by N. C. Reed
“Create havoc among them, Generals,” Parno urged. “Make them fear the sound of your horns. Let them sleep fitfully if at all while contemplating being found by their fellows left dead, or simply disappeared without a trace. Remember that your mission is to spread fear and panic as much as it is to wreak that havoc upon their supplies and men. You will use fear, terror even, to demoralize the Imperial soldiers and their commanders.”
“They will send men after you. Let them. Draw them in and ambush them. Kill them all. When their numbers are too great, keep moving and disappear into the countryside only to reappear somewhere else, attacking once more. Do you see what I want from you, Generals?”
“Clearly, sir,” Whipple replied. “How long do we have?”
“That's up to you,” Parno told them. “When supplies start to run low or when you need rest and refit that you cannot accomplish behind the lines, return to our own lines for a time. Stand your men down and rest them and their horses, repair your equipment, replace your losses where possible, and then go again. Give the Nor no rest you can deprive them of. No peace of mind, no mercy of any kind.” Parno's eyes grew hard. Flinty.
“This is the dawn of a new kind of war for Soulan, gentlemen. I call it total war. Where we destroy our enemies root and branch so that they can never again trod our soil or kill our people. Now,” he finished. “Have I selected the right men for this job? If you do not wish to be part of this project, you may say so and that will be the end of it.”
“I'm in,” Beaumont said at once.
“Me as well,” Whipple nodded thoughtfully. “This may well be the way we rid ourselves of the Nor once and for all.”
“That is my plan,” Parno nodded. “Expect to encounter Wildmen again,” he warned. “If the Nor can convince them to come after you then do your utmost to catch and destroy them. It will merely add to your reputation and further demoralize the Nor soldiers.”
Beaumont nodded grimly, his encounter earlier that day still clearly on his mind. He would not underestimate the Wild Tribesmen again, nor be caught off guard by their tactics.
“Then you have your orders,” Parno concluded. “May God go with you and before you, Generals.” Each man stood and Parno clasped their hands in turn. “I'll have written orders to you sometime tomorrow. Use your time well, and buy me the time I need to make them pay.”
“We'll do so, sir,” Whipple promised.
“Indeed,” Beaumont echoed. “Indeed we will.”
*****
After Beaumont and Whipple had departed, Enri Willard assisted Parno in drafting their orders and selecting the units who would accompany them on their mission. As they finished, he looked warily at his Commander.
“Milord,” he began, not knowing exactly how to give voice to his questions.
“Yes, we will be invading the North, excepting an order from the King not to do so,” Parno said flatly. “And I intend to argue for the invasion even if he is against it. If I cannot convince him then I will attempt to convince my brother, Memmnon. One way or another, we will be going north one day. Count upon it.”
“Ah, Sir,” Enri was hesitant but it was his job to advise. “Milord, we've never before pursued the Nor past our own borders. There is no precedent for it that I know of.”
“And that might be why we keep having this problem every generation,” Parno nodded grimly. “We drive them away, but we never defeat them. This time will be different,” he looked at Enri with eyes that were as flat as death. “They want one kingdom? They'll have it.”
“The Kingdom of Soulan will be the one. The only one, once this war is over.”
“That's a large marching order, sire,” Enri kept his voice respectful. Cautious.
“That's why I need more Black Sheep,” Parno nodded. “Many, many more.”
*****
CHAPTER EIGHT
-
“Any questions, General?”
Parno had just completed his orders to General Davies. He, Davies, and the members of each staff were standing in the command tent. It was two days since the cavalry clash Parno had led and it was time for him to be on his way. He had accomplished what he had hoped to here and he needed to see what the situation was in Shelby.
“No, milord,” Davies shook his head. “Your orders are clear and will be carried out. Your actions have left us in far better shape, I think.”
