by N. C. Reed
“Their cavalry are all hitting our flank,” Wilson scoffed but turned to look and see what was happening only to find that at least some Soulan cavalry was indeed ransacking their camp.
“Tell Thomas I need him to detach one division to return and protect the camp!” Wilson started panicking again. “Tell him to do it right away!”
“Sir, General Thomas is fully engaged with -,” Sterling began but Wilson cut him off, yelling.
“I don't care what he's doing, he needs to get someone back here to stop that!”
Sterling lowered his head in resignation and turned to see the returning runner just getting to the top of the tower.
“Go back and tell General Thomas that Soulan cavalry are in the camp and destroying it as they go. General Wilson has directed him to break off one division from his corps to return and defend the camp and deal with the incursion. Understood?”
“Yes sir,” the man nodded tiredly and immediately started back down the ladder. Sterling steeled himself before returning his attention to the most recent problem. The problem of everything in their camp now being laid waste with only minimal resistance.
-
Major Greg Tandy had decided that he was a fairly lucky man. Chosen by General Baxter to remain behind in charge of the men who had not been selected to go west, Tandy had figured he and those same men would have an easy day or two with camp duties, and perhaps with other duties as their horses were able to return to work. Maybe courier duty or something else similar.
The attack had come as a rude shock to him since there had been no warning to Tandy or his men. His own corps commander was far to the north still and no one had thought to let the few cavalrymen still in camp know what was happening. Since all of them had been ruled medically unfit for duty, they were not considered as part of the attack and had thus been ignored.
Which meant they were practically the only men still in camp when the southern cavalry had come riding through it, killing anything that moved and burning anything that didn't. Tandy's first warning had been a young corporal limping up to him as fast as he could.
“Sir! Enemy in the camp! Coming from the west, sir!” the excited young man pointed over his shoulder. Tandy had followed that point to see smoke and flames already billowing from a number of places as well as the occasional flash of Soulan uniforms or horses.
“You have got to be kidding me,” he shook his head. His men had not a single horse available to them. They also had no archers among them. That left them with the prospect of taking on mounted cavalry with swords and maybe a few lances. Using a lance on foot was a recipe for disaster from the jump, let alone trying to engage a charging horseman with one.
“Sir, there are -,” a young lieutenant ran up, arm extending in a point.
“Enemy in the camp, I know,” Tandy nodded. “Alright, gather everyone together and we’ll try and at least defend ourselves.” He looked around for a good place and saw something that might let at least some of them live through the next few minutes.
“See that bramble over there?” he told the two. “Those trees with the dense thicket? That's where we’ll make our stand. Tell everyone to gather there with whatever weapons they have at hand. At least the Soulanies won't be able to just ride through it line abreast. Maybe we can fight back against them from there.”
“Yes sir!” the two men replied in unison and began to run in different directions yelling his instructions.
“'This will be an easy duty, Gregory',” he repeated Baxter's words to him as he grabbed his sword and other gear. “'Be a good chance to get some well-deserved rest.' 'Just watch after the lads and keep them out of trouble, yeah?'” he shook his head. “What a crock of shit.” He looked to where the men under his temporary commander were starting to stream his way.
“Over here!” he waved, then pointed to the thicket. “Bring whatever you can with you, especially pikes and lances! Deep into the thicket, boys! Make the bastards work for it!”
Make them work for it. Make them work to kill them all.
-
Wilbanks' men had been through perhaps half the camp so far when a sergeant came galloping up to him.
“Sir, we're seeing signs that some of the infantry are turning back,” the man said without preamble. “They aren't headed this way yet, but it looks as if they will be shortly.”
“How far out are they?” Wilbanks asked.
“Four, maybe five hundred yards from the line, sir,” the sergeant reported after a moment to think. “They're at the very rear of the enemy formation already sir. Likely part of the reserve as near as we can tell.”
“Very well,” Wilbanks nodded. “Keep an eye on them, let me know when they start to move. We need to be on the way out before they get here.”
“Yes sir.” The man raced away, leaving Wilbanks to think. He summoned a runner with a wave of his hand.
“Find Brigadier Hammond. Tell him to detail at minimum one regiment to do nothing but search for and destroy any supplies he can find. Ideally, if not engaged with the enemy, he will use his entire brigade for that duty. Anything that looks like a supply depot or cache is to be burned if possible. Understand?”
“Yes sir!” the runner nodded and set out to find Brigadier Hammond. Normal Jared 'Norm' Hammond was Wilbanks' senior brigade commander. He hated to be called Normal and for some unknown reason despised his middle name, so it was 'Norm' unless you were trying to piss him off. Which wasn't a good plan since Hammond was large enough to wrestle a bear and an above average swordsman as well. He was also tough, dependable and smart. Wilbanks was fortunate to have him, and figured he was the perfect one to get the most damage done.
-
“Sir, our camp... our stores... all appear to be on fire,” Sterling said gently. “It may be for the best if we move off this tower and shift east a bit. Get you away from the enemy.”
“Don't be preposterous,” Wilson scoffed, sounding more like his normal self than he had since the Soulan cavalry had appeared. “Thomas has orders to send a division here to deal with that and he will. Meanwhile our attack is still going well on the left it appears.”
