by Scott McKay
The Udar held the Naughtons’ three daughters in captivity at their capital, Qor Udar. Mrs. Naughton was killed by the savages during the battle to free the captives.
Sarah’s story of captivity, typical of the 367 women rescued from the clutches of the Udar by the responding cavalry and militia force, included debasement and depredation. Bound and transported to an Udar camp, she was drugged and prepared for the savages’ slave-rituals, and she feared for her soul.
“Had the cavalry not come I would have been lost,” she said. “We were all helpless and devastated in our grief.”
More than 2,000 settlers perished in the Udar raids on Dunnan’s Claim, which covered estates as far west as Stonehouse Farm to the southwest of Battleford, and east to Landsdowne Farm near the Watkins Gulf coast. Some 255 Udar corpses were found at the scenes of the attacks, however, an indication that the settlers fought hard in a losing cause against the marauders.
“The atrocities of last week cannot go unaccounted for,” said Louis Roth, Territorialist Delegate from Port William. “The Peace Party bears responsibility for its neglect of our national security in the face of so savage and determined an enemy. George Stuart’s death is upon their heads.”
Roth called for the resignation of President Catherine Greene in the wake of the Udar attacks. He was joined by all members of both Territorialist and Prosperitan parties in the Societam, and fourteen Peace Party delegates, including Frances Laine of Dunnansport, have echoed the call as well.
Sarah Stuart told this reporter she would like to be counted among those calling for Greene’s removal. “My father had been outspoken in warning that our defenses against the enemy were too thin,” she said, “and he was ignored. He had taken to preparing us children to defend ourselves on the farm for fear it would be needed. He was right. We shall miss him terribly and our family, who have given so much to our nation, have paid an awful price for the politics at the capital.”
Robert Stuart declined to be interviewed for this story, citing his grief over the loss of his parents, uncle and sister. He would have comment at a future time, he said. Also refusing to be interviewed was Rebecca Stuart, who is similarly grief-stricken over the loss of her husband. Mrs. Stuart was nevertheless a gracious hostess of this reporter.
Amid the political and human carnage of the Dunnan’s Claim disaster, though, comes a story of hope and romance. Maj. Will Forling, who helped to lead the rescue of the captives, including a dramatic victory in single combat over the headman Rapan’na that freed the women, was recently engaged to be wed to Sarah Stuart. A date for the nuptials has not been set, as Maj. Forling is serving in the defense of the frontier from the garrison at Barley Point and is therein occupied until further notice.
“He’s my hero,” Sarah said of her betrothed. “If it weren’t for him, I would be a slave to the savages and I would never see my country and family again.”
…
FORTY EIGHT
Hilltop Farm – Morning (Eighth Day)
The heavily-armed force numbered around 400 men. Some had been veterans of Terhune’s force from the previous week, others being new arrivals as the privately-contracted security force for the Special Air Force, and another hundred had been plucked from the hasty volunteer training being conducted at the Army base at Barley Point. They had made their way from Barley Point south to the deserted heart of Dunnan’s Claim carefully, for the leading edge of the Udar invasion force was expected within days. That fueled the urgency of their mission; namely to establish an operating base south of the Tweade so that the Ardenians could bleed the invaders, if not stop them, before the battle came all the way to the river.
So far there were only reports of minor skirmishes to the west, particularly in The Throat south of the line of fortresses the Army was constructing with sudden increasing urgency. Directly in the path of the enemy, if he was advancing up The Throat, would be Trenory, which had swelled to nearly double in size thanks to the evacuations of the farms south of the city and the arrival of the Nineteenth Infantry Division, based in Alvedorne to the north, the Eighth Cavalry Division, from Aldingham in the east, and the Twenty-Fourth Infantry, coming down from Oakham upriver along the Tweade. The firepower at Trenory, it was thought, would make that city the hardest target in the world.
