by RW Krpoun
“Take a general order, the usual heading and postings,” he instructed a scribe. “The normal compliments to all troops, and special mention of the Fifth Legion and those units which seized the ridge, use the common terms. To all commanders, at dawn we shall withdraw to the west, details to be given at a council of war to be held two hours past sun down. Make the usual closings.” Grand Marshal Laffery inspected the bandages around his right forearm and nodded to himself; he had refused Healing of such a minor cut when there were so many men who needed the Art to save their lives.
Hebreth Descente watched as his quartermasters worked to clear the gap in the ridge and salvage the vast amount of rolling stock abandoned by the Heartland Army. He had won another victory, capturing large amounts of transport and supplies while forcing the Heartland Army into another long-distance retreat, but once again, the victory rang hollow. Laffery had escaped another cunning trap, bringing his army out in useable form despite all of the Hand’s efforts. That the Army of the Heartlands was crippled there was no doubt; by now it would be desperately short on supplies and the cavalry would be down to their last mounts, but it still existed, and however much ground it had lost was immaterial to that one salient fact.
His only hope was that Laffery could be sacked; von der Strieb could not be worse, and might even prove to be better to face, but the blasted Grand Marshal was brother to the king of Lashar, and heir to the throne until his brother could produce an heir that could survive a fortnight, something which had eluded the bastard to date. The Queen was due any day now, but after five miscarriages and three children who had died within days of their birth there was little hope that Laffery could be ousted from the secession.
The Hand had won a victory, but at a high cost; the Sacred Bands had taken heavy losses, as had every unit; both Lardinas committed to the ridge had been wrecked, the few survivors returning east with their loot; the surviving Dayar had been divided between the two Holdings of Undead to help fill the gaps in their ranks, while two Kets of Eyade had to be disbanded as their survivors sent east as well.
Much of the captured transport would have to be used to haul loot east for the vassal Orcs, Eyade, and Goblins, guarded by veterans he would not see again, but he hoped that the vast quantities of valuables and slaves sent back would convince the leaders of the Plains-dwellers to send more troops to his army in order to obtain a share of the plunder to come when Sagenhoft fell and the entre Realms were mopped up.
The Hand commander shook his head; the light siege train had arrived at Apartia yesterday, with the heavy train drawing closer every day; the Heartland Army was in full retreat, and there were only one hundred fifty miles between where he stood and the walls of Sagenhoft. He ought to be pleased with his progress; certainly the Council was, but they were safely back in the home lands watching inked arrows crawl across parchment, not facing that mad dog Laffery and his brother-cur von der Strieb.
Motioning for a staff officer, he dictated the standard opening for a general order. “We will rest for the entirety of tomorrow, and then we shall march west in pursuit of the enemy. Add the usual closings, and schedule an officer’s meeting for tomorrow at noon.” It was too soon, he reflected; his army was tired and need reorganization, but it was imperative that he keep the pressure on the Heartland Army, to bring it to bay and destroy it.
Chapter Fifteen
Grand Marshal Laffery marched the Heartland Army fifteen miles west of Dorog on the seventeenth before allowing them to stay in place for a full day and reorganize, while Bohca Tatbik remained near the ruins of the Dorog. On the nineteenth both armies began marching west, the Heartland moving at a slow pace to conserve its horses and rest its infantry, while the Hand force marched more briskly to close the distance between the two forces.
Supplies were the primary concern that faced Grand Marshal Laffery; it took tons of fodder and food to keep his force functioning on a daily basis; normally, his units would carry between two and four days’ supply, while another four or five days’ supply would be carried in the baggage train. Any operations beyond a week would require additional stocks drawn or brought forward from depots or magazines. The problem facing the Grand Marshal was that the primary storage points had been established at Apartia and Dorog, with the former now under siege and the latter in enemy hands; worse, much, if not most, of his troops’ on-hand supply had either been consumed or lost along with the vast amounts of transport the enemy had captured. The Heartland’s supplies mainly came through Sagenhoft to the Royal Bridge area on the Royal Highway and then up the Highway.
In a series of orders issued in the days following the defeat at Dorog the Grand Marshal instructed that no further supplies were to be sent to the Royal Bridge depots; instead, a depot was to be established at the eastern terminus of the Bloody Road, some one hundred miles to the north of Sagenhoft; wagon-repair crews and the excess wagon trains freed up by the radically shortened supply lines were to be transferred to Sagenhoft.
As the Heartland Army marched down the Highway toward Sagenhoft the Grand Marshal pondered where he would made his stand. Drawing ever closer was the Bercer River which came from the south, running northwest into the Ascendi Sea, its mouth creating the port at Sagenhoft; the river slashed across the Highway, being deep-banked and fast-running where it crossed the road. The Royal Bridge, augmented by two pontoon bridges built by Imperial engineers, was the Highway’s crossing, a massive stone edifice with a two-lane plank path-way guarded by two stone forts on each bank. Obviously he could not withdraw too close to the river without placing his army in the unenviable position of having a river to its back, while crossing the river would leave Sagenhoft partially exposed to the northwest, although there were no good roads following the east bank of the river north.
