Dark Tide: Book Five of the Phantom Badgers

by RW Krpoun

  “We’re cut off on the left,” Joneth bellowed over the roar of battle. “Those sheep-buggering Direbreed have pulled back and left us hanging. The hill behind us is covered with those tree-screwing bastard Threll, and the Legionaries are flanking us.” The Orcs, like their cousins in the Northern Wastes, had learned to hate the Imperial troops to the point where cursing them seemed redundant; nothing offended the Orcs so greatly as heavy infantry whose capabilities rivaled their own.

  Bad Dried Meat, who in Joneth’s experience wasn’t really a bad sort as Orc officers go, advising-wise, barked a command; three of his bodyguard jammed their spears into the ground to form a crude tripod which the Horc commander stood on to get a better view. The priest could see concern on the Orc’s face as he hopped down. “We’re korpaused,” he growled to his adviser, in a voice just loud enough for the Hand officer to hear, the term roughly translating into being the centerpiece of a jolly gang-rape. “They’re coming around both dung-eating sides. Should we try charging the (translated as oral-sex-performed-on-a-mule) hill?”

  Joneth shook his head. “We wouldn’t last. Block to the north and charge to the south, we’ll lose a lot of warriors, but the Horc will survive.”

  The Horc commander thought about that for a moment, then turned and began issuing the orders.

  Descente cursed bitterly as he watched the left wing was hammered back; he had seen the two Horcs encircled with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach: it was not merely enough to destroy the Heartland Army any longer, he still had to maintain enough troops to resume the siege of Sagenhoft and hold off the Army of the South.

  “How many Ket have joined the reserve as ordered?” he snapped at Septak.

  “Three, sir. The remaining two are still on the way.”

  “Recall the remaining Ket on the flanks and rear to the reserve, send the three we have and the Sacred Bands to Simbal, and recall the Second Holding from Arcont.”

  The operations officer’s misgivings were plain, but he merely saluted and set to issuing the orders. The Grand Commander waved a courier over. “Go to Commander Simbal and advise him that reinforcements are on the way; he is to retake that hill and restore his lines as quickly as possible.”

  Dried Bad Meat had never had much use for the advisers the Hand forced upon the Orcs, treating the priests as an unpleasant side-effect that had to be tolerated to obtain the arms, gold, and magical support the Hand provided, but Joneth was an exception to those feelings; the Human actually knew what he was talking about, and he stayed with the Orcs no matter how hot things got. Not many Markan had gone up the ridge on the assaults against the entrenched enemy, but Joneth had, and had made all his subordinate advisors assigned to the Fire Knives go as well. Even now that things were looking extremely bleak the priest was still sticking tight to the Horc even though a goodly number of the lower-ranking priests had abandoned their allies and tried to save themselves.

  His presence wasn’t doing them much good, however, and his plan, while the best one available, was failing miserably. The Fire Knives had four badly battered Hular plus support troop, each Hular having around three hundred effectives after the bloody fighting on the ridge; Bad Dried Meat had left one in the fighting line, ordered another to turn to a northern facing to protect their flank, and the remaining two to assault into, and through the Imperial troops that had cut them off to the south, as per Joneth’s suggestions.

  Unfortunately the Hular assigned to pivot to cover their left flank collapsed while trying to execute the complicated maneuver while under intense arrow fire and frontal assault, allowing the Imperial troops to flank and then roll up the Hular assigned to hold the original fighting line. Long before the assault force could fight its way through the Imperial troops and rejoin the main body they were hit from behind and their left flank while arrows flooded in from the right.

  There wasn’t a Horc left, really, just the command group and a couple hundred warriors brought to bay on the southeast slope of the low hill. If it was of any consolation, their plan had almost worked, and the other Horc trapped with them had already been wiped out, giving the Fire Knives the dubious distinction of lasting longer.

  Bad Dried Meat deployed his remaining troops as the arrows floated down and the Legionaries formed up for the charge that would finish the Fire Knives, wondering in the back of his mind as to what had gone wrong today.

