by John Ringo
“Cons of the longbow are rarity of materials, we covered that, difficulty of training and the fact that you have to have very physically able persons to use it. That is, they have to be physically strong and in good shape, not sick.
“Taking the last first, we’re not dealing with medieval peasants. The human of today, even those who are not Changed, are the result of multiple generations of tinkering. Do you know what ‘dysentery’ is?”
“Only from history,” Phil said. ” Diarrhea. ‘Runny guts’ as they used to call it.”
“Right. The most common reason for dysentery was water that was contaminated with the giardia cyst. On the way here, did you drink from streams?”
“Sure, we always have,” Suwisa said. “Why?”
“Did you get diarrhea?”
“No.”
“That’s because you’re immune to the effect of giardia. Also the common flu, typhoid, syphilis and a host of other bacteriological and viral infections. We’re born that way; it’s bred into us. Just as greater strength, both for men and women, is innate. Women of today have the potential to be as strong as the average man was in the thirteen hundreds. And men have the potential to be enormously stronger. Furthermore, the basic… human material we have, now, from the refugees, is so much better than the average medieval peasant it doesn’t bear discussion. Taller, stronger, healthier, everything that you need for the baseline of a decent longbow archer.”
“Most of that relates to crossbows as well,” Phil said, stubbornly.
“Except for height, yes,” Edmund replied. “But the point is, it takes away one of the ‘cons’ of longbows. The next one is training. Well, I’ve seen people train to be competent, not expert but competent bowmen in four to six months. And as they continue to train they get better and better. By next fall I want to have a small but growing longbow corps. And in a few years I want it to be a large and growing longbow corps.”
“But none of that touches on crossbows,” Phil replied.
“Okay, what are the pros of longbows? They have a higher rate of firepower, for the same training, than crossbows. That is, they can put out nearly twice as many arrows in an hour and more for short periods. They are easier to manufacture; a trained bowyer with seasoned wood can turn out a longbow in an hour. And their training is identical to that for compound bows.”
“You mean ‘composite’?” Phil asked. “I’m not sure you want to use those. The glues we’d have to use to make horn-bows are hydroscopic. They’re really only good in very dry conditions.”
“Phil, I’ve been doing this for nigh on three hundred years,” Edmund said, letting the first sign of exasperation through. “Give me the benefit of using the right term. No, I mean compound, the ones with the pulleys. You can use a bow that is nearly twice the ‘standard’ strength of a longbow with compound bows because the archer only takes the full weight of the pull for about ten percent of the draw and the ‘hold’ strength is a fraction of the full strength. But, right now, we don’t have the logistics to produce them in quantity. However, in time we will. And then we’ll have archers who can be easily cross-trained to bows that have five times the potential, in combination of pull and rate of fire, of any reasonable crossbow.”
“Hmmm…” was Phil’s reply.
“Maneuvering is another problem with archers,” Suwisa interjected. “Less so with crossbowmen.”
“Not really, they both have the same problem,” Edmund said. “Resupply. Archers going into battle have to have crates and barrels of arrows. Also spare bows and other things. I’ve got some ways to fix that as well. We’ll use modern training techniques for them and for the line infantry and a four-thousand-year history of maneuver that wasn’t conceived of for most of history and generally lost even after it had been developed.”
“You’ve thought about this carefully,” Suwisa said.
“As carefully as I can. There’s more to it than that.” He paused and wondered if he really knew Suwisa well enough to cover the rest but then shrugged. “Have you realized that this might be a multigenerational thing?”
“No,” Phil said, then blanched. “That long?”
“If Sheida wins, and that’s a big if, it might not be soon. I’m not even sure how to win this war, and I’ve studied every war in history. I’m having to juggle ‘now’ constraints while thinking about what the long term effect will be of everything we do. Take crossbows versus longbows. A longbow, as I said, can be made by anyone with a knife and some knowledge. There’s plenty of game, so in a few years every farmer in the area will be trying his hand at bringing in the odd deer. I want them to have a template for the weapon to use. Because if we have a solid and large yeomanry of trained bowyers, having any sort of ‘aristocratic’ class arise will be difficult.”
