“It’s settled, then,” asserted Orosz. “Notice will be sent out that Phase Two is declared.”
Picket Regiment, Eywell Province
Major Irwyn Lango hated having his meals disturbed. They were often one of the few times of the day he could try to ignore that he commanded a mixed Bevans/Pawell battalion, only newly activated. He spent most of each day knowing he had no business in such a role, but as his hetman had explained, “Goddamn it, Irwyn, none of us know what we’re doing. You’re one of the best we have, and Bevansites have to be represented in leadership meetings and decisions. I know it’s hard enough to command this many men and even worse when half of them are Pawellese, but would you rather have a Pawell major commanding our people?”
Lango had had no good rejoinder and reluctantly moved from being a captain commanding a Bevansite company to a major commanding a battalion with two Bevansite and two Pawellese companies. A month of training together had smoothed some of the rough edges. Yet just when Lango had started to feel as if he might eventually be a respectable commander of a unit in training status, his battalion was declared fit for action. They became part of a regiment taking its turn based south of Morthmin in Eywell territory. The first few days after their arrival had been tense—he’d spent every moment wondering whether the whole Narthani army would attack. A sixday and two days later now, he had begun to relax into the boredom of squad and platoon reports with no sign of anything more than stray animals.
Even so, he’d just begun eating a mid-day meal of dry sausage, cheese, and hardtack when interrupted by his youngest brother, who served as his aide.
“Irwyn, looks like the entire forward Pawell company is galloping back here! They’re supposed to be west of here toward the Selfcell border. The lookout on the last semaphore station sent the message. I asked him to repeat it, but there’s been no response yet.”
Lango frowned. “That jackass commanding the company knows he’s to stay on station until relieved in two more days. God curse all stupid Pawellese! Get my horse. I’ll ride out to meet them and find out what the excuse is.”
Twenty minutes later, Major Lango and a Bevansite platoon were riding on the road that paralleled the semaphore line. Seventeen minutes after that, the first Pawellese rider in a stretched-out column came into view. One rider spurred his horse ahead of the others. It was the Pawellese captain.
Lango never had a chance to lambast the aforementioned jackass.
“Narthani!” yelled the captain, pulling hard on his horse’s reins to stop ten yards away. “They surprised and wiped out a squad, then attacked the rest of that platoon, who responded to the musket fire. Only half of the platoon got away. When I got word, I called in the rest of the patrols and took the platoon resting at our encampment to see for myself. I saw at least a hundred Narthani cavalry. We skirmished with them and got our asses out of there. I can’t be certain, but I believe there are more of them coming behind the first batch I saw. I managed to gather most of the rest of the company and got back here like we’re supposed to if we run into more than we can handle.”
Lango had long swallowed his words of beratement before the Pawellese captain finished his short, hurried report. “How far behind you are they?”
“We put some distance between us. Last time we saw them was about half an hour ago from atop a hill. They were maybe twenty minutes back at that time.”
“Shit!” said Lango. What should he do now? What was he supposed to do? He mentally reviewed the written and verbal instructions: chase back smaller Narthani units, hold in place ones of about equal size while waiting for help or orders from the regiment, withdraw to the regiment’s encampment site if they were too outnumbered. The latter two situations required sending semaphore messages to Colonel Postwyn, the Mittackian commanding the regiment. Hopefully, the colonel knew his business.
Orosz City
Yozef and Maera left their house together that morning. As they did many mornings when they were both in Orosz City, they walked together, preceded and followed by four regular bodyguards, two of whom cleared a path through even the busiest street merely by their appearance. Yozef wondered which of them made people more nervous—Carnigan, with a size and a natural expression that made him appear angry even when he wasn’t, or Wyfor, who oozed danger. However perceived, the two men moved through the street, creating a wake that pulled Yozef and Maera behind it.