Meanwhile, the Fourteenth Infantry from Carteret and the Sixth Cavalry, based in Greyhill, had made their way to Battleford to the west, and the newly-formed Twenty-Sixth Infantry was now garrisoning Dunnansport at the mouth of the Tweade with the help of a sizable naval armada now plying the coastline of Watkins Gulf. At Barley Point and the areas around it, though, reinforcements were scarce so far. That meant the newly-promoted Lt. General Terhune, who learned of his ascension when he’d made his way back to Barley Point four days before, knew he had to place his sparse assets as strategically as possible.
There was talk of refitting Terhune’s regiment, which had begun training volunteers at a maddening pace over the past few days as they streamed in from the countryside, swelling to 750 cavalrymen and an additional 200 support troops, into a full-fledged division which would be the Eleventh Cavalry. But that commission had not come through yet. Terhune knew, moreover, that most of his horsemen would be green as grass when the fight came.
At least he’d dropped his complaints about the poor provisioning of his force. Those were no longer valid.
While manpower, and experienced manpower at that, was at a premium, Terhune’s regiment was bristling with high-end weaponry, thanks to the nonstop deliveries of small arms, artillery, rockets and grenades Cross had organized from down the river in Dunnansport. The lorries were plying the river road continuously, and a steady flow of river traffic was stopping in Barley Point to deliver food, fuel, ammo and other material. That supply line was days away from expanding, furthermore, as the locomotive line from Dunnansport was now just fifteen miles from Barley Point. A warehouse next to the ferry landing had been cleared out to be repurposed as a train station, and land along the batture was being cleared and prepared for the rail line to come straight into the town.
If Barley Point withstood the Udar invasion to come, it likely had a promising commercial future.
In another development, the town’s bank, which three days earlier looked certain to fail, had received a bailout from a consortium of Morgan River Valley investors who had bought up its Dunnan’s Claim mortgage portfolio at a slight discount. The Riverside Bank had survived an initial run made on it by panicked depositors and was still standing. A similar situation had played out at the First Bank of Dunnansport, though two banks in Battleford up the river had not been saved.
The resources coming into Barley Point were a source of hope. But marshaling those resources was the key to survival. Everyone knew it.
That was one reason Terhune had sent Latham to build that forward operating base south of the river. “We’re at the point where we’re well-provisioned and armed-up enough that if they come we can put a real dent in ‘em,” Terhune said. “And we can’t maximize that by shootin’ at ‘em across a river. I’d rather shoot at ‘em down a hill.”
In discussions of high ground on which the base could be built, Sutton Hill was seen as a bit too far afield and definitely too close to the enemy’s slow advance. Not to mention the Barley Point road didn’t extend that far.
Which is why Latham was here with Major Forling, Major Cross and the 400 troops. It had been agreed back in Dunnansport three days earlier that Hilltop Farm ought to be the site for the new Fort Stuart, and the peacetime plans Latham had made for the property only needed some minor tweaks and additions to recast it as a fortress. Rob Stuart, who was now the agent for the family, had signed over the Hilltop Farm land to the Office of Special Warfare on a ninety-nine-year lease that made the Stuarts a decent penny, and now the military was in possession of the best property in Dunnan’s Claim on which to build a fortress.
Accordingly, today’s mission was to secure Hilltop Farm for the construction bri
gade which was on its way in with a menagerie of mechanical wonders and all the materials they could scrounge for Latham’s crash building program to create Fort Stuart. The stronghold would first consist of a wooden palisade square with chain gun emplacements on the south facing of the ridge Hilltop Farm sat on, almost precisely on the spot George Stuart breathed his last. Then Latham planned the further construction of a stone presidio where the manor house had stood just a few days earlier. Clearing the property and salvaging stone for the new construction was first up on the agenda for today.
