by David Weber
And controlling those ruins wouldn’t hurt the United Provinces’ authority, either, Zhanma reflected.
But coming up with the trained and armed troop strength to make that stand up would be a challenge, and Gahrvai was right. If there was a realistic chance the Provisional Militia would be called upon to implement what its proponents were calling the Crystal Fountain Plan, they’d best get started training the men now.
“I don’t have any formal direction to start expanding our roster,” he said after several thoughtful minutes. “I think you and I probably need to seek what they call ‘clarification’ about that. But, frankly, I’ll be surprised if Baron Star Rising and the rest of the Council don’t agree with you. Arming them might be a bit of a stretch, though.”
He arched both eyebrows at Gahrvai, and the Charisian raised his beer stein in acknowledgment of the implied question.
“I think we can take care of that,” he said. “I don’t have any formal direction about that, either.” That was technically true, at least as far as the official position of the Charisian Empire was concerned. The inner circle was another matter, of course. “I’ll be extraordinarily surprised if Their Majesties don’t support the proposal, though, and the truth is that the United Provinces are in far better shape economically than they were even a year ago, Hauzhwo! I’m pretty sure Parliament can come up with the money to buy enough rifles and ammunition. Frankly, at the moment, you don’t need much in the way of field artillery. Mortars would be plenty to deal with anything you might run into, and I’ve got enough of those to support you right now. So rifles are really all you’d need, and we could probably come up with more than enough of those just out of the Mahndrayn-97s in storage at Maikelberg. I’m sure Their Majesties would be happy to lend them to you.”
“I’m pretty sure the Emperor would construe that as an ‘unfriendly act,’” Zhanma observed.
“Somehow, I think Their Majesties could live with that,” Gahrvai said dryly.
.II.
A Hill above the Saint Lerys Canal, Kyznetzov Province, South Harchong.
It was unusually hot, even for October, as the sun beat down on the hillside. The same sunlight gleamed from helmets, rifle barrels, and bayonets as the next best thing to five thousand men maneuvered against one another on the plain between the hill and the Saint Lerys Canal. The Kyznetzov Mountains loomed behind Bauzhyn Nyang-chi, the Baron of Dawn Sky, blue and misty looking with false promises of cool breezes, and he found himself wishing he was somewhere among their highest peaks. And not just because of the heat.
“I am not telling His Majesty you don’t think we can get the job done, My Lord!” Mangzhin Tyan snapped. The Earl of Snow Peak reined his horse a little closer to his chief of staff and farther away from his aides-de-camp, swept one arm in a furious gesture at the men deploying below their hilltop perch, and lowered his voice … a bit. “We can’t just spin out our time in ‘training maneuvers’ like this forever! Those bastards need seeing to, and if you can’t get the job done, then tell me now so I can find someone who can!”
Dawn Sky’s jaw clenched. As a mere baron, he was at the very bottom of the food chain among Harchongese nobles, and his estates in Central Harchong had been among the first to be overrun. Indeed, he was alive to be excoriated by Snow Peak only because he’d been a minor functionary in Shang-mi and he and his family had accompanied the then-crown prince to Yu-kwau before the sack of the capital. But without a more highly placed patron, he’d be doomed to obscurity and grinding poverty, and he had a wife and four children. He’d come to the conclusion that his chance of reclaiming his barony ranged from very poor to nonexistent, which meant finding a new path by which to make his way in the world.
But why, oh why, did it have to be this path?
“My Lord,” he said once he was sure he had control of his own voice, “I didn’t say I don’t think we can get the job done. I said we’re not yet ready. It grieves me as much as I know it grieves you, but it’s the truth. We lack sufficient arms for the men and the men are not yet fully proficient in the use of the arms they have.”
Which, he did not add aloud, didn’t even touch on the minor difficulties inherent in transporting an invasion army across the Gulf of Dohlar in the face of an Imperial Charisian Navy that would probably disapprove. Or the fact that the best weapons they could provide their men still used black powder, with all the issues of smoke and fouling that brought with it, rather than the smokeless powder—the “cordite”—the accursed Charisians had introduced in the closing months of the Jihad.