They were less than a hundred yards from their house when a teenage boy ran to within fifteen feet of their prow and skidded to a stop. He called out over the human shield, “Urgent message from Hetman Orosz! He wants Ser Kolsko at clan headquarters immediately!”
“Something’s happening in Eywell,” said Tomis Orosz as soon as Yozef and Maera walked through the door of the map and planning room. Orosz, Owill Brell, Denes Vegga, and several other men had gathered around one of a half-dozen tables, this one with a Caedellium map spread out. “There was a semaphore message of Narthani activity, then another message about contact, then nothing as it got dark. At first light, we got the message that the forward regiment had had heavy contact and was falling back toward Morthmin.”
Is this the anticipated invasion or a smaller action? Yozef wondered. “No estimate of how many Narthani?”
“No,” said Brell. “We’re hoping to get more information shortly. The last message we got was sent from the fourth station from the end of the line toward Preddi. We have to assume the farther stations were overrun or abandoned.”
“Welman had been in Hanslow,” said Orosz, “but was halfway to Moreland City when the first message came. He got the first news about contact at the next semaphore station and waited there for the second message, then turned around and rode hard back to Hanslow. He’s messaged this morning that he’s accompanying three of Hanslow’s six regiments forward to Morthmin and will semaphore when he knows more.”
“He’s also activated the Mobile Rider Express,” said Denes.
Yozef absorbed the information while studying the map. Thank God for the semaphore line from Orosz City all the way to near the Preddi border, he thought. The newer sections, from Moreland City on, had been operational for three sixdays. They would get news no more than a couple of hours after being sent from one of the stations five to seven miles apart, depending on terrain. It won’t be this easy once action shifts away from the lines. That’s when we’ll see if the Rider Express works. The Caedellium version of the Pony Express had been renamed the “Rider Express,” after Yozef acknowledged his original name didn’t work on Anyar.
Worried that when action happened miles from functioning semaphore lines, it could take days for couriers to reach Orosz City or an open line to the city, Yozef had brainstormed with the MIU staff. He described the Rider Express with a tone of regret, because it needed regularly spaced stations with fresh horses. This, he said, was impractical when they didn’t know the sites the messages originated from, either mobile forces being chased or, hopefully, at some point, chasing Narthani.
“Well, eternal darkness, Yozef,” Maera’s cousin Riona had quipped. “Why do the stations have to be immobile?” Riona’s comment was accompanied by her usual sneer that anyone, especially Yozef, had to be corrected. He had been tempted more than once to drop her from the MIU, but he found it equally annoying how many times she had insightful ideas, even improving on his own.
“That could work,” Denes had said when apprised of the idea. “We could have men holding strings of fresh horses and camping where there was water and either fresh grass or wagons carrying feed. Their positions could vary, depending on the movements of major forces they’re supporting. It would let us keep in more immediate contact, even down to the regiment level.”
“I like the idea,” Yozef had said, irritated to be agreeing with Riona and chagrined for feeling irritated. “There’s bound to be problems getting the mobile stations connected to here, but under good conditions it will get us far more detailed updates in not much slower time.”
�
��Stent will send back riders with more details as he gets them,” said Denes. “If he’s followed our procedures, he’s also putting out scouts ten miles in all directions.”
“I hope this isn’t it,” said Orosz, worried. “Not every clan has finished Phase Two. Moving on to Phase Three so quickly would leave too much undone.”
“Nothing we can do about it,” cautioned Yozef. “Just wait. It’ll likely be a few hours before the situation clarifies. Is there any reason for us to stay hovered over this table? I, for one, have other things to do in the building or nearby.”
“If you all leave word at the main entrance where you’ll be, I’ll send runners as soon as we get more information and need to make decisions,” assured Brell.
“I’ll still be in this room, looking at different maps,” said Yozef.
“I’ll join you,” said Denes. “No point going too far away and just have to race back. Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be able to concentrate on anything else.”
