Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (20 page)

“Will do,” Enri nodded.

“That engineer, Fields I think his name was, I want him going with us to Nasil. Once there I want him working on a model of the Tinsee similar to what he did here for the Great River. I'd like another of the Lovil area if he can manage that using maps and drawings of the area. That model allows a good view of the terrain and the forces in the field. Excellent idea. Ensure that he and Raines are both commended for it.” Willard nodded again.

“Issue orders to all posts that Raines is now commanding the Soulan Second Army and is in command of all forces in his theater of operations. The only exceptions to that are the IG, any Crown agents, and the Sheep. If you think of anyone else that should be exempt, add them as well.”

“Yes sir.”

“And have the unit prepared to march at daybreak,” Parno concluded. “Raines is doing a first rate job here and I am in no way needed. We'll ride to Nasil on the morrow and report to the king, then decide where we go from there. Probably back to the west with Davies, but we'll see.”

“Yes milord,” Enri showed no surprise at the order to move out. Parno didn't know if he'd expected it or he was just always prepared for it. Either way, Parno was too tired to worry over it.

“And I'm going to bed,” he smiled tiredly. “I'm too young to feel this old.”

“We all get that way time to time, milord,” Enri smiled back. “We'll be ready in the morning.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

-

“When are we going to attack, General?”

Wilson bit back a sigh as Daly's voice floated to him across the room he used as an office. He turned to see the arrogant nobleman standing at the door expectantly.

“You'll receive notice of any orders posted, Brigadier,” Wilson managed to say calmly, reminding Daly of his own position.

“As the Emperor's representative-”

“I've had no command from the Emperor to treat you as such,” Wilson cut him off cleanly. “You were assigned to me as my Chief of Staff, a job you are well qualified for but cannot seem to fulfill due to your constant machinations and intrigues.” His voice was cool now. “Should the Emperor inform me to treat you as his representative in the field, I will of course extend that courtesy to you, just as I follow all of my Emperor's instructions or even advice.” He picked up a parchment from his desk and held it out to the still smirking Daly.

“It would seem that the Emperor isn't quite as displeased with my actions as you believed he would be,” Wilson relished this moment. “He has, in fact,
endorsed
my plan to consolidate our position and strengthen our communications before proceeding. He notes the failures of the past being a result of a lack of foresight in that area and commends our caution as, and I quote, 'necessary and appropriate'.” Daly took the parchment as if it would bite him, glancing at the words upon it.

“He does not mention you at all, Brigadier,” Wilson fought to keep the smugness from his voice and was mostly successful. “Not as his representative, as my Chief of Staff, nor even as a kinsman. Nor does he mention any of the reports I'm sure you have sent to his offices since this campaign began. Since I cannot fathom any such report viewing me in a favorable light I am forced to assume that the Emperor has simply chosen to. . .ignore you.”

Daly's face flushed beet red at that last barb and he fought to keep his hand from trembling as he lowered the parchment, tossing it back onto Wilson's desk.

“So it would seem that your reluctance to attack has infected my cousin,” Daly almost sneered, though he was careful not to outright accuse his relative of cowardice. “We are sitting here with a massive, well trained army instead of attacking the Soulanies where they live! What use is an army if we aren't using it!”

“Idiot,” Wilson snarled and Daly almost recoiled. Wilson had never spoken to him in such a manner before and it caught him by surprise. “We're destroying Soulan every day we sit here you short sighted moron. Do you not comprehend how many acres, how many
square miles
of their precious farm land we are preventing them from utilizing by our presence here?”

“What difference does that make?” Daly shot back. “Their army is not three miles distant from this spot and yet we do nothing!”

“It's always struck me as odd that you, who has never led men in combat nor seen any yourself, are always so eager to see the blood of our own soldiers spilled to satisfy your misguided notions of what it means to be powerful,” Wilson's voice was cutting. “Their army is three miles distant, and
cannot move
for fear of opening still more of their land to us. They are paralyzed by our presence and our other forces in the field and at sea, while we move at our leisure. Movement is everything in warfare, Brigadier, and we have denied the Soulan Army any freedom of movement, anywhere.”

