He called Chillespi to his side and began to set up the orders that would be required. The wild area began with a great growth of willows. The mots need only swim down that far and from there get on the road to Shimpli-Dindi. At a stroke they'd put a half mile between themselves and the Shashti men. After that it would be a footrace.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Working in the mots' favor was the fact that the men had absorbed a lot of punishment in the fighting. Once they had penned the monkeys into a space alongside the river, they were ready to settle back and take a breather.
Cook fires were started. Wounded mots were dragged in and tortured to death to provide a little entertainment.
As darkness fell, the drumming began that signified the slaughter. While the men crowded around to watch the grisly rites, Thru set his plan into motion. Mots rose up quietly and began thinning out the lines. Thru was relieved to see that this was done with discipline and in almost complete silence.
With the screams of their comrades in their ears, the mots filed down to the river. There they handed their shields and spears over to the boats before setting out to float or swim around the bend to the wild water. Fortunately the river was calm and placid and easy to swim.
Once around the bend the whole nature of the land changed character dramatically. Instead of the uniformity of flat polder with small hedges and short walls, trees and mudflats abounded. A multitude of frogs filled the air with noise.
Here, under the trailing branches of the willows, the mots pulled themselves to the riverbank and hauled out onto the muddy shore.
One by one, the regiments, wet, muddy, but reunited with weapons and shields, eventually moved up the road, marching for Shimpli-Dindi as rapidly as they could go. All undetected by the Shashti, who were too interested in the gruesome fun that was being had around the fires.
Within a half hour the line at the polder wall had thinned to a handful. Thru watched anxiously for any sign that his maneuver had been detected. This was the vulnerable time; an enemy attack now would scupper his small force. But the men were too busy roasting the bodies of mots and brilbies for their supper to be vigilant.
Now the last line of mots fell back, leaving their shields and a few scarecrows set up as a final illusion. They ran down the narrow polder lanes and waded out into the cold water. Thru was one of the last. There was still no sign the enemy had detected anything.
He floated along, with an occasional kick to keep his head above water. Around him a dozen other mots swirled like the dead leaves of fall. His sword weighed him down somewhat, but his wicker armor buoyed him up. He kept an anxious hand on his sword handle, not wanting to lose it in the river.
Then came the bend in the river, and the willows. Thru reached up to the trailing branches, already stripped of their leaves by so many grasping hands. Carefully he halted his drift downstream and began moving in to the shore. At last he felt his foot ground on the muddy bottom. A few more strides and he splashed out onto the dark riverbank.
Like the others around him, he barely paused to empty his boots of water and then it was up the bank, through the bushes, and on along narrow trails through dense thickets.
At last they emerged onto more open space and found the road ahead, visible as a line of grey-and-white flint under the moonlight. A long line of mots and brilbies, wet, bedraggled, but alive and in motion marched toward Shimpli-Dindi.
Thru hurried up the road, trying to ignore his bleeding shin. Encountering Chillespi and the other junior officers of the staff, he learned that the maneuver had succeeded almost completely. They had lost some mots who'd been swept on around the bend of the river. But the army had survived, they were on the road and marching at a great pace for Shimpli-Dindi. However, there was no sign of Colonel Floss.
Of course, there was plenty of confusion, some units were mixed up with others, but that didn't matter. They were all marching northward and they had lived to fight again another day.
Ter-Saab had the Sixth Regiment organized and marching well, toward the front of the column. When Thru came up to him, the tall kob saluted and congratulated him on the success of the maneuver.
"Looks like it worked perfectly, Brigadier General. We've given him the slip."
"Mustn't count the chooks before they hatch, Colonel, but this is a good pace. If we can keep this up, we'll get to the Meld's camp before they can catch us."
"Everyone's well fed, we're strong enough now. Have to see how we respond in a few more days now that we've lost our food."
"Hopefully, the Meld can feed us."
The Sow's Head was visible now, a hump sitting in front of the larger mass of the Sow herself. The Meld's fires, glowed red on the smaller dark hill, inviting them to their warmth.
Chillespi came running up with a scout beside him.
"News from the enemy front, sir!"
"They are coming. They left everything, fires... everything."
"But we have a lead?"
"Two miles, sir."
Not much, thought Thru, but it might be enough. He corrected himself, it had to be enough!
CHAPTER EIGHT
Through the long hours of that night the race continued, pitting the battered but defiant mots of the southern command against the veteran soldiers of Shasht.
In the space between the two armies, a fluctuating band between a mile and two miles deep, scouting parties sniped and ambushed each other in endless small tussles.
For the mots and brilbies of the southern regiments, the march was literally a race against death. Anyone who fell out, or collapsed, would die when the men came upon him. This kept many marching despite the agonies of exhaustion or wounds. A few, too badly wounded to keep up the pace, elected to hide in the woods. Others asked for the mercy of a sword thrust through the heart.
And then, at last, some time past the midnight hour, Thru was able to send his regiments off onto the sheep trails that lead up to the Sow's Head. Parties from the Meld's regiments were there to guide them. As they pushed, panting, up the rutted tracks they came under the protective cover of a larger force, drawn up to confront the Shashti.
