by N. C. Reed
“Think you can find this?” he asked, pointing to a spot on the map.
“No problem, sir,” the runner nodded.
“Then tell General Wilbanks to give them hell,” Parno slapped the man's shoulder. “He’ll know what it means. Ride like hell, now. Time is important.”
“Sir!” the man actually slid down the ladder and leaped onto a waiting mount, tearing off to the west of the lines.
“Milord?” Davies asked.
“We're going to see how well Imperials fight when they're hungry,” Parno said cryptically.
-
Wilson jumped when the ripple of explosions tore down the length of his lines, throwing bodies into the air and shredding men who were close by.
“It's working,” Wilson said grimly. “We're still losing men but not nearly as bad as the first time.”
“We're losing a lot of men, sir,” Sterling noted as yet another salvo of smaller explosions erupted along the entire advance.
“We're going to lose men no matter what we do, Sterling,” Wilson nodded. “The thing is to not lose them for nothing.”
“Yes sir.”
-
“We're not scoring as many hits with the bigger stuff,” Enri Willard had climbed the tower at some point and spoke for the first time.
“No, their General has managed to find a way to at least partially counter our weapons,” Parno agreed. “But our counter to that is hurting them badly. Not to mention the psychological aspect of watching the men in front of you be cut apart, knowing you have to take their place.”
“That is true, but they are still coming and there are a lot of them,” Enri reminded him.
“I don't want to break them,” Parno told him. “Not yet. I need them to keep coming for now. I need them to keep coming and get as far away from their own lines as I can get them.”
“Milord, what are you doing?” Enri asked.
“I'm trying my damnedest to end this war,” Parno replied flatly. “I'm trying to push this bunch back where they belong. If we can rout them, then we stand a chance of pursuing them all the way to the Ohi. I want to crush their spirit so that any who survive will unwilling to return.”
Enri frowned at how savagely Parno was speaking. Not because he disagreed but simply because it was unusual for him in Willard's experience. He glanced at Cho Feng who had yet to speak at all, but the older man's face was inscrutable, impossible to read. Feng caught Enri's glance and nodded slowly but remained silent. Enri turned his attention back to the battle.
“They're slowly making their way to the line,” Davies noted. “They haven't yet because of our archery. The front rank was decimated and the few survivors stalled to wait for the next rank. We've managed to do that three times so far, but each time we have more survivors who add themselves to the next rank. Eventually they will hit the line.”
“So, they will,” Parno nodded. “There's really no hope to prevent that with their numbers. But we're doing fine right now,” he said with satisfaction.
“We're taking losses from their archers as well,” Enri observed.
“It's a completely uneven exchange,” Parno said. “The only thing that worries me at this point is-,” he was interrupted as a flaming half-barrel of pitch slammed into the log fortifications below.
“Their artillery,” Parno finished. “They can hurt us. Inform Mister Lars to concentrate on counter-battery fire for the time being,” he told a runner. The man nodded and ran to find the artillery commander.
“They have a lot more artillery than we do,” Davies said grimly. “And they're using it all this time.”
“It won't last,” Parno promised. “I need red and yellow pennants up here,” Parno told an aide. “Another runner to Mister Lars, reminding him to watch for pennant signals, as well.” He had almost forgotten that. He had to start concentrating. The aide nodded and descended the tower to find said pennants while a runner as given the message to pass along.
“Something we should know, milord?” Enri asked.
“Just preparing to make sure we can lift the artillery fire quickly if we need to.”
Below them, the battle continued to rage.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
-
Gerald Allen could hear the sounds of battle much better now. His command was arrayed for miles to his left and right, some still moving into line. By Allen's watch they had made it to their assigned position about twenty minutes shy of his estimate. He was now less than a mile from the Imperial Army's right flank as they assaulted the Soulan Army's lines.
“What are we waiting on?” Coe asked as he rode up to Allen trailed by a small knot of horsemen.
“For the Prince to send word,” Allen replied calmly. “He has a plan and we have our part in it. He says we wait here, so we wait here.”
“Mind letting the rest of us in on this plan?” Coe asked.
“Once the Imperial Army is completely committed, we're going to roll them up like a blanket,” Allen looked and sounded predatory as he replied. “The Marshal will hold them by the nose why we kick their ass.”
“I can get behind that,” Coe nodded. Wilbanks snorted as he turned to his runners.
“Have the other division commanders report here as soon as they can,” he ordered. The men took off at a gallop carrying his orders. It was time to let them all in on the plan.
-
Wilbanks took the message with a nod, looking at his brigade commanders who were clustered around him.
“Give them hell, huh,” he grinned suddenly. “Well, we can damn sure do that, don't you think?” he asked his Brigadiers.
“Damn straight,” one muttered as all of them nodded in agreement.
“All right,” Wilbanks said abruptly. “We know what we're doing. We've been over this more than once. Watch the time,” he warned grimly. “And for damn sure listen for the 'Recall'. We can't afford to get pinned. Get it?” They all nodded.