  The minutes dragged by, each the passage of an eternity as the battle raged on: the First Holding and the Orcs finally took and held a couple footholds within the redoubt, only to be forced to withdraw as the Legions rolled the leaderless mass of Direbreed back past the hillock’s north side. Simbal immediately counter-charged as a cohort from the Eleventh Legion relieved the horsemen in the redoubt and strings of remounts were brought up. The Sacred Bands and Eyade, supported by the battered First Holding and Orcs, pushed the Eighth Legion back and once again drove to, and over, the crude defensive works of the redoubt, but the savage fire of the archers and the steely determination of the Legionaries held long enough for Nicholas I, who commanded the Heartland’s right wing, to personally lead a counterattack with two cohorts of the Eleventh Legion and his own guards, retaking the redoubt even as the Lanthrell retreated out of it.

  As the two forces milled around the hillock and redoubt, locked in desperate melee, Duke Radet charged with four hundred hastily-reformed horsemen through the Seventh Hatche, the right-most unit in the Heartland center, and smashed through the Death Hounds Horc, then swung north and rolled up the mass of Direbreed, neatly separating the Hand’s left wing from the center. Descente threw five Ket into the gap and followed it with the Second Holding, managing to reknit his line, although the nomads suffered heavily. The Grand Commander sent orders for the forces harrying the White Line to return to the main body and ordered the Third Holding back into reserve over Arcont’s strident protests. The Hand’s right wing was having trouble as the recently reorganized Darkhosts were unravelling into leaderless bands who were of much-reduced use on the offensive, and all four of the Holdings had taken significant losses.

  For long minutes the battle dragged on, both armies’ left wings being forced back and the losses on both sides steadily mounting; Duke Radet led his mounted force through the Third Hatche in the center and mauled the Sixteenth Holding, withdrew, and charged twice through the demi-brigade of the Fifth Hatche that had been shifted to the Heartland’s left wing to cripple the Ninth Holding, halting the Hand’s advance.

  Descente sent the Third Holding to Simbal and the two Lardina returning from harrying the White Line to Arcont, withdrawing the Seventeenth Holding from the center to and sending them to the right as well. It helped, but the wolf-riders’ mounts were tired, having been sent on too many long movements in too short of a time. Laffery fed the four useable cohorts of the Thirty-Seventh Legion into the heavy fighting on his left, and sent the Sagenhoftian cohort from the White Line to Nicholas on his right. With these actions both armies had committed virtually every possible infantry reserve to the action.

  The tide turned with an abrupt suddenness that caught both commanders by surprise; it didn’t come from their wings, where both advances had bogged down in the face of bitter, heroic defense, but the center, where without warning the Second Band, Sixteenth Holding collapsed, the individual soldiers breaking ranks and retreating without orders. The commander of the Third Hatche immediately threw the entirety of his Second Brigade into the gap, and within moments Duke Radet led the few hundred men he had been able to rally through the Third Hatche’s First Brigade and into the Holding’s Fourth Band, smashing that body into a bloody rout.

  Immediately the remaining two Bands of the Sixteenth collapsed and headed for the rear as the Arturian foot poured through the breach. Descente had managed to create a reserve of four Ket, the battered formations mustering only twelve hundred nomads; he threw them into the center without hesitation only to see Duke Radet and two hundred horsemen counter-charge, smashing into the nomads f
rom the flank and blasting the wave of nomads apart.

  Laffery sent a scratch force made up of a few sections of Navian Marines, three badly under-strength Lasharian companies, two hundred mercenaries drawn from the baggage train guards, and about twenty Harthrell, the whole laboriously gathered and organized from the ruined units in the White Line by Colgan von der Strieb, to assist the Third Hatche. The polyglot force dissolved into its composite national and racial sections after stopping a Ket’s charge, the sub-units attaching themselves to the Third Hatche wherever there seemed a need.

