by N. C. Reed
“Excellent!” Stone almost rubbed his hands together. “All commanders!” he called to his runners. “Dress lines at the tree line, prepare for attack! On the double quick!” The runners took off flaying their horses with their reins, others taking their place in line.
Stone watched as his lines reformed, regaining the cohesion lost in the woods. He was almost close enough now to see the enemy lines.
“Sir,” his aide sounded worried as he came to Stone's side. “Sir it appears we are facing at least three divisions of enemy cavalry here. Perhaps the prudent thing would be to await General Taylor and his infantry before we -”
“Nonsense!” Stone cut the man off with a snort. “Our divisions are larger than theirs and better equipped.” It was the standard line, repeated so often that it had become truth. The aide was no fool, however, and knew the lie that lay behind the statement. It was well and good to tell the rank and file troops that their training and equipment were superior to the enemy. It gave them the confidence they needed to meet the enemy in the field of battle.
Generals starting to believe their own propaganda was another thing entirely.
“Sir, I must advise caution here,” his Chief of Staff, an experienced cavalry commander in his own right, added his concerns to the aide's. “The enemy has done an excellent job screening his movements so far. If we can see them now, it's because they want to be seen. And I'm not entirely sure that our divisions are numerically superior, either. With their militia units in the field, their ranks could have swelled considerably by now.”
“You're advocating we do not engage?” Stone looked incredulous. “This is the chance we've been waiting for!”
“One the enemy had presented us,” his Chief of Staff reminded him. “They wouldn't invite an attack if they weren't ready for it.”
“I agree, sir,” the aide nodded his agreement. “This doesn't feel right.”
“I can't base our plan of attack on superstitions and 'feelings' gentlemen,” Stone snapped. “If you have sound facts that should be considered then present them. Otherwise as soon as we hear from General Taylor -” He broke off as a runner galloped up beside him.
“General Taylor's compliments, sir, and he is trying to reform the broken divisions with his own men. He estimates it will take at least an hour to have a suitable force into position. His own men are heavily fatigued from the earlier fighting and have taken considerable casualties in that action. Hartley and Raymond's units are mostly routed he reports, and his men and the Provost are attempting to get them into line again.” Another runner approached as the man finished his report.
“General Wilson's orders, sir,” the man held out a message for Stone. His aide took it and passed it along to his general. Stone opened the form and read Wilson's terse orders.
“We are to attack as soon as we are into position, not waiting for the infantry to form. They will form as they can on our left and then support the attack if the battle is protracted. He desires that we engage and destroy the enemy cavalry force if at all possible, though our orders to stay clear of their lines remain unchanged.” He folded the message and looked at his two subordinate.
“Well, gentlemen?” he raised an eyebrow. “I'm listening.” Both men looked away, uncomfortable with such pressure. Orders from so high up the chain of command could not simply be set aside, regardless of their fears. It was well and good to offer advice. Taking responsibility themselves was another thing entirely.
“As I suspected,” Stone didn't hide his scorn and the two men flushed but remained silent. Stone searched behind him, locating the three buglers that accompanied him. He waved the young men over. All three looked as if they had yet to need a razor.
“Sound the Ready,” Stone ordered without fanfare. “Wait one minute, then sound advance.” The men nodded and separated to help their calls carry. Stone looked at his subordinates again, then back to the front. The bugles began to sound, and the matter was out of his hands.
They were committed.
*****
“Sounds like they're coming,” Enri said softly to Parno. The prince nodded, but stayed silent. His mind was racing far ahead, planning his next steps. If the Nor did this, what would he do then? If they flanked, or tried to, how to respond? Should they break, would he change his orders and pursue?
No, that was definitely out. Pursuit would put them right back into the bee hive they had kicked over this morning. If the Nor offered him the chance to bloody them here and now, he would take it. But there would be no pursuit. He turned to his runners.
“Inform all commanders that my orders not to pursue are not subject to change,” he ordered. “We will not, under any circumstance, pursue the enemy even if they are fleeing in disorder. We are still vastly outnumbered and a long way from any support. Go!” The runners shot away, galloping for the division commanders. Parno rode to where Beaumont was studying the Nor in the distance.
“Remember that we are not to pursue,” he ordered the energetic cavalryman. “We are too far from support and too near their lines.”
“Aye, milord,” Beaumont nodded. “I'm not so sure we'll see them rout anyway,” he added softly. “Appears they are well disciplined sire, and probably better led than we've faced before.” Parno nodded his agreement, his assessment of Beaumont rising another peg based on that observation. Before either could say more one of Parsons' men slid in before Parno.
“Milord, we've seen a few Wildmen on the left,” the man reported. “We can't as yet determine how many, but there's at least two groups, company strength or better. They aren't probing or attacking but our left is under observation.”
Parno nodded. Thanks to the efforts of Edema Willows, he had known that the Nor had made a treaty of some sort with the savage tribes of the west, so he wasn't surprised at their presence here. The question of import was how many were here, and would they engage, or merely watch?