“Expect reprisal,” Parno warned. “If I were the Nor commander there's no way I'd allow that defeat to go unanswered. And be especially concerned with the Wild Tribesmen. If the Nor truly have them under their command, then they may well use them to try and get around you. They could do to us what Beaumont and Whipple are supposed to do to them.”
“We already have scouts far and wide to the west, milord,” Davies nodded again. “We also have scouts to the east, across the river. Three separate brigades of mounted militia are patrolling heavily in that area to screen Nasil, and I've received a report that the combined Royal regiments and House Guard that His Majesty used at the Gap are now in place to defend Nasil. There's little doubt that if an opening presented itself they would make a run on the Capital.”
“Agreed,” Parno nodded. “Please see to it that my dispatches are delivered, especially the one to Cove Canton. I should be back in three weeks, assuming all goes as expected, perhaps sooner. I need to see what the situation is in Shelby and confer with General Raines. I will return here after that, though I may have to depart again and head south depending on what is happening off the coast. I hope to hear from Admiral Semmes before then, however.” Rafael Semmes was the commander of the Soulan Navy and was leading the combined fleet of the Savannah, Sunshine Coast and Key Horn squadrons in an effort to eliminate the naval threat off Soulan's coast. Seventy percent, give or take, of Soulan's pre-war naval strength were committed to that effort.
“We'll be here, milord, God willing,” Davies promised. “And if He's not, then we're doomed anyway.”
“Too true,” Parno sighed. “May He watch over you all,” Parno shook hands with Davies. “Farewell.” With that the young Lord Marshal mounted his horse. His staff surrounded him along with Lieutenant Montrose Berry, promoted for gallantry at the Gap and because, in Enri Willard's words, 'Can't have a sergeant over the guard detail of the Lord Marshal'. Berry had gained an additional ten men to supplement his squad as well, which had been a relief. Having been appointed by The Colonel himself, Berry had decided that this was where he would serve until he could no longer do so. He was certain that his young charge was Soulan's best hope for survival, which made this job more important that anything he could be doing elsewhere.
Behind them the Black Sheep waited for the order to ride. While Davies could undoubtedly use their help, they went where Parno went.
“Karls, are we ready?” Parno asked.
“That we are, milord,” Karls Willard nodded.
“Let's be about it then,” Parno ordered. Parsons and his men were already scouting the trail ahead and had been for the last hour. Karls raised a hand and the column set off for Shelby and the battle raging there. At a walk until they cleared the camp, at which point Karls picked up the pace.
Time was the enemy as much so as the Nor these days.
*****
Colonel Bret Chad examined the area below him with his glass, looking for any signs of trouble. He and his men had entered Kenty seven days ago and were now deep inside Soulan territory that was nominally controlled by the Nor. Nominally because they had very few actual troops in the region.
Had he not been on a particular mission, Chad would have set about reducing and destroying those troops and driving them from Soulan soil. At best it would free many people from the terror of Nor raiding parties, at worst it would result in troops diverted from the front opposing General Davies in the west. Not good for Chad but very good for the war effort.
But his orders were firm. Find and retrieve their families and then return to Cove Canton where they would endure the harsh traini
ng and acclimation that would see many of them become members of Parno McLeod's personal troops.
“Nothing,” he said, lowering his glass.
“Concur, sir,” Tom Hildebrand nodded. “Looks clear all around.”
“Scouts out, Mister Morely,” Chad ordered his aide, a young lieutenant. “I want them checking the surrounding area out five miles in all directions save behind us of course. I expect them back before dusk. We'll bivouac in the valley below.”
“Yes sir,” Morely nodded and spurred his horse on his way.
“Tomorrow we start gathering our people that we can find,” Chad told his second. “Seven days, ten at the outside, and then we're on our way home, Tom. We can't tarry here too long, in case the Nor send another army against the Gap.”
“Sir,” Hildebrand nodded. “Be nice to take a battalion and raise some hell around here for the Nor that remain.”
“And we may do just that,” Chad nodded. “But not until we've found as many of our families as we can and ensured their safety.”
