Trouble in the Wind
Book Three of The Phases of Mars
Edited by
Chris Kennedy and James Young
Trouble in the Wind
Book Three of The Phases of Mars
Edited by Chris Kennedy and James Young
Published by Theogony Books
Virginia Beach, VA, USA
www.chriskennedypublishing.com
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States’ copyright law.
The stories in this collection are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Editor: Chris Kennedy; Co-Editor: James Young
Cover Design: Elartwyne Estole
Copyright © 2019 by Chris Kennedy & James Young
All rights reserved.
The stories contained herein have never been previously published and are copyrighted as follows:
THE STING OF FATE by William Alan Webb © 2019 by William Alan Webb
TO SAVE THE REPUBLIC by Sarah A. Hoyt © 2019 by Sarah A. Hoyt
HERE MUST WE HOLD by Rob Howell © 2019 by Rob Howell
THE HERETIC by Monalisa Foster © 2019 by Monalisa Foster
SECONDHAND EMPIRES by Brad R. Torgersen © 2019 by Brad R. Torgersen
A SHOT HEARD ‘ROUND THE WORLD by Kevin J. Anderson & Kevin Ikenberry © 2019 by Kevin J. Anderson & Kevin Ikenberry
MARCHING THROUGH by David Weber © 2019 by David Weber
TO THE RESCUE by S.M. Stirling © 2019 by S.M. Stirling
THE BLUBBER BATTLE: THE FIRST FALKLANDS CAMPAIGN by Joelle Presby & Patrick Doyle © 2019 by Joelle Presby & Patrick Doyle
DRANG NACH OSTEN by Christopher G. Nuttall © 2019 by Christopher G. Nuttall
FIGHTING SPIRIT by Philip S. Bolger © 2019 by Philip S. Bolger
AN ORDERLY WITHDRAWAL by Taylor Anderson © 2019 by Taylor Anderson
MR. DEWEY’S TANK CORPS by James Young © 2019 by James Young
SOLDIERS OF THE REPUBLIC byJustin Watson © 2019 by Justin Watson
UNINTENDED CONSEQUENCES by Peter Grant © 2019 by Peter Grant
NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT by Jan Niemczyk © 2019 by Jan Niemczyk
* * * * *
Get the free Four Horsemen prelude story “Shattered Crucible”
and discover other Theogony Books titles at:
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* * * * *
For all who have gone off to war to protect the ones they loved…and never returned.
* * * * *
Preface by Christopher G. Nuttall
“We hope that you, instead of thinking to influence us by saying that you did not join the [Spartans], although their colonists, or that you have done us no wrong, will aim at what is feasible, holding in view the real sentiments of us both; since you know as well as we do that right, as the world goes, is only in question between equals in power, while the strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must.”
Thucydides
Does might make right?
If you ask that question of just about anyone, in this day and age, they will say no. Being stronger doesn’t confer righteousness. But that answer is itself a product of the modern age. Our ancestors from just about every civilisation throughout history would have argued that might did make right, at least as long as they were the mighty ones. It is only comparatively recently that we have started to question the morality of empires and suchlike, although—a cynic might argue—that such questioning has not led to restorative justice. How can it?
Regardless of the morality of ‘might makes right,’ it must be noted that might does tend to define what happens. The Romans destroyed Carthage, put bluntly, because they won the trial of strength. Genghis Khan rampaged through China because there was no one who could stop him. Islam dominates the Middle East because the early Muslims were stronger than their rivals; Islam didn’t take Europe because the early Europeans were stronger than the would-be invaders. The Conquistadors invaded and held Mexico because they were stronger, even when they were grossly outnumbered. And so on. Wars, as Elizabeth the First opinioned, are chancy things. Moderation in war is imbecility, stated Admiral Jackie Fisher (who never actually commanded a fleet in battle), but so too is triggering an unrestricted war you might lose. Just ask the Confederate States or the National Socialist Workers Party.
So why, you might ask, do I mention this in connection with alternate history?
The vast majority of alternate historical writings, be they everything from novels to timelines and detailed essays, are linked—directly or indirectly—to war. This can happen directly, in a story following a battle that was won in one timeline but lost in another, or indirectly, in a story set in a world created by a changed battle. SS-GB, for example, flows from a battle—the invasion of Britain in 1940—that never took place in our world, for better or worse. (You can get an interesting little flame war going on any alternate history discussion board over the odds of a Nazi victory.) Fox on the Rhine, by contrast, follows Rommel and Patton in France as the after-effects of Hitler’s early death (in 1944) start to take shape. And indeed, you can have a neat little series of events flowing from a previous change in the timeline. In one world, where the US wins the Civil War, Lieutenant Colonel George Custer rides to his death at Little Big Horn. In another world (How Few Remain), where the CSA became independent, Confederate troops prevent Custer from chasing Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse into Confederate territory…ironically saving Custer’s life, although Custer has no way to know he should be grateful.
