Jai’s eyes strayed to the storage shelters up on the slope. Great stacks of timber rested there beneath huge canvas roofs. The rains had been almost constant since monsoon season began, and even the place of burning, where the pyres were constructed, was covered by an enormous high roof, else the timber would simply smoulder forever in the wet. Instead, the charnel fire burned and threw smoke up from the pyre, where it gathered at the canvas roof thirty feet above, before billowing out of the sides. That roof had already burned away three times and been replaced swiftly on each occasion.
Dreadful, the things this war made a man do.
The artillery rarely fired these days. The enemy took a few potshots, probably just to keep themselves busy, and the general made sure that the cannon all fired at least once a day, though they were largely ineffective. Occasionally, Jiang would commit a full unit or two to an onslaught at the bridge, in the hope that he would catch Cinna off guard and they might miraculously gain a foothold on the western bank. Every time the hospital was flooded, the pyres burned brighter and longer, the burial details were busier and the general drank until he no longer felt shock at the losses he had caused in his own army. Still, they came no closer to a change in the status quo.
Sickeningly, the vast majority of deaths at Jalnapur were the result of disease or misadventure. Men were swept away by the river surprisingly often. The Nadu’s strong current easily carried men to their death, especially when they wore heavy armour and weapons and neared the bank to urinate. Men slipped in the mud on the hillside and broke legs, smashed heads on rocks and suchlike too. But the worst were the diseases. Fevers, parasites, rotten flesh in the damp, unhealthy conditions and the ever-present threat of dysentery carried off more men every day than all the blades, arrows and missiles the westerners could throw at them.
Tellingly, suicide took more than a few too.
Jai had watched General Jiang slowly losing hope. All their grand schemes to occupy the Inda lands and include them in a peaceful, forward-moving manner had failed miserably. Instead, they were locked in a war of attrition with an enemy who, while numerically inferior, was clearly shrewd and bloody-minded. There was no way out. No alternative. Jai and the general had discussed every option numerous times over the weeks, but nothing could be done. Moving north or south along the river would simply change the location of the hell they endured. Moving into the northern mountains was too much of a gamble. There was the faint possibility they might cross the Nadu and move west that way, but they also ran the risk of meeting western forces in the mountains, where it would come down to an unpredictable combination of strategy and luck, for numbers meant considerably less in such terrain and the cannon had to be readied and sited before they were of any use. And General Jiang was certain that his opposite number was every bit the tactician that he was, so strategy could not be relied upon any more than numbers. Plus, in the north there was always the potential danger of horse clan raids, or bumping into this large mysterious force they said inhabited the mountains and yet an entire army had failed to find. No, the north was out.
And far enough south was the land of ghosts. Jiang was sceptical about such a place, but he knew enough of his soldiers would fear it, and Jai was certainly adamant about not going there. That left only retreat – pull back from the bridge and try and entice the imperial general to cross it and face him in open battle somewhere. Neither Jai nor the general believed even for a moment that Cinna was insane enough to do such a thing. No, he would just remain in place, watching the bridge and sending out odd scouts to keep track of their location. There would be no long-term benefit there.
And so they continued to rot and drown and die in the soggy lands of Jalnapur, from which the civilians had long since fled, slipping into starvation and deprivation and watching their town take occasional peripheral damage. Once, thanks to a cannon misfire, the lower town wall had been breached and within four hours the whole place had been flooded under a foot of stinking water.
Every five or six days the rain abated briefly and the army looked to the sky in the south for a reprieve. Then, always within a day, the clouds boiled up on the warm wind once again and the downpour recommenced.
Today was such a day. The rain had stopped an hour before and the entire plain of Jalnapur steamed in the heat, the water burning to vapour and creating a fog that made artillery useless, or at least extremely haphazard.