*****
Admiral Rafael Semmes hailed from a long line of sailors and naval commanders. He often joked he had salt water instead of blood in his veins, and being a true sailor he spent every moment he could at sea, enjoying the crisp air and salt spray.
But here, now, there was little enjoyment to be had for Semmes or anyone else. He and his men were moving along the coast in an effort to screen Soulan from an approaching Nor Fleet that had enough ships to contain a sizable landing force. If he could eliminate or even drive off that force, then General Freeman's Corps could be released to the fighting in Tinsee, bolstering the troops there that were, by all reports, being hammered. An entire army corps was being held hostage to this enemy naval force and that was enough to decide the outcome of the war.
“Sails south, Admiral,” his aide, Commander Nettles informed him quietly. Semmes shifted his glass, scanning the southern horizon until he found the masts of several vessels.
“That will be the Key Horn Squadron,” he nodded in satisfaction. “I estimate we'll have them alongside in two hours or less. We'll have all Captains and Firsts aboard one hour after their arrival, Mister Nettles,” Semmes ordered. “Time to get this expedition underway.”
“Aye, sir,” Nettles nodded and set about ordering the signal for the meeting and time hoisted. The flagship of the Savannah squadron was the cruiser Wabash, a heavy ship designed not only to throw but also to ram, using the giant iron reinforced spar that extended from her nose. It was hard on a ship to ram, but Wabash was built for it.
She was also built to be a command vessel however, and that was how Semmes used her. He would command the three combined squadrons from her decks as they engaged the Nor fleet. His current plan, dependent on advice from the squadron commanders, was to allow the three squadrons to operate as separate commands of the same action, with his general orders given to the squadron commanders for them to implement as best they saw fit using men and ships they would know best. Time was of the essence and he begrudged every second lost, but without good planning any time advantage would be lost when the battle was joined and their navy defeated.
No, he'd spend the time wisely. And after that he'd give the Nor sailing off his kingdom's coast something to think about.
*****
The escort of IG troops ferrying Therron McLeod was some of the best troops under the Inspector General's command. The duty would be rotated among the men so that no one was required to spend more than six to nine months 'babysitting' the former Lord Marshal.
Therron had attempted to bully those troops as soon as they were out of sight of Nasil, but the commander and his two subordinates were well chosen for this mission and the troops hand-picked from among the most loyal in the kingdom. As a result, Therron McLeod found himself isolated in the spartan coach that was ferrying him to the Key Isles. A desolate and isolated area if beautiful, he would spend the rest of his life there, effectively exiled while remaining within the borders of Soulan. His father would not risk Therron being allowed to return at the head of a mercenary army, or that the turncoat son would actually betray them to the Nor.
The men escorting him were well aware of the threat the Nor presented to their kingdom and had been told in no uncertain terms that Therron had almost allowed the Nor to take Nasil by refusing an order of the Sovereign. They knew he was fortunate not to have been executed, and assumed that only the war had prevented it.
All were perfectly willing take Therron's head themselves to prevent his escape. A fact that the Inspector General had taken great pains to explain to the former Marshal. Therron seethed at the treatment but there was naught he could do for now but to take it.
That did not mean that he would always do so. One did not attempt to seize a kingdom without forethought and planning.
Or accomplices.
He was patient, and it was a long way to the Key Horn. Much could happen between Nasil and the Gulf of Storms.
*****
Lieutenant General Gerald Wilson listened without emotion as his aide rattled off the damages done by the Soulan Cavalry raid. Two general officers dead along with the majority of their staff. Two infantry divisions crushed, their surviving men and officers useless for anything other than garrison duties. A third infantry division suffering heavy losses but also having held against the enemy and thus their moral was rather high despite everything.
Their commander, Major General Taylor, was preening like a young rooster, conveniently forgetting that his own men would have likewise been crushed had it not been for the intervention of Stone's cavalry.
