Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (10 page)

They were committed.

*****

“Sounds like they're coming,” Enri said softly to Parno. The prince nodded, but stayed silent. His mind was racing far ahead, planning his next steps. If the Nor did this, what would he do then? If they flanked, or tried to, how to respond? Should they break, would he change his orders and pursue?

No, that was definitely out. Pursuit would put them right back into the bee hive they had kicked over this morning. If the Nor offered him the chance to bloody them here and now, he would take it. But there would be no pursuit. He turned to his runners.

“Inform all commanders that my orders not to pursue are not subject to change,” he ordered. “We will not,
under any circumstance
, pursue the enemy even if they are fleeing in disorder. We are still vastly outnumbered and a long way from any support. Go!” The runners shot away, galloping for the division commanders. Parno rode to where Beaumont was studying the Nor in the distance.

“Remember that we are not to pursue,” he ordered the energetic cavalryman. “We are too far from support and too near their lines.”

“Aye, milord,” Beaumont nodded. “I'm not so sure we'll see them rout anyway,” he added softly. “Appears they are well disciplined sire, and probably better led than we've faced before.” Parno nodded his agreement, his assessment of Beaumont rising another peg based on that observation. Before either could say more one of Parsons' men slid in before Parno.

“Milord, we've seen a few Wildmen on the left,” the man reported. “We can't as yet determine how many, but there's at least two groups, company strength or better. They aren't probing or attacking but our left is under observation.”

Parno nodded. Thanks to the efforts of Edema Willows, he had known that the Nor had made a treaty of some sort with the savage tribes of the west, so he wasn't surprised at their presence here. The question of import was how
many
were here, and would they engage, or merely watch?

“Keep them under observation, but do not attack,” Parno ordered. “Notify General O’Hare to detach one regiment to serve as flanking guard if he has not already done so. We cannot allow them to get around behind us.” The rider saluted and took off at once.

“That's a bad business,” Beaumont murmured. “Murderin' savages on our flank, helpin' these heathen.”

“It is indeed,” Parno nodded calmly. “Now you see why we're limiting our attack today, General.”

“I do, milord,” Beaumont nodded respectfully. “And it's a good plan, if I may add.”

“Thanks,” Parno grinned, then straightened as the first Nor lines emerged from the tree lines. He studied them for a moment, face pensive with thought.

“I think they're going to try and charge us, milord,” Beaumont sounded eager as he spoke. “We can meet them mid-way.”

“No, I think we'll try something else instead,” Parno grinned suddenly. “Harrel!” Sprigs was next to him in an instant.

“My compliments to General Whipple, and he may engage at will as soon as the Nor charge is in range. He will conserve his fire to be able to lay the covering fire I requested, and will cease fire as soon as the battle is joined. Until then and subject to those conditions, he may use his own judgment.”

“Yes sir!” Sprigs nodded and shot away to Whipple's post to relay his commander's instructions. Parno turned to Beaumont.

“You may go out to meet them when they reach the half way point of the clearing, General,” he said softly. “Take care that you are not injured, as I desire your presence at dinner this evening. Understood?” Beaumont suddenly gave his commander his undivided attention.

“Understood, milord,” he nodded.

“Then I leave it to you,” Parno nodded, turning his horse. “Give them hell Buford, and kill all of them you can.” With that Parno spurred his horse away, followed by Berry and his runners. Parno motioned for three runners to join him as he rode.

“Inform Generals O'Hare, Bellamy, and Fordyce that they will look to the center. When the center charges, they will join. Remind them once more that we will not under any circumstances pursue beyond the clearing.” The three saluted and hurried to convey these last instructions.

Parno noted that Whipple's men were moving into position behind the cavalry in two long lines. Whipple himself was in line, bow at the ready. He nodded to himself in appreciation. Yes, he and Beaumont would do nicely he thought. Very nicely indeed.

“HERE THEY COME!” he heard Beaumont bellow. Parno temporarily set aside his plans for the future as he turned to concentrate on the immediate problem. Unless they won here, his plans for later wouldn't matter much.

*****

Stone looked at the assembled Southern cavalry and for just an instant felt apprehension. They didn't look as if they were about to bolt. The warnings of his subordinates came back to him. Perhaps they were correct that caution should be the order of the day. He was on the verge of ordering a halt when the bugles began blowing again, right on time with his previous orders.

His men shot forward. It was too late to turn back now.

*****

Parno watched as the Nor cavalry charged across the clearing. He estimated no more than three hundred yards separated the Nor and his own lines, a distance the Nor were eating up as they galloped his way. He looked toward Whipple who had raised his arm holding a tall narrow pole with a yellow pennant flying in the wind.

