Marching Through Peachtree wotp-2

by Harry Turtledove

  He sat down behind the folding table, got out some paper, and inked a pen. To Lieutenant General Bell, commanding the Army ofFranklin, he wrote. General: I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of your letter of this date, at the hands of Jim the Ball and Jim of the Crew, concerning my army’s bombardment of Marthasville. You style my measures “unprecedented,” and appeal to the dark history for a parallel, as an act of “studied and ingenious cruelty.” It is not unprecedented; nor is it necessary to appeal to the dark history of war, when recent modern examples are so handy. You yourself burned dwelling-houses along your parapet. You defended Marthasville on a line so close to town that every firepot and many crossbow quarrels from our line of investment, that overshot their mark, went into the habitations of women and children. Roast-Beef William did the same at Jonestown. I challenge any fair man to judge which of us has the heart of pity for the families of a “brave people.”

  In the name of common-sense, I ask you not to appeal to the just gods in such a sacrilegious manner. You and your faction, in the midst of peace and prosperity, have plunged a kingdom into war-dark and cruel war-you who dared and badgered us to battle, insulted our flag, and seized our arsenals and forts. You made “prisoners of war” of the very garrisons sent to protect your people against wild blond tribes, long before any overt act was committed by the (to you) hated government of King Avram. If we must be enemies, let us be men, and fight it out as we propose to do, and not deal in such hypocritical appeals to gods and humanity. The gods will judge in due time. I am, very respectfully, your obedient servant, Hesmucet, General commanding.

  “Well,” he muttered as he sealed the letter, “if that doesn’t make the son of a bitch have a spasm, gods damn me to the hells if I know what would.” He called for a runner and said, “Fetch back those two fellows from Marthasville. I’ve got their answer ready for ’em.”

  “Yes, sir.” The young soldier in gray hurried off.

  When the two northern merchants returned, Jim the Ball was still gnawing on a fried chicken drumstick. Speaking with his mouth full, he said, “Thank you-for the hospitality-you’ve shown-to a couple of men-from the-other side.”

  “You’re welcome.” Hesmucet handed him the letter. “Take this back to Lieutenant General Bell, if you’d be so kind. You’ll have an escort to the front, and your flag of truce should get you through to your own side.”

  “Can you give us the gist of it, in case it gets wet or meets some other accident?” Jim of the Crew asked.

  “Certainly,” Hesmucet said. “The gist of it is `no.’ But I do write it down much fancier than that.”

  Jim the Ball tossed aside the bare chicken bone. Jim of the Crew nodded. He seemed to have a good deal more wit than his comrade and namesake. Maybe that was just because he displayed less appetite. A man who gave in to his belly, as Jim the Ball did, often gave the impression, true or false, of lacking any other interests.

  When the two merchants had left, Hesmucet read over Bell’s letter again. He shook his head in amusement. The man had to be an optimist, to think he would get Hesmucet to change his course. The only way northern commanders had got him to change his course was to beat him on the battlefield, and that hadn’t happened very often.

  That evening, he showed Doubting George the letter. His second-in-command went through it, then remarked, “He’s trying to make you look bad in the eyes of the world, I think.”

  “I don’t care how I look in the eyes of the world.” Hesmucet checked himself. “I don’t care how I look in the eyes of the world, so long as I look like the man who just took Marthasville.”

  “I understand, sir. I agree with you,” George replied. “A soldier won’t usually worry about the war of words till he sees it’s the only war he has the faintest hope of winning.”

  “That’s well put. That’s very well put, in fact,” Hesmucet said.

  “Thank you kindly,” Doubting George said. “Bell’s thrown away so many soldiers, words are about what he has left. I expect you answered him the way he deserves, sir?”

  “I hope so.” Hesmucet summarized his own letter.

  George nodded. “That’s good. That’s very good indeed. With any luck at all, he’ll have an apoplexy, and then they’ll need a new commander.” He thought about that, then shook his head. “No, I hope he doesn’t have that apoplexy. Let him stay in command. He’s done us a lot of good.”

