Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two

by N. C. Reed

  “One of the savages, sir. A runner.” Stone looked around to see one of Blue Dog's men approaching. He was shirtless, as were most of the savage Tribesmen, and carried a lance. A short bow was slung over his shoulder. His horse was wiry, with little in the way of equipment the way his troopers had and was decorated along the same lines as the man himself. Stone resisted the urge to shake his head.

  “Chief say Southmans work against right,” the man reported without fanfare. “No attack, but stronger now. New mans there now, not there when fight start.”

  Soulanies were strengthening their right? During the battle? Their lines already extended beyond his own, so why move farther out? It didn't make sense, unless. . .Unless they were trying to break another unit into the rear areas of the army. He shook his head at that.

  Surely even McLeod could see the folly in something like that. With the Imperial Army by now alerted all along the front it would be suicide. Assuming that McLeod wouldn't order something so sure to end in disaster, that left Stone wondering what they were doing.

  Perhaps the southern officers had noticed Blue Dog's men along the right of line and were worried about an attack from that front. While there was no risk of that happening, the Soulanies didn't know that. If so, then anything that tied up their men in fruitless pursuits was a good thing. He turned to the runner.

  “I believe that the southerners consider your presence on the flank threatening,” he told the waiting savage. “If so, then they would have to move men to oppose any attack you might make. They are certainly more concerned with your fighting skills from horseback than our own.” That hurt to say, but was true none-the-less, at least for now.

  “Please ask your Chief if he will continue to demonstrate your presence on the right. Allow the enemy to see you, to know that you are still present. That alone will keep some of the enemy troops tied down and out of the battle here.”

  “I will say,” the runner bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Chief may or may not do.”

  “That's fine,” Stone nodded. He couldn't force the damn savage to obey orders. Maybe his suggestion would be enough to convince Blue Dog to do his bidding, at least this once. The runner turned and rode back the way he had come.

  “There will come a day,” Stone murmured to himself, then shook it away. That day was long in the future and he had plenty to worry about for today.

  *****

  Buford Beaumont was in his element. His position as a Brigadier often meant that he was relegated to official duties that kept him out of battle, or even training. While he appreciated the fact that his skill had seen him rise to his present rank even in an environment that was hostile to him, Beaumont was a fighting soldier at heart and wanted to be with his men in battle.

  Right now his wish was coming true in spades. He was aware that his presence in the line would not go unnoticed by the enemy and that they would try to bring him down if possible, believing that his loss would hurt his brigade's fighting effectiveness. He snorted mentally at the idea.

  While he was sure his men would mourn him, his brigade would continue to fight like the soldiers they were whether he led them or not. His absence might eventually play a role in their morale, but it would not hamper them on the battlefield today.

  He left that thought behind as a mounted Nor trooper tried to bring his sword to bear on the southern General before him. Beaumont blocked the attack with relative ease, then spurred his large war horse into the smaller Nor mount, knocking the smaller horse to the side. Eyes wide, the Nor trooper struggled to stay mounted, which distracted him from defending himself. He looked up just in time to see Beaumont's sword coming at his chest.

  Tearing his blade from the body of the dying trooper, Beaumont looked for another target. He didn't know how long the Marshal would give them before calling the attack off. He didn't want to waste any of it.

  *****

  “I don't think they're gonna do anything,” Simmons murmured from his place beside Karls Willard. “If they was gonna attack, they would have done it by now, don't you reckon?” Simmons was one of the former prisoners that had formed the bulk of the Black Sheep. He had risen through the ranks to command a company at the Gap. He was essentially Willard's second for the time being.

  “Don't know,” Willard shrugged, surveying the wood line with his glass. “But their presence is a threat we have to honor. Especially since we aren't sure how many there are.”

  “We could move over there and find out,” Simmons replied, his voice betraying eagerness.

  “No.” Willard's voice was firm. “Our orders are to hold right here and protect the flank. If we move off, then if there's another force out there they move right in here where we're supposed to be. They might be letting us see them hoping we do just that,” he added, looking at Simmons.

  Simmons' training was strictly in the field other than his basic instruction at Cove Canton. The man was very good at small unit actions and had earned his rank in battle, but his experience was limited and he had never been trained to think strategically. His eyes narrowed as what Karls told him hit home.

  “Hadn't considered that,” he admitted.

  “No reason you should,” Karls shrugged. “You training hasn't covered things like that, mostly because we haven't had the time. But remember when you're on the flank, you hold the edge of the line. If you move, withdraw, or give in, then the army's line is exposed. A large force sweeping against an exposed flank can roll up unit after unit in detail, never allowing the army to marshal enough forces to meet them.”

  “When you're the flank, that's what you concentrate on,” he concluded the ad hoc training session. “Let the rest of the line deal with what's front. All of your attention should be on protecting the flank.”

  “Yes sir,” Simmons nodded, soaking in the information and applying it to what he'd already learned. He knew that Karls Willard was trying to teach him as they went and appreciated it. Most men of his position wouldn't have bothered.

  But Willard had been The Colonel's protégé. That was how all the Sheep had thought of, and remembered, Colonel Darvo Nidiad. The Colonel. He had won the respect of every man in the unit over time.

