Harry Turtledove - Marching Through Peachtree

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Rollant answered. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I don’t know for certain.”

“Wouldn’t want to find out by getting munched,” Smitty said.

Colonel Nahath had some very definite ideas on what to do now that they’d got down to the Hoocheecoochee. He sent a runner off to the southeast to let Doubting George know he’d done it, and then issued a series of crisp commands: “Form a defensive perimeter, men. We’re at the river. We’re going to hold the crossing. Dig in. Set up your trenches and breastworks. If the traitors want us, they’ll have to pay for us.”

“Shouldn’t we try to cross the river, sir?” somebody asked.

“We will-as soon as the artificers throw a bridge over it,” the regimental commander said. “That’s what they’re for. And when they do”-he rubbed his hands together in anticipation-“when they do, boys, it’s my considered opinion that we’ve got Joseph the Gamecock and the Army of Franklin good and cornholed. What do you think of that?”

Rollant whooped and cheered and held the company standard in the crook of his elbow so he could clap his hands. The soldiers were making enough noise to draw every traitor for half a mile around, but no northerners seemed close enough to hear. Nahath sent off another messenger, in case something happened to the first.

Dirt flew as Rollant dug and dug. Inside of an hour, a formidable defensive position took shape all around him. “Let ’em come now,” somebody said. Rollant shook his head. He wanted reinforcements to get here first. He wasn’t afraid of fighting, but he wanted to do it on his army’s best terms if he possibly could.

Hammers thudded on planks. Piledrivers drove treetrunks into the muddy bottom of the Hoocheecoochee River. Doubting George watched the bridge snake toward the northern bank. Only a few yards to go now… and the northerners still didn’t seem to realize the southron army was about to cross.

Turning to Colonel Nahath, George said, “Your regiment’s just taken a long step toward winning this war for us.”

“Good,” the man from New Eborac said. “Anybody wants to know what I think, this gods-damned war’s already gone on too long and cost too much. The sooner we get it over and done with, the better off everybody will be.”

“Can’t argue with a single word of that, Colonel, and I don’t intend to try,” George said. He peered toward the north bank of the river. “I wish those engineers would hurry. How long can our luck hold?” Back at General Hesmucet’s headquarters, clever Major Alva was probably gnashing his teeth right now. The southrons had found a way to go over the Hoocheecoochee even without his masking spell.

No sooner were the words out of George’s mouth than an artificer came pelting back across the bridge and said, “Sir, it’s finished. Would you like to be the first man to cross to the far bank?”

Doubting George would have liked nothing better. But the northern courtesy with which he’d been raised made him shake his head. “Colonel Nahath deserves the honor,” he replied. “Without him, it wouldn’t be possible.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nahath said. “You’re a gentleman.”

“Go on,” George said with a smile more or less sincere. “Go on, and be quick, before I change my mind.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Colonel Nahath said, but that didn’t stop him from hurrying across the bridge, his bootheels thudding on the planks. As soon as he got to the end of the timbers, he leaped high in the air and came down with both feet on the ground on the north bank of the Hoocheecoochee. He turned and waved to Doubting George.

After waving back, the lieutenant general hurried across the bridge himself. He’d given Nahath the privilege of going first, but that didn’t mean he despised going second. The ground under his feet on the far bank of the river felt no different from that on the side he’d just left. It felt no different, but it was, and he knew it.

So did Nahath. “Let’s push on toward Marthasville, sir,” he said.

“We will.” With a grin, George added, “Or did you mean just the two of us?”

“I’m ready.” Nahath grinned, too. By the way his narrow face had to twist to accommodate the expression, it didn’t alight there very often. He waved toward the city. “Doesn’t look like there’s anybody in the way right now to stop us.”

He was right about that, but only for a little while. “Some of those sons of bitches in blue would turn up-they always do. So we’ll have to bring some company along, that’s all.” Doubting George waved once more, this time back toward the southern bank of the Hoocheecoochee. Colonel Nahath’s regiment of men from New Eborac had earned the right to cross first, but a great many other regiments were lined up behind them now. Once this force got over the river, Joseph the Gamecock would have a hells of a time throwing it back.

On came the New Eborac regiment, each company with its standard fluttering at its head. One of the standard-bearers made George blink. He turned to Nahath. “Excuse me, Colonel, but did I just see a blond carrying a flag?”

“Yes, sir, you did,” Nahath answered. “That’s Corporal Rollant, who earned the spot for himself on Commissioner Mountain. You may remember, I brought the question of promoting him to you before I went ahead with it. You said he deserved the chance to fail, but he hasn’t failed yet.”

With his memory jogged, Doubting George nodded. “I do recall now, thanks. He still makes a strange sight, though.”

“This war has shown us a great many strange sights, sir,” Colonel Nahath said. “I think we’d better get used to it, because the kingdom won’t get any less strange in the peace that’s coming.”

“You’re likely right, Colonel.” George shook his head. “No, as a matter of fact, you’re certainly right. But I’m a northern man myself, you know, and I have to tell you that some things strike me as very strange the first time I see them.”

“You asked if Rollant was a good fighting man, a good soldier,” Nahath replied. “I told you he was, and I meant it. He hasn’t had much trouble since he got promoted-less than I expected. If he were an ordinary Detinan instead of a blond, he’d surely be a sergeant by now, and he might well be an officer.”

Contemplating the blond corporal was quite enough for Doubting George at the moment. Being a conservative had led him to radicalism, a step he hadn’t planned on taking. Blonds freed from the land, blonds promoted to underofficer, blonds who might eventually get promoted further still…

As he did whenever such notions disturbed him, he thought, I’d sooner have that than theKingdom ofDetina torn to pieces . It was true. Were it anything but true, he would have been fighting for Geoffrey, not Avram. But sometimes, as now, it was also cold, cold comfort.

He left a solid garrison to protect the bridge, then ordered the rest of his force forward toward Marthasville. As long as he was doing, he didn’t have to brood. And the chief city of Peachtree Province lay only a few miles away. George knew the northerners had a ring of forts around Marthasville, and entrenchments between those forts, but how many men did they have to put into the entrenchments? As long as the Army of Franklin remained on the east bank of the curving Hoocheecoochee, not many.

His army didn’t meet its first traitors in arms till it had been marching for most of an hour. Then a couple of unicorn-riders rode right up to the head of his column-and were promptly captured. They were indignant about it. When their captors brought them before Doubting George, one of them demanded, “What are you sons of bitches doing here? You’re supposed to be on the other side of the river.”