by David Weber
Not a bad haul, Green Valley reflected. It would be even better and hurt the bastards on the other side even worse if Duchairn wasn’t managing to increase rifle output in both the Temple Lands and Dohlar. And if it didn’t look like he was going to manage that in Harchong, too. But still, not bad at all.
He contemplated that thought for several seconds, then turned back to how best to break the news to Traigair and Colonel Tompsyn.
In addition to 2nd Regiment, Traigair had Major Fumyro Kharyn’s 3rd Battalion from Colonel Makyn’s 1st Scout Sniper Regiment, and Kharyn’s men had found a weak spot in Wyrshym’s position at the western edge of Wyvern Lake. There was a narrow tongue of land, little more than two miles wide, between the lake’s shore and the foothills of the Snow Barrens. Bishop Militant Bahrnabai clearly knew about it, since he’d posted pickets to watch it and entrenched one of his divisions to hold it, but Kharyn’s aggressive patrols had secured control of the mountains which overlooked it. He and Traigair—and Tompsyn—were positive they could get mortars into position to support an assault on the dug-in division. In addition, Tompsyn wanted to use the surprise Green Valley had been working on—the canal barges loaded with additional mortars and field guns—to land troops behind Wyrshym’s entrenchments.
It was a neat plan, with all the audacity Wyrshym’s forces currently lacked, and Green Valley had no doubt that it would work. It might not work quite as well as Traigair thought it would, but it would definitely get them around the western edge of the lake with the opportunity for an overland thrust directly across the Army of the Sylmahn’s line of communications. Supply would remain a problem, for while Colonel Brysyn Graingyr, 2nd Brigade’s chief quartermaster, and Colonel Mhartyn Mkwartyr, the brigade’s senior engineer, had managed to drag the barges Tompsyn was proposing to use up the flooded stretches of the Guarnak-Sylmahn Canal, it had not been easy. For that matter, Serabor was still a huge bottleneck. The dams which had been required to flood the Gap in order to slow down the Temple Loyalist rebels and, later, Wyrshym’s Army of the Sylmahn made it impossible for barges to pass through the city’s locks. Graingyr’s teamsters had hauled the barges around the blockage and up the steeply climbing high road on rollers supplied by Mkwartyr’s engineers, using teams of up to ten draft dragons for each of them, and then launched them again upstream. With the canal flooded they didn’t really have to worry about opening and closing the locks upstream from Serabor, but the plain fact was that the Guarnak-Sylmahn Canal was closed to anything resembling normal operation until the dams were broken—and, equally importantly, until 2nd Brigade retook Guarnak and repaired the locks upstream from that city. That was one reason the gun barges Tompsyn wanted to use were going to come as such a surprise to Wyrshym, since the bishop militant “knew” they couldn’t be there.
Green Valley doubted Tompsyn had thought much beyond the initial breakout into Wyrshym’s rear areas. The colonel was a career soldier, but not exactly an experienced quartermaster. An Old Charisian who’d been a Marine, like Green Valley himself, for sixteen years before his transfer to the Imperial Charisian Army, he’d been accustomed to letting the Royal Navy deal with little things like supplies of food and ammunition. Over the past couple of years he’d been far better educated in the centrality of logistics to army operations, but he still had a tendency to think tactically first and logistically second. He saw an opportunity to break the stalemate in a way which promised to bite off several thousand more Army of God prisoners; what happened after that would be up to more senior and better paid heads. Traigair was more accustomed to thinking in terms of supply lines, but he was also a one-thing-at-a-time sort. First get your army around the other side’s flank and force them to retreat, then think about how you go about keeping yourself in supply to follow the enemy up.
And given what Ruhsyl managed against Kaitswyrth, we might be able to push Wyrshym all the way back from Saiknyr to Guarnak. We might not, too, of course. Wyrshym’s men’ve already encountered our tactical doctrine—and our mortars—and we didn’t manage to mousetrap them as thoroughly as Ruhsyl mousetrapped Kaitswyrth in the first place. Worse, their morale’s had more time to recover from what we did to them at Serabor. They’re a lot less likely to let us “bully” them into giving ground, especially given how hard those pains in the arse Nybar and Bahrkly’ve been working on modifying their unit structure.
