Harry Turtledove - Marching Through Peachtree

“What do you think?” he asked. “Against what you’re likely to run into along the way, can you get there?”

“If you give the order, sir, I’ll do my best,” Marble Bill replied.

That wasn’t what Hesmucet wanted to hear, either. He wanted to hear, Yes, sir! That failing, he wanted to hear, If I can’t find a way, I’ll make a new one. Those gods-damned traitors can’t stop me .

But Marble Bill was what he had to work with. “Go try. Do everything you can,” Hesmucet told him.

“Yes, sir,” the commander of unicorn-riders answered.

“You’ll be doing the trapped garrison an enormous favor if you succeed,” Hesmucet said, hoping to build a fire under him.

It didn’t work. Marble Bill remained cool. “I told you, sir: I’ll do my best.” He saluted and took his leave.

Having given his orders, Hesmucet could only wait to see what became of them. He muttered in frustration. Here he was, in command of the greatest army in the east, but every bit as dependent on time to show what lay ahead as any other soldier. He wished it were otherwise, but in his years he’d wished for all sorts of things that hadn’t come true.

He got back in touch with Colonel Clark. “They’re prodding us, sir,” Clark said, “but they aren’t putting all their force into it, I don’t think. Either that or they’ve got less force to put than I thought they did.”

“Well, if they aren’t hitting you with all they’ve got, what in the hells are they doing?” Hesmucet demanded.

Clark the Seamster sent him an exasperated look. “Sir, I can hold Caesar, or else I can throw scouts out all over the landscape. To the hells with me if I see how I can do both at once with the little force I’ve got here.”

“I daresay you’re right,” Hesmucet admitted, “but I wish you were wrong.”

“Will I get help?” Clark asked.

“I’ve sent out unicorn-riders under Marble Bill,” Hesmucet said. “If everything goes well, they’ll be there tomorrow. I know I’ll have footsoldiers there the day after. I already told you that.”

“Yes, sir, you did,” Colonel Clark said. “I’m sure the footsoldiers will come. I’ll believe the unicorn-riders when I see ’em.”

Another man with confidence in Marble Bill, Hesmucet thought. But then, in one way or another, unicorn-riders had been disappointing King Avram’s armies ever since the war was new. Why should this campaign prove any different from so many of the earlier ones? Because I’ll scream and fuss till my commanders do it right, Hesmucet thought. He hadn’t quite managed that yet. He’d got to the point where the unicorn-riders-unless they had the misfortune to bump up against Ned of the Forest-didn’t go too egregiously wrong too often. But that still wasn’t the same as turning them into a weapon to match the one that had done the traitors so much good.

Before long, he found out what that part of the Army of Franklin not attacking Caesar was up to: wrecking more glideway line. Clark the Seamster did have some scouts out, and reported northern mages working as much destructive magic as they could. The news alarmed Hesmucet much less than it would have a couple of months before.

“Let them do what they want,” he said. “We’ll either repair it or we won’t worry about it. We’re more or less living off the country now.”

He did curse Lieutenant General Bell for pulling him down here to southern Peachtree Province again. His full mind, his full heart, weren’t on this pursuit. He had to remind himself to take it seriously. He kept looking away, looking away, looking away toward Veldt and the Western Ocean.

If I can get there, this war is as good as won.PeachtreeProvince helps feed Parthenia. If I burn my way across this province, Duke Edward and the Army ofSouthern Parthenia will get pretty hungry pretty fast. It’s not just a matter of doing things here-what I do here affects the whole gods-damned war .

Marshal Bart had been the first one to realize that. He’d brought King Avram with him, and Hesmucet as well. The sovereign and his two chief commanders saw the war as a single entity, with all the parts connected. Hesmucet didn’t think any northerner looked at it the same way. He was sure false King Geoffrey didn’t.

Duke Edward? After a little thought, Hesmucet shook his head. Duke Edward was a brilliant commander, but he fought battles, not campaigns. Being so embattled, he couldn’t afford to look at a wider canvas.

Turn me loose, then, Hesmucet thought. Let me move against the traitors. Let me march throughPeachtreeProvince. I’ll peel it right down to the ground, and let’s see the north keep fighting after that. They’ll remember my name here a hundred years from now. The rest of Detina may not remember so well, but that won’t matter, for it will be one Detina .

Roast-Beef William watched the Army of Franklin’s mages destroying the glideway line south of Caesar. He watched unicorn-riders posted around the mages to warn of any sudden southron onslaught. A good raid, he thought. This is what the Army ofFranklin has been reduced to. We’re raiders now, no more. We couldn’t have done worse with me in command. We might have done better .

He sighed. They hadn’t wanted him-neither Thraxton the Braggart nor King Geoffrey. I’m Old Reliable. I’m good enough to lead a wing, but not an army. They put a hero in to lead the army. And oh, hasn’t he done a splendid job? I wonder what he’ll try next.

Bitter? Roast-Beef William asked himself. Why shouldn’t I be bitter? If anybody’s earned the right, I’m the man .

The ironic thing was that, little by little, Lieutenant General Bell had started to learn. William had expected him to throw the whole army at Caesar, but he hadn’t. When the southron commanding the garrison cast defiance in his face, he’d skirmished against the soldiers there and then gone after the glideway. He’d got a rude surprise trying to overrun the little force up at Whole Mackerel, and he didn’t care to get two such surprises.

If he’d learned that lesson after his first failed attack outside Marthasville, the Army of Franklin might still hold the place. Roast-Beef William sighed. If pigs had wings, everyone would carry umbrellas.

A courier rode up and spoke with one of the unicorn-riders on guard duty. The rider pointed toward William. The courier came over to him at a trot. Reining in, the fellow said, “Lieutenant General Bell’s compliments, sir, and you are requested to report to his headquarters immediately.”

Bell hasn’t been in the habit of giving me compliments lately, even those of ordinary courtesy, William thought. But the man remained in command of the Army of Franklin, or of what was left of it. “I’ll come, of course,” he said.

His own unicorn was tethered not far away. He swung up into the saddle and followed the courier back to a farmhouse that offered no visible virtues past a roof and four walls. Those modest attributes were not to be despised, not in a countryside that had seen as much fighting as this one.

Dismounting, Roast-Beef William strode into the farmhouse. There sat Lieutenant General Bell, putting away the little bottle of laudanum that let him deal with the pain of his wounds-and that might have robbed him of some of the rather poor wits he owned. No help for that, either, though. William saluted and said, “Reporting as ordered, sir.”

“Ah, yes, Lieutenant General.” Bell straightened, grimacing as he did so, and returned the salute. “I’ve just received a despatch from Nonesuch concerning you.” He glowered at William from under bushy brows. “You did not tell me you had sent a request to be detached from service to this army.”