  The light cavalry could not close and hold the gap without infantry support, and Bohca Tatbik had no infantry left uncommitted. Fighting on two sides against the Arturian foot and Duke Radet’s men, the Eyade held the center together for several minutes, losing over a third of their number in the process. The time was put to good use by the Horc commanders, however, and by the time the nomads disengaged and withdrew the Orcs were pulling back in fairly good order, and managed to link their line with that of the Third Band, Eighth Holding, the left-most unit under Arcont’s command.

  The ground they gave to achieve this linkup forced the Second Holding, the right-most unit of the left wing to pull back as well, and while the Hand’s Human troops on the left executed the complex maneuver competently enough, such an action was completely beyond the large but leaderless mob of Direbreed to the Second’s left. A cohort of the Eighth Legion broke through as the beast-warriors withdrew in ragged bunches and immediately flanked the First Holding’s Second Band. A second cohort followed, and Bohca Tatbik’s left wing was broken, with no reserves to close the gap.

  Descente watched as the Imperial troops forced the gap wider step by step and the Lanthrell concentrated their fire upon the First Holding’s Second Band. His center was stretched drum-tight, the left was broken, his right was swung forward far in advance of the rest of his army, and all of his reserves were committed; two Horcs had been utterly destroyed, one Holding and four Kets were scattered, and losses were heavy in every other unit. He shook his head woodenly, and turned to Septak. “Advise Arcont to withdraw his forces back to a point where he is on line with the Bohca’s center.”

  The operations officer nodded, his features equally numb. “By your command.”

  As Arcont eased his battered units and scattered Direbreed back, moving unopposed as von der Strieb’s troops were too weary to pursue, the left wing collapsed as the surviving Direbreed, barely half the number that had begun the battle, broke what rudimentary ranks they had maintained and streamed away from the fighting; without leaders to control them, the sight of so many Breedstones being left on a field being yielded to the foe destroyed their fighting spirit. Their withdrawal immediately created gaps between the First and Third Holdings and the three Sacred Bands, gaps the four Ket tried to fill, but the nomads could only slow the Imperial heavy infantry which flowed through the breaches. The wolf-riders might had been able to do a better job, but all three Lardina immediately withdrew towards the baggage train under the command of their officers, the Goblins obviously having had enough battle for one day.

  The Sacred Bands formed a square and fought their way clear of the mess as the Imperial infantry swarmed forward; Descente cursed and pounded his saddle as he watched the enemy heavy cavalry charge out of the dust and confusion to ride down Simbal’s command group, which had moved forward to try and rally the faltering First Holding; within moments the entire Holding was over-run. The Third managed to extract itself by forming into two squares, each of two Bands, and fought its way clear.

  The Horcs in the center broke ranks at the sight of the left wing’s collapse and streamed back down the Royal Highway; the enemy footmen followed, but at a slow enough pace to ensure that there would be no further fighting. Leading his command group over to Arcont’s, Descente assumed command of the units comprising the right wing and directed their retreat back to the night camps, where the baggage train waited. He felt nothing as he issued the appropriate orders and made the necessary decisions; like a near-fatal wound, the enormity of his defeat had not yet made itself felt.

  Nicholas found the Grand Marshal on the Royal Highway near a burning Hand catapult, receiving and dispatching a steady stream of mounted messengers. Laffery was sitting on an abandoned cart the Hand had used to move ammunition, helm and gauntlets removed, a flask of wine close to hand. The monarch waited for a break in the flow of couriers before stepping forward and tossing a weary salute. “We won.”

  “More or less,” the Grand Marshal offered the flask, and then took a long swallow when the king tiredly declined. “Duke Radet is dead.”

  Nicholas merely shook his head. “When?”

  “Next to last charge, his thirteenth of this battle, that had to be some sort of record.” Laffery took another long pull at the flask. “Needless to say, the losses throughout the rest of the army are staggering.”

  “Radet was a good man.”

