Parno's Company (The Black Sheep of Soulan Book 1)

by N. C. Reed

  He had hundreds of wagons, divided into three separate commands. One would always be on its way south to him, while the other was either returning or loading for its next trip. However, the further south the invasion force went, the longer those trips would take and the more vulnerable they would be to attack. He had designated an entire cavalry division to safeguard the wagons and the routes they would take. He disliked giving up that much fighting power, but what use would the extra men be if he couldn’t feed them or their horses?

  There was also the remainder of the Soulan Army to consider, along with their militias. If the naval feint to the far south didn’t work, then he could end up facing the combined strength of three Soulan Army Corps, all well trained and well led. That force, while still nominally smaller than his own, could well be enough to stop his advance, or at least slow it to a crawl.

  The militias represented a separate problem all on their own. If they failed to link up with the main Soulan Army after the attack well-organized guerrilla attacks on his rear areas could wreak havoc with supply and communications. They might not be able to prevent his army from re-supplying, but they could damage his ability to do so at will or when most vital.

  Wilson shook his head. He had tried to think of everything and had others working on the problems as well. They had counters prepared if the need were to arise. He’d have to trust that their plans would work. There was only so much one man could do and he could only be in one place at the time.

  “Message from Loville, milord,” a courier rode up, handing a rain drenched dispatch bag to him. Wilson nodded, taking the bag. An aide used a cloak to shield the paper as Wilson read.

  Good. The troops in Loville were in place and none the wiser. Also, the garrison commander had received a dispatch from the southern boat force that they were in place and all was in readiness. The original dispatch was included and Wilson decided he would look at it later. He returned the forms to the pouch and handed it to his aide.

  “Let’s get into shelter,” he ordered, and turned his horse toward the house he was using as a headquarters. His men followed without comment, glad to be getting out of the rain.

  “So, General, what do you think?” a voice next to him asked quietly. Wilson turned to regard the speaker.

  Brigadier Charles Daly had attached himself to Wilson’s command at the ‘request’ of the Emperor. Daly’s kinship with the Emperor allowed him some leeway in how he addressed Wilson and into what matters he could inquire. So, despite his dislike for the man, Wilson had to allow some leniency in how he addressed the near royal.

  “I think we’re in readiness, General,” Wilson told him. “When the time comes we will be able to complete our mission. Missions, I should say,” he added.

  “Good,” Daly nodded. He knew that Wilson didn’t like him, but didn’t care. He was here to make sure that the Emperor was aware of everything that was going on. Daly had his own staff, including Imperial couriers. They would ferry dispatches directly to the Emperor. Dispatches that would not go through Wilson so the Commanding General would have no way of knowing what Daly was telling the Emperor.

  Wilson spurred his horse slightly, moving out at a faster pace than before. He felt a headache coming. It seemed that the Soulan Army might not be his only opposition.

  *****

  Far to the west and south, Lieutenant General Jackson Andrews, commanding the Norland 2nd Field Army, was in a similar situation…including the rain, which wasn’t a real problem for him.

  Andrews was tasked with attacking across the Great River, into Shelby. He would be using boats as well, though his men would be using somewhat larger rafts, rafts that, in theory, would enable his men to carry their horses across with them.

  Andrews also had the added problem of coordinating with Norland’s ‘allies’, the members of several of the nearer Wild Tribes. Andrews detested the Wilds and their barbaric customs as well, but he could not, would not, deny that they had done wonders in training the Nor cavalry…and they were fierce fighters.

  The Wildmen were savages with no regard for human life at all, including their own. To them, there was only the fight. They didn’t think along the lines of conquering and holding land. Instead, theirs was a nomadic way of life. They fought for the pleasure of battle, taking whatever they could from whomever they attacked. Their practices of mutilating corpses of fallen foes left Andrews with a queasy feeling in his stomach, especially when he remembered that, if all went according to plan, he and his men would be at war with the Wildmen in less than two years.

  He put the thought aside, however, for now. That was a long way away. Today there was only Soulan. The hated Southrons.

  Andrews’ attack wasn’t a feint, exactly, but it wasn’t the primary attack, either, which meant that his force wasn’t as large as Wilson’s. Having the equivalent of two divisions of Wildmen cavalry added to his fighting force was hardly an imposition, even with their repulsive ways and it would give him the opportunity to study them in battle, he mused. Something to take advantage of.

  In the meantime, he had his own preparations to see to. His men were almost two miles away from the bridge, easily out of sight of even the most powerful glass. Only a handful of his own men were near the bridge, himself included, and the Soulanies were accustomed to seeing the Wildmen along the western bank of the Great River, coming and going.

  Lifting his glass, Andrews studied the bridge once again from the cover of trees. It was a large span, in essence two bridges built as one great bridge. A marvel of engineering from a time long past, before the Dying. Such a thing would be all but impossible now, he knew. That was the one reason that no one had ever tried to destroy the bridge itself. It was irreplaceable, and therefore valuable, to everyone.

