by N. C. Reed
“Sound the call to form ranks,” Crandall ordered. “Probably a raiding force of horsemen trying to inflict some casualties on us. Form ranks and prepare to repel any close up attack.”
“Sir.”
-
“That's the signal,” Coe's voice betrayed his eagerness. “Have the scouts guide us in and let’s move. I want to make sure we're in the right position. Remember, no one escapes. That is very important.”
“One battalion from each brigade detailed to prevent that, sir,” his aide nodded.
“Then, by all means, let’s move to engagement. No bugles until we sound the attack.”
-
“Sounds like Vaughan is engaged,” Allen nodded to himself.
“Notify the scouts to prepare to guide brigades into place,” Walters ordered. “You three remind our rear-guard battalion of their orders. I don't want any screw ups. Meaning I don't want any Imperials escaping. Move it now!” The men took off bearing their reminders.
“Move to line of embarkation!” Walters called.
-
It was a perfect whipsaw. Vaughan's division hit the rear of a column still moving from marching to defensive formation. In addition, the Imperials were expecting only a raiding force, a spoiling attack and little more. Instead, they were facing over eight thousand Soulan horse troopers.
Angry and vengeful horse troopers. And they weren't alone.
-
“We are in position sir,” Coe's chief aide reported.
“Then sound Forward, Canter,” Coe ordered his bugler. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
-
“Ready to depart, sir,” a scout reported. “We're in perfect position.”
“Sound Canter,” Walters ordered at once. “Let’s move.”
-
“I'm hearing other bugles,” the young aide Crandall had spoken so harshly to said cautiously.
“From where?”
“Both sides of the road,” the aide reported, turning his head to try and hear better. “Sir, I think this is more than just a raid,” he risked telling his General. “I think-”
“Stop thinking and get in line,” the older aide snapped. “The General is capable of doing the thinking.”
Stung, the young aide did just that, moving to the outer area of the group and drawing his sword. Crandall dismounted from his horse, not wanting to be one of the few mounted men in the column and make himself a target for Soulanie archers.
Crandall could hear bugles from north and south of him now as well as behind him to the east. He was torn between thinking it was just a ploy by some very crafty Soulan commander and believing it was a major attack. If he deployed his entire division and there was no attack he would have wasted the remainder of the day and be forced to make camp far earlier than planned. That would make them late in getting to their objective.
But then, if he didn't deploy his division and was hit with a major attack by mounted Soulanie horsemen then his division would be torn to shreds by lancers, bowmen and mounted swordsmen. The Soulanies were nothing if not masters of horse warfare.
While Crandall was still struggling with his decision, General Allen had already made his and was in the process of carrying it out.
-
Vaughan's troops were already at a gallop with arrows flying before Crandall realized that his men were under attack. While he had archers in his ranks, they were further forward. Orders were passed for the archers to move through the column to the rear in order to engage enemy cavalry. This resulted in a bit of confusion as the division was still in the process of changing from a marching formation to one designed to repel an attack.
The archers as a group were almost to the rear of the column when Vaughan's lancers began to hit the Imperial rear, tearing massive gaps in the hastily formed lines. The archers were just beginning to return fire when Coe's division struck from the north. Another nearly eight thousand horsemen bearing down on the Imperial infantrymen was a rude shock that came from seemingly nowhere.
Shouts of alarm ran down the length of the transitioning column as soldiers who had thought the danger was at the rear of the road column now saw a large group of Soulan horsemen bearing down on them.
“Form up!” Sergeants screamed as they kicked and cursed their men into ranks. “Form up! Archers in back, swords and pikes front!”
But all the archers had begun moving to the rear of the column to help stop that attack. Those still moving stopped and began to hurry back to help defend the front half of the line even as cries began rising from the left flank.
“Horsemen in sight to the south! More Soulanies to the south!”
At that point, even the veteran NCOs weren't sure which way to turn. Who defended what side of the road? Which units would form to the north and which to the south. Conflicting orders were being screamed all up and down the line leaving rank and file soldiers with no idea who to follow and what to do.
When Crandall realized how many horsemen there were in the attack, he realized that no orders he gave would be adequate. There was no way his division was going to survive this as a fighting unit. The only hope any of his men had was to break and run.
“Every man for himself!” he shouted suddenly. “Pass the word, every man for himself! Escape and evade as best you can! Head for the main camp if you can get free! Every man for himself!”
Perhaps someone would be able to let Wilson know what had happened here.
-
“They're running,” Walters told Allen quietly. “We've broken them, sir, and they're trying to escape.”
“Indeed,” Allen nodded grimly. “See to it that none of them do.”
“Yes sir.”
“And I need their General.”
-
It was a dirty business and the Soulan cavalry didn't have things all their own way. There were a number of talented archers in the Imperial Army and some of them occupied the ranks of the 33rd Infantry. Southern horse soldiers began to fall to their arrows even as the southern archers were repaying them in kind. Imperial swordsmen were forming to try and hold their position but many of them had left their shields on wagons rather than carry them on the march in Imperial controlled territory. Pikemen that were supposed to have the protection of shield bearing swordsmen fell victim to Soulan lancers with the advantage of fighting from horseback.