Many of these stories follow new weapons, either invented ahead of time (antitank bazooka-type weapons in Poland) or brought back in time by Alien Space Bats. They ask questions about what would happen if those weapons were deployed, how they would change the war and, perhaps most importantly, how they’d be countered. What would become of the Panzers if they faced Polish and French soldiers with portable antitank weapons that actually worked? Others follow wars and campaigns that simply never happened, from analysing the likely course of Britain joining the American Civil War (on either side) to the logistical problems facing a Russian army as it tried to turn the Great Game—an Anglo-Russian Cold War—into a real war by invading British India through Afghanistan. There will always be plenty of scope for armchair generals in alternate history.
But most of these stories, the best of them, focus on the men doing the fighting.
It is a fundamental truth that, if you wish to influence events on the ground, you must put boots—i.e. soldiers—on it. This is not something that pleases modern-day politicians and senior officers. Many of the former recoil in horror at the thought of a single casualty; many of the latter are convinced that advanced weapons, from airpower and drones to cyber and space-based warfare, will allow the West (i.e. America) to emerge victorious without risking a single life. This is, unfortunately, untrue. On one hand, such weapons have almost always proved overrated even when the commanders are allowed their head; on the other, the high cost in civilian lives and the simple fact that bombing is rarely enough to force a state to change its course, means that such attacks are often nothing more than expensive ways of doing nothing. (On the plus side, concern for civilian lives—even enemy civilians—is yet another sign of moral superiority.)
Men on the ground have no illusions about the world. Combat has a habit of reduc
ing ambiguity, of reducing complex issues to a simple trial of strength. God is on the side of the big battalions, as the saying goes, although the ‘big battalions’ may be technologically more advanced rather than simply more numerous. Soldiers on the ground cannot allow themselves the luxury of believing fancy theories about war, not when everything depends on them emerging victorious. They study everything from logistics—an army cannot move or fight without food, fuel, and ammunition—to new technologies and tactics. But, in the end, it all comes down to the facts on the ground. And they are determined by the soldiers.
Alternate history shows us how a handful of men—soldiers, sailors, or airmen—can change the course of history. If the Prussians had acted differently at Waterloo, would Napoleon have won the battle? Or, if the British had lost their section of the battle, would it be Prussia and Russia that determined the fate of post-Waterloo France? Or, if Stonewall Jackson hadn’t rallied the troops during the Battle of Bull Run, would the North have won the American Civil War within a year? If British and French troops hadn’t made their stand at Calais, would Hitler’s panzers have reached Dunkirk in time to destroy the BEF?
It is often difficult to determine precisely what was the driving factor. Good leadership is one, ranging from daring and brilliant commanding officers to men who have access to a superior military-political playbook. Technology is another, from a handful of relatively small advantages to weapons an order of magnitude more powerful and capable then the threats they faced. And there is training and morale, as history shows us; outnumbered, but better-trained soldiers can defeat a force that is simply not ready for combat.
But all of this rests on the men on the ground, the rough men who—as George Orwell put it—stand ready to do violence on our behalf. It is these men who make the decisions that change the course of history.
The stories in this volume are all glimpses of worlds that might have been, of battles and campaigns that went the other way…if they were fought at all. They are stories of brave men and cowards, of heroes standing against overwhelming odds and poor bastards being used as pawns by distant politicians. But they are also a reminder of just how fragile our world is, how little guarantee there is of our future safety…
…And, perhaps most importantly of all, just how different the world could be.
Christopher G. Nuttall
Edinburgh, United Kingdom, 2019
Contents
Preface by Christopher G. Nuttall
The Sting of Fate by William Alan Webb
To Save the Republic by Sarah A. Hoyt
Here Must We Hold by Rob Howell
The Heretic by Monalisa Foster
Secondhand Empires by Brad R. Torgersen
A Shot Heard ‘Round the World by Kevin J. Anderson and Kevin Ikenberry
Marching Through by David Weber
To the Rescue by S.M. Stirling
The Blubber Battle: The First Falklands Campaign by Joelle Presby and Patrick Doyle
Drang nach Osten (Drive to the East) by Christopher G. Nuttall
Fighting Spirit by Philip S. Bolger
An Orderly Withdrawal by Taylor Anderson
Mr. Dewey’s Tank Corps by James Young
Soldiers of the Republic by Justin Watson
Unintended Consequences by Peter Grant
Nemo Me Impune Lacessit by Jan Niemczyk
About Chris Kennedy
About James Young
Excerpt from Book One of The Psyche of War
Excerpt from Book One of the Salvage Title Trilogy
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The Sting of Fate by William Alan Webb
Near the Aufidus River, Apuilia, Italy
9:17 pm, 1 August 216 B.C. (537th year since Rome’s founding)
Flaring oil lamps cast puddles of light throughout the great tent as Hannibal Barca reclined on a couch, looted from the same Roman house as the peach he was eating. Thick juice trickled into his beard. The sugar in the fruit attracted flies but few places had more flies than Africa and Spain, where he had grown up. Nor did they bother his cavalry generals, Hanno, his eldest sister’s son, and Hasdrubal, Hannibal’s brother, who lay on couches of their own. Together the three Carthaginians stared at a captured Roman deserter who knelt before them with his head down.
