Harry Turtledove - Advance and Retreat

Are they savages, or just savage? Doubting George wondered. And if people had done to me what we’ve done to the blonds for generations, wouldn’t I have good reason to be savage?

He walked up and down the line, from one end to the other. It was anchored at both east and west by the Cumbersome River. A solid fleet of catapult-carrying war galleys rowed up and down the Cumbersome. All of them flew King Avram’s gold dragon on red. The northerners had no galleys on the Cumbersome, and none on the Great River, either, not any more. Several river fights and the losses of Old Capet and, after a long siege, Camphorville had made sure of that.

In the center, the line bulged out toward the north, swallowing up the whole town of Ramblerton and taking advantage of the high ground out beyond the edge of settled territory. The more George walked, the fewer the doubts he had. He didn’t see how Lieutenant General Bell and the Army of Franklin could batter their way through these works and into Ramblerton.

Of course, what he saw and what Bell saw were liable to be two different beasts. “I hope they’re two different beasts,” Doubting George muttered. The mere idea that he and Bell might think alike offended him. And if it also offended Bell… George did some more muttering: “That’s his worry.”

It was already past noon when Lieutenant General Bell and the Army of Franklin neared John the Lister’s defensive position by Poor Richard. Bell looked across the wide, empty fields toward the three slightly concave lines of entrenchments awaiting him. King Avram’s banners fluttered on the earthworks.

He glanced over toward his wing and brigade commanders. With a brusque nod, he said, “We attack.”

“As simple as that, your honor?” Patrick the Cleaver asked.

“As simple as that,” Bell said. “Unless you haven’t the stomach for it, as you hadn’t the stomach for it at Summer Mountain.”

Like most men from the Sapphire Isle, Brigadier Patrick was swarthy even by Detinan standards. That didn’t keep him from showing an angry flush now. “I’ll show you what sort of man I am,” he growled. “Sure and you’ve shown me now what sort of man you are.”

That did nothing to improve Bell’s temper. Neither did the pain he could never escape. “We can discuss this further at your leisure, Brigadier,” he said.

Patrick bowed. “I am at your service in that as in all things.”

“And I,” Brigadier Provincial Prerogative said. “When you insult Brigadier Patrick, you insult all your officers.”

“That’s true,” Otho the Troll said in a rumbling bass.

Brigadier John of Barsoom bowed to Bell. “As a proper northern gentleman, I would be remiss if I said this did not also hold for me.”

“And me, for gods’ sake,” For Gods’ Sake John added.

Hiram the Cranberry turned even redder than usual and nodded without speaking.

Bell wondered if he would have to duel with every officer in the Army of Franklin, down to the rank of lieutenant. He had a hells of a time cocking a crossbow, but he could shoot quick and straight with one hand. If they wanted to quarrel with him, he would give each of them a quarrel, right in the ribs.

Ned of the Forest said, “I thought we were supposed to be fighting the southrons, not each other.”

“Theory is wonderful,” Provincial Prerogative said, still glaring at Bell. He’d been one of the leaders in the attack on Sumptuous Castle in Karlsburg harbor, the attack that had started the War Between the Provinces. Bell glared back. He didn’t care what Provincial Prerogative had done in what now seemed the dim, distant, dead past.

“We’d better fight the southrons,” Ned said. “Anybody who doesn’t care to fight them can fight me instead.”

That produced a sudden, thoughtful silence. No one was eager to fight Ned. Lieutenant General Bell said, “I require no proxies.”

“I’m not doing this for you, sir,” Ned of the Forest answered. “I’m doing it for the kingdom. Seems to me a lot of folks here have forgotten about the kingdom.”

Some of Bell’s brigadiers still looked angry. But several of them nodded. “For gods’ sake, he’s right!” For Gods’ Sake John burst out. No one disagreed, not out loud.

Ned said, “Sir, by your leave, I’d like to take my riders over to the left and back into the southrons’ rear. When you lick ’em, we’ll be there in perfect position to fall on ’em as they’re running away.”

Bell didn’t need to think long. Anything but victory was unimaginable. This time, he’d follow up victory once he got it. He nodded to Ned. “Good idea. Go do it.”

Ned of the Forest started to leave the assembled officers, then stopped and turned back. “Matter of fact, sir, I reckon we can flank ’em right out of their works. If you’ll hold up a little, you won’t even need to charge ’em. That there’s liable to be a hard line to take by assault.”

Several brigadiers brightened. One man after another nodded. The longer Bell watched them, the angrier he got. He shook his leonine head. “No. We will attack.”

The commander of unicorn-riders scowled. “Why the hells do you want to pick a fight when you don’t have to… sir?” he asked. “Give me a brigade of footsoldiers to go with my riders and I will agree to flank the southrons from their works within two hours’ time. I can go down the Folly-free Gap, the one the Ramblerton road goes through, and sneak behind ’em before they even know I’m around.”

“What a fine notion you’re after having there!” Patrick the Cleaver exclaimed. “We’re asking for naught but trouble, crossing such a broad stretch of open space towards earthworks the Thunderer’s hard prong couldn’t pierce.”

Brigadier Benjamin, called the Heated Ham because he’d made a bad schoolboy actor, also nodded. The wing commander said, “Sir, I think Ned and Patrick are right. I don’t like the looks of this fight here. The southrons have a good position, and they’re well fortified.”

“No,” Bell said again. “My mind’s made up. Ned, you may use your flanking move, but with unicorn-riders only. You, at least, have shown you are not afraid to manfully fight out in the open.”

Ned of the Forest looked even angrier than he had before. The wing and brigade commanders started screaming at Lieutenant General Bell all over again, louder than ever. “How dare you call us cowards, for gods’ sake?” For Gods’ Sake John demanded.

“How dare you act like cowards?” Bell retorted, which might have been a new firepot bursting among his subordinates. Ned of the Forest stamped away, throwing up his hands in disgust.

John of Barsoom cried, “At least have the decency to tell us why you’re sending us off to be slaughtered.”

“I will tell you exactly why,” Bell said in tones of ice. “I have made the discovery that this army, after a forward march of more than one hundred fifty miles, is still seemingly unwilling to accept battle unless under the protection of breastworks, and this has caused me to experience grave concern. In my inmost heart I question whether or not I will ever succeed in eradicating this evil. It seems to me I have exhausted every means in the power of one man to remove this stumbling block from the Army of Franklin.”

“Meaning no disrespect, sir, but it seems to me you don’t know what the hells you’re talking about,” Benjamin the Heated Ham said.

Bell wondered how he would have spoken had he meant disrespect. The commanding general gave one of his one-shouldered shrugs. “I do not care how it seems to you,” he said, his voice even colder than it had been a moment before. “It seems to me that some of my subordinates have a great deal to learn about obeying orders.”