“Then we ride in five minutes so get to your commands,” he ordered. All of them took off, galloping toward their own individual commands. Wilbanks looked at his watch, his own impatience written all over his face. He wanted to move, to strike out at his enemy.
This would be an excellent opportunity to do that, but Wilbanks didn't kid himself. This was a dangerous mission for his men, well trained or not. If he didn't keep a sharp eye on things he could end up losing a huge chunk of his command.
But if they were successful...
-
Anthony Felds wiped his knife on the clothing of the Imperial scout he had just killed before sheathing his knife. He rifled through the man's bag checking for anything of use or value, like a map or an order book, but other than a nice knife and a telescoping glass all he found was a notebook. He flipped through it and realized it was merely the same kind of notes he himself kept when observing the Nor. Still, it was something, so he slid it into his own bag for someone else to examine.
Removing his hat, he stood and surveyed the area around him before raising the hat above his head and swirling it to the left. Half a minute later Dagger Earl appeared, leading Felds' horse from the back of his own, bow in hand.
“Anything?” Earl asked as Felds mounted up.
“Nothing worth riding back for,” Felds told him. “Seen anything else?”
“Not so far,” Earl shook his head. “Little rise yonder with some trees,” he pointed north. “We can try there. If there ain't no Imps there we can see what's about.”
“We can for a minute but we got to hurry,” Felds nodded. “We got to clean this area out. Boss says no Nor scouts anywhere around here.”
“We’ll get 'em.”
-
Wilson watched the attack develop from his own observation tower built just inside the tree line of the Imperial fortifications.
“Excellent,” he lowered his scope, nodding in pleasure. “Our dispersed formation is preventing them from doing so much damage to our ranks. And our own artillery is playing a greater role
this time as well.”
“They're also taking losses, sir,” Sterling noted. “We've lost just over twenty percent of our artillery in the exchange so far. And their fire is continuing as well.”
“We won't have to withstand it much longer,” Wilson was confident. “Once we break their line, their artillery will have to withdraw or be overrun. It won't be long now.”
“Yes sir,” Sterling hid a sigh. Wilson was seeing what he wanted to see rather than what was actually happening, but Sterling was merely a Brigadier and there was only so much he could do. Unlike Baxter, Sterling had no family connections so there was no way for him to stand up to Wilson's attitude, be it right or wrong.
He would have to endure. Just like the men Wilson was throwing away were enduring a terrible end at the hands of a well prepared and dug in enemy. Early reports had shown casualties already equal to an entire division, and that was just from two of the four corps engaged, the two attacking the enemy center. He didn't expect any better news from the flanks.
Worse, so far as Sterling was concerned, there were very few troops left in camp. The reserve was following the attack, already in echelon to support any breakthrough. As a result of that, their camp was essentially undefended. And warnings to Wilson about leaving their camp so vulnerable had fallen on deaf ears.
He hid another sigh as he raised his own scope to view the battlefield. There was nothing else he could do but wait.
-
Joel Vanhoose ducked instinctively as another volley of explosions rippled all the way down his front ranks, tearing his soldiers apart.
“Damn that Wilson,” he muttered under the sound. “We're walking right into a hornet’s nest.”
His 2nd Corps was attacking the Soulan right flank which was anchored on the river, just as his own left had been until this morning. Already his losses were staggering as his front-line divisions had been ripped to pieces by volley after volley of archery, some of it much worse than others. And his aide reported that Abe Springfield's corps was in much worse shape attacking the middle on Vanhoose's right.
“This is going to end in a disaster,” he promised himself. “Wait and see.”
-
“Time to bring General Graham's men to the line,” Parno ordered suddenly. “Have his divisions line abreast behind the main line, prepared to respond to any breach in the line. And have his archers report to the front ranks of his own lines and engage targets as they can. Add their fire to what we're already putting down range.”
“Yes sir,” Davies nodded and began issuing the necessary orders. “Do you want to commit any of his troops to the fighting?”
“Not yet,” Parno replied quietly. “Not just yet.”
“Very well.”
-
Henry Herrick was not a happy man. His 4th Corps was taking a beating defending the line and so far, he'd seen no signs of reinforcement. He knew Graham's men were somewhere behind him, and that at least some of the cavalry was still around, but he'd seen no sign of any support as yet.
He was about to send a runner to the Marshal asking what he was doing when a runner appeared out of the crowd with a short note. Herrick tore it open and read it quickly.
I know how bad it is. Hold for just a little longer.
I promise it will be worth it. -McLeod
So. The Prince had some kind of plan at least. Herrick just looked at the runner and nodded. The man snapped off a salute and was gone back into the mass of bodies surrounding the fight. Herrick returned his attention to the battle and his men. He would have to trust that everyone's confidence in the Playboy Prince was warranted.
If it wasn't then his men would pay the price.
-
Felds and Earl had ridden through the small copse of trees and found no sign of Imperial scouts or pickets there. They had taken the time to use the cover and slight elevation to survey the fields before them but hadn't seen anything definite. One flash of color had caught Earl's eye however, so the two were now headed for it.