While the Grand Marshal pondered, the two armies marched west in lock-step, Bohca Tatbik content to maintain the same steady pace.
Hebreth Descente studied his maps by lantern-light as aides scurried to and fro. It was the twenty-sixth of Gleicthteil, ten days and eighty miles of advancing after the battle at Dorog, and the Grand Commander of Bohca Tatbik was pleased with his enemy’s new caution, all the more so as the Grand Marshal’s fearful plans were going to come to naught. An aide approached, saluted, and handed him a report. “We just received this, sir.”
The Markan-Hern of the Seventh Degree read the brief missive, which reported that Hand agents had set the planking of the bridge and both pontoons aflame, the heat generated from the enchanted devices employed utterly destroying the crossing points, while the Bridge’s metal timber-brackets were heated and warped to the point where replacement metal-work would be required. Losses amongst the agents and their covert associates had been heavy, but the Heartland Army was now trapped five miles short of the Bercer River with no means to cross and the enemy at their back, not to mention that their supply depots were inaccessible until the bridges were repaired.
“Excellent. Summon my commanders.”
The twenty-seventh dawned cool and overcast; as Descente was taking his breakfast he learned that the Army of the Heartlands was force-marching south, following the east bank of the river. This was something of a surprise, although the lack of roads to the north left Laffery with no other easy route, but he had expected the Grand Marshal to stand and fight. Still, this was hardly a problem. Descente issued orders for his army to follow, leaving two Holdings of Human troops, a Ket of Eyade, and most of his baggage train on the Highway facing the eastern Bridge forts while the rest of Bohca Tatbik pursued. Obviously Laffery had expected the Hand forces to strike towards Sagenhoft, allowing him time to escape, but Descente was far too canny a commander to fall for such a simple ploy. Once the Heartland Army was destroyed the future course of the war was set in stone. The heavy siege train had arrived at Apartia on the twenty-first, and the next day the light siege train marched west. Once Apartia fell the heavy train would join the light at Sagenhoft, which would be a far tougher nut to crack, but which would fall in
good time.
“So the Heartland has formed a defensive line here?” Descente asked, tapping the map.
“Yes sir, and they’re working at crossing the river.” The dusty scout commander nodded.
It was late in the afternoon of the twenty-eighth; the Heartland Army had surprised Descente in its speed, requiring a full day and half of another for Bohca Tatbik to close. Of course, the Heartland’s baggage train had finally been reduced to a usable size, but the point was moot.
“Interesting,” the commander studied the map; there was nothing to suggest why Laffery had chosen this particular point to try and cross, other than it was slightly narrower than was usual, with deep banks on either side. There was a small supply depot on the west bank, but that was hardly a good reason. “How are they planning to cross?”
“The supply depot has provided timber and rope for ferries, sir,” the scout commander explained. “They’ve two in operation and four more being built; each can carry one loaded wagon or two loaded carts. Using small boats they’re stringing rope guides across the river so they can swim their dray horses and cavalry mounts across, while the Imperial engineers are building a floating walkway that ought to be in place two hours before midnight. Another could be finished a bit before dawn.”
Descente dismissed the scout commander and motioned his chief engineer over; the Markan-Sem was already working with an abacus and the latest intelligence estimates of the Heartland’s strength. Descente waited patiently, content to let a specialist do his work. The man scribbled a final line of notes and addressed his commander. “This is just a rough estimate based on what we’ve been told so far, sir, but given what the scouts have reported, and excellent discipline and management, the Heartland should be able to move all of their horses, one-tenth of their rolling stock, and around one-sixth of their men across the river by dawn, give or take a bit, and assuming we do nothing to hinder them.”
“Interesting,” Descente murmured and studied the flight of a hunting hawk off to the north as he worked at the situation. He motioned to another staff officer. “How long until the dragon and our winged beasts can be in place.”
The woman glanced at the sun’s position. “Midnight, sir.”
“What about the use of enchantment to bridge the river?” This was directed to the Bohca’s chief spellweaver.
“Negligible. Say another thousand or so men crossing before dawn should they care to make the effort, which would strip them of most of the spell-casting for tomorrow’s battle.”
“Ah.” The commander gave it more thought. The scout commander was a very reliable officer, a Markan-Ra who was destined to join the ranks of the -Hern soon; it would be safe to rely on his observations. “Very well, we shall move into position for an attack, and bring the battle to the enemy upon the morrow, once our entire force is assembled. Keep the scouts on watch until sun-down, and then withdraw them so that they may be fully rested for the coming action; likewise, our winged friends are to rest once they have joined us. Watchers and Seers are to work their Arts to the fullest extent throughout the night.”
“Sir, the enemy has blocked their usage by the employment of large numbers of minor spells.”
“Not unexpected.” Descent smiled. “Tomorrow is the twenty-ninth, the one-month anniversary of the Battle of Mancin, where we first met and defeated the Heartland Army. Sweet irony calls for their destruction on the twenty-ninth as well, thirty-two days after their first combat. Now, we shall plan the dispositions of our troops.”
The officer of the guard woke Hebreth before allowing the staff officer into his tent. “Sir, we have news of a serious development.”
