Marching Through Peachtree wotp-2

by Harry Turtledove

  “Thraxton?” Bell said, and the junior officer nodded. Part of Bell wished he’d waited a little longer to take the laudanum. If he was going to talk with King Geoffrey’s friend-to say nothing of the king’s snoop here in Peachtree Province-he should have had wits as clear as he could make them. But no help for that now. Clear wits or not, he had to see Thraxton. “Send him in.”

  “Good day, Lieutenant General,” Thraxton said, his tone and expression suggesting that all good days were no more than figments of other men’s imaginations. “I have just come from speaking with Count Joseph.” His voice got even chillier, no mean feat.

  “Good day, your Grace,” Bell said. “Is he ever going to use this army of ours, or is he just going to keep running with it?”

  “Ah.” Thraxton leaned forward markedly. “So you would fight the southrons, then, if the Army of Franklin were in your hands?”

  “I sure would, sir.” Bell’s wits were clear enough to leave him with no doubts on that score. “We could whip those sons of bitches, if the men only had the chance to do it.”

  “You think so, do you?” Thraxton said.

  “Sir, I’m sure of it,” Bell replied.

  “This is what I had hoped to hear from Joseph the Gamecock,” Thraxton the Braggart said. “It is what King Geoffrey has been hoping to hear from Joseph through this whole campaign. He has not heard it. I did not hear it. That being so, I am authorized to remove Count Joseph from his command here.”

  “And?” Bell could say no more than that, and even the one word came out as a breathy whisper.

  “And,” Thraxton continued sourly, “to offer the said command to you, Lieutenant General, should you prove willing to accept it.”

  For a moment, Bell thought the laudanum had taken effect all at once, instead of gradually as it usually did. Then he realized joy could bring a feeling as intense as distillate of poppy juice. “Your Grace,” he said, “you and his Majesty honor me far beyond my deserts.”

  “We had better not,” Count Thraxton answered. “The kingdom needs you to go forward and beat the southrons. We cannot afford delay-we have had altogether too much of delay-and we cannot afford defeat.”

  “You may rely on me and on my brave men, sir,” Bell said.

  “I do, Lieutenant General. The kingdom does,” Thraxton the Braggart replied. “It is late in the day, I know, to make this change, but King Geoffrey decided it must be made. He sends you his wishes for good fortune, and for a fresh start in driving the noxious foe from our soil.”

  When he said fresh start, he hesitated as if the words tasted bad. And, when he said them, Bell saw why he himself had the command and Thraxton did not. Thraxton had already failed with the Army of Franklin. He’d proved he did not have good fortune. Maybe Bell would show he did.

  “For the kingdom, sir, I will go forward,” Bell declared. “Have you yet told Joseph the Gamecock he is removed?”

  Thraxton shook his head. “I have not. I wanted to be certain you would accept the command before announcing the change.”

  “I am glad to accept, proud to accept,” Bell said. “Truly, this is a great day.” He could feel the laudanum now as it worked its familiar magic, building a wall between his mind and spirits and the ravaged body that had to serve them. But, even though the laudanum usually dulled his feelings as well as his feeling, joy still blazed in his heart: an enormous bonfire of delight.

  “May it be so.” Count Thraxton didn’t sound as if he believed it. He didn’t sound as if he believed anything. He’s old and worn out, Bell thought. King Geoffrey is right to leave him on the sidelines. The Braggart went on, “Now that you have accepted your new post, shall we give Count Joseph the news?”

  A certain gloating anticipation suffused his voice. He doesn’t like Joseph the Gamecock, either, Bell realized. Nobody likes Joseph the Gamecock. King Geoffrey surely doesn’t. But then, nobody save King Geoffrey liked Count Thraxton, either.

  “Yes, let’s.” Bell hitched his slow way out of the farmhouse. Thraxton held the door wide for him. “Thanks,” Bell said.

  “My pleasure,” Thraxton replied, though his voice suggested that whatever he knew of pleasure came by hearsay.

  “Major Zibeon!” Bell called. When his aide-de-camp appeared, he said, “Fetch my unicorn, if you’d be so kind. I have a call to pay on Joseph the Gamecock.”