  So had the prince of course, but that was a different kettle of fish all together. Where the men loved Parno McLeod and would die for him without a thought, they had feared and respected The Colonel. And that respect had transferred at least somewhat to Willard. Colonel Willard might not be The Colonel, but he was their colonel. And he had been appointed and approved by The Colonel.

  Simmons pushed those thoughts away and returned his attention to both the wood line and his commander. There might be more to learn here today.

  *****

  Parno watched the battle unfolding before him, gauging the fatigue of his men. It was coming time to break off while they could still fight a withdrawal if needed. They had done well and it as time to take that and go.

  “I believe you have accomplished your goal, my prince,” Cho Feng said quietly from his side. Parno turned, not having seen Cho ride up. He should not have been surprised to see a blade in Feng's hand. A bloody blade.

  “I was just thinking that,” Parno nodded. He motioned for a young bugler, who rode to him with a bit of hesitation.

  “Prepare to sound Recall and Reform,” Parno ordered. “On my command.” The young man nodded and licked lips made dry by a number of things, including fear. Parno looked to Whipple, who was looking back at him expectantly. Parno nodded, pointing to the bugler. Whipple returned the nod and raised his red pennant. Behind him the archers raised their bows once more.

  It dawned on Parno at that moment that while he had detailed Beaumont's men as rear-guard, he'd also sent them into battle at the center of the line. He had no real force standing ready to cover the withdrawal.

  “It will have to be enough,” Feng said gently. “Trust your men, my prince.”

  It never failed to amaze Parno that Cho Feng always seemed to know what he was thinking. But
the oriental sword master was correct. It was too late to fix now. He would have to trust his men. He looked at the nervous young bugler.

  “Sound Recall,” he ordered calmly. The bugler raised his horn and began to play the order that would end the battle.

  *****

  It took a minute for the sounds of the bugle to carry along the line and be picked up by others. Soon however the notes of recall were sounding all along the Soulan front. Soulan troopers broke away from the Nor, helping injured mates to stay mounted or often pulling them up into the saddle behind them when their mounts had fallen.

  Disengaging from a battle was as much an art as it was a skill. Only the arrogant commander didn't have his men practice such a drill. Even when victorious an army might have to withdraw while still engaged. The Soulan Army had done well today and they knew it. But their orders were clear and more than that they made good sense. Whatever victory had been gained today, the war was long from over. Preservation of their fighting forces was essential to the survival of their kingdom.

  Unlike Parno, Beaumont had considered the problem of how to disengage his troopers so that they could cover the withdrawal. Consulting by runner with General Bellamy, commander of the 4th Soulan Cavalry, Beaumont had made arrangements to have Bellamy's reserve brigade support and replace his own so that they might withdraw in good order to support Whipple.

  The actual move was less smooth than he might have hoped for, but considering it was essentially an unpracticed maneuver he wasn't all that displeased. The commander of Bellamy's reserve brigade was steady and calm as his men moved up to engage the Nor troopers to Beaumont's front. As soon as they were on line, Beaumont's men began to withdraw, having already been given their orders before the battle was joined.

  Beaumont's men reformed to Whipple's immediate front, allowing their winded mounts a moment of respite as they dressed ranks and filled empty positions. The battle might be considered a victory, but that didn't mean they hadn't suffered losses.

  Satisfied that his men were as ready as possible, Beaumont sent a runner to his Marshal to inform him of their readiness and then sat patiently awaiting developments.

  *****

  Parno watched Beaumont's actions and realized that the canny brigadier had made plans that he himself had forgotten. Buford Beaumont once more rose in stature in the eyes of the Soulan Army's Lord Marshal. If they survived today, then he was more convinced than ever that Beaumont was the man for the mission he had already half planned in his mind.

  “He has done well,” Cho Feng noted from his side and Parno nodded absently.

  “He has at that. And he thought of something I hadn't, which was how to get his men out of line and ready to cover the withdrawal. I erred badly in that, Master Feng,” Parno admitted.

  “You cannot think of everything at once, my prince,” Feng replied. “You must be able to trust and depend upon those who lead your forces to know how to implement the orders you have given them. You no longer command a mere regiment, or even brigade. You must adjust your thinking to fit your new duties.”

  Feng was at least the third person today to tell him that, Parno reflected. He had thought himself prepared for the changes that his new rank would necessitate, but today had proven otherwise. He would have to be more aware of both his responsibilities and his limitations. He wasn't accustomed to having limitations, but he'd never been in a position of real responsibility before the war started.

  He would have to learn on the job and on the fly, not the best circumstance for an army commander.

  “You're right,” he nodded to Feng. “I'm working on it, but there's a lot to learn and I'm out of my element.”

  “You are not out of your element, my prince,” Feng stressed. “You are more than capable of performing your duties. It is your mindset that you must change, not your planning or leadership style. You simply must adjust to commanding, rather than leading. And you must begin to think strategically rather than tactically.”

  “All right,” Parno nodded again, his eyes still on the distant battlefield. “I assume you can help me learn?”

