difference. But we didn't. We were too slow.”

  “Sir, it take a lot longer to mount and prepare an entire division than a battalion,” his aide mentioned. “Chad and his men were able to make better time because there were fewer of them. That's all.”

  “And they're likely already in the city while we're about to have to make camp,” Wilbanks sighed. “There's no help for it though,” he added seconds later. “We can't make it in the dark. Still, we're no more than two hours from Nasil. Three at the outside. I want us in the saddle at first light, even if we have to use torches to see the road. Pass that word, and advise all brigade and regimental commanders I want to see them once their camps are established.”

  “Yes sir,” the aide nodded and rode off to deliver his messages. Wilbanks dismounted and handed his reins to one of his escort, stripping his saddle off before the man lead his horse away to be cared for.

  For at least the tenth time he wished there was a full moon. He was all b
ut certain the enemy was in Nasil by now, and here he and his well-trained division were, just miles away and forced to stop for the night due to darkness.

  It was enough to make a man drink.

  ~*~

  “We're very close, sir,” Whit said even as Pierce drew to a halt and signaled his men to do the same.

  “How close?” Pierce asked.

  “Two hours from the city at most, sir,” Whit answered, knowing as he did that was too long-

  “We can't make it before dark,” Pierce sighed. “Hell, we can't even complete the ferry crossing before dark,” he slapped his hat against his leg in disgust. “This territory is hell on horses in daylight. At night it's deadly. Pass the word to make camp, Colonel. We will continue the crossing by torch light in needed.”

  “Yes sir,” Whit nodded and began issuing orders. Pierce conferred with his scout commander and soon the young major had riders out in all directions ensuring that no surprises would find them as they labored to get their men and horses across the river.

  Pierce once more cursed his own complacency at having waited for the enemy to come at him rather than moving against them first. Had he at least tested them at some point, or tried to, he would have know that they had pulled back. That had cost him a day. At that time he'd been thankful for that day, since it was a day for his men to rest and for him to plan.

  Or a day for the enemy to gain a march on him.

  “Damn it,” he murmured.

  All he could do now was urge his men on silently as tired troopers and tired horses worked to get across the river as soon as possible. Just to have a night of fitful rest and another hard ride the next morning with a battle almost certainly waiting for them before lunch time.

  A battle where they would be hopelessly outnumbered if help from Cove Canton didn't arrive. Even if it did, the odds would still be severe.

  For the first time since the war began, Pierce wondered if Soulan would survive.

  ~*~

  “All your men back in camp, Cass?” Andrews asked. The Imperial ploy was completed, though they had no way yet to know if it had been successful.

  “Yes sir,” Urich nodded. A freak thunderstorm had made what should have been an overnight trek a two-night camping expedition. Heavy rains, mud and swollen creeks had forced his men to stay put most of one day, and cover had been scant. Men and horse were soaked to the bone and miserable by the time they had made camp. Wranglers and men from other cavalry units had been drafted to care for the horses while Urich's men had stripped off wet uniforms and feasted on hot soup that seemed like a delicacy after two nights of rationed hardtack and jerky.

  “Sorry you had such a rough time,” Andrews offered.

  “Ah,” Urich waved it away. “Wanted an easy life I'd have joined the Navy.” Both men laughed at the old joke. Life at sea was anything but easy.

  “Were you followed?” Andrews asked.

  “I'd say at least a brigade tracked us up river,” Urich nodded, accepting a small glass of whiskey from his commanding general and downing it appreciatively. “They may have turned back once we ducked into the woods, but my scouts saw them continue up river a ways before riding to join us. They're at least wondering where we went.”

  “Well, that's a start then,” Andrews mused. “We 'll just have see how it plays out I suppose. No reason for your men to have any duty of any kind tomorrow after being trapped in that mess. Let them rest.”

  “They will appreciate that sir.”

  ~*~

  “Still nothing,” Davies grunted as he surveyed the Nor lines before dark with his glass. Or at least the direction of the Nor lines. He couldn't quite make out the enemy, concealed as they were in most places by trees and brush. The occasional flash of fire or color let him know someone was still there, but that was about it.

  “Our scouts report no movement behind either, sir,” Enri Willard agreed. “We have men across the river watching behind them there, and men moving around their right flank at all times, assessing their movements. Which right now are nil.”

  “They're up to something,” Davies lowered his glass.

  “I agree,” Parno spoke quietly, startling both men. He had climbed the tower without either hearing him.

  “Sorry milord,” Davies said. “Didn't hear you come up.”