“Meanwhile, their planting season is already underway and we are sitting on thousands of square miles of their best lands. Come winter their people will be starving for that food but it will not be coming because it won't have been grown to start with!”

“Despite the ineptitude of Therron McLeod, don't for an instant think that the rest of the Soulan royal family is stupid, nor are their retainers. They know the damage we're doing to them by just sitting here. They will soon be forced to move against us by the circumstances, whether they want to or not. We outnumber them at least three-to-one and we will not be caught in unprepared camps again.” Wilson calmed slightly as he walked to the map on his wall.

“They will have no choice but to throw their army against us in an attempt to dislodge our forces and free their lands from occupation. Instead of wasting the blood of our men on headlong attacks against
their
defenses, we'll wait for them to come to us.” He turned again to face Daly.

“They will break upon our lances and pikes, Brigadier, and when they have then,
then
Brigadier, we will move south and conquer the so called
Kingdom
of Soulan. Their army will lay in ruins and there will be nothing else to oppose us. Our objective, General, is not to occupy ground, nor to seize cities. No, our objective is to destroy the Army of Soulan once and for all!”

“And with that done, we will hand this place to the Emperor to rule over as he does our own lands. There will be no one left to oppose his rightful rule and the only army on this continent worthy of the name will be under his command.”

“Now get out,” Wilson's timbre changed suddenly. “I've grown weary of your foolishness. Stay out of our way and keep your mouth shut and you may maintain your position and the privileges that go with it. Interfere and we'll see who the Emperor supports more; you, or me.”

Stunned, Daly almost stumbled as he turned to leave Wilson's office. Having fancied himself as the 'real' power in the command of the Imperial Army, Daly had just been handed a rude awakening. In a daze of sudden and unpleasant awareness of his insignificance he made his way outside and toward his own camp. As he walked his emotions ran a gauntlet of tides, beginning with embarrassment and shame, then turning to thoughts of how he'd been betrayed by his cousin. Only the luck of birth had given him the throne rather than Daly after all.

By the time he reached his over-sized camp of guards, retainers, hangers on and 'followers', Daly had worked himself into a rage of epic proportions. He decided as he stormed into his own quarters that Wilson would pay for this slight and, if the gods were with him, so would his cousin the Emperor.

Pay very dearly indeed.

*****

Admiral Rafael Semmes stood in the
Wabash
ward room looking at the assembled squadron commanders and ship captains sitting around the room. Some faces looked bleak, some looked eager, and more than a few just looked pensive. He could sympathize with that last one, feeling a bit pensive himself.

“Gentlemen, give me your attention,” he said simply and what little talk there was died away. Satisfied that he had their attention, he began.

“You know that the enemy fleet is assembled off our shores, apparently escorting a squadron of troop ships. You also know by now that the situation on land is dire to say the least. While three army corps are struggling to contain a Nor army that outnumbers them at least three-to-one if not more, two full corps of the Soulan army, plus their provincial attachments, are standing to in order to honor the possible threat this Nor fleet represents.” His face looked grim.

“We are going to eliminate that threat, gentlemen, if it costs us every ship in this assembly.” There was a slight stir among his audience but no one objected. He would not have entertained such in any case.

“Make no mistake that the continued existence of the Soulan Kingdom rests on the outcome of this war. And the war could very well be decided by our actions in the coming engagement. If we can destroy the Nor fleet, or at least damage it sufficiently to drive it from our waters, then the majority of the troops in the south can be sent north to fight against the incursion from Kent and the threat against Shelby on the Great River. Those men are desperately needed there and it's our job to make sure they can go without threat to any landings along our coast.”

Several heads nodded in understanding. Rumors were that things at home were very bad indeed.

“We will attack by squadron,” Semmes turned to the map stand behind him, satisfied that he had made his point. “Squadron commanders will be given general orders, their implementation left to your discretion. We will not have much in the way of real time coordination once the battle is joined so it is absolutely vital that each ship realize not only what is at stake, but what is expected.”