Crandall's order of 'every man for himself' had been a last-ditch effort to save at least some of his men and hopefully have someone survive and escape to warn Wilson what they had run into out here. He doubted he'd be able to himself, but surely someone would be able to slip through.
The battle raged for nearly ten minutes before Crandall realized that all he was doing was throwing the lives of his soldiers away to no gain. Sure, they were killing a few southerners, but for every one they killed at least four of his own men were falling. He hated the thought of spending the rest of the war in a POW camp but comforted himself with the knowledge that the war wouldn't really last too much longer. He looked at his bugler and ordered him to sound the surrender. The bugler did so at once and all down the line Norland troops began to drop their weapons and raise their hands.
All that accomplished was to make them easier to cut down.
At first Crandall thought some were just slow getting the command, or else that the southerners were slow to realize that he was surrendering his command. Then he saw what had to be the southern commander riding forward with his escort and saw that in addition to the Soulan Royal flag the Soulan cavalry color guard was carrying a black flag.
No quarter.
We should have kept fighting was the last thought Crandall had as an arrow found his chest and he fell to the dust road.
-
“Is that him?” Allen asked, absolutely no sympathy in his voice.
“Yes sir,” the trooper holding Crandall's body nodded. “Got the stars on,” he pointed to Crandall's shoulder board.
“Good. Leave him and drag the rest aw
ay, off to the south,” he pointed. “Douse them in oil or naphtha and burn them. I don't want them found. Search them and keep anything useful, especially any identification papers, maps or orders. I want all but one regiment of each division on that. Have those three regiments set a guard. We're on a schedule.” He started to dismount.
“What about him, sir,” one man asked, pointing to the dead Imperial General.
“He stays,” Allen said, digging into his saddlebags. “I have a use for him.”
-
Major General Brent Stone was still sick as the proverbial dog when his horse brought him in sight of Lovil.
The men of Weir and Blake's divisions were still deathly ill and Stone shuddered to think of what the casualty count would be before it was over. Troopers of his command were strung out for miles behind him as those who were reasonably healthy hung back to try and aid those still sick.
Baxter, the little snot nosed bastard, had not lost any men to sickness, but his men had borne the entire effort of the southern counterattack and had suffered high casualties because of it. Something Baxter would not soon let Stone forget.
Stone could not see any way he would survive this debacle. He had warned Wilson first that he was misusing the cavalry force, and then that he was setting them up for failure by not allowing them adequate time to prepare for operations behind enemy lines. But Wilson would never accept the blame for this, which meant the best Stone could hope for was reassignment to some demeaning post and a probable demotion. Compared to losing his head, however, he'd take it.
Assuming he survived. He was just as sick as any of the troopers following him and had been for days.
The first person he saw was Lucas Silven, who looked like death warmed over himself. As Stone staggered from his saddle, Silven grabbed him to steady the general. The cavalryman nodded his thanks to the sailor.
“Looks like we both ran afoul of the enemy, General,” Silven said gently. “Let me help you get somewhere you can rest. There will be plenty of time to tell you what happened to us.”
Stone nodded his agreement and let the sailor guide him into a large building that had already been set up as a temporary hospital. Runners sent ahead to order preparations be made had apparently made it.
At least one thing had gone right.
-
“All right, sound muster,” Allen swung into his saddle. “We've got a long way to go in order to be in place by nightfall. We eat in the saddle. Time is our enemy for this operation. What about our wounded?” he asked Walters.
“We got hurt,” Walters admitted. “Total losses for the entire Corps are still being tabulated, but we're looking at somewhere in the neighborhood of eight hundred fifty dead and one thousand seven hundred wounded. Some of those are slight, others won't likely live out the night.”
“Assign an escort to the ambulances and start ferrying the wounded back to camp,” Allen ordered. “Don't leave a single man behind. I want our dead handled properly as well. One of the support battalions that came with us can see to them. I want everyone else ready to go in half-an-hour. No exceptions. We have to be within five miles of Unity by nightfall.”
“Yes sir.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
-
Parno woke to the smells of supper. Realizing that he hadn't eaten at all during the day, he rose, washed and dressed, and walked out of his tent following the smell. It led him to the nearest mess tent where everyone tried to allow him to go before them but he refused, waiting in line like everyone else. Once again word passed along through the ranks that the Marshal was waiting in line for the same food they were.
Everyone but Parno noted that there were at least a dozen troopers hovering close by, watching the young Marshal like proverbial hawks. Finally getting his plate full of what looked like the oldest army food ever, chipped beef on bread, Parno headed back toward his own tent. When he arrived, he noticed two troopers outside his tent that weren't normally there. Assuming rightly that he had visitors, he ducked into his tent to see Edema Willows working to straighten out his tent and make it presentable.
“I have people who get paid to do that, you know,” he told her as he sat down. “I didn't know you were here or I'd have brought you a plate too. I can share mine with you.”