Bishop Gorthyk Nybar, the commander of the badly mauled Langhorne Division, and Bishop Harys Bahrkly, CO of the scarcely more intact Rakurai Division, had been selected by Wyrshym to find answers to the Imperial Charisian Army. Their divisions had been pulled back, leaving fresh formations to hold the front, while Nybar and Bahrkly refitted and considered ways to deal with what 2nd Brigade had done to them. There wasn’t a lot they could do when it came to providing things like breech-loading rifles and infantry mortars (neither of which the AOG possessed), but that hadn’t prevented them from thinking with a clarity and a lack of panic Green Valley found intensely irritating.
Given how heavily Langhorne Division had lost in the Army of the Sylmahn’s drive to Serabor and then as its rearguard during 2nd Brigade’s counterattack, it had required heavy drafts of replacements. In fact, it hadn’t been restored to full strength even with those drafts, and neither had the other divisions 2nd Brigade had chewed up, despite the large number of replacement personnel Allayn Maigwair had sent forward with each of his invading armies. Without those replacement pools, however, the Army of the Sylmahn would have been in far worse shape, and while he was replacing his losses, Nybar had completely reorganized Langhorne.
Mixed battalions of pikemen and riflemen were a thing of the past in his division. Instead, he had three slightly understrength regiments armed solely with rifles and bayonets while his fourth regiment, more understrength than any of the other three, was armed entirely with pikes. It was clear he had no intention of using those pikemen as anything except a last, desperate reserve—or possibly as the leading edge of an equally desperate assault—and his rifle regiments were experimenting aggressively with open order formations. He was still at a very early stage of feeling his way away from the shoulder-to-shoulder firing lines the Army of God’s original tactics had dictated, but he was obviously headed in the right direction, and Bahrkly was following suit with his own division. It was unlikely, in Green Valley’s opinion, that the Church would be able to match the ICA’s doctrine, with its heavy reliance on the initiative of lieutenants and sergeants at the platoon and squad level. Unfortunately for the AOG, initiative required a certain flexibility and freedom of thought which it would take the AOG years to develop. Worse, it would have to break the Inquisition’s unwillingness to allow them to develop at that level, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon. When those qualities started percolating through Mother Church’s junior officers and enlisted personnel, the Group of Four would be well on its way to losing control of its own army, and Zhaspahr Clyntahn, for one, recognized that far more clearly than he had any intention of admitting. Yet that didn’t mean the existing Army of God couldn’t improve to a point which would make it far more dangerous in the field.
Wyrshym had yet to even consider restructuring his entire army along the lines of Langhorne and Rakurai, and Green Valley wasn’t certain he could have convinced Maigwair to allow such a fundamental reorganization, anyway. In effect, Nybar and Bahrkly were proposing to discard the pike completely, and that would result in a major reduction in the Army of God’s field strength. Once upon a time, Green Valley would have assumed Maigwair would never tolerate that sort of reduction, but it had become apparent that the Church’s Captain General was substantially more flexible than anyone in Charis had expected. It was entirely possible he would, indeed, recognize how the increased efficiency and lethality of the unit organization Nybar and Bahrkly were suggesting would actually make much smaller armies far more powerful.
Personally, Green Valley would prefer for him to take as long as possible in recognizing anything of the sort, and tha
t was another reason he preferred to shelve Traigair’s proposal for the moment. The fact that General Ahlyn Symkyn would be landing in Siddar City with another fifty thousand-plus infantry and cavalry within the next month or so was yet another. He didn’t know where those reinforcements would be directed—not yet—but he had a few thoughts of his own about what he might be able to accomplish with some of that manpower.
And I may be able to accomplish some of it even without more manpower, he reflected. But for any of that to work, I need Wyrshym exactly where he is. Which means the last thing I want to do is to push him into retreating. I want him to hang on to the northern end of the Gap just as long and just as hard—and just as deeply into it—as I can get him to. So I’m afraid poor Kaillee is just going to have to take no for an answer.
His lips twitched at the thought, but the incipient smile faded into something far colder and his brown eyes hardened as he contemplated the reason Brigadier Traigair and his colonel were going to have to wait.