  “I think so, too,” Hesmucet said. “He had to be a fool to try to slug it out with us. He did it anyhow-and proved how foolish it was.”

  “Only a matter of time now,” George said.

  Hesmucet nodded, but discontentedly. “We’ve taken too long already, gods damn it. Down in the south, they want a victory. We need to give them one.”

  “We’re doing all right,” George insisted. “Marshal Bart has Duke Edward of Arlington penned up in Pierreville, north of Nonesuch, and we’ve got Bell pretty well trapped here. They aren’t going to get loose and cause trouble, the way they did last year and the year before.”

  “You know that, and I know that, but do the fat burghers sitting on their backsides down in the south know that?” Hesmucet said. “Nonesuch hasn’t fallen, and Marthasville hasn’t fallen, either. If those fat burghers get sick of the war, false King Geoffrey may end up a real king after all. We need to take that town in front of us. That will give the whole south a sign we really are winning the war.”

  “It won’t be long,” Doubting George said again. “Would Bell have written a letter like that if he didn’t feel the pinch?”

  “Well, maybe not,” Hesmucet said. “I hope he wouldn’t, anyway. But I still want Marthasville.”

  He got his answer from Lieutenant General Bell two days later, again delivered by Jim the Ball and Jim of the Crew. He sent them off to eat, which would, at least, keep Jim the Ball happy. Unsealing the letter, he read, General: I have the honor to acknowledge the receipt of yours of the day previous. Had you not sought to justify yourself therein, I would have been willing to believe that, while the interests of the King of Detina, in your opinion, compelled you to an act of barbarous cruelty, you regretted the necessity, and we would have dropped the subject; but you have indulged in statements which I feel compelled to notice.

  You are unfortunate in your attempt to find a justification for this act of cruelty, either in the defense of Jonestown, by Roast-Beef William, or of Marthasville, by myself. If there was any fault in either case, it was your own, in not giving notice, especially in the case of Marthasville, of your purpose to bombard the town, which is usual in war among civilized kingdoms. I have too good an opinion, founded both upon observation and experience, of the skill of your catapult men, to credit the insinuation that they for several weeks unintentionally shot too high for my modest field works, and slaughtered women and children by accident and want of skill.

  Finally, you came into our country with your army, avowedly for the purpose of subjugating free Detinan men, women, and children, and not only intend to rule over them, but you make blonds your allies, and desire to place over us an inferior race, which we have raised from barbarism to its present position, which is the highest ever attained by that race, in all time. You say, “Let us fight it out like men.” To this my reply is-for myself, and I believe for all the true men, aye, and women and children, in my kingdom-we will fight you to the death! Better to die a thousand deaths than submit to live under you or your king or his blond allies! Respectfully, your obedient servant, Bell, Lieutenant General.

  Hesmucet read through that again, and then chuckled grimly. “Well, I struck a nerve there, all right, gods damn me if I didn’t,” he said, and set Bell’s letter aside. The northern commander could complain all he chose, but he couldn’t stop the southrons from doing what needed doing, and that was what counted.

  The commanding general called for a runner. “What do you need sir?” the messenger asked.

  “I want you to send an alert to the scryers for the soldiers in the forwardmost e
ntrenchments,” Hesmucet answered. “Warn them that the traitors are liable to try to sally against them today. Bell may have lost his temper.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll pass it along directly,” the runner said. “Uh, sir… How do you know that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Why, Lieutenant General Bell told me so, of course,” Hesmucet answered, deadpan.

  The runner started to accept that, then turned and stared. Hesmucet waved him on. He went away shaking his head. Hesmucet laughed softly. The things I do to keep my air of mystery, he thought.

  What he did next was summon Major Alva. “What can I do for you?” the young mage asked. Hesmucet folded his arms across his chest and waited. Belatedly, Alva turned red. “Uh, sir,” he added.