Jai glanced over his shoulder. The general’s headquarters, a solid construction of timber and tile, sat silent and sombre, two guards by the door. The general had been locked away inside for almost an hour now – it had still been raining when he entered. It was extremely unusual for the general to hold any sort of meeting, no matter how small, without Jai being present, and the former scout was intrigued. A rider had thundered into camp earlier from the north – tired, sodden and dirty. He had visited the general, being taken straight into the headquarters, and the pair had not emerged since. It seemed, though, that the time of waiting was over. Even as Jai watched, the building’s only door opened and that rider emerged once again, staggering wearily away, presumably in search of dry clothes, food and a bed.
Jai held his breath. Whatever this was, it was clearly important.
His heart sank as the commander appeared in the doorway. The news had clearly not been good. General Jiang, whose face had grown visibly older in just two months, bore a whole new level of bleakness. He scanned the world outside the door, his eyes coming to rest on Jai, and he beckoned him and turned back into his headquarters. Jai, heart in throat, followed his commander and found his way to the general’s office, where Jiang sat disconsolate in his campaign chair.
‘I made an attempt that no sane man would, and I failed, Jai.’
‘General?’
‘I tried to change the Jade Emperor’s mind almost a month ago. Such a thing is not done lightly. Any attempt to do so is generally seen as criticising the emperor’s choices. I was humble yet forthright. I begged him to reconsider his policy and consider terms with the emperor Bassianus. I set out in a stark manner the difficulties we face and the very real danger that we could lose or at least fight to an endless standstill here, creating a permanent state of war that would sap the empire. I tried to find something positive to say, though I floundered. I did everything I could, knowing that more noble men than I have lost their heads for less than this. But I have failed.’
‘The messenger was from the emperor, sir?’
Jiang nodded. ‘The reply is simple. “There will be no peace,” the emperor commands. I am to bring him the lands of the Inda, even if it means conquering the western empire in the process. The way he phrases the matter makes me suspect he yearns for Bassianus’s head on a platter more than the Inda kingdoms anyway.’
Jai sighed. ‘At least he has not punished you, sir. We are no worse off than we were.’
‘Oh we are, Jai. We are. The Jade Emperor is thinning the ranks at home. He will keep a skeleton force in place elsewhere, because he is sending every soldier he can spare to Jalnapur to give us the edge we need.’
‘Surely that’s good, sir?’ Jai frowned.
‘No. That is bad. The army we brought west was carefully selected. All the officers in high position were known to me and were men of the western provinces who knew of the Inda at least a little and could be relied upon to take into account the stability of the region in what we have done. And the armies themselves were drawn mostly from areas that deal with delicate subjugated lands – men unusual for the empire in that they think for themselves a little, and allow their environment to factor into their ideas, rather than displaying the blind obedience that is symptomatic of the imperial military. I trust them to do as I command. Now, though, the Jade Emperor will send me martinets and morons, officers who care not a breath for the fate of the Inda. Men who will roll over this land like a titanic boulder, crushing all beneath them in the belief that such cruelty will instil order. And some of those men will be of high enough rank that they
will feel confident in challenging me. Our war is about to change, Jai. I had thought this campaign at its lowest ebb, but I have had my eyes cruelly opened.’
‘So what do we do, General?’
‘We do whatever we can to conclude matters before the relief force arrives. It will be at least a month, I expect. But if we can secure Jalnapur by then, perhaps I can keep the new officers under control. If they find us mired in this debacle, I will spend more time fighting for control of my own army than fighting the enemy.’
‘A push for the bridge?’
The prospect hardly thrilled Jai, but after so long suffering this dreadful standoff, could slaughter be any worse? Was a blade in the gut not to be sought before the amputation of a rotten foot?
General Jiang nodded. ‘And no time like the present.’
‘Sir?’
‘On looking out just now, I note that the rain has stopped again. When we have a break in the rain we have several hours of thick mists. The forces of General Cinna cannot be expecting an assault any more than they have during any other day of this dreadful battle. We move fast and see if we can seize the bridge. There is a small chance. It is not a good one, but it is there. If we can get enough men onto the other end of that bridge to hold it while we bring up reserves, we might just create a bridgehead and then start to take the fight to the other bank.’
