Parno's Peril

by N. C. Reed

The man slid down the ladder and was gone.

  “What have you overlooked, young warlord?” Cho Feng spoke for the first time during the entire engagement. Parno almost panicked as he turned at the soft words.

  “What? What did you say?” he felt his heart hammering in his ears now.

  “What have you overlooked?” Cho asked again. “Things look promising. You have dealt your enemy a great blow, but they still out number your men and you have lost soldiers as well. Have you allowed yourself to lose sight of the battle?”

  “No,” Parno shook his head, running through everything in his head. “No, I haven't. Not that I know of anyway. Wilbanks has orders to evade to the north if necessary to escape, Allen has orders to prevent his men from being pinned against the Nor lines, Graham has orders to keep his men tight and avoid rushing into the enemy.” He paused, running over everything in his head one more time before shaking his head again.

  “I haven't overlooked anything, Cho,” he said finally. “Unless I have,” he added, looking at his teacher's face.

  “No, I believe you have covered everything this time,” Feng almost smiled as the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

  “You do that just to upset my stomach, don't you,” Parno accused.

  “I must keep you on your toes and focused,” Feng didn't bother looking apologetic. “You are prone to tunnel vision. I must break you of that habit.”

  “Well, thanks for that,” Parno's sarcasm was thick. “Meantime, we're doing well against their army.”

  “Do not forget the force that left,” Cho reminded him.

  “Got scouts watching them and a full battalion burning the town before they can get there,” Parno replied at once. “They won't find anything but ashes when they get there.”

  “Very well,” Cho nodded. “Now the deciding factor lies with your men.”

  “Yeah,” Parno agreed, turning back to the battle. “So, it does.”

  -

  Thomas was just getting his withdrawal organized when the Soulan artillery fire worsened. It seemed they had pulled all their available pieces from other duties and ordered them to concentrate on the packed mass of Imperial troops. Northern artillery had long since fallen silent as Soulan cavalry ran wild through the rear areas. And now the southerners had decided to add flaming pitch to their fire. He could hear the screaming even over the din of battle as hundreds of men were coated with the flaming substance. Uniforms melted to skin, swords became too hot to hold and shields burned in the hands of the soldiers who carried them. Thomas was sure there were worse ways to die than being covered in a flaming fire that you couldn't extinguish and couldn't remove.

  He just couldn't think of any right off hand. That was all.

  “Alright, that's it!” he yelled. “Start pulling back now! If we don't we're going to get overrun when that bunch breaks!” he pointed to the men in front of them, now caught under the withering fire of southern artillery. “FALL BACK!”

  -

  “They're falling back,” Allen nodded in satisfaction. “Hit them on their flanks again and again,” he whispered to himself. “Don't let them breathe even for a minute!”

  The fire had panicked the northern soldiers even more than the explosions. No one wanted to be burned. There was no treatment for such a hellish injury and the pain had to be intense. He shivered just thinking about it, fear tingling down his spine.

  He hoped they wouldn't have to endure it.

  -

  Preston Wilbanks looked at the damage his men had inflicted with grim approval. His extreme right flank battalion had fallen on the Imperial Artillery line with a vengeance, destroying every piece and setting fire to them and any pitch they had ready to hand. Afterward they had hunted down every Imperial artilleryman that had run and killed them where they found them.

  There were supply dumps all through the camp that were now on fire, burning food, clothing, equipment, anything and everything that an army needed to live and fight in enemy territory. Personal tents were also burning anywhere that his men had passed them, as they just lowered their torches as they rode down the line, the dry canvas igniting with ease. Anyone they had found in the camp had been put to the sword regardless of who they were. He had felt a tinge of unease at that when they encountered a field hospital, but only a tinge. They were invaders of his homeland and they needed to know the cost for that invasion.