  “It's fine,” Parno half raised a hand and let it drop. “And I agree they're up to something, but what it might be I can't know. Maybe the boats being stopped has thrown them for a loss or perhaps the cavalry raid in their rear has made them wary. Either way, I honestly expected some kind of movement out of them by now.”

  “I'm not complaining, so long as this isn't the build up to some disaster or other,” Davies shrugged. “It does give us some badly needed time. If they let us continue like this a while longer I won't complain.”

  “Nor will I,” Parno nodded. “But it does make me wonder, General.”

  “What about, milord?”

  “If they aren't doing anything here, what are they doing elsewhere?” Parno said gently. “What are they doing, and where are they doing it? And how much damage will they be able to do before we find out about it, and can stop it.”

  Neither man had an answer for him. But he hadn't expected one. They would simply have to wait and see.

  ~*~

  “Lights ahead, sir.”

  Lucas Silven had seen the light actually but it hadn't registered on him. He had been awake for too long and under too much pressure.

  “Several of them sir,” another voice reported. “I think it's town!” he added a few seconds later, excited.

  Sure enough, it was their starting point from weeks before. What had taken two weeks against the current and stopping at night had taken only four days of not stopping except in the most dire of circumstance to return. Moving with the current had made all the difference.

  “Begin landing as far down as possible,” he ordered his senior NCO. “Pass the word!” he cupped his hands and called back to the boats trailing. “Landing ahead, port side! Boats to land in line! Wounded to be given first priority in all things!”

  There were only fifty-two wounded sailors remaining, the others having perished on the trip back. Silven bit back a curse at that thought, knowing it was useless. There was nothing more he could do. His men were starving and his wounded dehydrated. It would be at least two weeks before his men were able to try something like this again. Probably longer for some if he required a physician to sign off on it.

  He was brought back to his immediate needs by a jolt when his boat beached beneath the lights of the small town where the garrison force they had left was stationed. Guards were already summoning help after getting a look at the boat forces, and Silven stumbled ashore, directing freshly arriving men to help off-load his wounded first of all. He found George Stenopolous doing much the same from the opposite side of their landing area as he walked the stretch where the boats were sitting.

  “Made it, Lucas,” his friend smiled tiredly.

  “So we did,” Silven nodded. “Buy you a drink?” he asked.

  “Only if it's next to a steak,” the other man smiled tiredly.

  “I can agree to that,” Silven nodded. The two men started up the hill, having nothing to unload. All of their personal gear was in the hands of the enemy or destroyed.

  But they were alive and mostly unharmed. A few good meals and plenty of clean water and rest would see most of them put right in a week or so. At which point they would almost certainly be ordered to try again.

  Until then, it was definitely time for a drink.

  ~*~

  General Wilson sat on the porch of the small home where he made his quarters, eating his supper and enjoying a cool glass of tea. Made with water from a nearby well rather than boiled river water, it was almost sweet to the taste and he enjoyed it.

  Usually he dined with some of his officers of an evening but once in a while he enjoyed his own company, and tonight was one of those nights. Before him
sat a plate with an excellent cut of steak, heaping pile of potatoes and assorted other garden vegetables and a slab of fresh baked bread slathered in southern butter. Being a general had a few perks, and having his own cook was one of them.

  Another one was being able to command the field around him. The boats should be here in another week to ten days assuming Stone's estimate was accurate. And Stone should be well into the central part of the province by now, raising hell and attracting attention. McLeod would have to pull at least some troops away from the front to deal with Stone, and it would almost have to be cavalry, historically his most effective units.

  He had yet to hear back from Andrews, but it was a long way to his camps and his couriers would take weeks to reach back here, assuming that the 2nd Army's commander graced him with a reply. Wilson was reasonably confident that Andrews would reply, as Wilson wasn't asking that much of him really. Just a demonstration against the bridge that might make the Soulanies draw off some of the forces facing him.

  A few more weeks, Wilson thought as he savored the finely cooked beef, chewing slowly and enjoying every bite. A few more weeks and we may can get things moving again.

  Just a few more weeks and the war would be all but over and the occupation of Soulan beginning.

  This really was excellent beef, he decided.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  -

  “Move, move, move!”

  Preston Wilbanks watched as junior officers and senior NCOs harried his troops into action, forcing slower troopers to get a move on whether they wanted to or not. There was already a faint line of light to the east and in a few minutes, it would be light enough to ride. Torches were already lit and being carried by men of every company to help illuminate their trail in the remaining dark. Scouts had departed a half-hour before, already moving ahead of the army and checking the path before them.

  “Ready to go, sir,” his aide surprised him and Wilbanks realized he'd drifted away for a minute. The light to the east was definitely higher now.