by Richard Nell
“Aye. Crazy. That’s why no one’s tried it. That’s why it’s going to work.”
* * *
At dawn, Kurt woke and met with all six captains one by one, telling them each his plans to attack, and giving them a chance to voice concerns or make private deals. It cost him less than expected.
Now, an hour later, the collected remnants of the 2nd through 21st divisions of the old East Keevish army assembled in six groups on a sloping field. Kurt’s cavalry spread out in a skirmish line. They would lead and possibly clear a path to the valley, three lines of light infantry trailing behind.
To the old Imperial army, ‘light infantry’ meant men with little or no armor carrying javelins or slings and any sort of club, axe or blade as was available. These young men were usually recruits, or at least the greenest troops available, deployed to harass an enemy’s spearmen and perhaps threaten their flank, but never expected to do much.
Kurt’s light infantry were even more randomly equipped. Some carried bows, javelins, or slings, others huge zweihander swords that could cut a man in half, others flails, axes, or even halberds. But unlike their old imperial counter-parts, Kurt’s were his best, most experienced men, and they were hardened killers.
The tribesman of the woods and mountains of the East had few cavalry, and therefore pikemen had less use. Their warriors fought either in a huge mob, or in disjointed, formationless packs, and in either case avoided Keevish spearwalls. Most ‘battles’ with them became extended skirmishes of feint and retreat, and while Kurt’s heavy infantry provided an unassailable, movable barrier, they rarely did much fighting. It was thus his cavalry and light infantry that did the killing, and therefore they who had the most respect. East army light infantrymen soon learned to protect themselves and each other to survive, and quickly grew hard as rock. Five of Kurt’s six ‘captains’ were veterans of the light infantry.
“Don’t worry Old Man, we all know your scream. If your savages sniff out the Helvati, we’ll come save you.”
Kurt glanced back at Harmon and wiggled his eyebrows. They were always closest on the battlefield. Not ‘friends’ maybe, but at least they weren’t enemies. He clicked his tongue, and a hundred cavalry started forward.
For now they moved at the speed of a man’s walk and avoided trees, leaving any searching for the infantry. In any case Kurt considered ambush unlikely, and not possible in force until the the thicker woods around the valley. Out in the open his army would slaughter tribesmen. Helvati shieldwalls broke apart against his pike and musket blocks. His cavalry rode down their skirmishers. His bowmen were better, his light troops were all veterans. And though their ammunition was low—he also had muskets.
But the woods made things harder. It disrupted formations and slowed horsemen. It gave the tribesmen cover from arrows and bullets. And, it was the enemy’s home. Every Helvati warrior would know the layout of the trees and be able to withdraw and re-group and attack again without getting lost. Kurt’s men knew only what was in front of them.
That’s where I’d attack, if I were them, Kurt thought. I’d lure us into the deepest woods and send every man into a swirling charge from three angles, and let chaos reign.
“Celtus I want eyes on the woods South and West for two miles. Give me updates.”
The big man nodded and kicked his horse too hard, and Kurt watched his capable outriders galloping ahead, their movements equally pronounced. He only hoped they remembered they were here for scouting, and not revenge.
“Double march.” He waved at 2nd division’s standard bearer—a six and a half foot, two hundred and fifty pound career soldier, whose talents included beating men to death with an iron stick. The giant gestured the order using his flag, the captains called out almost instantly, and near two thousand boots crushed grass in unison.
Kurt felt the familiar tingle of battle-lust shoot up his spine. He couldn’t imagine what civilians did or ever could do to replace the feeling of war. How could they understand the risk, the test of training, will and experience all gathered and measured against men trying to stop and kill you? Kurt knew what it was to accept a family of wayward brothers, then gamble all their lives on a single toss of the dice. Win, or die, he thought, how could anything ever compare?
He looked back at the soldiers and saw them dropping rolled tobacco to the ground, all jokes and good-natured insults drying up now on disciplined tongues. The veterans adjusted packs and spit phlegm and tested scabbards, bowstrings and spear-shafts. The recruits followed suit. Kurt noted with satisfaction the near-perfect squares of his pike and musket-armed heavy infantry, guided from the outside by veterans walking like sheep dogs.
He’d ordered them to carry every scrap of shot and powder the army had left, and hoped now it wasn’t a mistake.
But if not now, then when? We won’t last another six months. We take this valley, or we splinter. We’ll be looters and deserters and God help us all, and God help Keevland, too.
He only wished he had shot for the eight cannon abandoned with the camp followers. He’d protected and cleaned and maintained these for a year now with the hope of renewed logistics, but none ever came. Though he had to admit not dragging them boosted the speed of his infantry, and in any case the damn things didn’t do much against Helvati. Tribesmen didn’t line up and march into cannon. They had no forts. They rarely even built wooden palisades.
To be effective against such an enemy Kurt would need faster, lighter cannon. Over the years he’d been considering this amongst many other improvements to the Keevish army. Not that anyone ever asked.
One day there will be time, he thought, and someone to listen, and we’ll transform more peasants into career soldiers, and be a bloody unstoppable force. Sometimes he still even believed it.