  He still didn’t remember to salute. Hesmucet would have been merciless with most men who stayed so ignorant of military courtesy. The license he allowed Major Alva measured how much the mage impressed him. “I want you to do your best to learn if the traitors are planning any great magical stroke against us,” Hesmucet said.

  “Well, I’ll try,” Alva answered. Hesmucet’s arms remained across his chest. He drummed his fingers on his sleeves. “I’ll try, sir,” Alva said. “You do understand, though, that their spells may cloak whatever they’re up to?”

  “Won’t that cloaking tell you something in and of itself?” Hesmucet asked.

  “It may… sir.” Little by little, Alva got the idea. “It may, but it may not, too. One of the things wizards do is, they make cloaking spells that don’t cloak anything. People who run into those spells have to probe them, because they may be hiding something important.”

  “I am familiar with the idea of deception, yes,” Hesmucet said.

  “Oh, good.” Major Alva’s tone plainly implied that a lot of the officers he dealt with weren’t. “When do you want this magecraft performed, sir?”

  “Immediately,” Hesmucet told him. “Sooner would be nice.”

  “How could I perform it sooner than immediately?” Alva blinked, then sent Hesmucet an accusing stare. Officers who weren’t perfectly literal-minded seemed outside his ken, too.

  “Be thankful you’re not working for Doubting George,” Hesmucet said. “He’d drive you straight around the bend, he would.”

  “Why is that, sir?” Alva asked.

  “Never mind,” Hesmucet answered. “If I’m standing here explaining, you can’t go to work immediately, and that’s what I want you to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Alva said resignedly. “I can’t perform the spells immediately, you know. They will take some time.”

  “Yes, yes,” Hesmucet said. “I do understand that. If it weren’t for time, everything would happen at once, and we’d all be very confused.”

  Major Alva gave him a curious look. But the wizard decided not to ask any questions, which was a wise decision. He did salute on leaving. That was wise, too. And he hurried away, which was also a good idea. When he came back-not quite immediately, but close enough to keep Hesmucet from complaining-he wore a troubled expression. “The masking spells are extraordinarily deep, extraordinarily thick,” he complained. “I’m not sure I got through all of them.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Hesmucet said. “What are they hiding?”

  “I’m not sure,” Alva answered. “I’m not sure they’re hiding anything. But I’m not sure they’re not, either.”

  “What are we supposed to be doing about that?” Hesmucet asked.

  “I don’t know, sir,” Alva replied. “You’re the commanding general.”

  Hesmucet grunted. After some thought, he said, “All we can do is go on. If they throw sorcery at us, we’ll do our best to throw it back. And we’ll lick them any which way. By the gods, we will.”

  X

  Firepots kept bursting inside Marthasville, spreading destruction farther with each passing day. North of the city, southron soldiers began moving toward the west and south, aiming at completing the ring around it. With all the glideways leading into the place in southron hands, only wagons could bring in victuals through the narrowing gap in the enemy’s lines. Roast-Beef William knew all too well that wagons could not keep the Army of Franklin fed, no matter how badly its numbers had shrunk because of the recent string of lost battles.

  When he said as much to Bell, the general commanding gave him a cold stare. “If your men had held at Jonestown, Lieutenant General, we would still hold a glideway with which to bring in necessities,” Bell said.

  “I am sorry, sir.” Roast-Beef William did his best to hold on to his temper. “With my little force, I was a boy trying to do a man’s job. We must have been outnumbered three or four to one. No one could have held against those odds.”

  “So you say now,” Bell snapped. “What it looks like to me is that your soldiers were too afraid to come out of their entrenchments and give the southrons a proper fight.”

  That did it. “You may criticize me all you please,” William said, “but, sooner than criticizing the courage of my men-who are, I remind you, also your men-you would do better to look in the mirror. You were the one who sent me north to Jonestown, sure the southrons would have only a small force in the neighborhood. Your judgment there proved as wrong as most of your other judgments since taking command of this army. Sir.”