  Zibeon’s eyebrows rose. “Is it that kind of call, sir?”

  “It is indeed that kind of call,” Bell answered jubilantly. “By the gods, Major, the southrons have seen the backs of the Army of Franklin for the last time.”

  “Congratulations, sir,” his aide-de-camp said. “May everything turn out as well as we hope.”

  “A worthy prayer,” Bell said. “May the gods hear it.”

  Zibeon hurried away. He returned in short order with Bell’s unicorn. Even with laudanum coursing through Bell, mounting was a painful business. Having his aide-de-camp strap him to the beast so he could stay in the saddle was also a humiliation of sorts. But Count Thraxton said, “Your courage does you credit,” and Lieutenant General Bell felt better.

  Dismounting from the unicorn in front of Joseph the Gamecock’s headquarters was harder than getting aboard had been, but Bell managed. Before he and Count Thraxton could go in, Count Joseph came out. He was half a head shorter than either of the men coming to call on him, but in such a transport of fury that he seemed to tower over them. “You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch bastard,” he snarled at Thraxton. “Gods damn you to the hells and gone, you’re here to take my job away, aren’t you?”

  “Your Grace, King Geoffrey has authorized me to relieve you of command of the Army of Franklin,” Thraxton replied. “After discussing the matter with him at length, I am utilizing that authorization.”

  “Who’s in command?” Joseph asked. “You? Gods help the kingdom if that’s so. You won one battle your whole stinking career, and you futtered that one away afterwards.”

  Count Thraxton’s sallow face darkened with anger. “Your successor will be Lieutenant General Bell here.”

  Joseph the Gamecock pointed a finger at Bell. “I know what you’re going to do. I know just what you’re going to do. You’re going to take this army and throw it right at the southrons.”

  “It’s about time someone got some use out of it, wouldn’t you say?” Bell returned. “The men will enjoy going forward instead of back.”

  “I know the other thing you’re going to do, too,” Joseph said. “You’re going to throw this army away. You can’t lick Hesmucet by slugging toe to toe with him. You haven’t got the men for it.”

  “If I don’t come out and fight, Marthasville will fall,” Bell said. “The kingdom can’t have that. And the kingdom won’t have it, either. I can drive the southrons back, and I will do it.”

  Thraxton the Braggart nodded approval. “This is the spirit on account of which King Geoffrey chose the brilliant Bell as your successor, your Grace,” he told Joseph.

  “If he wants spirits, let him go to a tavern,” Joseph the Gamecock snapped.

  “Shall I give you a formal written order to turn command of this army over to Lieutenant General Bell?” Thraxton asked.

  “Don’t bother wasting the time. You’ve told me. I believe you,” Joseph said. “Gods help our kingdom-but if the gods were paying any attention to us, they wouldn’t have let that idiot of a Geoffrey put this idiot of a Bell in charge of what’s been a perfectly good army up till now.”

  In spite of the laudanum coursing through him, Bell glared at Joseph. “Now see here, sir-”

  “Oh, shut up,” Joseph told him. “You can’t help being an idiot. You’re a brave man, and you think that’s all there is to being a general. You make a first-rate brigade commander, because then someone with a working brain points you at the enemy and turns you loose. Of course you try to smash everything that’s right in front of you. But for maneuver and coordination and sniffing out what the foe intends?” He shook his head. “You haven’t
a clue and you haven’t a prayer.”

  “You are dismissed from this encampment, General,” Bell said through clenched teeth. “If I see you around my army after today, I will kill you on sight.”

  Joseph the Gamecock bowed. “Always the man of simple-and simpleminded-solutions. You need not fear. Believe me, I want to stay around here no more than you want me in these parts. Do you suppose I want to stay close by while you take the army I built back up after Thraxton here ruined it and go out and wreck it again? I’m going up to Dicon, to wait and see if Geoffrey ever decides he needs to pull me off the shelf again.” He turned his back and strode into the farmhouse, slamming the door behind him.

  “Graceless lout,” Count Thraxton muttered.

  “He’s retreating again, that’s all.” Bell looked around at the great expanses of tents. “So this is my army now, is it?”

  “It is indeed,” Thraxton replied. “If I may make a suggestion, your first order of business should be naming a wing commander to take your own place.”