That afternoon they expected to have a pair of special guests. The Clyde and the Ann-Marie were on their way down from a temporary airfield north of Barley Point where the SAF’s engineers had changed out the Foreman engines, which had performed about as well as Cross’ father and Reeves had predicted, and the Dulsey guns they’d been sent down from Belgarden with. The SAF’s engineers had taken a couple of days to rebuild the ships’ burners and propeller rigs and were finally satisfied with the outcome. This afternoon they’d go into service scouting the enemy in the southern end of Dunnan’s Claim, west to Strongstead and on into The Throat before returning home to Barley Point. The Udar were up to something, they all knew. There was no point in stretching too far with cavalry scouts to find that out; not when the airships could safely and effectively perform the reconnaissance mission while inflicting significant damage to the enemy’s lead elements along the way.
The biplanes were still north of Trenory, because an adequate runway for them wasn’t ready at Barley Point. But Latham expected that could be fixed, and Fort Stuart was a great candidate for that as well. There was a good flat space on a ridge running east of the old manor house which would suffice for a couple of runways. He was working, with Cross’ help, on getting concrete down to the site to quickly lay down pavement.
Latham and Cross were still quibbling over exactly what the air base would look like, the latter advocating something considerably more grandiose than Latham thought practicable with a battle in the offing. Cross was thinking an aerodrome with a steel tower; Latham suggested a log tower and a tent collection surrounded by pickets and foxholes.
He’s fresh out of the corporate world, Latham realized. He’ll learn.
“All clear,” Major Forling said as he entered the command tent where Latham had set up operations. “We’ve set up a bivouac, we’re putting picket lines in place and the men are standing their posts. What have you got?”
“I’ve got a pair of airships coming in three hours to deal death to the enemy and report back his position,” Cross said. “I trust that’s satisfactory. Oh, also – our new translator will be on the Ann Marie when the ship gets here. You’ve not met Eddie Ludlow, have you?”
“I have not,” Will said. “What do you think of her?”
“Impressive,” Cross said. “She’s an extremely bright kid. Can’t speak the Civil Tongue worth spit yet, though she can make herself reasonably understood. But she’s a fountain of knowledge about the Udar, which you’ll see. And she looks pretty good in an SAF uniform, too.”
“Eddie?” Will asked.
“She said she didn’t want to be called Edyene. She said that was too Udar. So we decided she’s an Eddie.”
“Cute,” said Latham.
“I like her already,” Forling said. “Hank, how are you set up?” They were all calling him Hank now, seeing as though Helen was the only one he’d let call him Henry.
“I’ve got a dozen lorries coming up that road in one hour with lumber and metal braces for palisades,” Latham said, looking at the plans laid out on the table, “I’ve got fifty men with a crane, a half-dozen teams of horses drawing wagons full of tools and other materials and I’ve got these,” he thumped his knuckles on the blueprints laid out on the table, “which are the best you can hope for in the piss-poor time allotted for this project. We will work day and night to get this fortress stood up for you, sir. And then I’ll be building this air base of ours once Major Cross realizes we don’t need the National Temple as a base from which to fight this war. Your job is to make sure we don’t get killed before I can make all of it happen.”
“We’ll do what we can, Captain,” Will said.
The three exited the tent and surveyed the scene, as Forling’s company had turned the ruined farm into a hive of activity in the space of a morning. They were doing their best to establish a defensive position in an impossibly short period, and none of them had slept much in the past week. Will’s left cheek still bore the train-track marks of the seven stitches the Udar’s knife had necessitated on the beach four days earlier, and Latham noticed he appeared to have aged well beyond his nineteen years.
Can’t imagine he’s impressed with my youthful looks either, he thought.
It struck Latham that this was quite a strong defensive position. If he could just buy forty-eight hours they’d have the palisade constructed and then Fort Stuart would be up and running.
“Beautiful day,” Forling said, looking east to a sparkling autumn sun.
“Sure is,” Latham agreed, staring to the south.
Cross, who was looking to the west, squinted, then pulled out his field glasses. Raising them, he searched out the unusual shape in the sky he’d glanced at with his naked eyes mere seconds before.