“Sir, General Metz's command has been shattered,” Sterling pointed out. “General Jurgen's men have lost almost a third of their strength and are now caught between the Soulan cavalrymen and the archery fire from the Soulan infantry. And the Soulanie line has received a massive influx of new soldiers. Reinforcements estimated to be at least corps strength. We've lost the equivalence of an entire infantry corps in this attack plus we are losing all our stores and much of our equipment, including our men's tents and belongings. Sir, I urge you to send runners to recall all of our troops that can disengage from the enemy and let them defend what's left of our camp.”
“Disengage?” Wilson looked aghast. “You want to stop just as we're on the cusp of victory?”
“Sir, we are on the cusp of a disaster!” Sterling was losing his fake patience. “Have you heard a word I've said?”
“I've heard every treacherous word,” Wilson nodded grimly. “And once this engagement is over and we've crushed the enemy, I’ll be bringing you up on charges. Until then I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you're told. Perhaps that will encourage me to overlook your impertinence.”
“Sir, you are slaughtering your men for no gain,” Sterling said in a soft, defeated tone. “We had a magnificent army this morning,” he murmured to himself. “Splendid troops. Gone. Wasted.”
“Get down, Sterling,” Wilson said without looking around. “This is no place for cowards. Get down from here and out of my presence. I shall deal with you later.”
“Very well,” Sterling nodded and moved to the ladder. Without another word or backward glance, he made his way down to the ground and mounted his horse. Without a word to anyone he began moving east, grabbing what he needed from wherever he could as he went. He didn't know how bad things would get, but he did know things were going to be very bad.
Gerald Wilson
had been, Sterling thought, a great general. A man of vision and forethought. A thinking man who did not waste his men on frivolous attacks. All of that had ended today. Actually, it had begun days earlier when he hatched his plan. Detaching a full twenty percent of his army on a herring chase and then attacking almost before they were out of sight. Sterling had admitted even as he tried to stop it that Wilson's plan had merit.
But somehow, someone on the other side had seen through his ruse. Had, in fact, used that very ruse against him. The enemy cavalry had been seen streaming out of the Soulan camp for well over an hour, in pursuit of Venable's column. They had ridden for hours before their own scouts had managed finally to form a barrier that Imperial scouts couldn't penetrate. And at some point after that had merely turned around and returned to a point from which they were able to launch this counter-attack.
Sterling had argued against dispersing the reserve in such a fashion, he had argued against four corps abreast instead of three, he had argued against the attack leaving their rear areas so exposed and open, he had argued against all of that and more but to no avail. Wilson was locked into this plan of his and would not be swayed from it regardless of what kind of disaster it led to.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Sterling kept his horse headed east. Away from the Soulan attack. He didn't delude himself that he was headed for safety, because he didn't think there was any safety to be found. Not here, anyway.
Not anymore.
-
General Darrell Thomas had received the news from Sterling with no more than a nod. First, he was supposed to somehow keep his men organized on a two-mile front, then he was supposed to pull them in to resist a cavalry attack with numbers equal to his own, and now he was somehow supposed to miraculously send one of his infantry divisions to defend the entire camp from still more Soulan cavalry.
“Can this day get any better?” his Chief of staff muttered at his side.
“Tell me you didn't just say that,” Thomas looked at him. “Get General Bissette's men on the way back to camp. Tell him just to do what he can to save as much of the camp as possible. It's all we can do.”
“Right,” the other man nodded and ran to the right where Stewart Bissette's men were engaged on the far flank. He was closest to camp. His men would have to do. Thomas shook his head in resignation as yet another runner brought him news that his men were 'hard pressed and needed help'.
There was no help. For any of them.
-
“I don't believe it,” Davies murmured as he watched the Imperial attack melt down.
“Order Graham to take his men over the wall and support the cavalry,” Parno ordered a runner. “He is to keep his command tight and together, and just push. Let Allen and the cavalry keep dealing out the damage while Graham and his men simply keep them off the line.” The runner sketched a salute and slid down the ladder, off to find Graham.
“Over the wall?” Enri asked softly. “Is that wise?”
“It won't be a problem today,” Parno assured him. “The enemy is disorganized at the moment. Their left is still okay but it shouldn't last. Have Freeman concentrate all his archers against the attack on the far right and see if he can break them. Meanwhile,” he turned to the young Captain from the artillery commander. “Tell Major Lars to target carefully and start lofting special rounds onto the enemy infantry. Aim for their center mass and avoid hitting our own men. Use spotters as needed to ensure that he's on target. The goal is to cause as many casualties as possible. They're bunched enough now that the special rounds should work fine. Might even break them if they're accurate enough.”
“Yes sir,” the man nodded, and moved to carry his message.
“It's a risk to land those rounds so close to our own men,” Enri noted.
“Lars is pretty good at what he does,” Parno replied. “And we need to break this bunch. Destroy them if we can. Completely.”
-
“We're doing a number on them, but it's not without cost,” Brigadier Sam Walters said as he rode to where Allen was surveying the scene. “I don't know what losses are across the whole command but we've lost at least ten percent of our force and a lot of horses.”