“The Savannah Squadron will be the pivot, here,” Semmes pointed to the map again. “Our last report was that the Nor fleet was still more or less stationary roughly thirty miles due east of San Augustina. The best information we have on their order of battle comes from a fishing vessel commanded by a former naval officer.” He turned again to face his commanders to make sure they understood what he was about to tell them.

“He is convinced that the Nor
allowed
him to get a good view of their fleet before making a half-hearted attempt to chase him away. He is further convinced that had the cutter that gave chase wanted to catch him, it could have done so with ease.” He paused to let that sink in.

“They wanted to be seen,” one captain remarked softly. “They wanted us to know where they were and how strong they were.”

“Indeed,” Semmes nodded, pleased that at least one of them was paying attention. “That lends credence to Marshal McLeod's theory that this is a ruse. That those troopships are empty and the Nor fleet is simply sitting there to keep two full corps of Soulan soldier out of the decisive battles to the north.”

“Begging your pardon, Admiral,” Commodore Anthony David, commanding officer of the Key Horn Squadron raised a hand. “That could also indicate that this is a trap designed to lure our fleet in and destroy it.”

“That is correct,” Semmes again his pleasure at the observations of his commanders. “The enemy had been very clever indeed this time, gentlemen. They have presented us with an issue we cannot ignore, regardless of their intentions. They have managed to place us in a position where we have no choice but to attack them. With that decision taken from us, as well as the place of the engagement, we have only two items left that we can influence.”

“When we attack, and how,” Thomas George, Commodore of the Savannah Squadron nodded firmly. “We must choose the time of the engagement and set the terms for it.”

“Precisely,” Semmes nodded. “The 'when' is as soon as possible. With that in mind, we strike anchor tomorrow at sun-up. We should have moderately favorable winds for most of the day, but we will also make use of the oars where necessary because time is our enemy and a Norland ally. Every day we allow this engagement to be drawn out and left undecided is another day that the southern corps cannot ride to the aid of the northern army groups. We cannot allow this situation to continue. It will be a race as it is for our men to arrive before news of the Nor fleet's defeat reaches their army in the west.”

“This will be our plan of attack.” For the next twenty minutes Semmes outlined his plans. When he finished he had the expected results. Some were anxious to go, others showed concern.

“This is a complex attack plan, Admiral,” Hampton Rhode, Commodore of the Sunshine Squadron noted with a frown. “If our timing is off, we run the risk of being defeated in detail.”

“I know,” Semmes nodded. “Understand gentlemen, our defeat, even our destruction as a fighting force, is acceptable so long as those troopships are sunk. If they have soldiers aboard, then most will perish in the sea. If they are empty, then we'll know that too. So long as our messenger cutter survives to carry that news to the Prince, we will have done our duty.”

Somber faces looked back at him from around the room at this declaration.

“I know that your training dictates the conservation of your ships and men when and where possible,” Semmes said gently. “Further, the loss of even a single man should be anathema to a good Captain, as should the loss of a ship under his command. In any other situation that would be true but
here
,” he slapped the map with his right hand, “that situation is different. We cannot win this war ourselves, out here on the sea. We
can
decide who wins on the land, however, with this engagement. Therefore, we will prevail, even if it means the loss of every ship and every man in this fleet. If you do not believe that you can follow those instructions, now is the time to say so.”

“I will not punish a man who thinks he cannot do his duty to crown and kingdom in this one instance,” he said flatly. “You will be returned to shore and reassigned to some other duty. There will be no mark against a man who chooses that path.”

There would of course. It wouldn't be official and the Admiral himself, should he survive, would not hold it against a man professionally, but any Captain who walked away from a threat to his land would not be forgiven by his peers. Those present at the battle would forever look upon him as having deserted his ship and mates, while those not present would be angry at his having passed over the opportunity they themselves would have given all to have. That was the way of fighting men the world over. Many things might differ from nation to nation, but the honor and dignity of the men who did the actual fighting would remain in some form no matter what banner they fought under. There were a few unwritten rules that applied almost everywhere.

No one asked to be replaced. Instead a grim aura of acceptance settled over the room as the assembled commanders looked at friends, classmates, former ship mates and in some cases kinsmen, wondering silently if they would have the opportunity to sit together at the same table in this lifetime.