His men, moving almost as one, drew arrows and nocked them. The cavalry archers followed suit, their own actions smooth enough though not in the same class as the men of the 21
st
Horse Archers.

Parno watched as Whipple studied the charging Nor intently. Parno noticed that Whipple's lips were moving slightly and realized that the archery Brigadier was counting something. Suddenly Whipple slapped the pennant down to the ground, the signal for his men to open fire.

Over three thousand arrows lofted in near unison over the heads of the waiting Soulan cavalry, flying across the distance. Parno's eyes followed them even as the archers drew new arrows. Those already in flight traveled in a smooth arc across the open ground and began slamming into Nor troopers and horses.

Screams from both man and beast began to reach his ears as the arrows found targets. Many were stuck multiple times resulting in horses and riders tripping and tumbling into the ground. This often caused riders behind them to stumble as well as they collided with those in front who had gone down. The carnage reminded him of the Gap in many ways. A small part of him wished he was more disturbed by it while the rest was grateful that he was beyond that now.

The Nor came on despite the loss of many of their own number. Their training was obviously better than ever before. It was difficult to train men to continue under fire and maintain their discipline. That was something that often came only with experience in battle. Yet these Nor troopers did just that. True, they already had at least some limited experience since the start of the war and it had apparently strengthened their training and their discipline.

The second flight arrived in their midst and then a third, Still the Nor continued the charge. Parno raised a hand and looked toward Beaumont. The Brigadier was sitting his horse, front and center, measuring the distance between his force and the enemy in much the same way Whipple had done. Suddenly his own pennant rose in the air and the men behind him drew swords, lowered lances and tightened reins.

Beaumont allowed two more flights to pass over head and then lowered his own pennant, yelling at the top of his lungs;

“CHARGE!”

His entire brigade seemed to lunge at the order, putting spurs to war mounts that were eager to close with the enemy. On both sides of him similar orders were shouted and bugles rose above the din to pass the orders along the line.

The Soulan ranks looked like a shallow, massive chevron as the center shot out in front, led by Beaumont and his men.

Whipple suddenly raised his pennant again, waving it back and forth to attract attention and his men held their fire, though stood prepared with arrows drawn for any order to continue. Parno noted that Whipple handed the pennant off to an aide taking another, red this time, which he held down toward the ground. He happened to turn Parno's way for a second and nodded calmly to his Prince. Parno returned the nod then brought his attention back to the battle.

The Nor ranks had been thinned some but there were still plenty of enemy cavalry to go around. Beaumont and his men rode straight into their midst, battle cries lifting all along the line. Parno watched as the two lines closed at breakneck speed, each side confident of their ultimate success.

The two lines collided with such force that Parno could literally feel the ground shaking as tens of thousands of horse hooves pounded the soil beneath them, digging deep into the ground to give the huge mounts the traction they needed to propel themselves forward. Parno lost sight of Beaumont as the lines met, the Brigadier concealed by the battle around him.

There was nothing he could do now but watch, and wait.

CHAPTER SIX

-

Stone cursed as he saw the effect of the southern archery against his men. While his cavalrymen had come a long way, there were no mounted archers among his men. It had taken all the training he could squeeze in to make them efficient riders and to ensure they could handle sword and lance. Using a bow from horseback was a unique skill set and few of his men could master it.

The savages of course were adept at horse archery and he had tried in vain to convince both the Wildmen and his own High Command to form at least a brigade of tribal archers for use with his cavalry. Wilson, along with the Army Chief of Staff, had been reluctant to have such a large force of the unruly and barely disciplined savages organized within their own ranks, while Blue Dog and the other leaders of the Wildmen had flatly refused to consider the option. They did not see the need for such organized specialties since most of their warriors could do pretty much anything from horseback.

Now Stone's men and horses paid the price for those refusals as they were assailed by arrows with no way to answer the attack.

But his men never faltered in the face of the enemy archery. Despite grievous losses they kept their lines and continued their charge across that open ground. Once they reached the enemy, things would change. Mixed in among their adversaries, the Imperial troopers would be safe from southern arrows.

He frowned as movement caught his eyes. Raising his glass, he peered through it at the enemy front, and felt himself falter, just a bit.

It seemed that the southerners would not be content just with waiting for his men to reach them after all.

*****

Parno watched with heightened anticipation as his men clashed with the advancing Nor cavalry. The Nor general had made an error perhaps, though Parno wasn't yet sure of that. His lines were shorter than Parno's own, which meant that his men might be able to envelop the enemy flanks.