  Today it was an objective. One Andrews meant to take if at all possible. If he could establish a good bridgehead on the eastern bank and keep it supplied then his part of the war plan was assured. True, he’d like to do more than that, and he would if the opportunity arose, but his primary goal—his only goal, in fact—was to seize the bridge and threaten Shelby, tying down the Soulan 3rd Corps.

  He could do that. He would do that.

  With that thought, he turned his full concentration back to the bridge.

  ****

  Major General William Brasher leaned over the map table in the small house he was using as his headquarters, committing to memory the route he would take and the alternates, should the primary route be blocked.

  His job was the riskiest of the entire operation in some ways. His men would strike deep into the Soulanie heart land, alone and unsupported. Speed was the essence of his plans and yet he couldn’t simply strike out with nothing but his horsemen.

  Because of the time of year and the likelihood that his men would not find sufficient forage Brasher had to have a baggage train. He would need hay and feed for his animals and food for his men. There was no way around that.

  Because of that need his column would advance much slower than he wanted. Speed was essential to his success. He had to take the Gap and pass through it before Soulan could mount a strong defense.

  It was true that his force was strong enough to overwhelm whatever garrison happened to be placed there if need be. It was the delay that would be problematic. If the Soulan forces put up much of a fight then it might take a day, or even two, to get past them and get his force reformed. That was too long. He had to get through quickly. Much depended on his force reaching Nasil as quickly as possible.

  He had considered placing his supplies on horseback, but the plan simply wasn’t workable. He hadn’t the horses to spare or not enough to make a difference anyway. Sighing in defeat, he accepted the fact that he would have to depend on his ‘pioneer’ units. Roving ahead in small wagons with axes and saws, the pioneers would widen the roads where necessary to allow his wagons through. They should be able to outpace the wagons, considering that the initial roadways would need no work. It was only when they began to reach the
mountains that the roads would pinch off into something more like trails than actual roadways. By the time his wagons made it that far the pioneers should have already made a dent in the problem.

  If they hadn’t he could always execute them as an example to the next unit he sent forward. Brasher was known for his ruthlessness. Feared for it, some would say. No one wanted to serve under his command, but those who did always managed to do a better job than their peers in other commands as they were ‘more highly motivated’ in Brasher’s words.

  Brasher was the youngest Major General in the Norland Army and intended to be the youngest Lieutenant General in the next campaigns. He was determined that he was destined to do great things.

  And nothing would stop that. Nothing.

  *****

  “‘Pears the rains are at an end, lad,” Darvo commented on the third day with no rain. Today was sunny, and a bit windy. Perfect weather for drying the saturated soil.

  “So it does,” Parno nodded in dismay. “It’ll be time, soon.”

  “Aye, that it will,” came the calm reply. Parno turned to look at Darvo.

  “It’s time we told them,” he said simply. Darvo nodded.

  “Sound the assembly, trooper!” he called across to the bugler. The young man started at that, but placed his horn to his lips and played the call.

  As the men fell in by companies, Parno looked at his command. Twelve companies in all, plus the artillery command and the support company, consisting of farriers, armorer staff, drivers, and others whose presence made it possible for the soldiers to fight. Willard called the assembly to attention, ordered the roll called, and then placed the men at parade rest. He nodded to Nidiad, who walked up to the small podium.

  “Lad’s,” Darvo’s voice boomed across the parade grounds, “there’s something you need to hear. It’s important, so listen good. I warn you now, what you’re told here today doesn’t leave this camp. I want that understood by everyone. Anyone as does repeat it, I’ll see hanged…and I mean that.”

  “Word will spread right enough, ‘fore long,” he continued, “but that decision ain’t for us to make.” He turned to Parno, who nodded. As he stepped forward his men erupted into a cheer.

  Despite himself, Parno smiled. He raised his hands and the men grew quiet again.

  “I can see that my decision not to have a direct role in your training has paid off,” he joked, and the men laughed aloud through their ranks. Parno waited for the laughter to die off before continuing.

  “Men, in all likelihood, we’ll soon be at war,” he said bluntly and watched a ripple run through the assembly. “I know that things with the Nor have looked promising for a long time. Apparently they were too promising. Everything that’s been accomplished over the last two years or so has been with the intention of making us let our guard down.”

  “I won’t go into how someone figured this out. It took long hours of hard work, I’m told, and not a little sweat and blood, to see behind the veil at what the Nor are planning. My personal best guess is that the Nor will launch their attack within two weeks of the end of the spring rains. They’ll want dry ground to march on and they’ll want the rivers and streams to be as empty as possible, and it appears that the rains are near their end,” he added, lifting his hands to point toward the blue sky overhead.