The army followed in the footsteps of Kurt’s scouts, trampling the remnants of a few destroyed and abandoned shacks, scattering clothes and tiny gardens. Celtus soon sent riders to announce the woods safe and empty of all threat save for a few scouts. Some he’d caught and killed, but believed some escaped. The valleymen below, he announced, had not fled in the night.
Kurt clenched his jaw at the edge of the Pyne, fighting the urge to stare into the darkness, or glance back at his men. If he could make it through to flat, open ground he’d form them up into a unbreachable block of death, ringed by pikes and muskets and skirmishers with cavalry waiting. He would march through the valley killing anything that stood against him, hoping only the men refrained from destroying their future home, and that the tribesmen faced such a slaughter they would run off and stay away long enough he could dig in. Somehow, he doubted it.
But one can hope, he thought. And regardless, he no longer had a choice. He took a small breath, counted quickly, and rode into the woods.
-
Chapter 4
From the dense foliage in every direction, Kurt soon lost sight of open ground. At any moment he expected his scouts to come racing back with word the Helvati advanced, shouting: ‘From the North!’ ‘From the South!’ ‘No, gathering and charging from the valley!’ But no one came.
For perhaps half an hour he listened and flinched at every snapped twig and shuffle from the wrong direction, staring at gloom-shrouded trees and swearing they moved.
“Sir.”
Kurt cocked his pistol and nearly blew Celtus’ head off when he finally rode in from the blackness.
“Nothing. Woods are clear. Valley is full.”
Kurt stared in disbelief.
“Surely they know we’re coming.”
The horseman’s face twitched towards a sneer, betraying his usually-concealed emotion.
“No. They saw only Averni. They think us stray dogs to be put down or ignored, not feared.” His mouth snapped shut as if he’d meant to say something else, but changed his mind. He looked away and waited for orders.
Kurt nearly laughed in relief. But savages were touchy about honor and face—despite their penchant for underhanded roguery—and so he took every
opportunity to show his respect.
“Tomorrow,” Kurt waited till the man met his eyes, “the Helvati, and every other tribe for a hundred miles, will know to fear the sight and sound of Averni riders.”
Celtus swallowed and his hands flexed on his horse’s mane. He nodded.
They rode side by side in the eerie silence without even birdcalls to announce their passage. At first the high sun flicked light between dense leaves, but soon even this failed as the canopy thickened, and the trees shrouded all in a lifeless grey. Kurt knew it was the worst possible terrain for his army, and he hadn’t felt so vulnerable in years, but he trusted his scouts.
Soon enough, bits of light returned and the tree-trunks spread so that men and horses could move almost in line. Within the hour, and with great relief, Kurt and the two thousand men of the East Keevish army marched squinting into the sun. In the minutes it took to exit entirely and move down the most gentle slope they could find, Kurt rode from side to side looking for any sign of the enemy. Still, he saw none.
“Standard march.”
The giant of the 2nd waved his flag in the assigned pattern, and the captains shouted and moved down the edge of the valley at the heads of their groups. Light infantrymen raced ahead and spread apart, some staying along the ridge and following the edge of the valley, others making a screen on the bottom. Kurt would keep his cavalry back until his pikes had formed a good, solid block to hide behind. Then he’d pick a flank and race ahead when he had room to manoever. Unless the savages came barreling from the closest trees or somehow had hidden beneath every rock and shrub in camouflage with a bow in hand, they were too late now for an ambush.
“Sir.”
Torsten pointed, and Kurt followed to look near the center of the valley where the most tents and shacks were built. Men had begun swarming like ants from their hill. He nodded, suddenly wishing he had cannon and shot, and that he didn’t care about damaging the buildings.
“Plenty of time,” he said, then looked one more time at the woods on the other sides of the valley. “Go make sure…”
Celtus had already turned his horse, racing East at the first word.
Kurt smiled, and wondered. Could I make more savage tribesmen my allies in the future? No doubt the Helvati had more enemies, other tribes they’d pushed out, half enslaved and nearly destroyed. Perhaps others would rally at the chance to exact their revenge. But would they get along? Or if I bring in other barbarians will I simply put my scouts at risk and bring a hundred more problems?
It was a problem for another day. He watched the last of his heavy infantry manage the steep descent, and he glanced back at Torsten and nodded, then went down on the right flank. If the enemy was foolish enough to hold their ground and fight him, his pikes and muskets would advance to point blank range and begin firing. His skirmishers would circle loosing arrows and javelins. And if the tribesmen gave chase or attacked, he would wait for them to break into a loose mob, or engage and lock themselves against the pikemen, and his cavalry would shatter them. At least that was the plan.
As he often did before combat, Kurt flexed his hands and remembered his first battlefield. Back then he’d been a hundred pound boy with an unbroken voice, holding a cracked spear with shaking arms next to fifty others like him. If someone had told that poor, skinny bastard he’d one day lead a thousand warriors against savages, he’d have laughed in their face, or maybe shit himself. He couldn’t remember now when it had become normal.
While Kurt’s infantry advanced, the valleymen formed themselves into a thick cluster of shields, perhaps three hundred fighters in ten lines. They used a few of their larger buildings to guard their flanks, and presented an unbroken wall of shields. Cannons, Kurt thought, with a small twitch, cannons would be pleasant. He mentally shrugged.