Just as that thought occurred to him, he remembered the report of Wildmen on his left flank. He motioned to Enri Willard, who rode to his side.

“Milord?”

“How secure is our left?” Parno asked at once. “I know there is a regiment there to guard the flank, but is it a good one? Well led? It occurs to me that our men may fall upon the Nor flanks since our lines extend somewhat past theirs. If we do, then our left will be exposed to attack. There may be more of the Tribal horsemen on our flank than we have yet seen.”

“I'll look into it, milord,” Enri promised and galloped away to do just that. Parno sat watching the developing battle, wishing now that he hadn't sent Karls and the Black Sheep away. If he had them present, then he could send them to the left to -

“Hot day, looks like,” Karls Willard said gently. Parno's head snapped around, refusing to believe his ears.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“We got the trains back, safe and sound,” Karls shrugged. “When you didn't return, we decided to come back and see what was happening.”

              “We?” Parno repeated, turning in his saddle. Arrayed behind him at a respectful distance stood the Black Sheep, horses calm even in battle.

“We,” Karls nodded. “You look pensive,” Karls added, looking at his prince and friend.

“There are reports of Tribal Cavalry on our left,” Parno nodded. “At least two company strength groups, but there could be more. I am concerned that they might hit our flank if the left falls in on the Nor. I should have thought of it sooner-”

“So should someone else,” Karls broke in. “That's why you have a staff, and why officers are taught to think for themselves.” He gathered his reins in hand. “We'll ride over that way and sort of have a look,” he told Parno.

“There's a regiment over there already, but I don't know who. Enri has gone to see how good they might be and who is leading. But yes, I was just wishing you were here to send that way.”

“Got that one wish and wasted it on us,” Karls laughed. “We're on the way, milord.” With that Karls moved back to where the Sheep were waiting and bellowed an order. In less than a minute the column was turned and on its way to the left of the Soulan lines. Parno relaxed visibly knowing that his most trusted subordinate, leading his most trusted men, would be there to watch for trouble.

With at least one worry gone, Parno turned his attention back to the battle before him.

*****

General Stone felt most of his trepidation slip away as his men finally joined battle with the Southron cavalry. His men
were
well trained and they fought well against their supposedly superior foe. Their experiences coming south, though brief, had given them much needed confidence in themselves and their officers.

The length of his own lines compared to the southerner's concerned him a bit, but he realized that his line, while shorter, was also deeper. Where the Southron's had perhaps three to five men deep on line, his own forces numbered closer to six and seven, depending on the unit. He wasn't sure of the disparity in true numbers, but believed that his men would certainly hold their own and possibly do much more.

As he watched the battle progress, he aide murmured in his ear.

“One of the savages, sir. A runner.” Stone looked around to see one of Blue Dog's men approaching. He was shirtless, as were most of the savage Tribesmen, and carried a lance. A short bow was slung over his shoulder. His horse was wiry, with little in the way of equipment the way his troopers had and was decorated along the same lines as the man himself. Stone resisted the urge to shake his head.

“Chief say Southmans work against right,” the man reported without fanfare. “No attack, but stronger now. New mans there now, not there when fight start.”

Soulanies were strengthening their right? During the battle? Their lines already extended beyond his own, so why move farther out? It didn't make sense, unless. . .Unless they were trying to break another unit into the rear areas of the army. He shook his head at that.

Surely even McLeod could see the folly in something like that. With the Imperial Army by now alerted all along the front it would be suicide. Assuming that McLeod wouldn't order something so sure to end in disaster, that left Stone wondering what they were doing.

Perhaps the southern officers had noticed Blue Dog's men along the right of line and were worried about an attack from that front. While there was no risk of that happening, the Soulanies didn't know that. If so, then anything that tied up their men in fruitless pursuits was a good thing. He turned to the runner.

“I believe that the southerners consider your presence on the flank threatening,” he told the waiting savage. “If so, then they would have to move men to oppose any attack you might make. They are certainly more concerned with your fighting skills from horseback than our own.” That hurt to say, but was true none-the-less, at least for now.

“Please ask your Chief if he will continue to demonstrate your presence on the right. Allow the enemy to see you, to know that you are still present. That alone will keep some of the enemy troops tied down and out of the battle here.”

“I will say,” the runner bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Chief may or may not do.”

“That's fine,” Stone nodded. He couldn't force the damn savage to obey orders. Maybe his suggestion would be enough to convince Blue Dog to do his bidding, at least this once. The runner turned and rode back the way he had come.

“There will come a day,” Stone murmured to himself, then shook it away. That day was long in the future and he had plenty to worry about for today.