  But now it was time to go. His lookouts had reported that the Imperial Army was breaking, returning this way even now. And while the Norland Army wasn't faring well against the Soulan Army, a lone cavalry division already weakened by detachments would not fare well against the remainder of such a large force.

  “Sound Recall and Assembly,” he ordered his buglers. Both nodded and lifted their horns.

  All of the camp Soulan cavalrymen left whatever they were doing and rode to the sound of the horns, striking down anyone who got in their way but not going out of their way to attack anyone anymore. Time would not be on their side and they knew that.

  Wilbanks started his horse northward at a slow walk, bearing slightly west out of the camp. As his men gathered to the horns he would lead them a few miles north and then turn west as the Marshal had recommended, making a large loop to return to his own billets.

  Behind him his men gathered, grabbing any injured comrades on their way out and pulling empty horses with them. Their work here was finished and they were leaving, but they would leave no one behind if they could help it.

  -

  “Don't leave anyone behind if we can help it!” Springfield was yelling to everyone around him. “Take the wounded with you if you can! There's a black flag flying on their wall and another with their cavalry. They won't accept any surrender and they won't offer one either!”

  “Bloody savages,” a man next to him muttered and Springfield snorted.

  “What would you do if they were invading us instead?” he asked and the man looked startled, though whether it was the question or the fact that Springfield was asking no one could tell.

  “I... I don't... I'd follow my orders, sir,” the man fell back on the most dependable answer possible.

  “And that's just what they're doing,” Springfield nodded as if his point were made for him. “Don't think you can just walk into the lion's den and beard him without at least getting scratched. We walked into a lion's den today, boy. And we got mauled.”

  “Yes sir,” the man nodded. Springfield snorted at the idea that the young man knew what he was being told but it wasn't worth the effort. Why was it that everyone accused the South of committing unspeakable acts when it was nothing the Empire hadn't done to them, both past and present? Springfield was many things but he wasn't a hypocrite. While he would carry out his orders to the best of his ability he didn't fool himself thinking that those orders were any more righteous because of who issued them or who carried them out.

  How many wounded Soulanies had they put to the sword since the war started? How many civilians had they killed? Springfield had no idea of the numbers but he knew it had happened. It was standing orders. Why should the southerners be different? Why shouldn't they fight just as dirty as the north did?

  He had a momentary twinge of panic at the thought that Soulan finally had someone commanding their army that didn't mind getting his hands a little bloody. Clearly, he had no problem issuing orders that Soulan hadn't issued in a very long time. He doubted Imperial historians could pinpoint the last time the 'gallant' men of Soulan had put a wounded soldier to death.

  But they were damn sure doing it now. Springfield had a sudden vision of the Imperial Army trying to fight off an invasion against men like they had faced today and shivered again at the idea. What if Soulan had grown tired of being invaded and suddenly decided to return the favor, fighting the way they were fighting right now, this minute?

  A vision of Lovil flames danced across his vision and was gone just as quick. He thought of the cities in the line of march toward the Imperial Capital a
nd how much damage the Soulan Army could inflict if they took the notion.

  Yes, if the Soulan Army was fighting the same way the Empire had always fought then the Empire might be in for a rude awakening.

  -

  “Order Graham to press them as they fall back,” Parno ordered as he watched through a telescope. “Keep his men tight and in control, but keep pushing. And send someone to remind Lars to keep walking his fire back so it doesn't hit our men.”

  Enri turned and detailed runners to carry those orders and then turned back to see Parno was now looking westward to the cavalry line.

  “That's it, Allen, that's it,” the Prince said softly. “Don't let them rest. Don't let them get organized. Hit them again!”

  “Sir, we are taking a big risk here,” Enri mentioned carefully.

  “How's that?” Parno didn't look away from the battle.

  “We have a large portion of our army exposed here, sir,” Enri mentioned. “Practically all of our cavalry and the best trained infantry corps we have at present as well as the freshest. All exposed to the enemy without benefit of any cover at all.”

