“I hope you realize I meant every word about my gratitude, Your Majesty,” he said quietly, and Cayleb nodded.
“I do. And I also realize why eighty thousand men doesn’t seem anywhere near enough. After all,” the emperor snorted harshly, “they aren’t. Unfortunately, they’re all we’re going to have for at least another several months.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry to say it, but it’s going to take us at least that long to get the transports we need to eastern Chisholm and then to the mainland. And I’m even sorrier to say that once we lift the rest of the troops from Maikelsberg and Port Royal, we’ll have scraped the bottom of the barrel. Building an army big enough for mainland campaigns had to take second place to building a navy that could keep mainland armies out of the islands, I’m afraid.”
“I understand.” Stohnar looked back down at the map. “And from what Brigadier Taisyn said—and what I saw with my own eyes, for that matter—eighty thousand Charisians will be a hell of a handful for the Army of God. We just can’t get them to enough places fast enough. Not without Shan-wei’s own luck, at any rate.”
“I’m not sure there is a way, My Lord, however lucky we are,” Merlin said quietly from where he stood at Cayleb’s shoulder. “I think we can probably get a column to the Sylmahn Gap in time, and the rifles in the weapons convoy will let you put eighty thousand riflemen of your own into the field as soon as you can get the new regiments stood up and trained. But even having said that—”
He paused, drew a deep breath, and shook his head.
“My Lord,” he said even more quietly, looking up from the map and meeting Stohnar’s eyes levelly, “Cliff Peak is gone. You’re right. We simply can’t get anyone there to stop it.”
He didn’t mention what had happened to Colonel Mahldyn’s regiments, or what had already happened to a half-dozen other garrisons that hadn’t been able to retreat fast enough. Stohnar didn’t have to know about that; in fact, Merlin wished he didn’t know, given what had happened to most of those “heretics and blasphemers” when they fell into the hands of Mother Church’s loyal sons.
There was silence in the map room as the words were finally said. Then Stohnar straightened his back slowly, his mouth grim … and nodded.
“You’re right, Seijin Merlin. And it’s time we admitted it.” That grim mouth smiled without becoming one bit less grim. “That’s one of the hardest lessons for any soldier—to learn you can’t waste resources reinforcing failure … no matter how desperately the men holding those positions are depending on you. God help them.”
He closed his eyes for a moment and signed Langhorne’s scepter. Merlin’s mouth tightened as he saw the gesture, but he couldn’t fault the sentiment behind it.
“If Cliff Peak’s gone,” Stohnar said, opening his eyes once more, “then reinforcing Archbishop Zhasyn and Brigadier Taisyn in Glacierheart becomes even more important. If Kaitswyrth punches through to the East Glacierhearts and the Clynmarh Hills, he’s got a cakewalk into Shiloh. Or he could keep driving straight east, up the Siddar.”
“I think even the Army of God is going to find it’s bitten off a mouthful big enough to choke a dragon,” Cayleb said. “And it’s going to get worse for them the farther east they come. In the western provinces, they can count on having the majority of the population on their side, since the Temple Loyalists already have overall control. But as they come east, they’re going to start running into civilians who didn’t think the ‘Sword of Schueler’ was such a wonderful idea, and there are a lot of people in the Republic, My Lord.” He swept one hand in an arc from Midhold to Trokhanos. “If they actually get this far east, they’ll discover that even a million men aren’t nearly enough to occupy that much territory.”
“Maybe not,” Stohnar said grimly. “That doesn’t mean they won’t try, and it doesn’t mean they won’t kill thousands or even hundreds of thousands of my citizens doing it. Shan-wei! They’ve already killed millions without even firing a shot of their own!”
