Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two
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“True,” Parno nodded. He stood looking across the river, apparently lost in thought.
“Your militia, where are they coming from?” he asked suddenly.
“Mostly from Tinsee Province, milord, though a handful are from Misi and Northern Alma. But most of their units have gone south.”
“To the gulf,” Parno said absently, still looking across the river.
“Yes sir,” Raines nodded. “I requested that some help be sent to me before the war ever began to assist with patrolling the river. In fact, I asked that the river south be handled by 4th Corps, to allow me to concentrate here, and to guard the river to the north.”
“The response?” Parno asked, looking at Raines finally.
“I received what was supposed to be a brigade of mounted militia from Misi, supplemented by a late forming battalion of Alma cavalry.”
“Supposed to be?” Parno raised an eyebrow in question.
“Little more than two regiments worth of men, milord, even throwing in the Alma cavalry. About half mounted and them not well. In a pursuit, they would not last more than two days, if that,” Raines replied evenly.
“I see,” Parno nodded. “Dismount them and add them to your infantry here,” he nodded to the fortifications around the bridge and along the shore. “Use them to man more of your observation posts. Can anything be done with the horses?” Raines was so surprised by the order that it took him a minute to answer.
“I. . .I don't know, milord, to be honest,” he admitted. “I haven't had the time to see to them myself.”
“Nor should you,” Parno agreed. “Have your lead wrangler inspect the animals. If they can be fed up and exercised back into shape, order that he do so and use them as remounts. Any that cannot be used for cavalry or to bear mounted infantry should be used as draft animals for supply trains. Should any be unsuitable for that, you may dispense them to area farmers in recompense for food stores. Even old horses can have uses for stockmen and farmers. If we cannot use them as war mounts or as draft animals, get them off the supply burden. Your fighting here, should it come, will mostly be on foot it appears to me.”
“Any attack on us here will certainly be so, milord,” Raines nodded.
“Using those men on foot should free up some of your regular mounted infantry?” Parno asked, and almost grinned as he saw the light finally dawning on Raines face.
“It would,” he nodded. “But milord, there are political issues with moving militia to-”
“I'll have an order drafted for it as soon as we return,” he looked at Sprigs who nodded and make a notation in his notebook. “We have no time for political issues at the moment. Any who try to make them will be dealt with as you see fit, up to and including execution if they refuse reassignment. If you'd rather, I can have my men see to that,” he added, his tone kind. “I know it might cause you discomfort.”
“It won't be a problem milord,” Raines replied evenly. “Distasteful perhaps, but it will be done.”
“I don't expect a wholesale revolt,” Parno said ruefully. “I simply want you to understand that you are in command, General. I can't be everywhere at once. As I told my Regimental commander a few days ago, I can't even be two places at once. As of now, you are in command of all forces in this area, period. Every man in uniform in this district will answer to you for the duration of the war. No more political 'issues' or interference in your command by minor 'nobles'. Or major ones for that matter.” He paused for a moment before making the plunge. Karls was right; Parno had to trust someone.
“Memmnon speaks highly of you, both as a friend and as a commander,” he said finally. “Before leaving the front to the north I promoted General Davies to command of the First Field army, combining First and Second Corps. I'm doing the same for you, here. As commander of the Second Field Army, there will be no more political wrangling. If there is a 'noble' among that militia rabble that allowed their horses to be so ill kept, put him to work with the rest. You need work details? Put them to it. We simply cannot afford to have mounted 'dandies' running around while real soldiers do grunt work.”
“I agree with that, milord,” Raines nodded. “I appreciate your confidence in me as well. I'm glad Memmnon-, the Crown Prince I mean, speaks well of me,” he added.
“He should, considering some of the hi-jinks the two of you pulled, if the stories are even partly accurate,” Parno grinned, and Raines laughed aloud at that.
“Long ago, milord, when we were much younger and did not have so much hanging over us,” he replied. “There is one minor noble among the 'rabble', as you named them. And it's not inaccurate. He is the son of a District Governor in Misi, the Duke of Leeford I believe. He rarely misses an opportunity to remind us of who he is, either.”
“Introduce me,” Parno ordered. “I might as well get this over with now.”
*****
Colonel Melton Fisk looked up from his reading to see a young man approaching his camp followed by a group of soldiers. He ignored the soldiers but frowned at this breach of camp etiquette. It was simply rude to walk into another man's command unannounced.
“You there!” he called out as he stood. “What are you doing in my camp?”
“Looking for the commander of this rabble,” the young man replied easily. “I've never seen a more disgusting example of soldiery. Who's responsible for this?”
“Who are you to question my command or denigrate my men?” Fisk was white-hot in an instant. “I'm a mind to have you flogged!”
“Be my guest,” the young man said easily. “Will you be taking me yourself, or have some of these rejects do it for you?”
“Seize him!” Fisk screeched. “And have someone send for Raines! I'll have someone's head for this!”
Before Fisk's men could react their camp was 'invaded' from all sides by armed men, all wearing the same black and green livery. And all wearing grim looks of combat soldiers, Fisk realized.