.IV.
Kaihrys Point, Thesmar Bay, The South March Lands, and The Daivyn River, Cliff Peak Province, Republic of Siddarmark
“I doubt you’ll need it in this direction, but at least you’ve got a good field of fire, Commander.”
The Earl of Hanth stood on top of the thick rampart of sandbags, looking out across the bare six-mile width of the Thesmar Narrows, the eighteen-mile-long passage connecting Thesmar Bay to Sandfish Bay. Sun-sparkle danced on the blue sheet of water which had narrowed to little more than four miles between treacherous mudbanks with the receding tide, and the temperature would have been oppressively hot for someone who hadn’t been born and raised in Old Charis. Behind him, over the voices of the work parties still laboring on the emplacement, he could hear wind hissing through the tall, stiff grass of North Sandfish Marsh. He could also smell the marshes, and he wasn’t overjoyed by the scent. The reek of decaying vegetation was almost overpowering at low tide, and he suspected that Grimaldi’s own pestilence was waiting patiently for Pasquale to lower his guard even for a minute.
“I could wish the Narrows were a tiny bit narrower, My Lord,” Lieutenant Commander Bryahn Sympsyn replied. He stood on the firing step, his head several feet lower than the earl’s, and raised his spyglass to look across the Narrows at Tymkyn Point, where a matching battery was taking form. “I’d like to be able to interlock fire with Lieutenant Brownyng better than we can from here.”
“A man can’t have everything, Commander,” Hanth said, rather more philosophically than he felt. “From this elevation, you’ve got a good three miles’ range—more, if you use ricochet fire. Besides, the channel’s not what anyone would call straight enough for anyone to avoid you, now is it?”
“No, it’s not, My Lord,” Sympsyn acknowledged. In fact, the deep water channel passed within less than two thousand yards of his battery for a length of almost four miles. Any ship foolish enough to try forcing the Narrows would be within the play of his guns more than long enough for the eighteen thirty-pounders to rip it to pieces.
“And, when you come down to it,” the earl continued, “we’re less worried about anyone trying to force the channel than we are someone trying to close the channel, now aren’t we?”
“Yes, My Lord.” Sympsyn lowered his spyglass to meet the earl’s gaze, and his expression might have been just a little embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it, Commander.” Hanth smiled. “I’ve never known a Navy gunner yet who didn’t think in terms of sinking ships rather than fending off soldiers.”
Sympsyn smiled back in acknowledgment of his point, and Hanth turned to look inland over the bearded, hissing heads of that marsh grass.
North Sandfish Marsh stretched inland for over eighty miles from the Thesmar Narrows. Most of it was considered impassable, although Hanth knew better. He’d spent hours interviewing marshers who lived in and around the wetlands, supporting themselves off the plentiful bounty they offered if one only knew where to look for it. Unfortunately, they did know where to look, and so would any Temple Loyalist marshers, which meant he couldn’t rely on Desnairian or Dohlaran columns’ inability to find a path through that “impassable” terrain. It would be a muddy, sloppy business, which would probably take days—or even five-days—especially if they tried to drag guns along with them. But if the bastards did manage to pull it off, a well emplaced battery or two would be able to close the Narrows to Charisian galleons, even without exploding shells.
And that was why the Earl of Hanth had ordered the construction of Sympsyn’s battery and its sister position across the Narrows. Admiral Sir Paitryk Hywyt, commanding the Inshore Squadron tasked with supporting the defense of the city of Thesmar, would station a couple of galleons and a bombardment ship to support those batteries in the event that some enterprising fellow on the other side decided to try closing Hanth’s supply line. Despite that, the earl was less than delighted to be putting two isolated outposts so far from his main position. It was over a hundred and ninety miles from Thesmar to Kaihrys Point, and given the quantity of supplies the Navy had thrown into the city, they had enough food and ammunition to last for months even if someone did manage to close the Narrows. So he supposed some people would say he was worrying unduly, and perhaps he was. Yet he’d long since discovered that while audacity was the handmaiden of success, overconfidence was the handmaiden of disaster.