Merlin nodded, although he knew Cayleb had a valid point. The Church in general—and Zhaspahr Clyntahn, in particular—had no real concept of what it would take to suppress a deep-seated resistance in a population the size of Siddarmark’s. No Safeholdian realm had ever had to make the attempt, and the Church’s “occupation” had never even been challenged before. Merlin, on the other hand, did realize what a challenge that entailed, and so did Cayleb, thanks to his access to Owl’s history banks. Napoleon’s experience in Spain came to mind … as did Adolf Hitler’s in the Soviet Union. An army could bleed to death far more quickly than anyone might believe when stretched too far under those conditions. But Stohnar had an equally valid point. The cost to the civilians would be even higher than to the occupying force.
And, he admitted, looking down at the enormous sweep of territory Cayleb’s gesture had taken in, there’s no point denying that Clyntahn has something Napoleon and Hitler didn’t—a political program which could actually generate popular support … especially if the alternative is the Punishment of Schueler.
That was the true Achilles’ heel of a purely military occupation. Without some political or ideological or economic—or religious—basis for garnering the support of the occupied, the occupiers had to have a huge ratio of force to space. But with such a basis, all the military really had to do was keep a lid on the situation while the pressure to reach an accommodation worked. That, after all, had been Charis’ policy in Corisande, where Reformist sentiment had worked for it, and overall, the policy had worked well. And for all Zhaspahr Clyntahn’s twisted ambition, and all the rest of the vicarate’s cupidity, the basic faith of Safehold was stronger than bedrock. If Clyntahn could simply restrain his own need for vengeance, or even just slake it once and then back off, that faith could very well begin working for the Church once more.
And at the rate they’re moving, they’ll have lots of territory for it to start working for them in, too, he thought bitterly. In fact—
His brain paused in midsentence and his eyes narrowed suddenly as another thought hit him. He had no idea where it had come from, and it had to be one of the most insane thoughts even he had ever had. And yet, if it was even remotely possible—
“I didn’t mean to suggest an occupation wouldn’t be a disaster for your people, My Lord,” Cayleb said. “I was simply observing that they’re going to have to begin deploying garrisons and protecting their communications, and that’s going to gradually erode the strength they can deploy forward.”
“That’s true enough,” Stohnar acknowledged.
“I don’t want to suggest making any definite troop commitments until we’ve had a chance to discuss it personally with Duke Eastshare,” the emperor continued. “I do think, though, that we’re going to have to think in terms of splitting the first wave of the Expeditionary Force. It’s organized into three brigades, but I think we should split the third brigade and use it to reinforce the other two, Then we send one of the reinforced brigades to the Sylmahn Gap and the other to Glacierheart. As far west in Glacierheart as we can get them, at any rate. We’ll have the second echelon coming in in a few more five-days to provide us with a reserve, so let’s push everything we have now as far forward as we can.”
Stohnar’s mouth tightened again, but he nodded heavily.
“If Kaitswyrth keeps moving this fast, we’ll be lucky to get troops as far west as Saint Maikel’s of the Snows before they run into him,” he acknowledged, his voice bitter.
“There’s another point or two I’d like to bring up, if I may,” Merlin said, and the others looked at him.
“Certainly, Seijin,” Stohnar invited.
“Thank you, My Lord. My first point is that because of the way they were deployed, Duke Eastshare’s troops were still equipped primarily with muzzle-loading flintlocks when he started them moving. The weapons convoy will provide enough Mahndrayns to reequip his entire force with breech-loading caplocks and also a significant increase in his artillery. It would take a day or so to m
ate them up with the new equipment, and I realize we need to get troops to both the Sylmahn Gap and Glacierheart as quickly as possible, as His Majesty says, but believe me, holding them here in Siddar City long enough to draw the Mahndrayns, much less the artillery, would at least double their effectiveness.”
Stohnar looked a little dubious, but Cayleb nodded firmly.
“At least that much, My Lord,” he said. “Merlin’s right about that.”
“I doubt waiting one more day would make that much difference in getting them to the front,” Stohnar agreed. Then he snorted. “Not to mention that they’re your troops, Your Majesty. I suppose that gives you at least a modest voice in where and when they’re deployed.” He looked at Merlin. “Consider your point accepted, Seijin Merlin. You said you had another?”