“My name,” the intruder said easily, “is Parno McLeod.” The silence to that statement was deafening.
“I'm told that you led your men here on horses that are barely able to carry your overfed ass,” Parno continued. “And that you consistently attempt to use your 'rank' to avoid tasks that you consider beneath you. That ends today, Mister Fisk. You and your men will be moving camp in one half-hour, relocating to the river front where you and your men will assist with maintaining the defenses. Your horses will be reassigned to real cavalry units, assuming they can be rehabilitated from your slovenly treatment.”
“You can't do that! Milord,” Fisk hastened to add. “We're cavalrymen!”
“No real cavalryman would allow his horses to get into the shape your mounts are in, Captain,” Parno shot back.
“It's Colonel!” Fisk almost shouted.
“Not as of this moment it's not,” Parno shook his head. “Your men will be assigned to the engineering commander for the duration or until General Raines, Commanding Second Field Army determines you're worthy of a combat assignment. If you refuse or object any more, Captain, I'll have you in the guardhouse until you can be tried for whatever I can come up with under the Military Code. I must warn you that I'm somewhat busy at the moment defending the kingdom while you sit here on your pompous lazy ass ducking work! No more!” He had reached Fisk by now and there was a dangerous light in his eyes that his own men recognized quite well.
“We're at war for our very survival and you're treating this like a camping expedition, Mister Fisk. I don't care who you are, or who your father is, you will work or you by God won't eat and you'll rot in prison until every Nor bastard is removed from Soulan soil. After which, if I haven't forgotten you, I'll probably have you executed as an enemy of the Crown, giving aid and comfort to the enemy, cowardice, whatever I can think of. Do you understand me, Mister Fisk?”
Fisk was gaping like a fish out of water at this dressing down. He'd never had anyone speak to him like this. When his father learned of what was happening. . . .
&nbs
p; “I'll have your father replaced if I have to,” the Marshal said softly, almost as if reading the other man's mind. “Don't think for an instant that I care one whit about a minor governor in the middle of nowhere when good men are dying to protect your fat ass and his. Now I asked you a question, Mister Fisk,” his voice dropped again. “Do you understand me?”
It finally began to register on Fisk that he was on extremely shaky ground. His father would not look with favor on his son who had attracted Royal ire. Nor would he support that son, either. His gaze dropped to where the Marshal's hand was resting on his sword hilt. Would the Marshal actually attack him? Right here in front of everyone?
“I'm waiting,” that same Marshal said, his voice taking on a threatening timbre.
“I. . .I understand, milord,” Fisk managed to stammer. “But my rank, milord. . .I'm a Provincial! My rank was given me by the Provincial Governor himself! We fall under his command-”
“Except in time of war, which in case you've missed it, we are in at the moment,” Parno cut him off. “You belong to me now, Captain, and you'll follow the orders of those above you or you'll suffer the consequences and I assure you they will be severe. Now you have twenty-five minutes to strike this pig sty camp of yours and get your men ready to march to the river. Anyone who lags behind will regret it. Follow?”
“Milord,” Fisk started, then stopped. He turned to his second in command, a man who now outranked him by Royal Order.
“Major, prepare the men for movement. We have twenty minutes to be ready to march.”
“Our horses, Colo-” that Major was pointing to where the unit's mounts were being cut out by the wranglers of Raines regulars and herded for their own holding area.
“Aren't yours anymore,” Parno finished for him. “I said march, and that's exactly what I meant. Your time is running out, Lieutenant.” The 'Major' blanched at having the ire of the Marshal turned on him and immediately went to ushering the men to prepare to move. Quickly.
“If I hear your name mentioned in one dispatch that isn't a glowing review of your contribution to the war effort I'll have you beheaded,” Parno spoke to Fisk so softly that only he could hear. “There won't be any more warnings or chances. You'll simply be dead. Try me if you like. I've already killed so many that one more won't matter when I stand before Judgment.”
Fisk had no intention of 'trying' the new Marshal. He's always heard that the Marshal favored nobles of almost any rank and had played on that heavily to avoid any work assignments or danger. He had somehow missed the announcement that there was a new Marshal. One who apparently didn't share his predecessor's appreciation of rank.
“Now get moving,” Parno finished. “My men will remain to ensure that you're on the road on time. You may have heard of them,” he smiled nastily. “They're called the Black Sheep. Their most recent engagement was against a group of Wildmen that outnumbered them two-to-one. They suffered four injured while killing roughly three hundred Tribal warriors. Feel free to give them a go if you think you and your. . .men, are up to it.”
With that Parno turned on his heel, leaving a stunned Fisk staring after him.
“See to it that they get a move on,” he ordered Karls, who merely nodded as Parno stalked past on his way back to Raines' headquarters. His own guard followed, as did Enri Willard and Harrel Sprigs. Cho Feng fell in beside Parno, walking silently.
“What is it?” Parno demanded suddenly.
“What do you mean, my Prince?” Feng asked calmly.
“You only walk beside me in silence when you want to make a point,” Parno said flatly. “So make it and be done.”