Jai nodded. Not smiling, though, just like the general – a nod was all. Both of them knew just how small the chance was. Even with the element of surprise and the enveloping mist, it would be nothing short of a miracle if they could get enough men across that bridge to make a difference.
‘Summon four regiments of light infantry and two of heavy, also one wing of cavalry. Find out which archer regiment has the best record and have them stand to as well. Have all the regiments muster at the parade ground at the foot of the slope and then take them forward yourself. I have something to take care of, but I will meet you at the approach to the bridge.’
‘Me, sir? And you?’
‘Indeed,’ General Jiang said. ‘Soldiers take heart and fight better when they know their commanders share their peril. And with the sullen mood of the army these past two months we need every morsel of spirit we can raise. Go now, and fast. We must take advantage of the mist.’
Jai left the headquarters, his head spinning, blood racing. He barely registered what he was doing as he passed instructions to messengers standing close to the viewpoint before the headquarters. Consulting the records for the archers was simple: a small building close to the headquarters housed all records. The Jade Empire was strict on record keeping, and every month a full set of figures was sent back to the capital for the perusal of the administration. Selecting the unit of archers with the best kill rate and the lowest casualties was the work of but moments, and Jai was still buzzing with anticipation as he delivered orders for those units to assemble.
A quarter of an hour later he was standing on the parade ground as the regiments assembled. Three thousand light infantry, fifteen hundred heavy, two hundred horse and six hundred archers. It was a paltry gathering considering the size of the army, yet when they were gathered together like this, it was hard not to be impressed. Another quarter of an hour and every chosen man was assembled and ready for war, their officers standing at the front of each unit and saluting Jai as though he were the general. A lump rose in his throat. Suddenly this seemed an immense responsibility. What order should he lead the men in? He searched his deep memory, picturing those dusty texts of ancient generals he had studied in the academy. Yes. Sun Lao’s approach to the Gorge of Ang seemed appropriate. Taking a deep breath, he looked around at the gathering.
‘We move to the bridge, men, where the general will have further instructions, and we march in the Sun Lao formation. Archers first, moving with weapons readied. Then the heavy infantry in support, with the light infantry behind them and on the flanks, the cavalry in the centre at the rear. There will be no talking or music. We must remain silent throughout. With fortune on our side, we will surprise the enemy and manage to secure the far end of the bridge. Fall in and advance.’
As the units began to move in accordance with the desired formation, Jai tried to decide how he should place himself in the column. On horseback with the cavalry would clearly be the natural position, but he would prefer to be at the fore when they encountered General Jiang. Passing the reins of his horse to a groom rather regretfully, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and strode across to fall in with the commander of the regiment of archers.
Moments later they were moving towards the causeway that cut through the boggy, wet ground before the bridge and then onto it, marching six men abreast, the only sound the gentle crunch of soft leather boots on the raised bank’s compacted surface. Jai counted off the red distance markers as they moved inexorably towards the enemy. The journey was extremely eerie. The thick white fog enveloped the world like a fleecy blanket, hiding the sky and the ground alike beyond a few paces. The mist was oddly warm and saturated one’s clothes in a matter of moments. The entire plain of Jalnapur was muted, and Jai could hear very little other than the muffled crunch of thousands of footsteps. Occasionally on the route they passed close to one of the picket positions and could hear low, murmured conversation and the distinctive sound of sheathed weapons or armour clonking. No one, he noted, came to check on the column of men, but then they would be coming from behind the Jade Empire’s lines and therefore would not unduly worry the pickets.
His heart skipped at the sudden appearance of the general. The mist muted and hid the world so thoroughly that the column was almost upon him before they knew he was there, but then that was entirely the point of this push, after all. General Jiang emerged from the mist like a ghost slipping its shroud, an image that made Jai shudder and stayed with him even as the Crimson Guard flowed, blood red, from the white blanket behind him.
‘Jai,’ the general greeted him with an incline of the head.
‘General.’
‘Archers to the fore. Zhou Chen’s stratagem?’
‘Sun Lao, sir.’
