David Weber - The Road to Hell

He had no doubt at all about how restful the ride wouldn’t be once they started heading cross-country.

He pushed that thought aside as the Mule came to a halt. It was already liberally streaked with mud, and after watching a conventional steam dray slither off the pounded down track and bog almost instantly in the mud beyond it, he decided there was much to be said for its half-tracked suspension.

Chan Klaisahn hopped down from the running board and trotted over.

“I’ve got the maps and dispatch cases aboard, Sir,” he said, saluting crisply. “We can move out as soon as Gershyr’s transferred your personal gear. Regiment-Captain chan Ferdain’s already loading the Three Hundred Twelfth aboard its Bisons and Mules, and TTE’s mating the heavy equipment and artillery with the transport. Of course, we won’t dare move until Gershyr tells us he’s ready!”

He rolled his eyes, and chan Bykahlar chuckled. Senior-Armsman Gershyr chan Lorak had been his batman for five years, and he ruled the rest of the brigade with an iron will. It would have taken a hardier soul than any mere brigade-captain to deflect Gershyr from The Way Things Ought to Be where the care and feeding of one Desval chan Bykahlar was concerned.

“Actually, Sir, I doubt even Gershyr’s going to delay our departure today,” chan Klaisahn continued, and shrugged when chan Bykahlar raised a questioning eyebrow. “I don’t mean to suggest he’s suddenly decided to turn over a new leaf and become reasonable , Sir. It’s just that we won’t be ready to move out in less than at least six to ten hours, no matter what we do. Not only do we have all of our own baggage and heavy weapons to cross-load, but I understand Master Yanusa-Mahrdissa’s sending a fuel convoy along with us. It’s going to take a while to top off the kerosene drays from the tanker cars.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” chan Bykahlar agreed. “Gods know the last thing we need is to run short of fuel in the middle of the godsdamned Roanthan Plains in the middle of winter! But only kerosene? Not coal, too?”

“Not this trip, Sir. Rechair’s in the midst of a deep discussion with the freight master, and I expect he’ll emerge with more detail than I have now. From what I understand, though, they’ve decided to hold the coal-fired Bisons farther back, where the bulk of their fuel requirements-and their funnel smoke-won’t be as big a problem.”

Chan Bykahlar nodded. Aside from its tendency to leak, it was actually easier to transport, and while he strongly suspected that several hundred Bisons and Steel Mules churning across the plain would produce enough dust to make their presence obvious, he was entirely in favor of not adding dense clouds of coal smoke to the mix.

Not that it’s likely to be much of a factor where we’re concerned , he reflected. It’s the poor bloody dragoons who have to worry about being spotted by the damned dragons. And if we are spotted , they’re the ones who’re going to draw the first dragon attacks, too, I imagine .

“All right,” he said, squelching across the mud to the step built into the Mule’s rear bumper, “I suppose I should survey my new domain while it’s still standing still.”

March 27

Division-Captain chan Geraith stood atop the canyon wall and peered down at the bustling anthill so far below through his field glasses.

In the eight days since crossing into Thermyn, he’d traveled over thirteen hundred miles, and every bone in his body knew it. The four hundred and sixty miles from Chindar to High Rock City hadn’t been all that terrible, except for the endless climb up to High Rock. The three hundred miles from there to Coyote Canyon had been far worse, however, given the terrain, although the Bisons and Steel Mules which had preceded the main column had at least pounded the worst of the ground flat. The weather hadn’t been all that bad-in fact, it hadn’t fallen below freezing for the last week and there’d been plenty of sun-but the lack of water and the dense, choking pall of dust had more than made up for that. Civilians who’d never tried to move a few thousand men and horses across an arid waste had no concept of just how much water they’d need. The engineers had damned the Sand Rock River where it flowed through High Rock City to create a reservoir, but even this early in the year the Sand Rock was scarcely the Dalazan River. It helped a lot, but he knew the quartermasters spent a lot of time worrying over breakdowns among the water tankers.

Fortunately, that problem was in a fair way to being alleviated here at Coyote Canyon itself, given the amount of water brawling its way along the Stone Carve. The engineers had set up a water collection and purification point five miles upstream from the bridging site, and through his glasses he could see several hundred men splashing around in the river itself. He suspected the water was a bit too cold for his own tastes, but he was glad to see them washing away the dust. No doubt at least some of them were also trying to soak up as much moisture as they could through the pores of their skin, he thought with a grin.

He moved his attention to the bridge itself. He couldn’t hear much from his present position except for the constant, sighing voice of the wind, but the bridge’s prefabricated steel spans swarmed with workmen. It was almost completed, and the bulldozer blade-fitted Bisons were improving the approach to it. More of them, as well as hundreds of men with shovels and picks, were working to improve the steep, rugged ramp up to the notch blasted out of the canyon’s farther wall.

Tomorrow , he thought. Yahnday at the latest. And that’s when the pressure really starts .

He lowered the glasses and turned to look back to the east. The sprawl of vehicles, orderly rows of tents, and industriously employed soldiers stretched as far as the eye could see, and the inevitable cluster of shirtless, sunburned mechanics swarmed over a half-dozen Bisons, shielded from the intense desert sun by overhead canvas flies. From the occasional curse riding the stiff breeze to his ears, he suspected that at least one of the recalcitrant vehicles was likely to find itself being cannibalized to get the others running again. He hated the thought of losing yet another of them, but his instructions to Therahk chan Kymo’s quartermasters had been uncompromising.

The next six or seven days would be critical. The indefatigable Company-Captain chan Mahsdyr and his Gold Company were once again far out ahead of 3rd Dragoons’ main body. In fact, he and his men were ensconced in the rugged country along the White Snake River east of Fort Ghartoun, keeping a cautious and surreptitious eye on its Arcanan garrison. As long as they stayed at least a few miles back, the rough terrain-made considerably rougher by the violence of the portal wind which must have come screaming through the New Uromath portal, probably for centuries, when it originally formed-offered an abundance of concealment for troops as experienced at keeping out of sight as imperial Ternathian dragoons. Chan Geraith knew that. And despite knowing that, his nerves tightened every time he thought of all of the ways in which they might betray their presence to any semi-alert Arcanan.

Fortunately, there seemed to be few of those in Fort Ghartoun. Nor had chan Mahsdyr’s Plotters or Distance Viewers seen any dragons permanently attached to the fort. For that matter, they hadn’t seen any of the eagle-lions the Arcanans appeared to use as unmanned reconnaissance vehicles, either. That undoubtedly explained how the thousands of Sharonians along the Stone Carve, barely four hundred miles from them, had so far eluded their attention. The fact that the shortest route between Fort Ghartoun and Fort Brithik at the Failcham portal lay well over two hundred and fifty miles north of their present position probably didn’t hurt; a dragon would have to detour pretty far out of its direct flight path to Failcham to spot them way down here. But even if there weren’t any dragons permanently stationed at Fort Ghartoun, plenty of them were certainly passing along that route to Failcham farther to the north, and the closer his main body got to Fort Ghartoun, the more likely one of those transiting dragons was to spot his column. He’d cheerfully have sacrificed his left hand for the sort of aerial reconnaissance capability the Arcanans enjoyed, but in its absence, the best he could do was to take the threat into consideration and try to plan around it.