Harry Turtledove - Marching Through Peachtree

Joseph the Gamecock couldn’t have been more disgusted if he’d been pickled in bile. He’d known the southrons would sooner or later find a way around his position on the east bank of the Hoocheecoochee. But the report that Doubting George had crossed the river still infuriated him, for he hadn’t expected it to happen nearly as soon as this.

For a couple of hours after the first word came in that his right flank had been turned, he’d done his best to believe it was a mistake, a scout seeing what he feared he would see regardless of whether or not it was really there. But no such luck. Men in gray really had crossed the river, and he would have to respond or see the Army of Franklin smashed between hammer and anvil.

Men in blue fell back to the western bank of the river, marching over the foot bridges his miles of field fortifications had protected. Glideway carpets transported siege engines and other essentials over yet another bridge. The retreat went as smoothly as such things could. Why not? Joseph thought bitterly. We’ve had practice falling back .

When the last man and the last glideway carpet had come over the river, Joseph turned to his mages and spoke in harsh tones: “All right, gods damn it, now make sure the southrons can’t follow hard on our heels.”

“Yes, sir,” the mages chorused, and began to incant. The bridge over which the glideway carpets had passed was the first to feel their sorcery. Flames licked along the timbers supporting it. With a rending crash, it fell into the Hoocheecoochee. The spell made the timbers keep burning till they were altogether consumed, even though they were wet.

The foot bridges went next. Their timbers burned as thoroughly as had those of the glideway bridge. Those timbers rested on stone piers. The magic shook the piers back to their constituent stones and scattered those along the bottom of the river.

“That seems to have worked well enough,” Joseph said grudgingly.

“Yes, sir,” one of the mages replied. “The enemy won’t be able to use the bridges, and he’ll be hard pressed to get across the river at all.”

“He’s already across the river, gods damn him,” Joseph the Gamecock snapped. “Do you think we’d be doing this if he weren’t?”

“What I meant, sir, was-”

Joseph cut off the mage (if he’d had sword in hand, he might have used that, too). “I don’t care what you meant. Why didn’t any of you wonderful wizards warn me this was about to happen?”

“We aren’t infallible, sir,” the sorcerer said stiffly.

“Really? I never would have noticed,” Joseph the Gamecock said. The wizard winced and turned away.

Mounting his unicorn, Joseph rode up toward the head of the Army of Franklin. A few men snarled at him as he went by. He didn’t blame them. They were free Detinans speaking their mind. Had he been in their place, he would have snarled at the commanding general, too.

Another unicorn came up alongside of his after he reached the front of the column. He made himself turn his head. When he saw who’d joined him, he breathed a silent sigh of relief: it was Roast-Beef William, not Lieutenant General Bell. Instead of carping at him for retreating again, William only asked, “What are we going to do now, sir?”

“What we’ve been doing all along: try to hold the southrons out of Marthasville,” Joseph answered. “ What hasn’t change. Why hasn’t changed. How …” He cursed under his breath. “ How just got harder.”

“Yes, sir,” Roast-Beef William said. “The Hoocheecoochee was the last real line we had defending the city.”

“I haven’t given up hope,” Joseph said stubbornly. “I don’t intend to, either. Marthasville has a solid set of forts around it, and there’s high ground north of Goober Creek. The southrons will have to cross the creek before they attack the city. When they do, I intend to hit them in the flank. It’ll be the first decent chance I’ve had to attack since Fat Mama, and I don’t intend to let Bell take this one away from me.”

Roast-Beef William stroked his beard. “A bold plan, sir-no doubt of that. But have we got enough men to put garrisons into the forts around Marthasville and to attack the southrons at the same time? They outnumber us badly as things are.”

“You needn’t remind me of that ,” Joseph the Gamecock said bitterly. “I think the southrons sow dragons’ teeth and reap soldiers, the way the Mad Cuss did in the legend. But I don’t intend to use the Army of Franklin to hold the forts.”

“What then, sir?” William asked, raising bushy eyebrows. “Shall we sow dragons’ teeth of our own, or make unicorn-riders of ghosts and shadows?”

“Satrap Brown commands a militia,” Joseph said. “The son of a bitch doesn’t like me any too bloody well, and I mislike him, too, but I still have the power to impress those men directly into King Geoffrey’s service. They’ve spent the whole stinking war looking precious in their pretty uniforms and scratching their backsides. Now it’s time to find out if they can fight even a little bit.”

Roast-Beef William looked dubious. He looked so very dubious, he might have practiced the expression in front of a glass. “I’d hate to put them into the line against Hesmucet’s men. The southrons are good soldiers, gods damn them, and they’re veterans. They’d go through raw militiamen like a good dose of castor oil.”

“I don’t intend to put them into the line, only into the forts around Marthasville,” Joseph the Gamecock answered. “If I’m going to offer the southrons any kind of resistance at all, Lieutenant General, somebody besides my soldiers has to fill those places.”

“Yes, sir.” Roast-Beef William still didn’t sound convinced. That worried Joseph. William, after all, was the man who’d written the tactical manual both sides used in this war. If he didn’t think well of Joseph’s plan, it was likely flawed.

Almost pleading, Joseph said, “I’ve got to try something . If I don’t, the southrons will just walk into Marthasville. We can’t have that.”

“No, we can’t,” William agreed. “Who would have thought, three years ago, that things could grow so desperate?”

Anyone with an ounce of sense might have , Joseph thought. We knew from the start how badly the southrons outweigh us. But we were wild to hold on to our provincial prerogatives, and so we didn’t stop to count the cost when we followed Geoffrey and rebelled against King Avram. We’re counting the cost now, though .

With every stride his unicorn took, Marthasville grew nearer. It wasn’t a great city, not compared to New Eborac in the south or to Old Capet here in the north. But Joseph had been in the field a long time, in the field or in small towns. Marthasville’s hostels and shops and temples made it look very grand indeed, a center of civilization in the middle of nowhere.

He’d seen too much nowhere lately. He was sick of it. He was sick of the whole war. Had someone given him the chance to go off and sit on the sidelines-promising, of course, that everything would go well in his absence-he would gladly have taken it. The trouble was, no one could make promises like that. Joseph had been trained as a soldier. As long as his kingdom needed him, his sword remained at its service.

And if that doesn’t make me a loyal northern man, gods only know what would. I’ve had nothing but insults and disrespect from King Geoffrey. They’re all I’ll ever get, as long as he is king. But I’ll put up with them for my kingdom and for my province. If I were a private man, though, I’d cut the liver out of that gods-damned son of a bitch .