And in the lenses of those field glasses, as he adjusted the magnification, he saw that he wasn’t looking at one shape at all – but hundreds, maybe thousands, moving off to the northwest.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “we have ourselves a war.”
…
EPILOGUE
Dunnansport (Morning, Eighth Day)
He was unaccustomed to living in a cage, and yet for most of the last week Ago’an had spent virtually every minute in one.
He’d been hauled aboard the Profaner ship six days ago following his one mistake of the Great Holy War to date. That had been his risking himself to make a trip to the front by boat rather than on horseback, which he thought would save time. But for those six days following his error the enemy had kept him bound and caged exclusively when he wasn’t questioned by the unmanly men of the Profaner navy.
Their cowardice, and his disgust with them, was complete. Ago’an had, after all, made his demand for Kawes’kin, and had the enemy any honor that demand would have resulted in his killing their commander and earning the right to be deposited with his people ashore to continue his mission back to the sacred shore of Gana’fali from the front.
Instead, he was caged like an animal, and the questioner, a childlike little man who called himself Broaddum, informed him that things had not gone according to his plan. That came after Broaddum insulted Ago’an by announcing his mother had been a prisoner of the Udar somewhat like Ago’an was a prisoner of the Profaners now.
His deputy Rapan’na, who had disobeyed Ago’an’s orders and attacked the Profaner force pursuing him and his prizes, had died after squandering his company at a place the Profaners called Sutton Hill. Rapan’na had lost his nearly 400 future javeen after his rash and ill-advised attack on the enemy’s fortified position, diverging from the plan, which was to retreat and reel in the Profaners until the Udar force could emerge from the tunnel behind them and smash them along the beach.
And worse, Rapan’na had then lost to a Profaner in single combat. Broaddum claimed to have seen it personally.
Rapan’na had performed brilliantly in the battle to reclaim Gana’fali from the Profaners. His men had tunneled under their fortress and slaughtered nearly all of the enemy’s soldiers not made meals of by the Vitau’hi. But his success had then gone directly to his head.
It was the woman, Ago’an knew. Rapan’na insisted on having her, because she was shapely and because she had belonged to the Profaner commander. He should have taken one or two of the commander’s daughters as javeen, and burned the woman in the sanctified fire to celebrate the victory for Ur’akeen, but his pride and lust got the best of him. Ago’an had at least procured the three daughters as
spoils for his brother the sahal’et, conceding the woman to Rapan’na in exchange.
Rapan’na was so infatuated that he told the woman he would spare the girls in exchange for her agreement. She had said no, and then quickly changed her tune after she saw Ago’an cut her son’s throat. Ago’an acted to spare Rapan’na the loss of face from being rebuked by a Profaner woman in front of his troops. For that he received no gratitude from his deputy.
Then to prove his might to her, Rapan’na sent his warriors to attack the Profaner pursuers on that hill and lost virtually his entire force. Only one more day of retreat down the coast and they would have surrounded the Profaners and slaughtered them to a man.
Had that happened, there would have been nothing between the army of Ur’akeen and the Profaner cities along the Big River.
Ago’an had given Rapan’na his orders and then reboarded his sloop for the journey back to Gana’fali, and then he’d been taken. For six days he’d been kept like an animal, fed little and subjected to intermittent bouts of interrogation by Broaddum and the other effeminate Profaners.
But now he was being led from his cage once again, two enemy pistols at his head. He was being brought to a room with bright lights, and chained to a chair. Broaddum was there along with an old man Ago’an had not seen before.
The old man spoke, in the gibberish Profaner tongue. Broaddum translated.
“His name is General Dees,” Broaddum said, “and he is in charge of all the forces deploying to destroy your army here in the south.”
Ago’an snorted. “Tell him I will kill him in single combat, if he dares to fight. If he does not, he is no man and lies with goats and dogs for his pleasure.”