“Why did leave you Roman service?” Hannibal asked in stilted, thickly accented Latin.
The Roman soldier lifted his head and glanced around, as if he didn’t understand the question. Hannibal rubbed the leather patch over his left eye. After crossing the Appenine Mountains his army slogged through a huge swamp that took many days to cross, during which Hannibal’s left eye became infected. Since then, he had lived with a painful and incessant itching under the eye patch. As he always did Hannibal found a way to turn that to his advantage, developing an unnerving one-eyed glare which he cast now on the Roman. He waited and waited for an answer to his question, but when none came he called on his translator.
“The Roman understood me,” he said to his companions in Punic, their native language. “He thinks to play a game with me.”
“He picked the wrong lion to taunt,” Hasdrubal said.
The Greek slave he had captured came closer. His name was Ecthes, and he was fluent in five languages. Hannibal was only partially joking when he said that Ecthes might be the most valuable property they had looted in Italy.
“Ask him why he deserted,” Hannibal said, again in Punic.
Ecthes did as he was told, listened to the answer and then turned back to Hannibal.
“He says the Roman generals are confident they will crush your army, but the men believe otherwise. They believe that the great Hannibal cannot be defeated by any army. Some of his fellow hastatis say that Hannibal is favored by the gods, while others say he is a curse from the gods. All would flee if they could, but only he found the chance.”
“Ask him who commands the legions tomorrow.”
After translating Hannibal’s question, and the Roman deserter’s answer, Ecthes turned again to his master.
“Today the consul in command was Lucius Aemilius Paullus, so tomorrow it will be Gaius Terentius Varro.”
“Good,” Hannibal said. “Tell him he’s doing well.”
Ecthes did so.
“Ask him how many legions I face.”
After the usual delay Ecthes gave the reply. “You face sixteen legions general, eight Roman and eight auxiliary. He says all but five thousand are infantry and the rest are cavalry.”
“Excellent. Thank him for me.”
Once that was done, Hannibal leaned forward and spoke slowly in Latin to be sure he was understood. “Peius tantum Romano meritus civis Romanus.” The only thing worse than a Roman, is a Roman deserter.
* * *
Guards dragged the Roman outside. Hannibal ignored his screams for mercy, which did not last long. In the middle of crying his children’s names the voice stopped, doubtless because the executioners’ blade sliced through his neck.
“Did we learn anything from the Roman dog?” Hasdrubal asked, still reclining on his couch.
“I’d say we did,” answered Hanno. “If the legions are as frightened of you as the Roman said, Hannibal, we need only pressure them hard and they will break.”
Hannibal swung his legs over the couch’s side and stood. At the center of the tent stood a large sandbox measuring four feet square, constructed from stout oak. When it was first erected two days before, water had been poured over the sand so it could easily be formed into a diorama of the potential battle site.
On what served as the southern side ran a channel that represented the Aufidus River. Opposite that was a mound in the shape of the hills on the northern flank, while the space in between was relatively flat. Small cut-stone blocks lay piled at either end. Scratched into the surface of one heap of stones was a curved line with the open side facing left, the Punic symbol for the Latin letter R, short for Rumi, the Carthaginian word for Rome. The opposing stones had Hannibal etched into their s
urface, since many ethnic peoples made up the Carthaginian Army.
Ecthes stood silent in one corner as Hannibal stared at the sandbox, alternately combing his beard and rubbing the patch over his ruined eye. Minutes passed but no one spoke. They were all used to the ritual; it was how Hannibal planned his battles, and woe unto anyone who broke his concentration.
No Carthaginian held love for any Roman, but Hannibal hated them with a passion none of his countrymen could understand. At nine years old, he had promised his father, who despised the Romans above all others, that he would never stop fighting them. His stated goal in invading Italy was to liberate Rome’s allies from Roman domination, not to wage genocidal war on the Roman people.
That was a lie.
“Send for my brother Mago,” he said, without specifying to whom he spoke. There was no need; Ecthes knew Hannibal spoke to him. He, in turn, relayed the order to someone outside the tent. Five minutes later, Hannibal and Hasdrubal’s younger brother, Mago, stepped into the tent, saw his brother studying the sandbox, and kept quiet.
“Now that we are all here, let me reveal tomorrow’s battle plan,” Hannibal finally said. The other three men stepped beside their commander but remained silent. They had done this many times over the years.
“We captured a Roman, Mago, and he told us more than he’d intended. He verified that Varro is in command tomorrow, and Varro will give battle. The Roman officers are confident of victory, but he said the soldiers are not…” He turned to Hanno and the young cavalry commander knew that a question was coming. “Did you believe him, nephew?”
Reading Hannibal’s expressions had been difficult when he had two eyes, but now, with one of them covered by a large patch, it was damned near impossible. Nor was there any pattern to what answers he wanted.
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