“Two more, actually, My Lord. The next one is that it’s going to take at least several five-days to train your own troops to use the additional rifles from the convoy properly, and there are other weapons they’re going to have to master as well. I don’t think we’re going to be able to get even your existing regiments rearmed, retrained, and into combat before the end of August. The new ones will take even longer.”
Stohnar’s expression was bleak, but not because he could dispute what Marlin had just said. The Republican Army was sticking with its existing unit structure, rather than try to adopt some new and foreign organizational basis in midcampaign. And Stohnar and Parkair were raising dozens of new regiments, built around whatever cadre of regulars and experienced militia they could spare. The rifles being shipped to Safehold would permit them to field thirty pure-rifle regiments, unburdened by pikes, but as Merlin had just said, raising them and training them were two different things. Both the lord protector and his seneschal were too experienced to send men into combat before they were ready. Unfortunately.…
“I agree with your analysis, Seijin,” Stohnar said somberly, “and I know the kind of casualties half-trained troops take. But I don’t think we have a choice. I have every faith in the combat power of your Army, but even if they can annihilate ten times their own number of the enemy, they simply can’t cover enough space. We’re going to need every man we can throw at them if just to slow them down. And we need to slow them down. If we can, we need to stop them, hold them no more than a couple of hundred miles farther east than the area they already control until winter sets in, but if we can’t do that, we have to at least slow them. If that means committing the new regiments before they’re fully trained, then we’ll just have to do that, too.”
“I agree about the need to slow them down, My Lord,” Merlin said. “But that brings me to my final point. One that only occurred to me a minute or so ago, actually.”
“Really?” Cayleb regarded him intently.
“Really, Your Majesty,” Merlin assured him with a slight smile. “It should have occurred to me earlier. For that matter, with all due respect, it should’ve occurred to you, too.”
“Well, if I should’ve thought of it, I suppose I’m grateful you’ve admitted that you should have, too,” Cayleb said dryly. “Could you, by any chance, share this new thought of yours with us?”
Something suspiciously like a chuckle came from the general direction of Daryus Parkair, despite the grimness of the mood, and Merlin half bowed to Cayleb.
“Certainly, Your Majesty. I was just thinking about the very point the Lord Protector’s raised—that we have to slow them down. And that reminded me that once upon a time, a very wise man told me that amateurs study tactics but professionals study logistics. I think we’ve been guilty of focusing on tactics to an extent that’s blinded us to other possibilities for slowing them down.”
“What sort of possibilities, Seijin?” Stohnar asked, his eyes intent, and Merlin smiled. It was a cold, sharp, somehow hungry smile, and his sapphire eyes gleamed.
“I’m glad you asked me that, My Lord,” he said.
.X.
Thesmar-Cheryk High Road, The South March, Republic of Siddarmark
“What do those idiots think they’re doing?” Sir Zhadwail Brynygair muttered irritably. “Besides being a pain in the arse, that is.”
The scout made no reply, possibly because he recognized a rhetorical question when he heard it, but more probably because of Brynygair’s tone. Sir Zhadwail had a well-deserved reputation for bellicosity which did not limit itself solely to the battlefield.
The colonel glanced at his executive officer. At thirty-five, Major Ahrnahld Suvyryv was twelve years younger than Brynygair, and unlike the colonel, he was of commoner stock, the son of a wealthy Gorath merchant. He had a sharp brain and a good eye for terrain, however, and despite a certain initial disparagement of his plebeian birth, Brynygair had learned to rely on his judgment. They’d even become friends … after a fashion, at any rate. And the ferocity of young Suvyryv’s devotion to Mother Church made up for quite a lot in the colonel’s book.
“What do you think they’re doing, Major?” he growled.
“I don’t know, Sir,” Suvyryv replied with the frankness which was one of his great virtues in Brynygair’s opinion. And one, unfortunately, shared by altogether too few other cavalry officers he could have named.