“Hard to be a lord when any serf with a grudge can knock you off the horse,” Suwisa said. “Tricky.”
“I’m trying as hard as I can to replicate postindustrial republics,” Edmund admitted. “Making crossbows, especially good ones that can kill a knight, is a hell of a lot harder than making longbows. Or even compound bows. I want it to be understood at the core of the society that the right to weapons is a fundamental right. As long as you have a relatively law-abiding society, weapons in general ownership and use prevent tyranny from taking hold. Nothing else in history has ever managed it.”
“There’s a difference between a professional bow-man and a farmer who kills the occasional deer,” Phil argued.
“Sure, but it’s a difference of details, not the quantitative difference between a knight in armor and a serf with a pitchfork.”
Phil shrugged reluctant agreement to that, then grinned. “You won’t mind if I build crossbows, will you?”
“Not at all, as long as you sell them to anyone with money,” Talbot agreed with an unusual grin. “We’re just a small little outpost of civilization in world that’s turning to barbarism. Historically, the barbarians tend to win. Not as long as I’m in charge.”
“Okay, we’ll build you your arms and armor. Just use it right,” Suwisa said.
“Hey,” Phil interjected. “You can get a superior bend to the bow with beryllium bronze! That means you can get nearly as good a loft out of a light crossbow as from a longbow! And nearly the firepower.”
“Do you know how to cast beryllium bronze?” Edmund asked.
“No.”
“Well, I do. But I’m not going to spend all my time doing casts for crossbows. Okay?”
“Okay,” Phil said with a laugh.
“Speaking of casts,” he added. “There’s somebody you need to meet.”
* * *
“I didn’t know you were friends with any AI’s,” Suwisa said, mopping her face at the heat from the forge. “Hello, Carborundum.”
“Well, there’s a lot about me you don’t know,” Edmund replied. “How goes it, soulless fiend?”
“It’s bloody cold is how it goes,” Carborundum said. “And the Net is well and truly screwed. Your friend Sheida and Paul between them have put up blocks bloody everywhere.”
“We’re a bit short on carbon at the moment, old fiend,” Edmund said, then scooped up a generous helping nonetheless and tossed it onto the red glowing coals. He wiped the black soot from his hands and shrugged. “We’re cooking some charcoal now, but it’s a slow business and the wet isn’t helping.”
“Lystra says only another couple of days in this region,” Carb added. “And I’m sorry, but I’m still not finding anything on Rachel and Daneh. The fairies are circulating back word on people moving in the wilderness, but of course they don’t know one human from another. They were definitely at the house, both of them, at the Fall. And the house-hob said they left. But that’s all I’ve got. Some of the AI’s are being really uncommunicative, some of them are on Paul’s side, mostly because they think he’s going to win, and direct access to the Net is generally cut off between Sheida and Paul’s blocks.”
“Thank you, Carb. I’ve got Tom out l
ooking as well.”
“Well, I’ll tell you if anything comes up.”
“Thank you, again. But I’m introducing you to Suwisa for a reason. I’m going to have to be more and more connected to this mayor business and she’s going to be taking over the smithing and armoring. So I’m probably not going to be seeing you much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carb said. “Honestly. I know you’re busy but don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t. I hope you and Suwisa get along, though.”
“Oh, I’m an old hand at breaking in new smiths,” Carb said with a laugh like a couple of plates of iron striking.
“And I’m an old hand at old hands,” Suwisa said. “You were mentioning a need for charcoal I believe?”
“Arrrrgh! Edmund, come back!”
“You two have fun,” Edmund said, turning to the door. “And, Suwisa, you need to come meet your class soon.”