  “Make your point Mister Willard,” Parno's voice took an edge, though he still didn't turn around.

  “That was my point, sir,” Enri replied. “Our army is extended about as far as is safe to do so at present.”

  “Why?” Parno's one-word question caught the Brigadier by surprise.

  “Sir?”

  “Why is that 'as far as is safe to do so'?” Parno finally turned to look at Enri as well as Davies and the rest. “What would you recommend? Stopping? When we have them on the run and broken?”

  “It would be the prudent thing to do, sir,” Davies nodded. “Preserve our army for another day.”

  “This is our 'another day', gentlemen,” Parno snorted. “Do you honestly think we’ll get this opportunity again? The enemy out in the open where we can devastate them? Demoralize and smash them to pieces? I can't trick their commander into doing this again, gentlemen. As it is this was as much good fortune as it was good planning. You want me to abandon what might be the one opportunity we get to eliminate this threat? To possibly send them running back home and out of our Kingdom? Off of our bread basket!”

  Neither man replied, and that seemed to agitate Parno further.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Is that what you're recommending that we do? Just walk away and wait for another miraculous opportunity to beat them?”

  “Sir, we are merely advising you what is prudent,” Enri Willard tried placating his Marshal. “The survival of our army is of the utmost importance.”

  “No, the survival of our Kingdom is of the utmost importance, Mister Willard,” Parno replied flatly. “That is the purpose of having an army at all! There isn't a man on this field I wouldn't sacrifice, myself included, if it means freeing Soulan of any occupation. This is an opportunity we won't get again! We have to kill every Imperial soldier we can and beat them so badly, so soundly that they're afraid to meet us in battle again! We have to break them and destroy their confidence! Send them running with their tails between their legs like the cur dogs they are and kill every one of them we can! Kill them all!” Parno was yelling now, his face red.

  “My Prince,” Cho Feng interceded calmly. “The battlefield needs your attention,” he said gently. “You are in peril of losing sight of that which is most important,” he almost whispered. “Victory.”

  “Right,” Parno almost muttered as he turned his attention back to his telescope. “You two want out, then get out,” he said over his shoulder. “No hard feelings and what not. But I'm going to kill every Nor I can right here and right now. Our army knows their business and what they're about. They also already have orders not to endanger their commands.”

  “I will withdraw the army, but I will not do so until we have killed the last possible Imperial soldier.”

  The was an uncomfortable silence on the tower as the two men in question exchanged looks. Neither could summon enough gumption to protest again, but neither man would leave the tower, either.

  They were spectators now.

  -

  General Allen had ridden north along his line, speaking briefly with the Generals of the divisions under his command. Brief clashes with sword and what lances remained along with mounted archery were taking a harsh and deadly toll on the enemy, but Walters had been right; their own losses were mounting.

  “I'd guess our losses at nearing twenty-five percent across the board,” Milton Vaughan said when Allen had reached him. “Our losses are less than that I should think, but Fordyce and Coe's men have been in thicker combat than us. We're facing broken men right now, but there are a lot of them, still.”

  “I know, but this is a chance we’ll not get again,” Allen replied, eyes roaming the battlefield even as the two spoke. “We have to take advantage of it. We have to.”

  “I don't disagree,” Vaughan voiced his support for the plan. “Just pointing out the issues involved. If we can keep the pressure on we may can run them all the way to the Ohi.”

  “I'd love that,” Allen admitted. “Assuming we don't lose too much strength and the Marshal adds Wilbanks and O'Hare to our numbers, we might be able to keep them running.”

  “At least three divisions of mounted infantry over there, too,” Vaughan reminded him. “They could help.”

  “True, they could,” Allen nodded. “That will be up to the Marshal. For now, we just need to make sure and keep the pressure up. And stay out of the envelope that artillery is using!”

  “No kidding.”

  -

  “We're missing twenty-seven men at the moment,” Wilbanks aide, a young Captain, reported. “We have one company doing sweeps behind us by squad looking for any men and horses left behind. Otherwise everyone is here.”