And the vaunted cavalry that everyone was so proud of! Stone's command had been torn a new one and that was as nice a way to say it as Wilson could find. Just when it had looked as if they were about to catch the Soulan horsemen in a decisive battle, the southerners had changed tactics on them mid-stride and created havoc among what was supposed to be the best trained unit in the Norland army.
The casualty count was horrendous. Infantry losses were somewhere around twenty-two thousand dead and wounded, though there were far less of the latter than Wilson would have believed.
Stone's cavalrymen had lost another eight thousand plus in their brief engagement against their southern counterparts. He could scarcely believe it.
“Enough,” he said tiredly, shushing his aide with a raised hand. “I get the gist of it. We got our asses handed to us.”
“I wouldn't put it that way, sir,” the young Captain didn't stammer.
“Nor should you,” Wilson nodded. “Have the reports prepared and then provide me a written summary of losses and damages. The only supply areas they managed to get to where the three infantry units they engaged, correct?”
“Yes sir,” the young man nodded. “General Stone's arrival kept them out of the main army's rear areas.”
“Well there's that anyway,” Wilson sighed. “Send Stone in on your way out.”
“Sir,” the Captain braced to attention and departed. Stone entered right away, face set in a mask.
“General, I'd like to know why you failed to follow up when the Soulanies began their retreat.”
“I screwed up,” Stone admitted flatly. “I lost my coordination with my units and that cost us the opportunity. No excuses. It's easy to let communications get messed up in that kind of mess, but I should have anticipated it. Should have prepared for it. And I didn't. The blame is mine.”
Stone wasn't going to lay blame on anyone else. His hasty words to the runners that he hadn't cared about their casualties had run through his men like wildfire. It hadn't been the way he'd meant it, but that was how it had sounded. He'd done as much damage control as he could with his senior officers and now it was up to them to explain what he'd actually meant.
He had lost nearly a third of his force in the brief encounter with the Soulan Cavalry. His only happiness in the whole experience had been seeing Blue Dog and his savages get their own asses handed to them by a handful o
f Soulan troopers. Served him right for trying to attack men who were checking for wounded comrades.
“There's plenty of blame to go around,” Wilson assured him. “If it hadn't been for Raymond being completely unprepared for an attack while he sat on our flank, this attack would have been repulsed without such serious losses. Of course he and Hartley both perished in the battle so they could escape the blame for their actions,” he added with a snort. “Sit down, I'm tired of looking up,” Wilson ordered. Stone took the seat opposite his commander.
“How are your men?” Wilson asked.
“Angry, at me as much as the southerners,” he shrugged. At Wilson's questioning look Stone explained his mistake.
“That was bad,” Wilson nodded. “Still, I see what you meant. Your subordinates should be able to straighten that out. And you were right,” he nodded. “Losses we'd already taken meant nothing without victory. Wasted lives. Are they still able to fight?”
“Of course,” Stone nodded. “They were caught by Soulan horse archers which is what caused most of our casualties. We did learn that our horses are not large enough in most cases to compete with their larger war-mounts. Their horses are trained almost as highly as their men. Ramming into our smaller beasts and sometimes literally knocking them to the ground.”
“So I've heard,” Wilson sighed. “Well, I'm assuming you and your staff are working on a remedy for that?” His tone indicated they had better be.
“We are,” Stone nodded. “Nothing but planning at the moment, but now that we've seen a real cavalry battle where we didn't completely outnumber our opponents we know what to expect. We can factor that into our training and tactics, as well as our orders. Next time it will be different, horse archery aside,” he added that last with bitterness.
“I know that's a sticking point for you,” Wilson said evenly.
“It cost me almost three thousand men by our best estimates, and us with no way to answer it. We just have to take it. We also lost nearly thirty-five hundred horses. Not all are dead, but some are so injured they're not good for much more than the cooking pots.” He grimaced at that. No cavalry man liked the idea of losing horses.