Snow Peak glared at him, but at least he didn’t bark out an instant condemnation of Dawn Sky’s point. That was an unexpected mercy. Dawn Sky had come to the conclusion that however good Snow Peak’s political instincts might be, and however much like a soldier that hawk-like face and strong nose might make him look, he was at best marginally competent in his new role. Worse, he seemed to know it (however little he chose to admit it), and he had a pronounced tendency to take out his frustrations on his subordinates.
That no doubt explained why his aides and mounted messengers were so busy keeping their eyes anywhere but upon him.
The earl glared at Dawn Sky for a moment longer, then made himself draw a deep breath and look away. He let his eyes sweep the men marching across the hot, dry flatlands southwest of his present position, instead. They looked impressive, and the dust clouds raised by so many booted feet only added to the martial menace they projected.
“We may be short of weapons, but I’ll put these men up against anyone in the world,” he growled.
“Of course, My Lord,” Dawn Sky agreed with fervent promptness. Unlike Snow Peak, however, Dawn Sky had actually served with the Mighty Host of God and the Archangels for over half a year after Earl Rainbow Waters had assumed command. Snow Peak had stormed back home to his estates in protest the instant Rainbow Waters embraced the Temple’s demand that he turn a rabble of serfs and peasants into an actual army. Dawn Sky would have stayed with the Mighty Host—and, despite the casualty totals, there were times he wished he had—if his father’s death hadn’t forced him to resign his post and return home to put his inheritance in order.
However little Snow Peak wanted to admit it, those almost seven months made Dawn Sky invaluable to him. Unfortunately, they also meant the baron had a much better idea of what was involved in modern infantry tactics. And because he did, he had all too vivid an appreciation for what would happen to the old-fashioned columns and densely packed squares maneuvering through those trampled fields of grain. They moved smoothly, with polished efficiency, almost as if they were treading the measures of some intricate dance.
And if they tried maneuvering like that in the face of modern rifle fire, far less what Charisian-style angle-guns could do to them, none of them would ever come home again.
“My Lord,” the baron continued, “there’s nothing at all wrong with our troops’ spirit and martial ardor! In those terms, I agree with you fully. And I don’t doubt that they’re easily a match for any of the peasant scum we’d be likely to meet. Formed troops are always superior to mobs.”
Snow Peak nodded, his face losing some of its rage, as Dawn Sky repeated one of his own favorite aphorisms to him. And, as far as it went, that aphorism was entirely accurate. What the earl seemed unable—or unwilling—to grasp was that the “United Provinces’” new militia was a far cry from a mob of rebellious serfs and peasants fresh off the farm with their boots still caked with manure.
“What does concern me,” Dawn Sky went on, watching the earl’s expression carefully, “is the proficiency they’ve gained with their new weapons. Or, rather, the lack of proficiency. It’s not their fault, or their officers’ fault,” he added quickly as Snow Peak’s eyes narrowed. “The difficulty is that we haven’t had sufficient weapons—or sufficient ammunition—for realistic training. Maneuvers like these—” he waved his own hand at the columns of dust rising from the flatlands nearer the canal “—are vital. They teach u
nity, they give our officers confidence and teach our men to be confident in them, and that’s essential for discipline and to maintain cohesion when the fighting actually begins. But we need to develop fire discipline and accuracy, as well. Not even the militia units we’ve called up for service have any real experience with new-model weapons. They received none of the modern weapons during the Jihad, and we’d concentrated on arming the Spears in the North before the Rebellion.”
Which, he added silently, is why all of those new-model rifles are now in the hands of the rebels.
“No doubt that’s true of the damned rebels, too!” Snow Peak half snarled. “They don’t have all of that ‘fire discipline,’ either. And they’re damned mud-eating serfs! Show them cold steel coming at them and they’ll take to their heels soon enough!”
“You’re probably right about most of them, My Lord. Especially in Tiegelkamp and Maddox. But the Shan-wei–damned Charisians have been supporting the bastards in the ‘United Provinces’ from the beginning, and the Temple Lands have been supporting Rainbow Waters.”
