Harry Turtledove - Marching Through Peachtree

“How do we get to this Fort Worthless place, sir?” James the Bird’s Eye asked. “How do we do it without going through Whole Mackerel, I mean?”

Hesmucet pointed not northwest but northeast. “Over there is a road junction called Konigsburg. I intend to move the army there first, and then shift west over Calabash Creek toward Fort Worthless. I have maps, which I can show you at your leisure, if you’re so inclined.”

“Thank you, sir,” James replied. He was eager. In a war where so many had grown weary, that alone made him stand out. “I’d be pleased to see them.”

“Next question is, how do we keep Joseph the Gamecock from realizing what we’re up to?” Doubting George said.

His questions were always to the point, and all the more so when most pointed. But Hesmucet said, “I have some ideas about that, too.” He set them forth.

“What’s my part in all this?” Fighting Joseph asked when he was through-a question altogether in keeping with his temperament.

Lieutenant General George said, “None of that matters. The plan matters. I think it’s a good one.”

James the Bird’s Eye said, “I’ve started sending men down some of these roads. I don’t think the roads know where they’re going themselves.”

Hesmucet nodded. “That’s how I remember them. Even the locals get lost half the time, seems like. But we’ve got enough serfs coming in to us to keep us from getting too badly confused. And most of the traitors won’t have any better notion of where the roads go than we do. Let’s get moving.”

“You still haven’t answered my question… sir,” Fighting Joseph said. “What is my role in all this?”

“Whatever I order it to be,” Hesmucet snapped, by now out of temper. “Get your men moving along with everybody else’s.” Handsome face dark with anger, Fighting Joseph stormed away. Hesmucet nodded to James and George. Saluting, they left, too.

As they did so, Major Alva came up to Hesmucet. He too saluted, sloppily-he was a soldier because he needed to be in the chain of command, not through any innate longing for the military life. In fact, Hesmucet doubted he’d ever seen a less military man in all his life. “Can we go on with it, sir?” Alva asked anxiously. “Can we? Please?”

He sounded as eager as a child with a new toy. In truth, that was about what he was. One thing King Avram’s army did for him: it let him play with bigger, fancier toys than he would ever have got his hands on in civilian life.

“Yes, we’re going to try it,” Hesmucet answered. “Remember, the object is to make the traitors think we’re slamming our way through at Whole Mackerel.”

“Of course I remember, sir.” Alva sounded affronted that Hesmucet could think he would forget anything. And I probably am naive to think any such thing, went through Hesmucet’s mind. Whatever else this puppy is, forgetful he isn’t-especially when he does get to use his toys . Alva went on, “Funny how, at Caesar, you wanted me to mask a real attack from the enemy, where now I’m going to be doing just the opposite.”

“It’s not funny-it’s necessary,” Hesmucet said. “If we do the same thing over and over, pretty soon it won’t fool the northerners any more.”

“Oh. Right. Isn’t that interesting?” Alva blinked. He was a very clever young man. He’s certainly more clever than I am, at whatever he wants to turn his mind to, Hesmucet thought. But when he hasn’t turned his mind to something, it just isn’t there for him. He can see the magic, something I could never do in a thousand years, but he’s never thought about whys and wherefores .

He set his hand on Alva’s shoulder, feeling downright grandfatherly even though he wasn’t far past forty himself. “You tend to your business, son, and I’ll tend to mine, and between us, with a little luck, we’ll make Geoffrey’s men mighty unhappy.”

“I like that, sir,” Alva said. “You know, people really shouldn’t bind other people to the land. Who knows how many mages and artisans and such have sweated their lives away raising indigo and rice and sugar just because they happened to be born with blond hair?”

Hesmucet grunted. His own view of blonds was much less sanguine than Alva’s. “Keeping Detina one kingdom counts for a good deal, too,” he said dryly.

“Oh, yes, that, too, of course,” Alva agreed, though to him it was plainly of secondary importance. “Tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Hesmucet agreed. “That will give the men a good start toward Konigsburg.”

“All right, sir.” Alva grinned a small-boy grin altogether unsuited to a major. “This should be fun!”

That evening, Hesmucet posted pickets well forward of his main line. He didn’t want the northerners to have another chance to give him a nasty surprise, as they’d almost done at Fat Mama. If Lieutenant General Bell hadn’t pulled back for no reason Hesmucet could see, he might have done a good deal of damage.

Here at Whole Mackerel, though, Joseph the Gamecock kept his men quiet inside their entrenchments. All things considered, Hesmucet didn’t blame him. He was ensconced in a solid position, as solid as the one outside Borders. Head-on assault probably wouldn’t take the place. If Hesmucet couldn’t flank the traitors out of Whole Mackerel, they’d be there a long time.

Joseph, he knew, would pay him about as much money as false King Geoffrey had in his treasury to attack head-on. He lay down on his iron-framed cot with a smile on his face. Sometimes the best way to confound a man was to give him exactly what he thought he wanted.

When morning came, Hesmucet put most of his soldiers on the miserable roads north that led to Konigsburg. Colonel Phineas and almost all the rest of the army’s mages had the job of masking that move from the northerners. Phineas wasn’t much of a mage himself, but did have a knack for getting other mages to work together.

Major Alva, by contrast, had very little ability to work with anybody else. But he was a hells of a mage. Hesmucet had less ability to work with other officers than a lot of southrons, and was uneasily aware of the fact. But he was a good general himself, which made up for a multitude of flaws.

“Are you ready?” he asked Alva. A predawn mist still lingered over the field, a bit of luck he hadn’t dared hope for.

“I sure am,” Alva replied gaily. His eyes sparkled. He was indeed as ready as small boys were for a lark.

“Begin, then,” Hesmucet said, “and let me know when I can play my part in this little show.”

“Just as you say, sir,” Alva replied, and he began to chant. He hadn’t gone far before Hesmucet could feel power start to accrete around him, as layers of nacre accumulated around grit to make a pearl. That same sort of power had gathered around Thraxton the Braggart at Proselytizers’ Rise, even if he’d botched his incantation in the end. Hesmucet had never seen any southron mage even try to control such forces.

Almost absently, Alva pointed to Hesmucet. If the commanding general hadn’t been waiting for the signal, he might have missed it. Even as things were, he needed a moment to realize the gesture wasn’t part of one of the passes Alva had been flinging around with what looked like reckless abandon.

Hesmucet turned to his trumpeters and made a peremptory gesture of his own. They blared out Advance! The handful of southron soldiers Hesmucet had kept behind outside of Whole Mackerel stormed toward the traitors’ works, as if expecting to overrun them with ease.

Major Alva made one last pass, cried out, “Let it be accomplished!” and pointed toward the northerners’ field fortifications. And suddenly, coming through that convenient mist toward the enemy were not a few soldiers but what seemed for all the world like General Hesmucet’s entire army.