“What time is it?” the commander of the Bohca Tatbik rubbed his eyes.
“Close to five hours past midnight, sir; dawn is nearing.”
“Did the dragon and winged beasts arrive as expected ?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. What is this urgent development?”
“Sir, once dark had fully set in and our scouts were withdrawn the enemy began crossing the river in force. We lost several agents killed by the enemy’s pickets and counter-agents, both of which were alerted to the possibility, and at least two more of our assets were mistakenly killed by our sentries as they attempted to cross our picket line with this news.”
“What? That can’t be, we’ve spellweavers watching for any bulk enchantment.”
“It was not magical in nature, rather, it was mundane engineering. The depot on the west bank was manned by a detachment of Imperial engineers diverted there some weeks ago, along with a hundred or so convicted criminals from Sagenhoft.”
“Get to the point.” The Grand Commander began getting dressed.
“The engineers built a ford across the river using techniques developed out on the Northern Wastes but which were unknown to our engineers.”
“Built a ford? Impossible, fords occur naturally or not at all.”
“In this case it is possible, sir, apparently by placing a base of heavy stones into the river, and then adding canvas bags filled with sand. By building it over a period of weeks, the damage to the banks was kept to a minimum and the water displacement was made to appear natural.”
“Why did our scouts not see it?”
“You cannot see a ford at a distance, sir; in this case it is merely a place where the water is now a bit more than a foot deep over this artificial barrier. Apparently the Heartland Army did not begin using it until our scouts were withdrawn. Wagons and carts began crossing immediately, pausing only for minor repairs to the ford; draconian discipline has been established, and any breach of the order of crossing results in immediate execution.”
“How fast are they moving?”
“With the ‘ferry service’ in place they had an excuse to cut passages through the banks and put their train in transport order while our scouts watched; they have been flowing across the ford for around seven hours so far, with the infantry bridge and walk-ways in operation for five. The chief engineer is revising his estimates using these new facts.”
His temples were throbbing as he confronted this new situation: Laffery had led him west at a leisurely pace, then drawn the bulk of the Bohca Tatbik two day’s march south of the Royal Bridge, which had to be taken to get the siege gear to Sagenhoft, and was now escaping across the river, having saved his army and cost the Hand time it could not afford lose, all without losing a man. “Summon all my commanders and alert the army.” He finished dressing and began donning his war gear. “We will attack at once and destroy that portion of the enemy which remains on the east bank.”
Dawn was breaking as the last of the Bohca Tatbik moved into position. The Heartland Army, such as was left, had likewise moved into battle order, outlined by large fires lit on the east bank as stores of fodder, rations, and other supplies were set ablaze. With a sizeable supply point within a day’s march Laffery had ordered his baggage train reduced to half its carrying capacity to speed the crossing and inflict less damage to the sand-bag ford. Two slender towers now stood over the center of the short Heartland line, flag-staffs jutting from either side of the frail structures.
“All units are in position, sir,” the operations officer reported to Descente; the Grand Commander and his staff were sitting on their horses at the crest of a low hill behind their army’s left wing.
“Scout report.” With an effort, he kept the howling frustration out of his tone.
The scout commander, who was pale and sweating over his failure of the day before, urged his horse to the fore. “Sir, we have established that the Fifth and Eighth Imperial Legions are all that remains of the Heartland Army on this bank; the last of the enemy’s baggage train should be crossing as we speak and a cohort of the Eighth is formed up to use the ford once the wagons finish crossing.”
“Noted.”
“Sir,” the officer did not turn away as protocol required. “If I make speak, the enemy’s fires along the east bank have prevented my men from getting a goo
d look at the west bank; I have sent Eyade north and south along the river to swim their horses across and report back via enchanted devices. If I could have thirty more minutes I should be able to provide a more accurate picture of what other steps the enemy has taken.”
“What will the enemy be able to accomplish in thirty minutes?” Descente directed the question to his chief engineer.
“Withdrawal of most of the Eighth Legion,” was the prompt reply. “Only the infantry remains; all transport, artillery, and support personnel of both Legions has already withdrawn across the river. Apparently these formations are very experienced in these sort of operations from their expeditions on the Northern Wastes.”
“Permission denied,” Descente advised the scout commander, who saluted woodenly and backed his horse away. “Sound the attack; we shall strike before the enemy slips fully from our grasp. Signal the dragon to begin its assault, and have the winged beasts get airborne and ready to support any breakthrough.”
As the units moved into their final positions the Grand Commander noticed twenty heavy wagons drawn up on the west bank to the north of the crossing-point just visible through the smoke haze. Waving his intelligence chief over, Descente pointed to the wains. “Why are those wagons positioned there?”
“You can’t see through the smoke, sir, but each has a man or woman hanged from its upright tongue. Each of the twenty are either an agent or an asset of ours.”
“I see; the effort to bring us word was costly, then?”
“Extremely; in all, thirty-one of our people are either dead or back with Bohca Tatbik, and what remains of our apparatus within the Army of the Heartlands is in complete shambles; it will require weeks to put it right, and the display you are looking at will certainly make it harder to recruit new assets.”