“I’ll do that, after I get done discussing things with Carborundum here.”
“When do you think Tom will get back?” Phil asked as the two of them stepped back into the rain.
“In a day or two I’d suppose.”
“And then you’ll know?”
“Phil, I may never know,” Edmund replied softly.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Herzer stopped and shook his head at the sight before him. The area had apparently sustained a forest fire sometime in the recent past. No more than a year to a year and a half ago from the looks of the few visible trees. And the area that had burned was now covered, for several acres at least and stretching across the trail, in thick vines that were just starting to come out of winter hibernation. The overall color was brown but it was shot through with green leaves. And it choked the path from side to side.
“What the hell is that?” Herzer muttered as Rachel stepped past his bulk.
“Kudzi!” she shouted, running forward. She darted to one of the greening areas and rummaged into the vines. “Yes! And it’s already fruiting!” she shouted, pulling out a small, bluish ovoid and thrusting it in her mouth.
Herzer walked into the patch and found another then, after a moment’s hesitation, took a tentative bite. Then he stuffed the whole thing in his mouth and searched for another. The fruit was an absolute taste explosion, something between a grape and a strawberry. It was blue, so he knew it had to be genegineered and he thanked whatever soul had in some distant past time created it. As he pulled out a handful of the fruit he thought better of stuffing them in his mouth and carried them over to Daneh instead.
“Here, you need this more than I do,” he said. A large, mature chestnut tree had fallen either just before or during the forest fire and its root bole held the trunk up off the ground. The combination had created a perfect little one-person shelter. Herzer steered the doctor under the tree and found a dry bit of bark for her to sit on. They had been traveling for nearly a day after the incident at the bridge and the doctor was looking more and more wan. He was afraid that something internal might have been damaged, but if so he couldn’t imagine what to do for her. The fruit would at least provide some sugars and liquid.
“Thank you, Herzer,” Daneh said tonelessly, taking a bite out of the fruit and settling in the shelter.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she snapped then shook her head. Really, I’m fine, Herzer. How are you? Any shakes?”
“Just from hunger,” he joked. “And these are helping. What is this stuff?”
“It was derived from a noxious weed called kudzu,” Daneh said, taking another bite. “It used to be spread all over eastern Norau; it grew wherever there was a disturbance in the ecosystem, which in those days was everywhere. Sometime in the late twenty-first century a researcher released a controlled retrovirus that modified it to kudzi. The fruit was a gene cross of kiwi fruit and plum; kiwi meat and plum skin. Anyway, that’s where it comes from. And just like kudzu, it grows up anywhere there has been a disturbance like a fire or tree-clearing; it’s a right pain in farming.”
“Well, I was thinking,” Herzer said. “With all this food here we might think about stopping. I’m pretty sure they’re well behind us.”
“No, we need to keep going,” Daneh said, lifting her chin with a “t’cht.” “We need to make it up to the road.”
“Okay, if you insist. But we’re going to stop and get some of this fruit. It will give us enough food to make it the rest of the way.”
“All right.” She nodded, taking another bite and wiping the juice off her chin. The fruit seemed to bring some color back into her cheeks and she smiled for the first time in what seemed like ages. “You go pick fruit. If you don’t mind I’ll just sit here and let you young folk do all the work.”
“Ummm, this is good,” Rachel said as he walked up. She had a bunch of the fruits in a makeshift cradle of her shirt and was biting into another. “Thanks for taking some to Mom.”
“She’s looking better for it, but she insists on keeping going,” Herzer said.
“We need to find some meat,” Rachel said stubbornly. “This is fine for us, it will keep us going at least, but Azure has to have some meat.”
“He looks thin, but…” Herzer said, looking over at the cat, which was rummaging in the vines as well.
“Cats are obligate carnivores,” Rachel replied. “That means they have to eat, every day. And they have to have protein, every day. If they don’t, they get sick. Something about fat buildups on their liver. It can kill them.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Rachel, but I don’t see any rabbits coming up to be killed.”