The eyes which had narrowed before turned into fiery slits as Snow Peak reacted to that last, accursed name, but Dawn Sky made himself continue in a calm, measured tone.
“The truth is, My Lord, whether we like it or not, that in both the East and the West, our adversaries are probably at least as well equipped as our men. Worse, they have foreign troops in support, and those foreign troops have access to modern artillery. Like you, I would put our men up against anyone in the world on a man-for-man basis with complete confidence.” He uttered the lie with deep sincerity. “But if we can’t support them with the same sorts of weapons the traitors on the other side have, we’ll be sending them into combat at a huge disadvantage. I’d be prepared to do that, despite the casualties they’d suffer, if I believed they could carry through to victory. I’m just not convinced they can.”
The baron held his breath as he watched Snow Peak’s taut features. It was possible he’d gone too far, been too frank, but someone had to save the earl from his own enthusiasm. Dawn Sky understood exactly why Snow Peak needed to show the emperor progress, but if he promised more than he could deliver, the consequences for him would be disastrous. And if the consequences to Dawn Sky’s patron were disastrous.…
“You don’t think I can go to His Majesty and tell him we’re afraid to fight, do you?” the earl demanded after a lengthy pause. His tone was caustic, but at least he wasn’t screaming.
“My Lord, it’s not that we’re afraid to fight,” Dawn Sky protested. “It’s that we can’t fight and win without more preparation. And that’s not our fault, either!” The baron allowed a little outrage into his own expression. “It’s the mark-pinchers’ fault, My Lord! If they can’t find the marks to buy the weapons and ammunition we need to carry out His Majesty’s will, then they should be the ones explaining to him why that’s true!”
Snow Peak snarled, but at least this time it was a snarl of agreement.
“You’re right,” he growled, “and I told that bastard Sunset Peak exactly that after our last Council meeting! All he could do was whine about that useless prick Ywahn and tax receipts.”
“With all due respect, My Lord, he has to do better than that if we’re going to accomplish His Majesty’s instructions.”
Snow Peak said something as inaudible as it was unprintable and glared out at the marching troops, and Dawn Sky drew an unobtrusive breath of relief. Zhyngyu Ywahn was no aristocrat. He was as commonly born as many of the Empire’s traditional bureaucrats, and he’d been first permanent under clerk of the exchequer under Duke Silver Meadow before the Rebellion. He filled the same role for Earl Sunset Peak, who had inherited Silver Meadow’s office, and at the moment, in the way of all Harchongese bureaucrats, Ywahn was more concerned about guarding his own rice bowl than he was about accomplishing Zhyou-Zhwo’s demands. He was even more willing to do that because of the emperor’s determination to rule in his own right, which undercut Sunset Peak’s ability to ignore the royal displeasure or shunt it off onto another as the Crown’s ministers had done for centuries.
And, better still from Snow Peak’s perspective, Sunset Peak was a member of Grand Duke North Wind Blowing’s faction, and he and Snow Peak loathed one another cordially. The duke’s tenure as first councilor was seriously in doubt, given Zhyou-Zhwo’s attitude, so diverting the imperial ire onto one of North Wind Blowing’s key supporters really had no downside for the earl.
“You’re right,” Snow Peak said again, turning back to Dawn Sky. “You’re absolutely right.” He shook his head, his expression grim, his jaw set in steely determination. “Obviously, no one wants to disappoint His Majesty, but I’d be derelict in my duty if I didn’t keep him fully and accurately informed about the comparative state of our arms … and the reason for it. Including the fact that our enemies are actively supporting the damned rebels in both the eastern and western provinces.”
Dawn Sky nodded gravely and reflected that pointing Zhyou-Zhwo’s anger at Charis couldn’t hurt … and wouldn’t take much effort, for that matter.
“Write up a report I can submit to His Majesty,” the earl continued. “Give me your best estimate for how long it will take at the present rate of investment to adequately equip our troops. Start with small arms, but estimate how long it will take and how much it will cost to provide at least portable angle-guns for them, as well.”
