Mitchell Smith - Kingdom River

"… Yes, you're right, sir. I thought of strong left-flanking, get them half-turned from me, but I was afraid the cavalry might just charge away into the night… turn up weeks later in Map-Guadalajara."

The old man's laugh ended with a liquid cough. "And by Jesus they might have, at that. I've found cavalry… not quite trustworthy."

"I've learned to trust them. And since I'm presently looking at a pair of flat, obviously-infantry feet, I'll dismiss an ignorant observation."

Bailey smiled and wiggled his toes. "Oh, no insult intended. All your people seem to know their business."

"Yes, they do."

The old man stroked his cheeks, evaluating his shave. "Stupid woman…" He turned from watching the fire to look at Sam, an examination as coolly interested as an elderly cat's. "And just what do you, as a young commander of rather limited experience – no experience on the river at all – just what do you think needs to be done?"

"Sir, I think what's left of the West-bank army should be behind fortifications – dug-ditch and palisade, if that's the best they can do – until the river freezes, and they join East-bank army. Your General Pomeroy needs to stop sticking his neck out for the Kipchaks to chop. No more half-assed marching and countermarching."

"Hmm. Miles Pomeroy has had the fever-malaria for years. It makes him short-tempered, restless. I doubt he'll take that 'advice' to heart. Though I also doubt that fortification will win the war."

"It will stop losing it, while East-bank army gets its thumb out of its ass and moves west across the ice. The Fleet should be sailing north right now, ready to rig its runners to join them. The river's already freezing at St. Louis – "

"It's freezing below Lemay. – And this combination of forces will, of course, terrify Toghrul."

"It will keep his generals and half his army busy in the north, sir."

"While…?"

"While my army marches up through Map-Arkansas, threatening his lines of supply… then waits in good defensive country."

Bailey pursed his lips and made soft kissing sounds. "Well, young man, my information is – and I still receive some information, some useful pigeons – my information is that the Khan has already reached his people in the north, taken command from Shapilov. Which means your army had better move fast, or they'll be too late."

"They'll move fast. They should be well into Map-Louisiana now, with the cavalry coming east from Map-Fort Stockton to join them."

"Better be. A great deal seems to depend on your General Voss."

"He's a dependable man, sir."

"So, with your army coming up West-bank from the south… which the Khan probably knows already – "

"I think not. The cavalry, coming east, should screen the army's march for at least a week or so."

"Very well, Monroe, let's say that's true – "

"We'll have my army coming up the west bank, and your East-bank army crossing the ice in the north, supported by the Fleet. The Khan will find himself between two immediately threatening forces – and will have no choice but to divide his army to deal with them. He won't have time to attack one with all he has, then turn to face the other."

"He may try to make the time."

"Not with his supply-lines threatened north of the Map-Ozarks, sir. No fodder; no remounts; no replacements. Time will be against him."

The old man sighed. "From your lips, to the ears of Floating Jesus."

"And Mountain Jesus as well, General."

"Well… it's a very young strategy, Monroe. With many ifs."

"It's the only one, sir, I think has any chance at all."

"Mmm… So, the Khan, once he realizes he's blundered by campaigning with an enemy left behind to cut his lines of supply, must send troops south to at least dislodge that enemy. But he must also leave forces in the north, to hold the river ice against the Fleet, and East-bank army."

"Yes."

"So he will send, or go south himself, to meet… you? I assume you intend to command that battle."

"Yes, sir."

Bailey put his head back and closed his eyes as if beginning a nap. "And what chance do you give this strategy, young man?"

"The only chance we've got, sir."

"Well, that's fair enough. A soldier's answer, at any rate." Still with his eyes closed. " – Of course, if he beats you, destroys your army without taking heavy losses, he'll use your own plan in reverse."

"Yes, if he won with light losses, he'd hook to the riverbank there, let his northern forces keep our northern forces busy until the river freezes down to him. Then he'd send his tumans out onto the ice to take Island."

"And the Kingdom."

"Yes. And the Kingdom. – But he won't have light losses, General. Win or lose, I promise we will ruin him in the fight. So Kingdom will still have a better than even chance against the rest of his army, in the north."

Bailey opened his eyes. "A fair-enough promise. Well, you have a notion, milord. And I like it – there's a nice, nasty unfairness to it. But it will depend, of course, on our people and your people fighting as one, though so many Warm-time miles apart."

"Yes."

"To deal with which difficulty, I suppose, I'm being recruited, though so old, and now impoverished."

"There would be pay."

"Um-hmm. Same nasty odor of taking advantage – always a sign of solid strategy."

"Horseshit," Sam said. "You'd have been very angry if you hadn't been asked to help by someone."

A sideways yellow glance. "And speaking of 'someone,' what does Her Majesty think of your 'advising' Kingdom's men?"

"She dislikes it extremely, and wouldn't have allowed even that if she had a better choice – and didn't need my army."

Bailey smiled. He had two teeth missing. "She is a remarkable woman. A better queen, in some ways, than Newton was a king. His heart was never really in it; he found us… a sad lot. And that Kentucky business, an absolute mess. General Ryan, and his so-faithful tribal allies!" The old man seemed to dream for a few moments, then roused. "So, you 'advise.' I doubt such grudging approval by Her Majesty will be enough."

"The Queen has allowed my engagement to Princess Rachel."

The general sat up. "Has she? Well… that might make a difference. And the girl will have you?"

"I believe she will, though reluctantly."

"Ah. 'Reluctantly.' 'Advise' and 'reluctantly.' Son, you're going to be very lucky to keep your head – even forgetting Toghrul and his Kipchaks."

"I know it."

Bailey hauled himself out of his chair, padded to the Franklin, and struck the hot stove-pipe with his fist. A small belch of ash and smoke came from the fire. "Fucking thing… If the Kipchaks had not taken Map-Jefferson City – "

"I know. In that way, Toghrul works for me."

"He'll work against you, when he finds he has to take half his army down to Map-Arkansas." The general's robe was dusted with ash. "Think you can beat him?"

"If he fights my fight – yes."

"And your fight will be?"

"Wait for him in broken, wooded country, hills with some height to them. On perhaps a seven-to-eight-hundred-acre front, cut by narrow hollows. And all under Lord Winter's snow."

"Map-Ozarks."

"Yes."

Bailey tapped the stove-pipe again, absently. "So, you leave him no room for sweeping cavalry maneuvers… He'll break his command into smaller units, try to work them along the ridges into your formations."

"I would, in his place."

"And, of course, he'll dismount most of his people – have them come against you on foot."

"So I hope, sir."

"He'll still have numbers on you, even with only half his army with him."