When they reached the top of the hill, they found that the Meld had already dug a ditch and raised a rampart. The Meld's army was ready for the fight. As the exhausted ones marched into the camp, the Meld Army cheered. Their spirits lifted, the worn-out mots were given hot food and tea, though many simply sprawled headlong and slept like the dead.
Thru found the Meld waiting for him at a command post set up in a large tent. Just outside a fire burned, and someone pressed a cup of hot tea into his hands.
The Meld was red-eyed from lack of sleep. Thru could see by the firelight the lines that had been etched into the Meld's face.
"Congratulations, Brigadier. It seems you've seen all the action today."
"We certainly have, General. I pray I don't have too many more days like this one. But, we'll be busy enough tomorrow, I'll wager."
"I was sorry to read of Colss's loss. He was a good soldier."
"The ambush caught us unawares. Our scouts passed up the road, but didn't pick up their sign. They used deer trails, or walked in streams."
"Casualties?" The Meld was bracing for the worst.
"Heavy, I fear. Maybe five hundred. We sent many wounded down the river in boats, but our total strength now is thirty-five hundred."
The Meld swallowed. Their advantage in numbers, already slim, had grown more slender still.
"And how many do you estimate the enemy has now?"
"At least five, maybe six thousand."
The Meld rubbed his chin. Thru could feel the older mot's unease.
"Will they attack?"
"Oh, yes, at first light. They will come right at us."
"What would Toshak do, do you think?"
"It would depend on the dispositions of your forces, sir. But he would expect an attack. The Shasht generals have always shown that they like to take the initiative. By attacking you he will keep you o
n the defensive."
"But he will waste his strength against our defenses."
"He will accept a certain amount of loss; however, he will also be confident in the abilities of the men. They broke our pike formations quite easily."
The Meld stared into the fire, rubbing his hands anxiously. Thru was reminded of a mouse.
"You have done well, Brigadier Gillo. I want you to continue as commander of the Southern Force, although for now your regiments will be used to reinforce mine. Understood? You will report directly to me."
"Yes, sir." Thru realized the Meld was naming him as a successor to the command of the whole army in case the Meld should die. He exchanged a glance with the aristocrats who were in the ascendancy in the Meld's general staff. Would they accept an outsider as commander in chief if it came to it?
Thru went over the maps with the Meld, tracing out the line of the recent march. Scouts soon reported that the Shasht army had halted on the road and built a camp. Aggressive scouting was reported all around the Sow's Head position.
The army was laid out in a circular position, with the strongest line facing the road and the sheep tracks that lead up to the hill-top. The Meld sent scouts ahead with pickets to slow up the enemy's advance on the sheep tracks. Thru needed only to add words of encouragement. Whether they had any effect, however, was hard to say.
Eventually Thru reached his own command post, set up by Lieutenant Chillespi. The officers of his southern regiments were summoned.
"We are going to fight in the morning, I would say. The Meld wants us to hold back, maintaining a reserve force. We expect the enemy will come up at first light and attack from the direction of the road. Any questions?"
"I have some walking wounded who need surgery."
"Talk to Chillespi, he's been working to get help for our wounded."
"I have twenty mots without shields," said Colonel Ury of the Fourth Regiment. Thru made a note to ask the Meld's staff if there were any extra shields available.
"I have a dozen pikebearers with broken pikes. I need new spontoons," said another, Bekk of the Fifth. Thru made another note for the Meld's staff, all of which were swiftly taken away by a runner.
After a few minutes the meeting broke up and the officers returned to their regiments. The mood was grim, but still hopeful.
Thru finally found himself with some time to sleep. He lay down in a corner of the command post, wrapped in a blanket, and slept from the moment he laid his head on the ground.
All too soon he was shaken awake. A young mot in a very new uniform coat was leaning over him.
"Sir, the Meld wants to see you. The enemy is coming."
"Right, right," he muttered, struggling to sit up. "What is the hour?"
"Be dawning soon, sir."
"Thank you, soldier."
Thru pulled himself to his feet, pulled fragments of straw off his shirt and trouser and shrugged his coat over his shoulders. Ignoring the aches and pains from the day before he made his way to the general's command post.
The Meld had obviously slept in his chair, beside the map table. Now he was drinking cup after cup of hot tea while studying the reports coming in from the front.
"Good morning, sir."
"Morning, Gillo. The enemy are formed up, and they seem intent on a frontal assault straight up from the road."
"They are confident. They have good reason to be."
The Meld allowed himself a small smile. "Well, we'll have to see if we can change that, eh?"
They waited. More reports came in indicating that the men were marching directly up the slope, pushing through the thickets, trying to keep their formations organized, which would not be easy as the slope increased.
Now they could hear the war drums and horns, a steady thrub-thrubba-thrub that billowed up ominously from the direction of the road.