“There is none to make,” Feng said evenly. “You did well.”
Parno just shook his head as Feng outmaneuvered him once more.
CHAPTER TEN
-
The Tinker led his small caravan into the rear of the camp, his 'pass' issued by the Inspector General of the Army enough to allow him to pass the guard posts. As he rode the last of the way toward the camp he reviewed his 'orders' once more.
He had not been surprised to receive the missive from Prince McLeod. The new Marshal had promised he would have work for the Tinker at some point and was not shy in financing his waiting. The orders themselves were another thing altogether.
Behind him were five wagons and two ambulances, the result of several days work and expenditure of not a little of the Prince's gold. Two of the wagons held sutler items and tools that the Tinker would use to ply his official trade for the Army of Soulan, the others held furnishings and personal luggage for the people in his caravan as well as certain other 'goods' that would help them establish themselves in camp.
He would sell, buy and trade with the soldiers of the Army while also mending and repairing items of import, much as he usually did. As he did so, he would listen to the chatter of the soldiers, investigating anything that appeared suspect. In the secret pocket of his soft calf-hide boots was another paper from the Inspector General, this one identifying him as an agent of the Crown. Not for the first time he stifled a laugh at the idea of him bearing such identification.
Akin to those orders were the contents of the two ambulances. He had 'collected' several women who made their way in the world with their looks and their bodies. Women who, though of ill-repute, were still educated and cultured enough to attract the attention of even the most fastidious officer in the Army. Women whose dark eyes, black hair and sultry appearances would be able to seduce all but the most reputable of men.
Men who would be likely to talk to such women in times of. . .moral weakness the Prince had called it. The Tinker shook his head at the delicate way the Prince has asked him to basically become a pimp. The women would be well cared for after the war, Parno promised, as would Tinker himself. The Prince needed to know who he could trust and, perhaps more importantly, who he couldn't.
The eleven sultry beauties in those two ambulances would almost certainly be able to gather such information for the Prince. The Tinker knew that such a request had not come easy to the young Prince, whose honor was evident for all to see. He had a respect for women that was unusual, considering his being raised with little female influence. This was another of the things that made the Tinker trust this nobleman when he normally trusted none, noble or otherwise.
What this prince said he would do, he did.
So yes, he knew a few women who could fit that description, and most all were willing to risk that the Prince would do as he said. They trusted the Tinker and the Tinker trusted the prince. For people like them, it was enough.
As the camp finally came into view the Tinker turned his thoughts away from that to focus on his new assignment. The first thing would be to find a good location for his. . .business. He shook his head slightly at that. Business indeed.
“What's wrong, sir?” the young man next to him asked. Tinker glanced at the young soldier beside him. Aaron Bell had delivered the message to him from the Prince and then remained to accompany him along the way home. Though Bell was one of the now famed Black Sheep, his regal uniform was stowed away inside one of the wagons, the young man wearing the more common rough dress of a working ranch hand or wagoner.
“Nothing is wrong, Aaron,” Tinker assured his young riding partner, pronouncing the name 'ah-rone' as he usually did. “I was just thinking of the work ahead. I must see to some kind of quarters.”
“What you need, Mister Tinker?” Bell asked.
“Ideally I need a house,” Tinker admitted. “Even better would be a hotel nearby the Army. It needs to be within easy horse ride of the main encampment however. And there must be a clear evacuation route in the event the army is forced to withdraw still further.”
“I'll be back in a bit,” Bell said after hearing those requirements. “You have to check in with the sutler manager anyway. I'll meet up with you near there in say. . .two hours?”
“Very well, Aaron,” Tinker nodded. “Remember,” he added with an index finger to his lips.
“Mikhail, what are we doing?” a woman's voice called to him and he turned. The lead ambulance was almost to him, the driver a woman dressed in clothing very similar to Bell's, though even rough linen and cotton clothing could do nothing to hide the figure beneath them.
“Rosala, I have asked you not call me that,” Tinker said flatly and the woman made a visible effort not to shrink in on herself. “Tinker, Rosala. I am known to them only as Tinker. It will remain so.”
“As you wish,” Rosa nodded.
“Remain here and try to stay out of trouble,” Tinker's smile returned. “I must register with the camp manager. Mister Bell has gone to try and procure our domicile. We will meet him nearby in a few hours.”
“Girls are going to want to stretch and look around,” Rosa warned. “And there's nature to answer as well,” she added.
“Have a care then,” he nodded finally. “Circle the wagons out of the way and have Ramone stand guard while Raymond escorts the girls to and from their ablutions.”
“They won't like that,” she noted.
“I did not ask that they enjoy it,” Tinker's voice took an edge though his face was still genial. “I said it would be so, and it will. Sava?”
“Meeta,” Rosa nodded and turned the ambulance she was driving off the road into a small abandoned clearing. Tinker was a good man to have around, for many things. But he was also a hard man at times and she did not push. She would have to teach the others not to do so as well.
Tinker watched the wagons and ambulances pulling off the roadway and then spurred his own mount toward the center of the civilian camp.