*****

Buford Beaumont was in his element. His position as a Brigadier often meant that he was relegated to official duties that kept him out of battle, or even training. While he appreciated the fact that his skill had seen him rise to his present rank even in an environment that was hostile to him, Beaumont was a fighting soldier at heart and wanted to be with his men in battle.

Right now his wish was coming true in spades. He was aware that his presence in the line would not go unnoticed by the enemy and that they would try to bring him down if possible, believing that his loss would hurt his brigade's fighting effectiveness. He snorted mentally at the idea.

While he was sure his men would mourn him, his brigade would continue to fight like the soldiers they were whether he led them or not. His absence might eventually play a role in their morale, but it would not hamper them on the battlefield today.

He left that thought behind as a mounted Nor trooper tried to bring his sword to bear on the southern General before him. Beaumont blocked the attack with relative ease, then spurred his large war horse into the smaller Nor mount, knocking the smaller horse to the side. Eyes wide, the Nor trooper struggled to stay mounted, which distracted him from defending himself. He looked up just in time to see Beaumont's sword coming at his chest.

Tearing his blade from the body of the dying trooper, Beaumont looked for another target. He didn't know how long the Marshal would give them before calling the attack off. He didn't want to waste any of it.

*****

“I don't think they're gonna do anything,” Simmons murmured from his place beside Karls Willard. “If they was gonna attack, they would have done it by now, don't you reckon?” Simmons was one of the former prisoners that had formed the bulk of the Black Sheep. He had risen through the ranks to command a company at the Gap. He was essentially Willard's second for the time being.

“Don't know,” Willard shrugged, surveying the wood line with his glass. “But their presence is a threat we have to honor. Especially since we aren't sure how many there are.”

“We could move over there and find out,” Simmons replied, his voice betraying eagerness.

“No.” Willard's voice was firm. “Our orders are to hold right here and protect the flank. If we move off, then if there's another force out there they move right in here where we're supposed to be. They might be letting us see them hoping we do just that,” he added, looking at Simmons.

Simmons' training was strictly in the field other than his basic instruction at Cove Canton. The man was very good at small unit actions and had earned his rank in battle, but his experience was limited and he had never been trained to think strategically. His eyes narrowed as what Karls told him hit home.

“Hadn't considered that,” he admitted.

“No reason you should,” Karls shrugged. “You training hasn't covered things like that, mostly because we haven't had the time. But remember when you're on the flank, you hold the edge of the line. If you move, withdraw, or give in, then the army's line is exposed. A large force sweeping against an exposed flank can roll up unit after unit in detail, never allowing the army to marshal enough forces to meet them.”

“When you're the flank, that's what you concentrate on,” he concluded the
ad hoc
training session. “Let the rest of the line deal with what's front. All of your attention should be on protecting the flank.”

“Yes sir,” Simmons nodded, soaking in the information and applying it to what he'd already learned. He knew that Karls Willard was trying to teach him as they went and appreciated it. Most men of his position wouldn't have bothered.

But Willard had been The Colonel's protégé. That was how all the Sheep had thought of, and remembered, Colonel Darvo Nidiad.
The Colonel.
He had won the respect of every man in the unit over time.

So had the prince of course, but that was a different kettle of fish all together. Where the men loved Parno McLeod and would die for him without a thought, they had feared and respected The Colonel. And that respect had transferred at least somewhat to Willard. Colonel Willard might not be
The
Colonel, but he was
their
colonel. And he had been appointed and approved by
The Colonel
.

Simmons pushed those thoughts away and returned his attention to both the wood line and his commander. There might be more to learn here today.

*****

Parno watched the battle unfolding before him, gauging the fatigue of his men. It was coming time to break off while they could still fight a withdrawal if needed. They had done well and it as time to take that and go.

“I believe you have accomplished your goal, my prince,” Cho Feng said quietly from his side. Parno turned, not having seen Cho ride up. He should not have been surprised to see a blade in Feng's hand. A bloody blade.

“I was just thinking that,” Parno nodded. He motioned for a young bugler, who rode to him with a bit of hesitation.

“Prepare to sound Recall and Reform,” Parno ordered. “On my command.” The young man nodded and licked lips made dry by a number of things, including fear. Parno looked to Whipple, who was looking back at him expectantly. Parno nodded, pointing to the bugler. Whipple returned the nod and raised his red pennant. Behind him the archers raised their bows once more.

It dawned on Parno at that moment that while he had detailed Beaumont's men as rear-guard, he'd also sent them into battle at the center of the line. He had no real force standing ready to cover the withdrawal.