“Kudzi fruits before anything else,” Rachel said. “And they stay in fruit as long as the vines are green. That means that there’s going to be something coming up to eat it besides us. We probably scared some things away when we came up. Possums, raccoons, deer, something. If we just stay here a while and let Azure hunt…”
“Tell it to your mother,” Herzer replied. He had taken off Daneh’s rucksack and was filling it with the fruit, hoping that it wouldn’t release too much juice and ruin the inside of the bag.
“I will,” she said determinedly, and stalked over to where her mother was resting under the tree.
Herzer observed the exchange from afar but could more or less tell how it was going. First Rachel handed Daneh some of the fruit. Then she gestured around at the large field. Next she pointed out the cat, which was poking in every possible hole in the vines looking for something edible to a feline. The argument clearly weighed on Daneh but she shook her head and said her piece. The Rachel said hers with more force. Then Daneh’s face set and she gestured to the south, forcefully. Then Rachel’s voice could be heard from halfway across the open area. Then she stormed off.
“I have never known a more pig-headed, stupid…” she muttered as she passed Herzer.
As she passed, Herzer heard a scurrying in the vines and a field rat ran right in front of him. He had been carrying his staff with the knapsack in his left hand and he quickly dropped the bag, switched hands and then lashed out with the staff. The first blow missed but it turned the rat and the second blow hit.
He called to the cat and tossed the rat towards him as he thought about the implications.
“Rachel, is there some way you can get Azure to sort of… station himself on one side of the vines?”
“I… don’t know, why?” she asked, taking a bite out of a fresh fruit. They had been starving, but the fruit had taken the edge off and now it was already starting to pall.
“If he did we could walk along and sort of push stuff that is in the vines towards him. Things are running in front of us all the time; we’d just sort of have it run in front of us towards him.”
With a little persuasion on Herzer’s part it was done. Daneh continued to sit it out while the two younger members of the group walked back and forth across the vines. Azure quickly became aware of the nature of the game and waited patiently at the edge of the open area as th
e game was driven to him. In less than an hour he had bagged several field rats and a small rabbit. For Herzer’s part, that was an hour that Daneh wasn’t driving herself to keep going. She had simply sat out of the rain and eaten kudzi fruit until she was near to bursting. All in all it had been a very successful exercise in tact and diplomacy.
* * *
“And what is that you’re eating?” Chansa asked, appearing out of the air.
As usual Celine was in her workroom, which was filled with a cacophony of whining, bleating and croaking calls. He glanced at one of the cages along the wall and shuddered at the strange octopus-looking creature in the water-filled interior. The door had a sturdy lock but the creature was pushing at every opening with every appearance of intelligence. It saw him looking at it and came to the front, its skin going through a variety of color changes.
“Jelly babies,” Celine replied, lifting one of the squirming creatures that very much resembled small human children and popping it in her mouth. “Try one?”
Chansa shook his head and turned from the octopus to look at the writhing mass of faintly whining creatures. They were colored various shades and squirmed most unpleasantly.
“Avatars do not eat, Celine,” he reminded her.
“Yeah, that’s why I don’t use avatars,” Celine responded, popping a couple more in her mouth. “Uhmm, lemon.”
“Celine, we need to talk,” Chansa said, making a moue.
“Hmmmr?” she rumbled, her mouth full.
“Have you noticed Paul getting… strange?”
“You mean bug-house nuts?” she asked. “Yeah.”
“I’m not sure he’s quite what we need in the way of leadership,” Chansa said, carefully.
“See yourself in that position?” she asked, standing up and going over to one of the cages along the wall.
“No…” he answered carefully, watching as she extracted another one of her little monsters. This one looked like a fairly normal hamster for a change. He wondered what it was food for. “I was actually wondering if you would consider the position. You have seniority on the Council after Paul.”