The Emperor summed it up perfectly when he said it seems to be a law of war that he who will not risk cannot win, but that doesn’t mean a prudent gambler doesn’t hedge his bets whenever he can. And given the fact that we’ve got somewhere around a quarter million very unhappy people headed our way, a prudent spider-rat makes sure his hole’s going to be ready if he needs it. Not that I have any intention of putting it that way to the lunatics under my command.
He snorted and shook his head. By this time, his “lunatics” were convinced there weren’t enough Dohlarans—or Desnairians—in the entire world to beat them. As attitudes went, that beat the Shan-wei out of cowering in terror, but it had its own downsides. If he’d told them to, they would cheerfully have followed him into an attack on the approaching Desnairians, and even with Charisians, that would have been a … less than optimal solution to his problems.
His smile faded into grim satisfaction as he watched the twelve-pounders being hauled into position to cover the rear of Sympsyn’s battery. Those guns—like the four thousand rifles he’d contributed to General Fyguera’s infantry—had been “acquired” from the Royal Dohlaran Army, and while he hoped they wouldn’t be needed, he couldn’t think of a better use for them if they were.
The wedge of dry land which formed the tip of Kaihrys Point was fifteen feet higher than the low-lying marshlands. Anyone trying to assault out of that sea of mud and reeds would find his columns swept by a hurricane of grape and shrapnel. If he got the battery completed in time—and it would be five-days before any ill-intentioned souls could possibly be in position to attack it overland—he wasn’t going to be worried about any mass assaults. The possibility of someone on the other side being smart enough to attempt a surprise attack with smaller, individual storming parties worried him far more, which was why each battery would be protected by a full company of his zealously hoarded Marines, as well.
He drew a deep breath and reminded himself of how far back to Thesmar it was. The trip was a full day’s sail even for one of the Imperial Charisian Navy’s schooners, and it was time he headed back. Truth be told, he’d had no business coming all the way out here in the first place with the Duke of Harless sweeping steadily around the shore of Lake Somyr. Harless’ troops had already occupied the city of Somyr, southwest of Thesmar. In fact, they were a few miles closer to Thesmar at this moment than Hanth himself was. Those were land miles, however, and it would take Harless at least another four or five days to cover them even if his logistics train was as good as the Dohlarans’ … which it wasn’t.
Of course, the Dohlarans’ logistics just got a lot more un
complicated, and that’s going to splash on Harless once they join forces, damn it, he reflected sourly.
Rainos Ahlverez’ army had reached Fort Sheldyn on its way south from Cliff Peak after its Alyksberg adventures. With the looming threat of Ahlverez’ approach, Hanth had been forced to let Sir Fahstyr Rychtyr out of his confinement at Trevyr, which meant giving Ahlverez secure communications down the Seridahn River and, via the Sheryl-Seridahn Canal, all the way back to Dohlar. Assuming Desnairians and Dohlarans proved capable of cooperating—which, in Hauwerd Breygart’s opinion, was not a foregone conclusion, even with special intendants attached to each army to knock heads together at need—the enormous army about to inundate Thesmar could count on ample supplies to keep it in the field. Thesmar’s defenders could be equally well supplied, assuming the batteries kept the Narrows open for Charisian galleons, but those galleons wouldn’t be able to do anything about how grossly outnumbered they’d be.
Clyftyn Sumyrs’ seventy-two hundred men had come in from Alyksberg, just as exhausted and just as riddled with sickness as Hanth had been afraid they would be, given the rigor of their eight-hundred-mile forced march. General Kydryc Fyguera’s four regiments of regulars had been recruited back up to strength out of South March citizens loyal to the Republic, giving them another seventy-eight hundred or so, although the replacements weren’t yet as well trained as any of them might’ve liked. And then there were the five thousand men of his own 1st Independent Marine Brigade and the additional two thousand seamen Admiral Hywyt had managed to scare up by stripping every one of his galleons’ companies to the bone. Altogether, it came to twenty-three thousand men, assuming all of Sumyrs’ men could be gotten back on their feet by the healers in Thesmar. Which, by his calculations, meant he’d been brought all the way up to eight percent of the combined Desnairian-Dohlaran army headed his way.