“Keep them under observation, but do not attack,” Parno ordered. “Notify General O’Hare to detach one regiment to serve as flanking guard if he has not already done so. We cannot allow them to get around behind us.” The rider saluted and took off at once.
“That's a bad business,” Beaumont murmured. “Murderin' savages on our flank, helpin' these heathen.”
“It is indeed,” Parno nodded calmly. “Now you see why we're limiting our attack today, General.”
“I do, milord,” Beaumont nodded respectfully. “And it's a good plan, if I may add.”
“Thanks,” Parno grinned, then straightened as the first Nor lines emerged from the tree lines. He studied them for a moment, face pensive with thought.
“I think they're going to try and charge us, milord,” Beaumont sounded eager as he spoke. “We can meet them mid-way.”
“No, I think we'll try something else instead,” Parno grinned suddenly. “Harrel!” Sprigs was next to him in an instant.
“My compliments to General Whipple, and he may engage at will as soon as the Nor charge is in range. He will conserve his fire to be able to lay the covering fire I requested, and will cease fire as soon as the battle is joined. Until then and subject to those conditions, he may use his own judgment.”
“Yes sir!” Sprigs nodded and shot away to Whipple's post to relay his commander's instructions. Parno turned to Beaumont.
“You may go out to meet them when they reach the half way point of the clearing, General,” he said softly. “Take care that you are not injured, as I desire your presence at dinner this evening. Understood?” Beaumont suddenly gave his commander his undivided attention.
“Understood, milord,” he nodded.
“Then I leave it to you,” Parno nodded, turning his horse. “Give them hell Buford, and kill all of them you can.” With that Parno spurred his horse away, followed by Berry and his runners. Parno motioned for three runners to join him as he rode.
“Inform Generals O'Hare, Bellamy, and Fordyce that they will look to the center. When the center charges, they will joi
n. Remind them once more that we will not under any circumstances pursue beyond the clearing.” The three saluted and hurried to convey these last instructions.
Parno noted that Whipple's men were moving into position behind the cavalry in two long lines. Whipple himself was in line, bow at the ready. He nodded to himself in appreciation. Yes, he and Beaumont would do nicely he thought. Very nicely indeed.
“HERE THEY COME!” he heard Beaumont bellow. Parno temporarily set aside his plans for the future as he turned to concentrate on the immediate problem. Unless they won here, his plans for later wouldn't matter much.
*****
Stone looked at the assembled Southern cavalry and for just an instant felt apprehension. They didn't look as if they were about to bolt. The warnings of his subordinates came back to him. Perhaps they were correct that caution should be the order of the day. He was on the verge of ordering a halt when the bugles began blowing again, right on time with his previous orders.
His men shot forward. It was too late to turn back now.
*****
Parno watched as the Nor cavalry charged across the clearing. He estimated no more than three hundred yards separated the Nor and his own lines, a distance the Nor were eating up as they galloped his way. He looked toward Whipple who had raised his arm holding a tall narrow pole with a yellow pennant flying in the wind.
His men, moving almost as one, drew arrows and nocked them. The cavalry archers followed suit, their own actions smooth enough though not in the same class as the men of the 21st Horse Archers.
Parno watched as Whipple studied the charging Nor intently. Parno noticed that Whipple's lips were moving slightly and realized that the archery Brigadier was counting something. Suddenly Whipple slapped the pennant down to the ground, the signal for his men to open fire.
Over three thousand arrows lofted in near unison over the heads of the waiting Soulan cavalry, flying across the distance. Parno's eyes followed them even as the archers drew new arrows. Those already in flight traveled in a smooth arc across the open ground and began slamming into Nor troopers and horses.
Screams from both man and beast began to reach his ears as the arrows found targets. Many were stuck multiple times resulting in horses and riders tripping and tumbling into the ground. This often caused riders behind them to stumble as well as they collided with those in front who had gone down. The carnage reminded him of the Gap in many ways. A small part of him wished he was more disturbed by it while the rest was grateful that he was beyond that now.
The Nor came on despite the loss of many of their own number. Their training was obviously better than ever before. It was difficult to train men to continue under fire and maintain their discipline. That was something that often came only with experience in battle. Yet these Nor troopers did just that. True, they already had at least some limited experience since the start of the war and it had apparently strengthened their training and their discipline.
The second flight arrived in their midst and then a third, Still the Nor continued the charge. Parno raised a hand and looked toward Beaumont. The Brigadier was sitting his horse, front and center, measuring the distance between his force and the enemy in much the same way Whipple had done. Suddenly his own pennant rose in the air and the men behind him drew swords, lowered lances and tightened reins.
Beaumont allowed two more flights to pass over head and then lowered his own pennant, yelling at the top of his lungs;
“CHARGE!”
His entire brigade seemed to lunge at the order, putting spurs to war mounts that were eager to close with the enemy. On both sides of him similar orders were shouted and bugles rose above the din to pass the orders along the line.
The Soulan ranks looked like a shallow, massive chevron as the center shot out in front, led by Beaumont and his men.
