Harry Turtledove - Marching Through Peachtree

In spite of the laudanum coursing through him, Bell glared at Joseph. “Now see here, sir-”

“Oh, shut up,” Joseph told him. “You can’t help being an idiot. You’re a brave man, and you think that’s all there is to being a general. You make a first-rate brigade commander, because then someone with a working brain points you at the enemy and turns you loose. Of course you try to smash everything that’s right in front of you. But for maneuver and coordination and sniffing out what the foe intends?” He shook his head. “You haven’t a clue and you haven’t a prayer.”

“You are dismissed from this encampment, General,” Bell said through clenched teeth. “If I see you around my army after today, I will kill you on sight.”

Joseph the Gamecock bowed. “Always the man of simple-and simpleminded-solutions. You need not fear. Believe me, I want to stay around here no more than you want me in these parts. Do you suppose I want to stay close by while you take the army I built back up after Thraxton here ruined it and go out and wreck it again? I’m going up to Dicon, to wait and see if Geoffrey ever decides he needs to pull me off the shelf again.” He turned his back and strode into the farmhouse, slamming the door behind him.

“Graceless lout,” Count Thraxton muttered.

“He’s retreating again, that’s all.” Bell looked around at the great expanses of tents. “So this is my army now, is it?”

“It is indeed,” Thraxton replied. “If I may make a suggestion, your first order of business should be naming a wing commander to take your own place.”

Bell didn’t want anyone making suggestions now that the Army of Franklin belonged to him. But he had to admit that Thraxton’s made sense. After a little thought- he would be giving the orders now, so who obeyed them didn’t matter so much to him-he said, “Brigadier Benjamin should do the job well enough.”

“There are a couple of officers by that name in this army,” Count Thraxton remarked. “Which of them did you have in mind?”

“Benjamin the Heated Ham, folks call him, on account of what a bad actor he was in the plays at the military collegium at Annasville,” Bell answered. “He’s served under me through this whole campaign, and done right well. Do you know him?”

“I do.” Thraxton’s face froze. Always doleful, he now looked as if his entire family were being massacred in front of his eyes. “The gentleman in question and I… have been known to disagree.”

Since Thraxton the Braggart had been known to disagree with everyone who’d ever had anything to do with him-with the sole, and vital, exception of King Geoffrey-Bell didn’t take that too much to heart. “I’ll make the appointment anyhow, I think,” he said. “He’s brave and he’s steady and he’ll follow orders.”

“You are the commander. You must have the subordinates who suit you.” Now Thraxton looked as if his wife were being ravished before getting the coup de grace . But he didn’t say no, and that was all that really mattered to Bell. Bowing, the Braggart went on, “Now that we have effected the change, I shall withdraw. You know what his Majesty expects of you. Gods grant that you deliver it.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bell said. He dipped his head instead of bowing; on two crutches and one leg, the latter was too awkward and painful to contemplate. As Count Thraxton mounted his unicorn, Bell looked around and called, “Runners!”

“Sir!” They hurried up and saluted as they came to attention before him.

“You!” He pointed at one: “Fetch me Roast-Beef William. And you!” He pointed to a second: “Get me Alexander the Steward. And you!” This to a third: “Order Benjamin the Heated Ham to report here at once.”

“Yes, sir!” The three men he’d chosen saluted again and hurried away. When he called, they came; when he pointed, they went. The power was as heady as laudanum.

Once his wing commanders had all come to the headquarters formerly belonging to Joseph the Gamecock, Bell spoke without preamble: “Gentlemen, King Geoffrey has removed Count Joseph from command over the Army of Franklin and set me in his place.”

“Congratulations, sir,” Roast-Beef William said. He was a reliable old war unicorn, and would serve well under whoever commanded him.

“Congratulations indeed,” Alexander the Steward echoed. Old Straight was reliable, too; however much Bell disliked Joseph, he’d picked a fine replacement for the late, unlucky Leonidas the Priest.

“As my first act in command,” Bell went on, “I am pleased to appoint Brigadier Benjamin here to take my place as wing commander.”

“Thank you very much, sir,” Benjamin murmured. “I’ll do my best to live up to your bold example.” He still had a tendency to overact. Since he was flattering Bell, the new commander of the Army of Franklin didn’t take it amiss.

As if on cue, Roast-Beef William asked, “And what will your second act in command be, sir?”

Bell gave a one-word answer: “Attack!”

General Hesmucet eyed the northern prisoner, a thin, dirty man in ragged blue tunic and pantaloons. “This had better be the truth from you,” he growled. “If you’re lying, you’ll end up wishing for the seven hells before you go to ’em.”

“So help me gods,” the prisoner said. “It’s like I told that other southron bastard-Joseph the Gamecock’s out and Bell’s in, sure as I’m standing here.”

“Well, well.” Hesmucet whistled softly. “That’s big news, if it’s true.” He turned to the southrons who had charge of the prisoner. “Keep him by himself. Hang on to him. If he turns out to be telling the truth, we’ll let him loose. If he’s lying…” He slashed his thumb across his throat.

“Yes, sir,” the guards chorused. One of them gave the prisoner a shove. “Come on, you. You heard the general.”

Later that day, a man who still favored King Avram and a united Detina sneaked out of Marthasville and past the traitors’ lines. He not only brought the same news as the prisoner but had a paper to prove it. Hesmucet read Joseph the Gamecock’s farewell order to the Army of Franklin and that of Lieutenant General Bell on assuming command.

“Well, well,” Hesmucet said again, and nodded to his spy. “Thanks very much. This is worth a good deal to me.”

The man eyed him. “I thought you’d be more excited about the news.”

“Who, me? No, I don’t get very excited,” Hesmucet answered-a great, thumping lie if ever there was one. But he didn’t want to discourage the northerner from bringing more news, either, if he got it. “I’ll pay you twenty-in silver.” That made the fellow’s eyes glow-real money was in short supply in King Geoffrey’s dominions, which were trying to get by with printed paper… and were watching prices soar up and up as a result. Hesmucet scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. “Take this to the paymaster, and he’ll see to it.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.” Courtly as most northerners, the spy bowed before going on his way. Hesmucet touched a forefinger to the brim of his hat in reply.

Calling for runners, he ordered them to summon his wing commanders to his headquarters. When they got there, he waved the paper at them and said, “Geoffrey’s sacked Joseph the Gamecock and put Bell in his place.”

“I doubted even Geoffrey would be such a fool,” Lieutenant General George said.

Fighting Joseph beamed at the prospect of no longer moving against his namesake. “Now maybe the traitors won’t scuttle from one line of trenches to the next,” he said. “I want to come to grips with them.”

The last time you came to grips with them, it was at Viziersville, and Duke Edward tore you to pieces , Hesmucet thought. He glanced toward his youngest wing commander. “You were at Annasville with Bell, weren’t you, Brigadier?”