“War costs,” Allen sighed. “We can't do anything about that, Sam. We have to accept those losses in order to get anything done. We can't inflict this kind of damage on the enemy without getting hurt ourselves. Just how it is.”
“I realize that,” Walters sounded almost impatient. “I'm just pointing out that we're losing men and horses and our attack has slowed as the enemy begins to turn and face us. We're going to hit a point where we're no longer able to-,”
Whatever he was going to say was lost in the explosions of Soulan artillery fire walking its way through the Imperial formations. The effect was almost instantaneous as Imperial pressure began to lessen.
“Damn, there's infantry coming over the wall!” Walters pointed to their own lines. Allen looked and could see what was probably 1st Corps scrambling over the fortifications and forming up before them.
“We can keep pressing for now, I'd say,” Allen sounded pleased. “Wouldn't you agree Mister Walters?”
“Looks like it,” the Brigadier said reluctantly. “But this action is butchering our ranks.”
“And we're decimating theirs,” Allen reminded him. “Like I told you, Sam. You can't prevent casualties. All you can do is take steps to limit them and take care of them when it happens. The Prince does that. But this is a golden opportunity for us to get rid of this bunch and chase them all the way to the Ohi and beyond. We have to take advantage of it, regardless of what it costs.”
“Now. Send a runner to Bellamy and Vaughan telling them what's happening and to pull back abreast with us rather than stay behind the mass. Disengage and return to the line, prepared to harass and interdict the Nor all the way down the line. I don't want them pinned and pressed by-,”
Allen ducked on instinct as another salvo of Roda Finn's 'gadgets' landed among the fleeing and near-panicking Imperial troops.
“See? Now get those runners away!”
“Yes sir!” Walters nodded and grabbed the nearest men who were waiting for orders. Soon four of them were galloping down the line, two for each general. Allen didn't see that as he was watching the battle intently. Surprise or not, panicked or not there was still a great big bunch of enemy soldiers on their doorstep. They couldn't give them any time to get organized.
-
“We have got to get some organization about this or we're gonna get cut to pieces!” Thomas declared. Before he could say anything else Abe Springfield stumbled into Thomas' command group, his own staff following him closely.
“Abe, you okay?” Thomas asked.
“Hell no, I'm not okay!” the older man growled. “That damn Wilson may be the stupidest son-of-bitch I've ever served under. He walked us right into a classic ambush. We are boxed on three sides and got the river on the fourth. Worse, they've rolled us up where we can't focus all our strength on them at once. We have to face them on too limited a front. And now-,” Springfield ducked as yet another string of explosions walked its way through both his own and Jurgen's troops.
“You seen Metz?” he asked Thomas as he straightened.
“No,” Thomas shook his head. “He may have gotten caught in that initial cavalry charge. He was behind his men with nothing but his color guard. My far right division wasn't far enough over to catch any of it so...” He shrugged. It was likely that Eric Metz had met the same fate as many of his men.
“I sent three men to find Jurgen,” Springfield grimaced. “None have succeeded so far. Doesn't mean he's dead but it ain't good. What did that dumb ass Wilson want you to do?”
“First I was supposed to form up here and 'interdict' the cavalry charge,” Thomas replied. “Then, before I could just magically make that happen Sterling sent a runner saying that Soulan cavalry was rampaging through our camps so I was to detach one division to stop that. Since then, nothing.”
“Pretty much all of it, I'd say,” Thomas said. “And now I'm getting reports that their infantry is coming over the wall in pursuit.”
“We have to get out of here,” Springfield said grimly. “We've got to retreat now and save what we can. At this rate we're going to lose the entire army!”
“Alright,” Thomas didn't hesitate. Doing this would probably see the both of them executed but both men were brave enough to face that if it meant their men weren't thrown away for no gain. With the decision made, neither wasted any time. Thomas turned to his waiting runners.
“Everyone to your division commander and tell him we are going to conduct a fighting withdrawal back to our own line! Don't break and run or the horsemen will just run us down. We will withdraw, fighting, and reform behind our own fortifications. Go!” As the men ran off, Thomas grabbed two more men.
“You two. Head for the left and find General Vanhoose, tell him we are withdrawing. We are executing a fighting withdrawal, got it? We are returning to our own lines and reforming there.”
“Yes sir!” the two shouted and then headed off on their own mission. Thomas turned back to Springfield in time to see his runners moving off as well.
“I sent two men to find Vanhoose and let him know what we're doing,” Thomas said. Springfield nodded.
“Five minutes, you think?” he asked, and Thomas surveyed the field before him.
“If they give us that much time,” he finally answered.
-
“We can't give them too much time,” Parno said to no own in particular. “We have to keep the pressure on. Their men are in a panic and their confidence is shot. We have to capitalize on that.” He turned to a runner.
“Tell Lars to concentrate all his fire in the middle of that mob,” he ordered. “And change one third of his shot to half-barrel pitch. Aim for the middle of the mob and we can avoid friendly fire. Watch for the red pennant to hold fire. Go on!”