General Jiang smiled and nodded. ‘Also appropriate for the clearance and seizure of narrow approaches. Good. Have the army halt in units at the end of the bridge, which is some seventy paces ahead.’ He turned to the archers’ commander beside Jai. ‘Your bowmen will follow me.’
As Jai, frowning, waited for the infantry to catch up, the general moved off to the left into the mist, the archers following, along with the Crimson Guard who were never far from the general’s side and who were, on this occasion, dismounted. In half a hundred heartbeats the archers, the general and his guard were gone, and by the time Jai counted to a further ten, even the sound of their movement had been swallowed up by the mist.
With the heavy infantry now at the front, Jai moved on to the bridge. He had never felt more like a soldier than now, hand on sword hilt, marching towards the enemy with a unit of heavily armoured men in lacquered black and carrying long glaives. The sound of their movement, so close to him, was much louder than the archers had been, their weapons clonking and clattering, their boots crunching, armour knocking and rattling, and Jai began to wonder whether they might even be audible to the enemy. He dismissed his own fears in a trice. The enemy waited across half a mile of bridge and what noise there was, already muffled by the fog, would also be well hidden by the churning river.
They reached the near end of the bridge and Jai signalled the halt.
They waited. The white mist once more folded in upon them, and without the noise of moving soldiers, the world once more became a weird, eerie place. Finally, after what seemed like an age, General Jiang reappeared with his Crimson Guard.
‘Speed or power, Jai,’ the general said in a businesslike manner.
‘Sir?’
‘I am inclined towards the light infantry as Zhou Chen would have it: take the bridgehead at speed with the element of surprise and bring up the heavy infantry to hold it against cou
nter-attacks while the cavalry move forward and prepare to make sallies. But you are also a student of the academy, and you have favoured Sun Lao. There is something to be said for punching with a strong fist and then following up with the soft underbelly in support. Present your case, but quickly. We need to move.’
Jai shook his head. ‘No, General. You have led successful campaign after successful campaign. I have studied the texts, but I have been just a scout. Your option will be the correct one.’
The general chuckled quietly. ‘I wish I shared your belief in me. But it shall be as you say. Bring the light infantry forward. We shall accompany them, you and I.’
Jai felt his pulse quicken again at the thought of such dreadful danger but drew his sword and checked it. Clean, unmarked and well oiled. His academy tutor would have been proud. The general did the same as the light infantry regiments moved to the fore, the heavy foot dropping back efficiently. While it must have been mere moments in the manoeuvring, to Jai it felt like lifetimes he endured, waiting for the order to move.
Finally everyone was in position, and the general gave him a questioning look. Jai nodded. At least they were in no danger of the mist lifting. That would only clear when the rains came again. Jai chewed on his lip, made sure the thong from his sword hilt was around his wrist, and waited.
‘Mid-pace. Advance,’ called the general, and they were off. Much to Jai’s relief, two dozen of the light infantry moved in front of them at an unheard order, and the Crimson Guard closed in for support. Still, as they moved up onto the bridge, Jai was horribly aware how close to the front of the army he was.
The advance was steady, and Jai counted off the paces. Just after he had made it past five hundred steps – a quarter of a mile at the standard military pace – the general called for pace and a half. The army sped up, and Jai gave up counting as they pounded across the bridge. This was it… they were moving in for the fight. As Jai concentrated, expecting the far end of the bridge and potential violent death to come into view at any moment, he suddenly became aware that the general was looking out over the left-hand side of the bridge, and his own gaze followed. Peering into the whiteness, his eyes widened in surprise as a huge grey shape coalesced in the mist. A great raft filled with archers had been anchored in the river, some three quarters of the way across, and tied to the bridge support to hold it in place. A similar shape could just be made out beyond that raft. As the archers saw the army passing on the bridge, they took the prearranged cue, and hundreds of arrows sawed quietly through the air towards the defending positions on the far bank. The dull thud of the bow strings and the hiss of the missiles was hard enough to detect on the bridge and had to be completely inaudible on the far bank.
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