“From what the sergeant here has to say, it’s a fairly good position as far as flank security’s concerned,” the major continued. He scowled. “The maps are even worse than usual once you get off the high road or away from the river, but from the looks of this”—he waved the sketch the scout had brought back with him—“we’d break the legs of every horse in the regiment trying to get through that ravine on the east. We won’t get formed infantry through there, either—it looks like some of the rocks in it are bigger than damned houses! But no more than a single regiment of pikes? Standing around in the middle of nowhere all by itself? On a crest line where even a blind man, much less one of our scouts, is bound to see it?” He shook his head. “Beats the Shan-wei out of me, Sir!”
“Could you make out uniforms, Sergeant?” Brynygair asked.
“No, Sir Zhadwail,” the scout replied. “Didn’t look like they were wearing any, to be honest. I didn’t see any breastplates, though.”
Brynygair and Suvyryv exchanged glances. Regulars wore breastplates; if the sergeant hadn’t seen any, the lunatics standing out in the open had to be militia. Of course, any surviving militia in the South March had been through a brutal period of polishing, and Siddarmarkian militia had been far better than their Dohlaran counterparts to begin with. And then there was the fact that these militia, according to the scout, had a light company armed entirely with muskets. That was an unusual and unhappy circumstance.
“All right, Sergeant.” Brynygair nodded brusquely. “A good job. Find the Sergeant Major and keep yourself handy in case we have any more questions.”
“Yes, Sir!”
The sergeant slapped his breastplate, turned his horse, and trotted off towards the regiment’s color party. Brynygair watched him go, then turned back to Suvyryv with a scowl.
“I don’t like those damned muskets,” he growled. “Not when we can’t get at them in a charge without hitting the pikes.”
“Bring up the artillery, Sir?” Suvyryv asked, and Brynygair’s scowl deepened.
“That would take hours. We’re too far out in front.”
Suvyryv nodded. Sir Ohtys Godwyl, Baron Traylmyn, commanding the column which had taken the ruins of the town of Cheryk three days ago, was the very point of the Dohlaran spear at the moment. General Rychtyr had taken two more cavalry regiments, two of the vanguard’s infantry regiments, and all of the vanguard’s horse artillery north after Colonel Byrgair to make sure of the destruction of the Fort Sheldyn garrison. From the dispatches they’d received, it had been far more firepower than could possibly have been needed, but no one had known that at the time. And by the time Byrgair’s message detailing the total obliteration of his target had reached Rychtyr, the general had been so far along the miserable cow paths he’d been following that it made more sen
se for him to continue to the high road, then march south along it to rejoin Baron Traylmyn.
Unfortunately, that meant ten percent of the vanguard’s cavalry and twenty percent of its infantry wouldn’t reach Cheryk for at least another two days. And it also meant the only artillery available to Baron Traylmyn was foot artillery, most of it drawn by dragons, who had a lively distaste for the sounds of artillery and musketry, rather than by horses. Worse, the nearest batteries, from Major Shanyn’s regiment, were at least an hour and more probably two from Brynygair’s current position. And that was a great pity, given what the far lighter horses guns Byrgair had taken with him had apparently done to the Siddarmarkian regulars he’d faced.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” the colonel said after a moment’s intense thought. “We’d play hell trying to pass guns through the column in this terrain, anyway.” He waved one hand at the fifteen- or twenty-mile-deep belt of second-growth trees through which the road ran at the moment. “On the other hand, according to the Sergeant, the idiots in that clearing are over two thousand yards back from where the road comes out of the trees.” He shook his head in disgust. “They’ve given us two thousand yards of depth and at least a four- or five-thousand-yard frontage between the ravine and where the trees close back in to the east.”
He stared at the scout’s sketch for a moment, as if disgusted to see even an enemy choose such a foolish position. Even spread out the way the sergeant had reported, the Siddarmarkians could cover no more than about two hundred yards, barely a tenth of the frontage available to deploy against them. And with the woods squeezing in on the high road less than two thousand more yards behind them, they’d be in a virtual sack if they tried to retreat. Small as their force was, it would clog that narrow slot of a road solid. In the face of a determined mounted pursuit, they were looking at a massacre.