  Bell didn’t want anyone making suggestions now that the Army of Franklin belonged to him. But he had to admit that Thraxton’s made sense. After a little thought-he would be giving the orders now, so who obeyed them didn’t matter so much to him-he said, “Brigadier Benjamin should do the job well enough.”

  “There are a couple of officers by that name in this army,” Count Thraxton remarked. “Which of them did you have in mind?”

  “Benjamin the Heated Ham, folks call him, on account of what a bad actor he was in the plays at the military collegium at Annasville,” Bell answered. “He’s served under me through this whole campaign, and done right well. Do you know him?”

  “I do.” Thraxton’s face froze. Always doleful, he now looked as if his entire family were being massacred in front of his eyes. “The gentleman in question and I… have been known to disagree.”

  Since Thraxton the Braggart had been known to disagree with everyone who’d ever had anything to do with him-with the sole, and vital, exception of King Geoffrey-Bell didn’t take that too much to heart. “I’ll make the appointment anyhow, I think,” he said. “He’s brave and he’s steady and he’ll follow orders.”

  “You are the commander. You must have the subordinates who suit you.” Now Thraxton looked as if his wife were being ravished before getting the coup de grace. But he didn’t say no, and that was all that really mattered to Bell. Bowing, the Braggart went on, “Now that we have effected the change, I shall withdraw. You know what his Majesty expects of you. Gods grant that you deliver it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Bell said. He dipped his head instead of bowing; on two crutches and one leg, the latter was too awkward and painful to contemplate. As Count Thraxton mounted his unicorn, Bell looked around and called, “Runners!”

  “Sir!” They hurried up and saluted as they came to attention before him.

  “You!” He pointed at one: “Fetch me Roast-Beef William. And you!” He pointed to a second: “Get me Alexander the Steward. And you!” This to a third: “Order Benjamin the Heated Ham to report here at once.”

  “Yes, sir!” The three men he’d chosen saluted again and hurried away. When he called, they came; when he pointed, they went. The power was as heady as laudanum.

  Once his wing commanders had all come to the headquarters formerly belonging to Joseph the Gamecock, Bell spoke without preamble: “Gentlemen, King Geoffrey has removed Count Joseph from command over the Army of Franklin and set me in his place.”

  “Congratulations, sir,” Roast-Beef William said. He was a reliable old war unicorn, and would serve well under whoever commanded him.

  “Congratulations indeed,” Alexander the Steward echoed. Old Straight was reliable, too; however much Bell disliked Joseph, he’d picked a fine replacement for the late, unlucky Leonidas the Priest.

  “As my first act in command,” Bell went on, “I am pleased to appoint Brigadier Benjamin here to take my place as wing commander.”

  “Thank you very much, sir,” Benjamin murmured. “I’ll do my best to live up to your bold example.” He still had a tendency to overact. Since he was flattering Bell, the new commander of the Army of Franklin didn’t take it amiss.

  As if on cue, Roast-Beef William asked, “And what will your second act in command be, sir?”

  Bell gave a one-word answer: “Attack!”

  * * *

  General Hesmucet eyed the northern prisoner, a thin, dirty man in ragged blue tunic and pantaloons. “This had better be the truth from you,” he growled. “If you’re lying, you’ll end up wishing for the seven hells before you go to ’em.”

  “So help me gods,” the prisoner said. “It’s like I told that other southron bastard-Joseph the Gamecock’s out and Bell’s in, sure as I’m standing here.”

  “Well, well.” Hesmucet whistled softly. “That’s big news, if it’s true.” He turned to the southrons who had charge of the prisoner. “Keep him by himself. Hang on to him. If he turns out to be telling the truth, we’ll let him loose. If he’s lying…” He slashed his thumb across his throat.

  “Yes, sir,” the guards chorused. One of them gave the prisoner a shove. “Come on, you. You heard the general.”

  Later that day, a man who still favored King Avram and a united Detina sneaked out of Marthasville and past the traitors’ lines. He not only brought the same news as the prisoner but had a paper to prove it. Hesmucet read Joseph the Gamecock’s farewell order to the Army of Franklin and that of Lieutenant General Bell on assuming command.