They were still some distance away when a man wearing what looked like an Imperial uniform jumped to his feet and began running toward the Imperial lines. Both youngsters immediately spurred their horses into a run to pursue.
Anthony Felds knew that Earl was a decent archer, but he'd not seen Earl actually use a bow. He didn't even notice the other man pulling an arrow or lifting his bow. He did hear the string snap as Earl launched the arrow from horseback when they were still a good fifty yards away.
Bouncing on horseback wasn't the best way to ensure accuracy from a bow shot, especially when the target was running. Earl cursed as his arrow hit the man in the leg, causing him to tumble to the ground. They continued to close and found a man not much older than they were crawling for Imperial lines now that he couldn't walk or run. Felds dropped from his horse as Earl kept a look out.
“Get away!” the Nor screamed, trying to kick out at Felds off his back. “Stay back,” he drew a knife and held it out before him in a shaking hand. For the first time Felds noticed that while the clothes the man was wearing looked similar to an Imperial uniform, there was no insignia of any kind on it and the man wasn't armed beyond the knife he was jabbing the air with.
“You really reckon that's gonna help?” Felds sounded amused. “Who are you and why are you out here?”
“I don't have to answer you!” the man declared.
“No, you don't,” Felds admitted. “And we don't have to leave you alive, neither. Dag?”
“What are yo-,” the Norlander's question ended abruptly as another arrow hit him, this one tearing through his heart and silencing him. Felds knelt and once more rummaged through a dead man's belongings, taking anything that looked important.
“Let me see that bag when you finish,” Earl asked and Felds passed the rather nice leather shoulder bag to his friend. Earl examined it, nodding as he dumped out the contents, keeping a good knife he found as well as a nearly new tin cup.
“I'm keeping this bag, happens you don't need it,” he told Felds. “Lots nicer than mine.”
“Help yourself,” Felds nodded as he remounted. “Make sure it ain't marked as Imperial, in case we get caught with it.”
“Ain't got nothing on it, actually,” Earl sounded surprised. “What'd you find?”
“A thick notebook with a lot of writing in it,” Felds said. “I don't know what this fella was up to but he was keeping a good record of it, looks like. Reckon the Boss would want a look at it.”
“I imagine,” Earl was stuffing his new bag into the roll behind his saddle. “Meanwhile, we gotta keep moving.” Felds nodded but then held a hand up to stall.
“Hear that?” he asked. Earl turned his head a bit but then nodded.
“I imagine that's General Wilbanks and his lot,” Felds said. “We better get going or they're gonna overtake us.”
“Well, let’s get on, then.”
-
Wilbanks rode near the head of his division, recounting his rather simple orders;
“Get in behind them, into their camp, and tear the hell out of it,” the Marshal had said flatly. “Carry torches and set everything you can on fire. Kill anyone you come across, I don't care who they are or what they're doing. And watch for their army to come streaming back. If we can rout them then they’ll be headed straight for you. When you see or hear that, retreat at once and do whatever extra damage you can on the way out. Head north out of their camp if you need to and then bear around to the west to return. I’ll leave that up to your judgment since I don't know what you’ll find. Above all, take care to protect and preserve your command.”
Simple orders, but in no way easy. His division was short two battalions and now headed deep into enemy territory. But if the Prince was right and the Nor had all of their troops in this, then their camp, their rear area, would be incredibly vulnerable.
And his men were the perfect outfit to take advantage of that.
-
“When the Marshal's runner
gets here, we're taking this entire outfit and hitting the enemy right,” Allen said to approving nods and growls all around. “You wondered why we were out here, well, that's why. Once the Nor are committed to attacking our lines then we hit them as hard as we can. General Bellamy, General Vaughan, you will take your divisions far to our left and wheel around and take the enemy infantry from the rear. General Vaughan, you will be the extreme left, on the flank of our entire line. Be especially mindful of enemy infantry in retreat trying to cut you off. I suggest keeping at least one regiment behind on the eastern edge of your line to guard against it, but the final disposition will be up to you. General Bellamy, your division will be on the angle from the rest of us, so lock in tight on the wheel and stay connected to us.” Both men nodded their understanding.
“I want all brigades on line as we attack, each with one regiment in reserve in the event we need a reserve. I don't expect to if things go right, but when do things ever go completely right?” he asked and got a handful of laughs.
“General Fordyce you will be our right,” Allen continued. “We will move forward and try to connect to our lines on their extreme left. They are supposed to be expecting to see us so there shouldn't be any problems. Once you've reached that position you will continue pushing forward and if the enemy breaks we will give chase until and unless we hit unexpectedly strong resistance. Our own scouts are clearing the way for our advance so there shouldn't be any warning other than the noise of forty thousand southern horses coming to kick some northern ass.”
“If there are no questions then return and brief your brigade commanders. We have about twenty minutes at most, so don't waste it.”
-
“Milord,” Davies sounded hesitant.
“Yes,” Parno replied, more of a statement than a question.
“Sir, our losses are mounting,” Davies told him. “They aren't crippling as yet, but this next rank is almost certain to reach our lines. General Graham-,”