  Lieutenant General Bell flushed. “You are insubordinate.”

  And you are incompetent. But if Roast-Beef William said that, he would be insubordinate. A dogged sense of duty kept him from doing anything likely to get him removed from command of his wing, though escape from the Army of Franklin looked more inviting with every passing day. Without false modesty, he was sure whoever replaced him would do worse. He didn’t know how much he could help the army in its present agony, but he didn’t want to hurt it.

  He said, “I told you several days ago that I did not think we could hold Marthasville. Nothing has happened since to make me change my mind. Did your correspondence with General Hesmucet bear any fruit?”

  Bell flushed again. “None whatsoever,” he growled. “He does not fear the gods. He is blind to shame. He has proved himself a liar of the purest ray serene.”

  He will not do what I wanted him to do: that was what Bell had to mean. Roast-Beef William had no great trouble making the translation. “That being so, sir, what’s now to be done?” he asked.

  Bell’s head went back and forth, back and forth, like that of a caged animal. “I don’t know, gods damn it. I just don’t know.”

  The comparison to a caged animal, unfortunately, was all too apt. “Will you lose Marthasville, sir, or will you lose Marthasville and your army?” William inquired. “That’s the only choice you have left.”

  “I can’t leave Marthasville,” Bell moaned. “I don’t dare leave Marthasville. What will King Geoffrey say if I do?”

  “What will the king say if you don’t?” William returned. “What will he say if you’re trapped here with your army?”

  “Go away,” Bell said. “This is not a choice I have to make on the instant, and I do not intend to.”

  “Yes, sir,” Roast-Beef William replied, polite again. “But don’t take too long-there, I beg you on bended knee. If the manacles close around us, I don’t think we can break free of them.”

  “Go away,” Bell said again, and William went.

  Men marched to and fro through the streets of Marthasville. Roast-Beef William looked on the activity as he would have looked on the thrashings of a man about to die of smallpox: they seemed dramatic, but in fact meant nothing. The man would die; the city would fall. William didn’t know when and he didn’t know how, not yet. Of the thing itself he had no doubts whatever.

  He rode back to his own headquarters, which he kept as far from that of Lieutenant General Bell as he could. He still hadn’t forgiven Bell for sending him up to Jonestown without enough men to do the job required of him. Bell had thought he could not only hold the southrons but drive them back. But Hesmucet’s army had proved larger and stron
ger than Bell imagined.

  I was the one who had to pay the price for his mistake, Roast-Beef William thought as he dismounted from his unicorn. I had to pay for it, and I got blamed for it. Otherwise, he would have had to blame himself, and it’s plain he’s not very good at that.

  A couple of wizards in long blue robes came out of the house William was using and hurried up the street in the direction from which he’d come. “Where away so fast?” William called after them.

  One of the mages condescended to turn around. He answered, “Lieutenant General Bell has summoned us, sir. He aims to strike yet another blow against the gods-damned southrons.”

  “Does he?” Roast-Beef William said. The wizard nodded, then hustled off down the street. William started to hurl another question after him, then decided not to bother. Here, for once, he completely approved of whatever Bell tried to do. The southrons had too many men, too many engines, to make charging into battle against them a good bet. Bell had needed four stinging defeats to see as much, but Roast-Beef William was glad he finally had. In magecraft, though, where the balance of power lay wasn’t nearly so obvious.

  Maybe we’ll get some good out of this, William thought. It would be nice if we got some good somewhere. We haven’t seen much lately.

  All he could do was send orders to his men to keep them alert in case the southrons in front of them tried to storm Marthasville. He wasn’t sure they could hold back the southrons, but he did intend to try.

  “Four lost battles,” he grumbled, though no one was listening. Even after he’d been driven out of Jonestown, Bell had struck at the southrons again, this time east of Marthasville. That hadn’t worked, either. Roast-Beef William shook his head. Bell seemed to have a hard time learning some lessons.