  “Well, well,” Hesmucet said again, and nodded to his spy. “Thanks very much. This is worth a good deal to me.”

  The man eyed him. “I thought you’d be more excited about the news.”

  “Who, me? No, I don’t get very excited,” Hesmucet answered-a great, thumping lie if ever there was one. But he didn’t want to discourage the northerner from bringing more news, either, if he got it. “I’ll pay you twenty-in silver.” That made the fellow’s eyes glow-real money was in short supply in King Geoffrey’s dominions, which were trying to get by with printed paper… and were watching prices soar up and up as a result. Hesmucet scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. “Take this to the paymaster, and he’ll see to it.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir.” Courtly as most northerners, the spy bowed before going on his way. Hesmucet touched a forefinger to the brim of his hat in reply.

  Calling for runners, he ordered them to summon his wing commanders to his headquarters. When they got there, he waved the paper at them and said, “Geoffrey’s sacked Joseph the Gamecock and put Bell in his place.”

  “I doubted even Geoffrey would be such a fool,” Lieutenant General George said.

  Fighting Joseph beamed at the prospect of no longer moving against his namesake. “Now maybe the traitors won’t scuttle from one line of trenches to the next,” he said. “I want to come to grips with them.”

  The last time you came to grips with them, it was at Viziersville, and Duke Edward tore you to pieces, Hesmucet thought. He glanced toward his youngest wing commander. “You were at Annasville with Bell, weren’t you, Brigadier?”

  “Yes, sir,” James the Bird’s Eye replied. “I think Fighting Joseph’s right this time.” That made Fighting Joseph preen, as Hesmucet had known it would. James went on, “Bell is courageous in the extreme. No one could ever doubt that.”

  “If he weren’t,” Doubting George said, “he wouldn’t keep leaving pieces of himself on one battlefield or another.”

  “Er-yes.” James coughed, then went on, “He’s also as bold as you please, bold to the point of rashness.”

  Hesmucet grunted. “That matches what I’ve heard about the man myself. So what do you think it means that false King Geoffrey’s removed Joseph the Gamecock and put Bell in charge of the traitors’ army?”

  “A fight.” The three wing commanders might have been singing in a chorus.

  “I agree,” Hesmucet said. “Joseph sparred with us and held us off
and stalled as best he could, and we’ve made it up to Marthasville anyhow. Unless I miss my guess altogether, Geoffrey thinks Bell can drive us away.”

  “Proves he’s a fool,” George said.

  “We need to warn all our brigade commanders to be ready for anything the traitors may throw at us,” Hesmucet said.

  Fighting Joseph struck a pose. “We can lick them. For the sake of the army, for the sake of the kingdom, we shall lick them.”

  “Of course we’ll lick them,” Hesmucet said. “If Bell thinks he can dislodge us, he’s foolish or desperate or both. But he has a better chance if he catches us by surprise, and so the warnings will go out.” He gave his unruly wing commander a hard stare. “I trust you don’t object?”

  “Oh, no, sir. You go right ahead.” Fighting Joseph’s invincible self-regard armored him against sarcasm.

  “Anything else, gentlemen?” General Hesmucet asked. No one said anything. Hesmucet nodded. “All right, then. You’re dismissed-and do spread the word to your brigade commanders. Brigadier James, please stay a bit, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Certainly, sir,” James the Bird’s Eye replied. “What have you got in mind?”

  “Let’s take a look at the map, and I’ll show you,” Hesmucet answered. He drew his sword to point at the large map spread out on a table. “You’re already on our left wing, farther north and farther west than any of our other formations.”

  “Yes, sir.” James grinned. “I like to be at the edge of things-the cutting edge of things, you might say.” He set a hand on the hilt of his own sword.

  Hesmucet smiled, too. “I know. That’s why I’ve used your wing so often to flank the traitors out of their positions. I want you to make what’s more or less another flanking move, over to your left again, so that you seize the glideway coming into Marthasville from Julia. Do you think you can do it?”

  “I expect I can, sir,” the young wing commander answered. “Only problem I see with the move is that it’s liable to open a gap between my men and Fighting Joseph’s. Do we want to do that when the northerners have a new commander who’s going to be looking for a chance to attack?”