  “Of course,” came the serene reply. “It will be my honor, my prince. We will begin tonight, if you wish.”

  “Very well,” Parno replied. “In the meantime however, it's time for us to end this.”

  “I agree,” Feng nodded this time. “You have accomplished your goal and your men are still in fighting trim. While we could press the attack here for the moment, we know that the enemy is trying to bring their infantry to bear on the right and there are at least some of those Wildmen you speak of on the left. And there is more to victory than possession of the field of battle.”

  “What I was thinking,” Parno agreed. “Here we go,” he said suddenly, seeing the forward units begin to withdraw. “We'll see now how good discipline is in these units.”

  Discipline was very good, it turned out. Soulan cavalrymen were selected from the cream of the army. It took more than horsemanship and fighting ability to gain a position in the most prestigious fighting arm of the Soulan Kingdom. It took intelligence, steadiness, and the discipline to obey orders even if they didn't appear to make sense.

  That last item meant that the commanders of those units had to earn the trust of the men under their command. For a soldier to follow orders that he himself might think stupid meant that he had to trust the men above him to issue good orders, regardless of what it might look like from their own perspective.

  Bugles began to sound along the line. After a brief hesitation the men engaged directly against the enemy wheeled sharply and spurred their horses, creating an instant separation between themselves and the enemy.

  Surprised, the Nor were slow to pursue. By the time their own commanders had realized what was happening the Soulan units were through their own lines and reforming behind the reserve forces who now stood ready to engage if needed.

  Flustered by the sudden change in tactics, the inexperienced Nor commanders hesitated. In the interim, as they decided to send runners to request instructions, some of their troopers pursued without orders. They did so in small groups and in fits and starts, with no cohesion, no structure, and very little order.

  The results were less than ideal.

  *****

  “Now!” Parno ordered and Whipple dropped his pennant again.

  Once more the sky above the battle line was filled with arrows. The broken and uneven lines of Nor cavalry who had pursued without waiting for their comrades paid a heavy price for that impatience. With far fewer targets to choose from, it was inevitable that some would draw more fire than others.

  Parno saw at least four horses just within his own view that fell with no less than a dozen arrows protruding from their bodies. Their riders fared no better.

  Parno realized suddenly that the Nor lines were unorganized and without leadership. He raised his glasses to look at the enemy's position and saw nothing but indecision and hesitancy. With a start, he understood what was happening.

  “They're waiting for orders!” he exclaimed aloud.

  “Now is your chance, my prince,” Cho Feng's voice, though much calmer than Parno's, might have betrayed the slightest bit of eagerness. “While they are disorganized.”

  “Sound the Withdrawal!” Parno ordered his bugler. “Right away! And keep sounding it!” The young man raised his horn and began to call.

  *****

  “What in the devil is going on out there!” Stone yelled at no one and everyone at the same time. “Why aren't we pursuing?”

  “Runners, sir,” his aide called, pointing to where five different horsemen could be seen descending upon their position. Two arrived at roughly the same time.

  “Enemy is withdraw-” Both began, then stopped, looking at each other.

  “What is it?” Stone screamed again. “Speak!”

  “Enemy withdrawing sir, and General Horley requests instructions!” one of them managed to blurt out.

  “I already gave instructio
ns!” Stone yelled. “We were to pursue the enemy to within sight of their own lines and no further, doing as much damage as we could in the process!”

  “We've taken heavy losses ourselves, sir!” the second runner announced even as the other three reined in. They nodded their agreement since that was part of their own report.

  “I don't give a damn about our losses!” Stone bellowed. He knew as soon as he said it that he'd made a mistake but he couldn't take it back. “If we don't pursue and destroy the enemy, then our losses were for nothing!” he tried to back away slightly, but the look on the runner's faces told him it was too late for that. Before he could speak again another runner appeared.

  “General Horley reports that the enemy is withdrawing while fighting, sir!” the man saluted. “They are engaging us with archery fire again and withdrawing by the numbers!” The runner actually had no idea what that meant, but Stone did. He sighed in defeat, realizing that his hesitant division commanders had just cost him any chance he might have had at victory.

  “Order all commands to reform on our side of the clearing,” he ordered dismally. “This engagement is ended.” He looked to his own bugler.

  “Sound reform.”

  *****

  Whipple and Beaumont sat side-by-side observing the enemy action. A distant bugle call came to them from the far side of the clearing, soon echoed by others. The Nor to their front wheeled almost in unison and started for their own lines. Whipple allowed his men their third volley just to spur the enemy on their way, then raised his pennant again. It was largely unnecessary, as his men were highly disciplined and knew their orders.

  “I think we can withdraw,” Beaumont observed quietly, and Whipple nodded his agreement.

  “I do believe we have spanked them, General,” he chuckled. “Our Lord Marshal should be pleased, I think.”

  “I'll find out tonight, I guess,” Beaumont shrugged. “I've been ordered to mess with the Prince tonight.” Whipple looked at Beaumont, frowning slightly.

  “So have I,” he admitted slowly. “I would normally think we were being commended, but. . .my 'invitation' came before this battle was decided.”