  “We have until then to be ready, not just as a unit, but as a kingdom. We can’t do much about the Kingdom,” he smiled, and was rewarded by a few chuckles. “No one there much listens to me anyway,” he added, which drew outright laughter.

  “I know a bit about being an outcast,” Parno told them. “I know what it is to have only the worst expected of you and to have the good things you accomplish thrown out with the trash. I know,” he told them, grinning, “what it is to be the Black Sheep in the family.” The men before him erupted in cheers again, some even clapping.

  The men of the Regiment knew that their prince was a black sheep, all but ostracized by the Royal Family of which he was part and they cared not at all. Not only did they not care, they took great pride in the fact.

  “You’ve made me very proud in the last few months,” he told them suddenly. “You’ve worked hard. Harder in these last months as we tried to prepare you as best we can for what’s coming. You are as ready as we can make you. Better trained, better equipped, and more prepared for what’s ahead than any other unit of the Soulan Army.” He paused for a second, then continued.

  “There was much opposition to this idea, as you all know by now. Much of that opposition still exists and I was given command of this outfit because I am much like you. The outcast. The Black Sheep.”

  “In the weeks and months ahead, you will likely have the opportunity to prove these detractors wrong. I want you to remember when you are facing combat, all the malicious things that have been said about us as a unit. Remember every insult, every derogatory remark, every slight and slur. Remember them and the anger they made you feel, and still make you feel! Just as I do!”

  “Use that anger! Use it to stiffen your resolve and strengthen your arms.” Suddenly a feral grin appeared in the young Prince’s face and more than a few returned it.

  “Use it to kill our enemies and make them fear the name Parno’s Company!” Parno shouted suddenly, angrily. “Make them fear the Black Sheep of Soulan!”

  The men of Parno’s Company were still cheering when their Prince, their Black Sheep, left the podium. Darvo gave his young charge a feral grin, nodding in admiration and respect. The work was finished.

  Now all that remained was to see how well it had been done.

  *****

  Late the next afternoon a new flag appeared in the camp. No one knew where it came from or who had procured it. Rumor was that several of the men in the unit had gathered wives and daughters and had it made in record time.

  Everyone agreed that the flag was unique…even impressive in its own way…and that it was a fitting banner to be flown over this camp. This camp and no other.

  The flag was emerald green in color. On the upper right hand corner was the seal of House McLeod. On the Upper Left was the symbol of the Soulan Army. It was the center of the flag that attracted, and held, everyone’s attention. Centered in the emerald banner was a sheep. A large, imposing, black sheep with claws and fangs that dripped blood, and with eyes that were as red as rubies.

  Parno’s Company now had a battle flag. When the time came, they would follow that flag and their commander into any battle. Anywhere.

  And that time was coming all too swiftly.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After days of worrying and watching, expecting a Nor invasion force to appear opposite his position on the Ohi river at any moment, General Bryce Davies, commander of Soulan’s 2nd Army Corps, was relaxing. He was enjoying a day on the lake with his wife and family, playing with his grandchildren. Life had been good to him, he knew. Five good children, three strong sons and two beautiful daughters and they had graced him with eight grandchildren so far. Grandchildren who were delighted at seeing ‘papa’ again, after his long absence.

  He watched and laughed as the children frolicked around the water, yelling for him to come and join them. He decided to take them up on the offer and rose from his chair, removing his shirt. He had taken two steps toward them when he heard someone else shouting his name.

  He frowned, looking around for the source of this interruption. Someone would pay for ruining this good day. Suddenly, he began to shake to and fro, as if the earth itself was moving beneath him. Oddly enough, his family didn’t seem to notice. He was about to ask them if they had heard. . . .

  “General!”

  Davies woke abruptly, sitting bolt upright in his bed. His aide, Major Randall Brimley, was standing over him, hand still on the general’s shoulder where he had been trying to shake his commander awake.

  “General, sir! The Nor! They’re coming!”

  Davies was on his feet before the major could finish his warning, grabbing his boots. H
e had slept in his clothes, as was his habit these last several days.

  “What strength?” he demanded. “And where?”

  “Here, sir,” Brimley informed him breathlessly. “They’re trying to force their way across the bridges!”

  Davies didn’t wait for more information.

  “Have our men turned out?” Davies demanded, stalking out of his tent. Dawn was less than an hour away, the eastern sky already glowing with the impending rise of the sun.

  “Yes sir!” Brimley assured him following. “Colonel Pierce had the watch, sir, and heard the commotion as the Nor got into position. He had an entire regiment up behind the barricades before the Nor got started. As soon as the attack began, the artillery opened up on the Nor positions across the Ohi.”

  “Excellent,” Davies nodded. Trust Nelson Pierce not to be caught napping. “Let’s see what our ‘friends’ from the north are up to, then, shall we?” Without waiting for an answer, Davies swung into the saddle of his waiting horse and set out for the battlefield, followed by his ten man escort.