The two men walked up four steps leading to a square-eight-shaped elevated walkway surrounding what Yozef called the Pits—two huge maps raised three feet off the floor. Pit One’s map showed an enlarged image of Caedellium. They had transferred as much data as possible to the map: borders, villages to cities, rivers, and elementary references to altitude using shades of green and brown. The map was as complete as they could make it, and the surface was dotted with figurines representing known positions of specific clan forces. Arrayed in rows south of Preddi stood figurines for Narthani infantry and cavalry. Since no one knew anything about their current disposition, except within Preddi Province, the rows sat waiting for information.
Maera had listened to enough of the talk about Eywell to know they didn’t need her here. She had gone to the main map and was talking with one of the six women training to move the figurines. Once Phase Two started, one of the women would always be in the Pit, ready to translate status updates into figurine positions. Maera looked up, saw Yozef, and with an open hand gesture asked if there was anything new. He shook his head.
“These maps you’ve had made are wonders, Yozef,” said Denes. “Still, they’re intimidating at the same time. When I’m out in the field, worrying about the men around me and Narthani nearby, I concentrate on only that. Here, anything I’m doing, no matter what, is reduced to these lumps of painted, fired clay. Look there, just near Orosz City. The man farthest right of the three near the city. The figure with the number one on the flag sticking up out of its head. That’s me, twenty-five hundred other men, all our horses, wagons, and artillery. It makes us look so insignificant.”
“You know what it represents. You can say the same thing about a Narthani figure, and I’m sure you don’t consider one of those insignificant.”
Denes shook his head. “I’d rather be in the field than here. At least, I’ll have the feeling of being in control, whether it’s true or not, instead of coolly moving pieces around.”
Yozef gazed over the map, labels, and figurines. He’d had the idea from watching too many movies depicting headquarters in various wars: Eisenhower’s SHAEF, Churchill’s admiralty, Germans, Americans, and Russians. He couldn’t remember if there had been such setups during the U.S. Civil War. It also reminded him of board and computer games, where he and fellow gamesters refought past and fantasy wars. He remembered the feeling of almost euphoria when his moves annihilated an opponent, his tokens pushing aside those of the enemy. He wondered if men could succumb to feelings of godhood when they had the authority to decide where each of their tokens would go, what sacrifices they would be ordered to make, what victories they would garner. He himself felt some of this power. Although he was only one of the five War Council members, now that the other four had elevated him, he couldn’t delude himself that his opinions didn’t count more than others’. The difference was that on Earth, if he lost armies, there was always the next game, and his memory had been short after defeats as he looked forward to future victories. Now, the tokens were people, tens of thousands of real humans with families, fears, hopes, and futures, which kindled dread when he dwelled on the responsibility.
“I see your people are still working on the other big map,” said Denes, interrupting Yozef’s specter of himself.
“Uh . . . yes. I haven’t checked on it for a couple of days.”
They walked to the other section of the catwalk surrounding Pit Two, a raised relief map of Caedellium using the hundreds of thousands of altitude measurements the survey teams had collected and were still working on. Several pottery makers had been matched with surveyors who’d been pulled from gathering measurements, and the team worked on creating the three-dimensional representation of the island. Ironically, Yozef’s enthusiasm for the map waned as the mapmaker team’s waxed. They had been dubious, having never heard of such a map, but once the first section was done, using clay and then painting the surface to simulate surface features gathered by the field surveyors, the team began to view the map as an artwork. By then, Yozef had come to believe topographical maps would have sufficed and been faster to complete. He had considered scrapping the partly completed relief map, but several hetmen and other leaders had become enthusiasts.
Yozef and Denes stood watching two male surveyors and one male and two female pottery-makers work to extend the existing map. Yozef hadn’t inquired how the two professions interacted to generate the relief, but it seemed to involve narrow sticks standing in a clay base with the sticks representing altitudes. They watched as a woman substituted a column of clay for a stick, checked with a surveyor looking at a large sheet of paper covered in numbers Yozef assumed were heights, then proceeded to the next stick. Two others filled in spaces between clay columns while the second surveyor looked back and forth between their work and his own sheet of numbers.