  “That he was.” The army commander ran a dirty hand through his sweaty hair. “The best cavalry commander anyone could ask for. I’m glad to see you’re alive, by the way.”

  “I didn’t mix it up on a personal level much, too busy giving orders to do any real fighting.”

  “I avoided any personal heroics this time as well. I’m getting far too old for this sort of thing.”

  “I hope this is the end. We’ve won, in any case, but I hope this finishes this damned war.”

  “It might.” Laffery looked about the dust-hazed fields where stretcher-bearers and Healers sorted through the heaped bodies and Heartland units reformed. “It just might.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  It was quiet out on the Barren Plains, especially during the night; aside from crickets and the distant cry of a jackal the Captain of the Phantom Badgers hadn’t heard a noise in nearly an hour, sitting perched on the bank of a washout where he could watch the shadowy outlines of Green Reach for himself as Axel sorted out the last details before the raid.

  After weeks of drills Durek had come to see that his original plan of a decoy attack followed by the main strike from the opposite end of the camp, while a sound and tested tactic, would not work in a raid followed by an exit via Gate. Practice sessions run while the transport team was making its long and hazardous journey had shown that lacking any sort of transport other than the backs of his outnumbered warriors it was necessary to open the Gate within Green Reach itself, passing through their wounded and the loot as soon as either came to hand. Given that fact, the danger of the decoy force being cut off from the main body was too great to countenance. A new plan had to be devised, one built around the concept of holding the Company together.

  Bridget acknowledged Rolf’s whispered report on the guard-post status and told the big Badger to get some rest, a unnecessary bit of advice for a veteran. All around her the Company, save for the sentries and a few officers, was asleep, resting up for the fight ahead. Arian and Axel were huddled under a blanket, studying the scale model of Green Reach and muttering about various contingencies, Durek was off watching the Hand camp itself lest the enemy build walls overnight, and she had volunteered for Officer of the Guard, a rather flowery title for the commander of ten sentries.

  The Company would stand-to in less than an hour, she knew from the time-candle burning in a hooded lantern by her side, but still she didn’t feel very sleepy. It was hardly nerves or pre-battle jitters that was holding her awake, for after more than a decade in the Company she was far removed from that sort of thing.

  Rather, what was keeping her from resting was her conscience: inside Green Reach were two hundred and eight slaves employed by the Hand to shift supplies.

  This was the crux of her dilemma: the Badgers planned to drive into Green Reach, secure a specific area, open the Gate, heave as much loot as they could safely gather through the portal, and then withdraw when the pressure from the garrison became too great. What was tormenting Bridget was the fact that the Company had made no provision for evac
uating even a portion of the slaves in the camp.

  She had argued at length during every planning session for the inclusion of slave-rescue as part of the mission goals, but had enjoyed very little success; Arian had resisted the suggestion as too random a factor: while the troops were drilled on withdrawing through a Gate, and bags of sand were accurate representation of the difficulties in moving inanimate loot, the problems created by a mob of panicky people simply could not be foreseen. Durek had objected on the grounds that a Hand officer or a misguided slave who had chosen to follow the Void could get in close to the Gate and disrupt its operation, a real enough danger, and was the argument that had given the advocate the most trouble. Obviously, the security of the Company had to take first precedence.

  It had been an effective argument, but hardly a final one: Bridget, after much thought, had countered with chaining or binding the slaves before they got close to the Gate. That plan had fallen through after a single drill in which they had tested the concept, using modified tactics that they had developed when raiding bandit camps. Far too few people were ‘evacuated’ to justify the large number of Badgers diverted to the scheme.

  Undeterred, Bridget had suggested rendering the slaves unconscious as they had already developed methods for moving wounded through the Gate. The potential for moving bodies through was quickly apparent, but the method for placing the slaves in this state was far less evident. Drugs were the best solution but the Company had a limited stock, and these had to be reserved for medical use. Sleep-inducing teas were cheap enough but hardly useable within the tight time-frame of the raid even if the boiling water they required was on hand in sufficient quantities.