Dawn Sky nodded again, with considerably less enthusiasm. Drafting the report to aim the emperor in the right direction probably wouldn’t be very difficult. After all, he wouldn’t even have to lie, which would be a novel experience. Unfortunately, it would be his name at the end of the report, so if the emperor decided to shoot the messenger.…
“Make sure to reference all our correspondence with Earl Sunset Peak. I want the fact that we’ve been telling him about these problems documented.”
“Of course, My Lord!” Dawn Sky agreed much more cheerfully.
“And in the meantime,” Snow Peak said, turning his horse’s head towards the downhill slope, “I think it’s time you and I got out into the middle of that.” He twitched his head at the dusty plain and smiled a crooked smile. “It never hurts for the officers, at least, to know we’re keeping an eye on them.”
“No, My Lord, it doesn’t,” Dawn Sky replied, for once in full agreement with his superior.
“Then let’s be going.”
Snow Peak touched his horse with his heels and started down the hill, his aides and messengers flowing in his wake. Dawn Sky let them get a bit of a head start, then followed them, frowning as he started considering the most effective way to lay all the fault at Sunset Peak’s feet.
.III.
HMS Thunderbolt, Lace Passage, Hankey Sound; Warrior Quay, Queen Zhakleen Harbor; and Royal Palace, City of Gorath, Kingdom of Dohlar.
Clouds of seagulls and wyverns wheeled and dipped as HMS Thunderbolt, the name ship of the Imperial Charisian Navy’s newest and most powerful class of armored cruisers, made her stately way through Lace Passage towards the Zhulyet Channel at a steady twelve knots. The Falcon-class scout cruiser HMS Fox-Lizard led her through the channel; two more Falcons trailed her watchfully; and Cayleb Ahrmahk stood on the armored cruiser’s flag bridge, gazing across the water at Cape Toe, three or four miles to the west.
It was just past low water, but the tide was making, coming in with Thunderbolt, and choppy waves broke white across the huge shoal Dohlarans called the Dangerous Ground on the cruiser’s larboard side. Thunderbolt was still almost twenty hours from the City of Gorath at her present speed, which should put them there sometime around midday tomorrow, and it was hard to imagine better weather for the journey. They’d been lucky in that way since they’d left Salthar, and Owl’s weather satellites promised tomorrow would be just as fine.
The breeze was brisk, blowing the cruisers’ smoke to leeward of their ruler-straight wakes, the sky was a brilliant blue dome stranded with high, narrow bands of cloud, and t
he emperor’s expression was somber as he raised his double-glass and studied the fortifications which crowned Cape Toe. They were newly built—or rebuilt, at least—with low earthen berms for the concrete-roofed casemates in which the new twelve-inch guns crouched. In fact, they’d been completed less than six months ago as the Kingdom of Dohlar finished the massive fortification project upon which it had embarked in the aftermath of the Battle of Gorath.
They were impressive, those defenses, but his gaze was drawn to the banner above the earthen ramparts. It flew at half-mast, and he didn’t like thinking about why. The reason for it had much to do with his present mood, but he had more than one reason to feel somber this beautiful early autumn afternoon as he recalled the time another Charisian cruiser had passed that cape. The fortifications which had topped it had been Hell’s own furnace that day, wrapped in smoke and wreathed in fire, crowned in jagged explosions as HMS Gwylym Manthyr and her consorts poured fire into it, and the surface of Lace Passage had been torn by shot and shell.
“Bit of a difference from the first time I was this way,” a voice said from beside him, and he turned his head with a lopsided smile.
“I was just thinking the same thing,” he acknowledged.
“I prefer it this way,” the Earl of Sarmouth said. His eyes were fixed on those fortifications, his expression distant. Cayleb had watched HMS Gwylym Manthyr and the Town-class ironclads force the channel into Gorath Bay, but only through the SNARCs’ remotes. Sir Dunkyn Yairley had stood on a flag bridge very like this one in the midst of that shrieking vortex. “I do have somewhat … mixed emotions,” he confessed. “And I always worry about how happy the Dohlarans are likely to be to see me again whenever I drop in on them.”