Harry Turtledove - Marching Through Peachtree

“Hmm.” Phineas considered that. “Very well, sir. You may rest assured that all of us-and I mean all — will do everything in our power for the kingdom.”

“Thank you,” Hesmucet said. Phineas’ feathers remained ruffled, but perhaps not so much now. Hesmucet waved toward the north. “We can see Marthasville from where we stand. We had better not let it slip through our fingers now.”

“I could hardly disagree with that, sir.” Phineas bowed stiffly. “We shall give you what you require, to the best of our ability.”

“Can’t ask for more than that.” Hesmucet clapped the tubby wizard on the shoulder. “Let all the men who share your art learn what I want of them.”

“Yes, sir,” Phineas said. “We’ll do everything we can, sir.”

“I know that. I’ve known that all along.” Hesmucet clapped the mage on the back again, hard enough to stagger him this time. Without Alva, it wouldn’t be enough, Hesmucet thought. When we didn’t have Alva, the traitors’ wizards always got the drop on us. Well, no more, by the gods .

Phineas made more promises that he and his sorcerous colleagues might or might not prove able to live up to. Hesmucet made more polite protestations that he didn’t really mean. At last, with what seemed like relief, Phineas decamped. With what Hesmucet knew to be relief, he watched the wizard waddle away.

He looked toward Marthasville once more. One thing at a time, he thought. Let James the Bird’s Eye get a solid stranglehold on the glideway line to Julia. Then I’ll send Doubting George over Goober Creek. If we can lick the northerners there, we ought to be able to bring our engines up close enough to start flinging stones and firepots into Marthasville itself .

He didn’t want the fight for the city to come down to a siege. He wanted to storm in and take the place away from the Army of Franklin. He was by nature almost as much an attacker as Lieutenant General Bell over on the other side, and Joseph the Gamecock’s delaying campaign had left him badly frustrated. But what he wanted most of all was Marthasville. How he got it didn’t really matter. If he had to starve the traitors into yielding, he would do that.

He wasn’t sorry to see Joseph the Gamecock go. Joseph had been like one skilled swordsman holding off two as he retreated down a long, narrow corridor. He hadn’t let them get past him, not even once; to do so would have been fatal. Now Bell would try to come up the corridor against the same two swordsmen, or so everyone assumed.

“Let him come,” Hesmucet murmured again. He wasn’t a particularly pious man, nor one to send up prayers to the gods at any excuse. The gods, he’d always reckoned, would do as they pleased, and let people pick up the pieces as best they could. This time, though, the general commanding doffed his hat and looked up to the mountain beyond the sky. “Please, Thunderer; please, Lion God. Let him come.”

He got no immediate answer to his petition. He’d expected none. No Detinan had seen a heavenly choir in years. Even so, looking north once more, he doubted he would have long to wait before finding out whether the gods were listening.

Colonel Florizel was almost beside himself with excitement. “Now we get to hit back!” the regimental commander burbled. “Now we get to drive the gods-damned southrons out of our kingdom once for all!”

“Well, your Excellency, we certainly get to try,” Captain Gremio answered.

“Bell is a man who knows what fighting’s all about,” Florizel said. “We’ll hit the southrons a lick the likes of which the world has never seen the likes of.” He was fond of that phrase; Gremio had heard it before from him. He’d never figured out what, if anything, it meant.

He did know he was worried. “They still have more men than we do, sir. We hurt them more when we made them come at us. It won’t be so easy when we go at them, I’m afraid.”

“If you’re afraid, Captain, you may stay behind,” Florizel snapped. “I’ll send you back to Karlsburg, if you like, the way King Geoffrey sent Joseph the Gamecock down to Dicon. Joseph was afraid to face the southrons-that’s as plain as the nose on my face.”

Gremio’s ears felt on fire. “Sir, you ought to know I’m not afraid to advance. I’ve always gone forward as boldly as anyone, and who can say that I haven’t?”

“Very well,” Earl Florizel said. “I cannot deny that.” By the way he sounded, he wished he could. “But I am going to keep my eye on you, young fellow, you may rest assured of that. A man who grumbles too much is not likely to have his heart in the fighting.”

“You’ll see, sir,” Gremio said grimly. If Florizel was going to watch everything he did, he would have to fight as if his life didn’t matter at all to him. And, fighting that way, he was much more likely to lose it. He knew that too well.

“We-our regiment, and Brigadier Alexander’s whole wing-have the honor of holding the left,” Florizel said. “As the southrons come north over Goober Creek, we’re going to drive them back into the stream. You’ll have the chance to make good on what you say, Captain. Dismissed.”

Fuming, Gremio saluted and walked off. He sat down on a boulder, took out a whetstone, and began honing his sword. He wanted the edge as sharp as he could make it. Every little bit helped.

“Is the attack on, sir?” Sergeant Thisbe asked.

That made Gremio look up. “Oh, yes. It’s on,” he answered. “We get to swarm out of our trenches and drive the southrons back. So says Colonel Florizel, which means it should be easy, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know, sir,” Thisbe said. “We’d better try something , though, don’t you suppose, before the southrons surround Marthasville altogether?”

That had no good answer. Gremio wished it did. He said, “We’ll do the best we can, that’s all. Let’s get the men formed up, shall we? I want this company to make everyone who watches it proud.”

“We’ll do that, sir,” Thisbe promised. “How can we help it, when we’ve got you leading us?”

Gremio’s ears got as hot as they had when Florizel scorned him, but for an altogether different reason. Before he could find anything to say, the regimental trumpeters blew assembly . He knew what he had to say then, and so did Sergeant Thisbe. They had the company in place before any of the others had formed ranks.

Colonel Florizel didn’t look impressed. Florizel, Gremio was convinced, wouldn’t look impressed at anything this side of his heroic death. His hand dropped to the hilt of that newly sharpened sword. He might have to oblige the colonel. When the rest of the regiment had assembled, Florizel struck a pose and said, “Boys, with Bell leading us, we’re going to chase the gods-damned southrons all the way back to Franklin. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes!” The deep, fierce roar stunned Gremio’s ears. The men were ready to go forward; that was plain. Whether they could… Everyone would find out soon enough.

“We’re going to catch the bastards crossing Goober Creek,” Florizel went on. “Old Straight’s wing-that’s ours-and Roast-Beef William’s wing’ll hit ’em together. And, by the gods, we’re going to break ’em! Wait for the brigade’s trumpeters to blow, then go forward and don’t slow down for anything. Have you got that?”

“Yes!” the men roared again.

“That’s all I’ve got to say, then,” Florizel said, and stood down. It wasn’t a speech that would have done much in the lawcourts. In the field, it was first-rate. The soldiers cheered and waved their crossbows in the air. Gremio dutifully cheered, too. He drew his sword and waved it. Sunlight glittered off the edge.