Thru went forward to the front line to see things for himself. He found the Meld's regiments waiting expectantly, somewhat nervous, resting on their shields with their spears to hand. He traversed the line moving from east to west and back and had reached the far eastern end when the first shouts told him the men were in sight. The drumming was louder, the horns suddenly brayed en masse, and the men of Shasht began to offer up their chilling war song.
Mot archers were visible, retreating, pausing to release an arrow, retreating again up the slope, through the boulders and scrubby trees and onto the open space on the top of the hill. Then they ran ahead.
Behind came the men, their shields forming a line of red and gold, their helmets glittering in the early sun. Now a command rang out from the Meld. The pikebearers dropped their weapons to the ready, and the mots picked up their shields.
Showers of arrows slanted through the air between the two armies. Then the men stumbled onto the first of the Meld's surprises, a row of pits dug thigh deep with a sharp stake anchored at the bottom.
Their lines buckled momentarily, then came to a halt while orders were bawled and men adjusted. A line of skirmishers began to probe the ground in front of the marching regiments. They found the rest of the pits, and the regiments flowed over and around them.
Arrows glittered in the early light as they flashed high between the two armies. The men were coming at a steady trot, their shields held in front of them like a wall of pale eyes. The young half-trained mots in the Meld's regiments watched with dry mouths as they came on. Drums thundered behind them. At fifty paces the men erupted with their war cry and ran forward to engage. The roar of battle leaped up all along the northern side of the hill.
As before, the men used their shields and swords to deflect the pike heads and rushed inside to close with the pikebearers. The ditch and the low rampart added to their difficulties, but did not stop them. The pikebearers pulled and stabbed, and men fell. Bodies began to pile up in the ditch. But in time the men broke in close to the pikebearers, and their spears took a toll. Mots and brilbies tumbled back in the death throes. The pike line broke up.
Mots with spear and shield stood forward to form a fresh line.
The men pulled back to reorganize and then came on again with a renewed roar of drums, horns, and war chants. Once again the lines locked and the struggle continued. Back and forth it swayed over the low rampart, and down into the ditch. The men made minor breakthroughs, but these were always seen in time and the gaps filled from the reserve regiments. Every so often the fighting died down as the men pulled back to take a breath or two and reorganize their line.
Thru received a call to the Meld's command post. He found the general in a state of anxious excitement, standing over the map and rubbing his hands together. His staff busily received reports from the frontline commanders and passed on vital information. The mouse seemed much more confident now.
"General," said Thru.
"Ah, Gillo. Well, what do you think? Not bad, eh, for raw recruits."
"Done well, sir."
"But they keep coming."
"They can no more afford heavy casualties than we can, so they have to stop eventually."
"Was it like this at Dronned?"
"Very much so. They attacked us there, tried to break us. But we held them."
The Meld signaled for more tea. Thru was glad of a cup before he returned to his own post. There was little news from Chillespi. Ter-Saab was with his regiment. They waited, each separated in his own universe of concerns and hope for the day.
But now the Shashti general formed his men up into two huge battalions, shortening the line and then storming forward to smash into the two weakest areas of the Meld's line, places marked by collapses in the dug rampart and partial filling of the ditch. The men poured across, and slammed into the defense lines once again.
The mot line began to give.
A message came from the Meld ordering Thru to bring his regiments around the right end of the fortified line and to attack the flank of the nearest enemy column.
Thru had been waiting impatiently for exactly this moment. His own orders were
ready and waiting to go. Immediately there came a bellowing of commands in the ranks, and soon the lines had turned to the right and were in motion.
"Hurry!" was the only word on Thru's lips as they moved off. Every moment was precious, and every mot knew it.
Within less than a minute the force was pulling around the flank and coming into view. The assault column had penetrated, but not completely broken through. There was fighting going on all along the ditch and rampart, and over it in the center.
The command for the charge was given, and the southern regiments flowed forward, hurling themselves across the flat ground beside the ditch. The Second and Fourth regiments were in the lead, with the Fifth and Sixth in support.
The Shashti spearmen on the left flank turned to face the new threat while other men fell in behind them with javelins and bows. Thru whistled to himself at the smooth way this maneuver was performed.
Then the gap closed and the leading regiments drove in and the fighting sent up a fresh roar of noise.
Thru was standing at the corner of the rampart and ditch. The ditch ended here, though the rampart had been continued around for another forty paces. He had a view right up the line of the battle. The Meld's entire army was now committed to that front.
Thru felt a momentary premonition. He commanded the last reserves. After his regiments engaged, they would have nothing to spare. He chewed his lip for a second, and then he sprang down and ran to catch up with Ter-Saab at the rear of the Sixth Regiment.
"Turn it around," said Thru. "Move the regiment back behind the right flank."
Ter-Saab's eyebrows rose. "What about the attack?"
Thru was watching the attack as it drove home into the enemy's column.
"The enemy is flanked all right, but he must have known we'd do this."
And indeed the assault column was extricating itself and retreating back and down the slope as Thru's attack went in.
Ter-Saab was standing there, glowering at him.
"My people have worked long and hard for this moment. We've trained for months on these maneuvers. Now we sit back and do nothing."
The Shasht War Page 6