  “Good,” Wilbanks nodded. “We're on our way out. Have the scouts take us north a couple miles and then start looking for good ground to the west. We’ll head west for three or four miles and then loop around for our own camps.”

  “Yes sir.” The man rode away, leaving Wilbanks to his thoughts. His losses were all but non-existent, which he hadn't expected. Apparently, the Imperial commander had committed his entire force to the attack, leaving the camp wide open. He and his men had done tremendous damage to the Imperial Army's supply caches and dumps. His men were still burning as they went, setting fire to anything that would burn. He nodded his approval without voicing it or even realizing he had done it.

  “We spotted a large group headed into the thicket yonder, sir,” a scout rode up to him and pointed back toward the interior of the camp. “Right smart of 'em, sir. Several hundred.”

  “Are they a threat to us?” Wilbanks asked.

  “No sir,” the scout shook his head. “No archers that I saw and just a few pikes. I think they're just trying to get away,” he added.

  “Let them,” Wilbanks said easily. “We're on our way out, anyway. They aren't in our way and I have no desire to try and get into the brier patch with them.”

  “Me neither, sir, begging your pardon,” the man grinned.

  “Carry on,” Wilbanks returned the smile and sent the man on his way.

  “Excellent,” he voiced his thoughts aloud this time. “Excellent.”

  -

  “Why are we retreating?” Wilson asked. “Sterling! Why are we-, Sterling!” He turned to see the other staff officers looking anywhere else but at him. “Where is Brigadier Sterling!” Wilson demanded.

  “You sent him away, sir,” a young aide with more bravery than brains replied. “Ordered him off the tower.”

  “I did?” Wilson frowned. “I don't... well, no matter. Find out why we're retreating! Who gave that order!”

  “Sir, I don't know if we're retreating so much as being beaten back,” another staff officer said softly. “The enemy have infantry over their walls and advancing while their cavalry keeps our men rolled up and unable to deploy.”

  “Where is our ar
tillery?” Wilson demanded. “Have them engage that cavalry and drive them off!”

  “Sir, our artillery was overrun and destroyed over a half-hour ago,” the brave young aide spoke up again. “All of our artillery is out of commission and many if not most of our artillerymen are dead or wounded.”

  Wilson looked at the young man dumbly, as if he was having trouble processing what he was hearing.

  “Are you trying to tell me all of our artillery is gone?” he finally demanded.

  “I'm afraid so, sir. So are the majority of our stores. Soulanie cavalry rode through the camp and did a huge amount of damage as they went, sir. The estimate right now is that at least sixty percent of our stores are burned or presently burning.”

  “How did they get into camp!” Wilson almost screeched.

  “Sir, the camp was empty,” the staff officer reminded him. “We sent every available man in the attack. There was nothing left here but a few men who were injured and the non-combat personnel like blacksmiths and Quartermaster troops. Most of whom are dead or missing at the moment.”

  “We've lost over seventy percent of our food stores, ninety percent of our medical supplies and all of the personnel who were caught anywhere in camp were slaughtered if they couldn't get away or hide. Many were burned alive in the fires I fear. And our medical personnel were not spared. We have very few medical staff remaining.”

  Wilson listened to this cascade of failure with dawning comprehension. He finally seemed to realize the magnitude of the defeat he was facing. He licked suddenly dry lips as he tried to find a way to salvage something, anything at all from this disaster.

  “Who ordered the retreat?” he asked, turning back to the battlefield.

  “As I said, sir, I don't think there was an order. It appears more that our men broke under the combined archery and artillery fire and are simply falling back on their own. Once it started it would be impossible to stop. General Metz's corps in particular have taken very heavy losses and are completely shattered. General Metz himself is missing and presumed dead along with his staff. General Jurgen is also missing at present and his corps are falling back in disrepair.”