“They certainly appear focused,” said Denes, “but the tedium and attention to detail would drive me crazy.”
“All of us have our talents and contributions to make, Denes. Obviously, these people have found their niches, although I’m not sure they’ve finished enough for the raised relief map to be useful if the Narthani are making their move.”
“Whether they are or not, I still have unit status paperwork to do,” said Denes. “I don’t recall your On War saying anything about sitting on my butt this much with quill and paper in front of me.”
Yozef slapped Denes on the back. “If it had, men like you would never have agreed to command positions. Seriously, though, it’s those reports that let the MIU and the War Council know exactly what we have to work with. Not that I have any sympathy. I need to make my own butt-to-chair contact to read all the latest reports on readiness.”
The two men went to their separate workstations in the building. Two endless hours passed for Yozef as he forced himself to concentrate on report after report, some of the contents even seeping into his attention. Relief came when Maera popped her head into his office.
“Yozef, an Express rider just got here. Orosz is reading a message from Stent.”
He followed Maera back to where Orosz, Denes, and several other men stood around the same map table as before.
Orosz finished reading two sheets as Yozef edged to the front. “Welman says he thinks it’s a large patrol, not a full-fledged invasion. The forward regiment is falling back, as directed in their orders, trying to stay in contact with the Narthani without getting into a battle. Welman expects to join Colonel Postwyn in the next two hours.” Orosz looked up at a large wall clock donated by a wealthy Gwillamese. “That means he’s already gotten to Postwyn. Merciful God, I wish there was a way to get even faster updates. I know the semaphore and Rider Express are marvels, but the faster we get information, the faster I seem to want it.”
Welcome to the information world, thought Yozef. We always want more after each taste. Tomis chaffs at what we have, so it’s a good thing he doesn’t know about line and wireless telegraphs. Time, like Napoleon said. If we just had more time. We get through this, and ma
ybe in a year or two, I could have the island really wired.
During the next two days, the council headquarters kept abreast of events in southern and middle Eywell. Postwyn’s regiment suffered two hundred casualties in a series of intense skirmishes that didn’t quite qualify as battles. The Narthani pushed Postwyn back until Stent arrived with three more regiments, and the Narthani withdrew back to Preddi in good order. Stent made one attempt to cut them off, but confusion among the four regimental leaders prevented an encirclement attempt.
“I wasn’t actually trying to block them,” Stent said later when he returned to Orosz City and reported on the action in detail. “I’d intended to leave an escape route, but I wanted to see how well the four regiments could coordinate. It wasn’t encouraging. Postwyn’s regiment had been in continuous contact for an entire day, so I used them as the reserve. When I tried to hold the Narthani’s attention with one regiment and have the other two try to threaten their flanks, one regiment lost contact with the Narthani and never was a factor, while the other one got too close and took a hundred casualties when one of its battalions got ambushed.”
“Don’t be too discouraged, Welman,” said Yozef. “It’s the first time we’ve had real-world multiple-regiment action. That the regiments didn’t end up totally lost, shooting at one another, or running at the first heavy contact, yet kept the pressure on the Narthani, are all positives. We’re all learning. While the lessons may be hard, expect to get better at all this the more experience we have.”
Yozef only half-believed his encouragement, but confidence was in such short supply, he didn’t want to erode what little they had.
Preddi City
Other debriefings occurred when the Narthani unit returned to Preddi territory.
“Interesting,” said Gullar at hearing General Balkto’s after-action report. “The clans kept just enough contact to slow down our people while they waited for reinforcements. They didn’t attack or appear to be building up to an attack until they had more men on the scene than we did. When they did force it, they seemed somewhat uncoordinated, rather than hesitant to fight.”
Forged in Fire (Destiny's Crucible Book 4) Page 55