“I don't eat that stuff,” she sniffed and then smiled. “What would people say?”
“It's not bad,” Parno shrugged as he dug in. “How are you doing?”
“Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?” she walked over to sit down with him.
“I'm okay,” he nodded. “Thank you for helping me through that,” he told her softly. “Without you, I doubt I'd have made it.”
“I'm honestly glad I was here for you,” she told him. “I wish it hadn't been needed.”
“Me too,” Parno nodded. “It was my fault for letting her stay.”
“Parno, you may be stubborn, but sometimes we women can outdo even you,” Edema smiled. “She meant to be with you and your input wasn't required. Sometimes that's the way it is.”
“Still, I knew the risks even if she didn't. She was at risk around me. Just like ...” he trailed off suddenly and concentrated on his food.
“Just like Stephanie?” Edema said kindly.
“And you,” he nodded slowly.
“You still love her, don't you?”
“Of course, I do,” he replied honestly. “Probably always will,” he admitted.
“Then why can you not put aside her one lapse in judgment and make things right between you?” Edema's voice was rife with exasperation.
“She's safer this way,” was his reply. “No matter how many soldiers I put around her, or you for that matter, nothing guarantees your safety. Not now. I can't... I can't lose anyone else.”
“You can't live your life like that Parno,” Edema scolded lightly. “It's not right. You cared deeply for Jaelle but you didn't love her, did you?” It was more a statement than a question.
“No,” he admitted. “I just loved an idea that looked like her. But I did care for her very deeply. You're right about that. She... she was so kind to me,” he almost whispered. “It was... it was nice.”
“My poor child,” she sighed. “Of course, something like that would make a huge impact on you. Please accept my apology for not thinking of that. I thought... well...”
“That I was just chasing skirts?” Parno chuckled. “I was,” he admitted. “I wouldn't have if I was sober, probably, but... she was so beautiful and I was lonely and... well,” he shrugged.
“I know,” Edema nodded. “There's nothing wrong with it. I mean there is of course, it's sinful,” she chided. “But it's human nature to seek out companionship, Parno. We all do it. You and Stephanie had just had a terrible blow up and here was beautiful young woman who was equally infatuated with you and... well, nature does the rest,” she shrugged. “It's as natural as breathing.”
“I guess,” Parno sounded non-committal. “It's funny. The entire time I was with her, I kept thinking in the back of my head like I was being unfaithful to Stephanie. I wasn't, of course, since I was pretty sure she had said goodbye to me, but it still felt that way.”
“Poor boy,” Edema laughed quietly. “You really have it bad, don't you?” Again, it was a statement.
“I did I guess,” Parno agreed. “But I can't afford to do that again. I was letting it distract me anyway.”
“Liar,” Edema said at once, though kindly. “You were using to keep yourself going. Don't try to lie to me.”
“Did she tell you that?” Parno demanded.
“We've barely talked since we got here,” Edema admitted. “I'm not her favorite person at the moment you know. And she's very busy caring for Harrel, too.”
“How is he?” Parno felt ashamed he hadn't checked first thing. “I was hungry when I woke so that was what I did first thing was get something to eat.”
“His condition is unchanged,” Edema informed him. “That isn't good, but it also isn't necessa
rily bad, since it means he isn't worse.”
“I’ll take it,” Parno nodded. “I miss his steady presence. I don't know how hard it's going to be to get by without him.”
“You’ll manage,” Edema assured him. “You always do. Now, we're going to be here for several days because of Stephanie needing to be here to treat Harrel. This is a perfect opportunity for you and her to try and work out your differences.”
“Edema, I was just sleeping with another woman two nights ago,” Parno looked aghast.
“We women expect that of unmarried men,” Edema informed him frankly. “It's a fact of life. You're only men after all, and you're weak. Even for men who are engaged, if it's a long engagement, no one thinks twice about something like that unless he makes a fool of himself and embarrasses the family. Either family but primarily the bride's.”
“For God's sake,” Parno was shaking his head. “Even assuming she ever did love me, there's no way she still does. If me refusing to marry her and try so desperately to give her a baby in one night didn't do it, then my tryst with Jaelle certainly would have. And there should be a period of mourning over Jaelle anyway, shouldn't there? Besides which I just told you I need to be concentrating on the Army and the fix we're in and not... that.”
“You can do both,” Edema told him. “You listen to me, Parno McLeod,” she turned deadly serious suddenly. “That girl loves you. She loves you deep down where she lives, so much it hurts. Your tryst won't mean anything to her, more especially since Jaelle gave her life for yours. That alone will make her forever someone Stephanie feels she owes. Just like me,” she added quietly. “I don't know what I'd have done had that terrible knife been plunged into you instead of that sweet girl.”
“It was supposed to have been me, you know,” Parno said quietly. “'My Emperor demands your death' he said and then was across the desk and on me. No way I'd have reacted in time to stop him. But she did.” He stood up abruptly as if he could no longer remain sitting.
“They’ll try again,” he told her. “They’ll try again somehow, and they’ll keep trying.”