Whipple suddenly raised his pennant again, waving it back and forth to attract attention and his men held their fire, though stood prepared with arrows drawn for any order to continue. Parno noted that Whipple handed the pennant off to an aide taking another, red this time, which he held down toward the ground. He happened to turn Parno's way for a second and nodded calmly to his Prince. Parno returned the nod then brought his attention back to the battle.
The Nor ranks had been thinned some but there were still plenty of enemy cavalry to go around. Beaumont and his men rode straight into their midst, battle cries lifting all along the line. Parno watched as the two lines closed at breakneck speed, each side confident of their ultimate success.
The two lines collided with such force that Parno could literally feel the ground shaking as tens of thousands of horse hooves pounded the soil beneath them, digging deep into the ground to give the huge mounts the traction they needed to propel themselves forward. Parno lost sight of Beaumont as the lines met, the Brigadier concealed by the battle around him.
There was nothing he could do now but watch, and wait.
CHAPTER SIX
-
Stone cursed as he saw the effect of the southern archery against his men. While his cavalrymen had come a long way, there were no mounted archers among his men. It had taken all the training he could squeeze in to make them efficient riders and to ensure they could handle sword and lance. Using a bow from horseback was a unique skill set and few of his men could master it.
The savages of course were adept at horse archery and he had tried in vain to convince both the Wildmen and his own High Command to form at least a brigade of tribal archers for use with his cavalry. Wilson, along with the Army Chief of Staff, had been reluctant to have such a large force of the unruly and barely disciplined savages organized within their own ranks, while Blue Dog and the other leaders of the Wildmen had flatly refused to consider the option. They did not see the need for such organized specialties since most of their warriors could do pretty much anything from horseback.
Now Stone's men and horses paid the price for those refusals as they were assailed by arrows with no way to answer the attack.
But his men never faltered in the face of the enemy archery. Despite grievous losses they kept their lines and continued their charge across that open ground. Once they reached the enemy, things would change. Mixed in among their adversaries, the Imperial troopers would be safe from southern arrows.
He frowned as movement caught his eyes. Raising his glass, he peered through it at the enemy front, and felt himself falter, just a bit.
It seemed that the southerners would not be content just with waiting for his men to reach them after all.
*****
Parno watched with heightened anticipation as his men clashed with the advancing Nor cavalry. The Nor general had made an error perhaps, though Parno wasn't yet sure of that. His lines were shorter than Parno's own, which meant that his men might be able to envelop the enemy flanks.
Just as that thought occurred to him, he remembered the report of Wildmen on his left flank. He motioned to Enri Willard, who rode to his side.
“Milord?”
“How secure is our left?” Parno asked at once. “I know there is a regiment there to guard the flank, but is it a good one? Well led? It occurs to me that our men may fall upon the Nor flanks since our lines extend somewhat past theirs. If we do, then our left will be exposed to attack. There may be more of the Tribal horsemen on our flank than we have yet seen.”
“I'll look into it, milord,” Enri promised and galloped away to do just that. Parno sat watching the developing battle, wishing now that he hadn't sent Karls and the Black Sheep away. If he had them present, then he could send them to the left to -
“Hot day, looks like,” Karls Willard said gently. Parno's head snapped around, refusing to believe his ears.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded.
“We got the trains back, safe and sound,” Karls shrugged. “When you didn't return, we decided to come back and see what was happening.”
“We?” Parno repeated, turning in his saddle. Arrayed behind him at a
respectful distance stood the Black Sheep, horses calm even in battle.
“We,” Karls nodded. “You look pensive,” Karls added, looking at his prince and friend.
“There are reports of Tribal Cavalry on our left,” Parno nodded. “At least two company strength groups, but there could be more. I am concerned that they might hit our flank if the left falls in on the Nor. I should have thought of it sooner-”
“So should someone else,” Karls broke in. “That's why you have a staff, and why officers are taught to think for themselves.” He gathered his reins in hand. “We'll ride over that way and sort of have a look,” he told Parno.
“There's a regiment over there already, but I don't know who. Enri has gone to see how good they might be and who is leading. But yes, I was just wishing you were here to send that way.”
“Got that one wish and wasted it on us,” Karls laughed. “We're on the way, milord.” With that Karls moved back to where the Sheep were waiting and bellowed an order. In less than a minute the column was turned and on its way to the left of the Soulan lines. Parno relaxed visibly knowing that his most trusted subordinate, leading his most trusted men, would be there to watch for trouble.
With at least one worry gone, Parno turned his attention back to the battle before him.
*****
General Stone felt most of his trepidation slip away as his men finally joined battle with the Southron cavalry. His men were well trained and they fought well against their supposedly superior foe. Their experiences coming south, though brief, had given them much needed confidence in themselves and their officers.
The length of his own lines compared to the southerner's concerned him a bit, but he realized that his line, while shorter, was also deeper. Where the Southron's had perhaps three to five men deep on line, his own forces numbered closer to six and seven, depending on the unit. He wasn't sure of the disparity in true numbers, but believed that his men would certainly hold their own and possibly do much more.
As he watched the battle progress, he aide murmured in his ear.