“Advance.”
The standard bearers waved their obsolete and faded Imperial flags, and an unbroken square of pikes and muskets inched forward. Heavy infantry shuffled in combat, rather than stepped, their long pikes raised and held forward in formation, three rows deep from every second man. They moved slowly, and in utter silence save for their synchronized footfalls, which from so many packed men sounded like a fleet of drummers.
The light infantry circled and came down from the valley’s slopes in a loose crescent, bows, slings, and javelins ready to launch, muskets and pistols loaded.
The savages watched, and held. Only their bearded faces and feet were visible behind their wall of round shields, some few axes or spears raised in threat. A single man emerged from their line clutching a long branch covered in green needles. He raised it high above his head.
“They wish to speak,” said Celtus, voice thick, and raw.
Kurt took a deep breath and considered. He glanced at the many houses, close enough now to notice the many eyes watching his army advance. Huddled inside would be the women and children, the old and infirm. If the Helvati asked to surrender or flee he supposed at least he would lose no men, and the buildings wouldn’t be damaged. But in their flight they would take supplies he might otherwise steal, and perhaps prove a danger later as angry rebels picked away at him from the woods. And his men would lose a chance for slaves. And the tribesmen might run to every near-by chief for help. Though I’d at least then have time to fortify.
“Very good.” Kurt made his decision and smiled as if he’d expected this. He rode forward. Even if words achieved nothing, neither did they cost him, and one never knew what might be gained. Torsten and Celtus followed.
The Helvati holding the branch gestured and two other men joined him, sheathing their weapons but keeping their shields.
As the distance between them closed, Kurt could see the savage leader stood taller than his horse. His long, dark beard and hair drooped to his chest, and the strength in his long, wiry limbs and shoulders was clear. He and his men’s axes looked heavy and made for war, but Kurt mostly inspected their shields. They looked thin enough. In fact, they looked entirely made of wood and leather, without even an iron boss in their center. With some pleasure he decided musket fire at close range would go straight through them, spraying wooden shrapnel on the way.
“Ent mawa, sig den Fay, den Gisalt. Impa no timen.”
The savage holding a branch gestured at himself and spoke in his nonsense tongue. Kurt decided his face held a rather undeserved calm.
“He says he is called Gisalt, chief of this valley. He says we are not welcome.”
Celtus’ tone remained calm enough, but Kurt knew him well enough now to see murder in his eyes.
“Tell him my name is Colonel Gottfried of the East Keevish Republican army, and that I’m afraid he’s no longer master here. Tell him it is he who is not welcome. Say, ‘please gather your women and children, and leave without delay’.”
Celtus sneered, translating with some pleasure, Kurt decided. All three Helvati squinted in unison. Their nostrils flared.
“We built these houses,” said the chief, as Celtus translated. “We cleared this soil, built these fields. This is our land and you…”
“That’s enough.” Kurt raised a hand to cut the translation off. “Tell Gisalt, son of whichever mongrel spawned him, that if he gathers his women and children and leaves right now, without supplies except water, I will spare all their lives.”
Celtus’ eyes narrowed.
“You let leave? With men and weapons? He will raid, ambush. We should kill. All of them. Now.”
Kurt smiled.
“Thank you for your advice. Now tell him.”
Celtus shook his head and glared at the Helvati chief as he translated. The chief spit, and pointed at Kurt.
“Digtha, emay. Yon.”
Celtus turned, perhaps with a little pleasure.
“Chief Gisalt gives old saying. What he means is that you are a coward. He wants to fight you, alone, in single combat, to determine who is the rightful owner of this valley. That is, if you are a real man.”
For a moment Kurt matched his ally’
s stare.
“What is the saying exactly?”
“Many men. Little leader.”
Kurt smiled politely, then glanced back at Torsten.
“You can use my sword if you like, sir.” The big man showed nothing in his face, struggling a moment to stop his horse from grazing. “I keep it sharpened, at least.”
Kurt nodded before he turned away. Then he took the time to meet the eye of every savage, including Celtus, and seeing their utter seriousness he finally broke his composure, and laughed. He laughed as loudly and rudely as he was capable, letting the moment linger, fully aware of the angry silence of the tribesmen. When he’d finished, he wiped at his eyes and checked the looseness of two of his pistols.
“Tell him, thank you. I needed that. And please also thank him for reminding me he is a Helvati savage, and not a reasonable, civilized man with which one has a conversation. I’m going to return to my many, many warriors now. Please explain if he and his few animals don’t run their families away from me in terror, without delay, then those many, many men are going to take turns sleeping on the white bellies of his wives and daughters.”
Kurt clicked his tongue and wiped all trace of humor from his face, not waiting to hear the translation. He rode back to wait beside the heavy infantry, pointing at Torsten to lead the cavalry. When the tribesmen finally finished—they spoke for a little while without Kurt—Celtus rode back to wait at Kurt’s side.
“Are they going, or fighting?”
Celtus had mastered himself and now wore a neutral expression.
“I do not know.”