Marching Through Peachtree wotp-2 Read online

  “I should hope so, sir,” Andy replied. “You’ve earned the right.”

  George nodded. “I expect I have. But I will say this as well: General Hesmucet is the best strategist I’ve ever seen, and I take my hat off to him for it.” Taking himself literally, he doffed his gray chapeau.

  His adjutant frowned. “How do you mean, sir?”

  “He goes on throwing enough distractions at Ned of the Forest over in the east to keep Ned from coming this way and playing merry hells with our glideway,” George said. “That’s a long reach of thought.”

  “Well, what if it is?” Colonel Andy said. “I’m sure it would have come to you, too.”

  “I’m not,” Doubting George said, “not by any means.” Maybe that means Marshal Bart did the right thing in making Hesmucet commander here in the east, and not me, he thought, and grimaced. What a depressing notion.

  “Sir,” Andy said, “just remember this: if it weren’t for you, this army wouldn’t be here today. This army probably wouldn’t be anywhere at all today, because the traitors would have smashed it to pieces by the River of Death.”

  “Oh, I think the men I was in charge of then had a little something to do with that, too,” Doubting George said dryly.

  “General Guildenstern was in charge of good men, too, and they ran back towards Rising Rock just as fast as they could go,” Andy said.

  That wasn’t fair. Count Thraxton had ensorceled Guildenstern, so that he gave precisely the wrong order at precisely the wrong time. It was one of the very few times in the whole war that Thraxton the Braggart’s sorcery had done what he wanted it to do. Lieutenant General George knew as much. He smiled anyhow. Remembering a colleague’s embarrassment went a long way toward cheering him up.

  Andy went on, “And this wing of the army has done more hard fighting since we came north than any of the others.”

  “It is the biggest wing, you know.”

  “Even so,” his adjutant insisted. “And it’s the biggest wing because you’re the best commander General Hesmucet has.”

  Doubting George considered the competition. James the Bird’s Eye was a comer, no doubt about it, but hadn’t had nearly George’s experience leading large numbers of men. Fighting Joseph… George shook his head. He didn’t want to consider Fighting Joseph. All right, maybe I am the best commander General Hesmucet has, he thought. But that doesn’t mean I’m better than Hesmucet himself, and that’s what I want to be.

  He brought his thoughts back to the essential business of winning the war. Standing outside his pavilion, he could see Marthasville. He could all but reach out and touch Marthasville. “We just have to stretch things out,” he murmured.

  “Sir?” Colonel Andy said.

  “Joseph the Gamecock hasn’t got enough men,” George said. “If we make him do too many things at once, he won’t be able to manage all of them.”

  “May you finally be right, sir,” Andy said. “We’ve been saying since the start of the campaign that, if we did this, that, or the other thing, Joseph the Gamecock’s army would break to pieces like a pot made of clay. We’ve been saying it and saying it, but it hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Well, well.” Lieutenant General George eyed his adjutant in surprise. “And here I’m the fellow with the reputation for doubting. I’ve earned it, too, I must say. Have you caught the disease from me, my dear Colonel?”

  “In this cursed northern heat, a man can catch any disease under the sun,” Colonel Andy replied. “The healers mostly don’t know how to cure them, either. Why shouldn’t I catch doubt along with everything else?”

  “I’ll tell you why,” George replied. “Because this time we really are going to lick the traitors right out of their boots, that’s why. One of the things that has made this campaign so hard is that Joseph the Gamecock has always had room to maneuver, room to retreat. He doesn’t any more, not if he wants to hold on to Marthasville. All the chances for maneuvering work for us now.”

  “I told you, sir: may it work out as you say.” Colonel Andy still looked glum. “But what do you want to bet that something will keep us from making the move to the northeast that General Hesmucet has ordered from us?”

  “I can’t imagine what that would be,” George said.

  “I can’t imagine what it would be, either,” his adjutant said. “But we’ve already seen a lot of unimaginable things in this campaign. What are a few more?”

  George would have been happier had he had a ready answer for that, but he didn’t, and he knew it.

  * * *

  Joseph the Gamecock eyed his wing commanders. “Gentlemen, the thing we need most in all the world right now, it seems to me, is room to maneuver.”

  “Another fancy way to talk about retreat,” Lieutenant General Bell muttered. Joseph didn’t think he was supposed to hear, but he did.

  Here, though, Bell wasn’t the only discontented officer he had. Roast-Beef William clucked and said, “Sir, I don’t see how we can get room to maneuver without moving away from Marthasville, and holding Marthasville is the point of the exercise.”

  “We can hold Marthasville with Duke Brown’s militiamen,” Joseph said. “The satrap’s men are starting to come into the forts around the city.”

  “Hesmucet has real soldiers with him,” Roast-Beef William said glumly. “They’ll go through raw militiamen quick as boiled asparagus.”

  Feeling about ready to burst from frustration, Joseph rounded on his third and newest wing commander and demanded, “How say you, Brigadier Alexander?”

  “I want to strike the enemy a blow, as we all do,” Old Straight replied, “but I don’t want to uncover Marthasville to do it. My opinion is, we would do best to fight close to the city.”

  “But staying close to Marthasville with our whole force means the southrons can maneuver as they please, while we’re trapped here,” Joseph protested. “They can swing all the way around the city and surround us, by the gods.”

  “And in doing so, they will weaken themselves, and we can attack,” Bell said.

  “I am looking for the chance to attack,” Joseph the Gamecock said. “Holding the city with the militia will give us that chance.”

  “What does King Geoffrey think of this plan?” William asked.

  “It appalls him,” Lieutenant General Bell replied.

  “How do you know that?” Joseph inquired. Instead of answering, Bell took a swig of laudanum. Joseph the Gamecock went on, “I still think we can bring it off, and I still think it would be good for our strategic position if we did. And so, gentlemen, I want you to be prepared to move north and west of Marthasville whenever I give the order.”

  “It is another retreat!” Bell groaned. “I knew it. By the Thunderer’s prong, sir, you’re abandoning Marthasville to the tender mercies of Hesmucet and his stinking southrons. I don’t care to be a part of any such maneuver. I think it’s extremely ill-advised-and that’s the best thing I can say about it.”

  “With all respect, sir,” Roast-Beef William told Joseph, “I must say that, in this instance, I agree with Lieutenant General Bell.”

  He’d never said anything like that before. Hearing it from him infuriated Joseph. Eyes and voice deadly cold, he demanded, “Are you refusing my orders, Lieutenant General? I thought you of all people understood subordination.”

  “I do, sir. I refuse you nothing,” Roast-Beef William said unhappily. “But I do not refuse you my opinion, either. And my opinion is and remains that we would do better to fight around Marthasville.”

  “Very well,” Joseph the Gamecock said. It wasn’t very well; it was nowhere close to very well. But Roast-Beef William had indeed spoken respectfully, and it was indeed part of a subordinate’s duty to give his superior his unvarnished views. Fuming still, Joseph rounded on Alexander the Steward. “Will you follow me without carping, Brigadier?”

  “Certainly, sir, if you require it,” Old Straight replied. “I would be lying, though, if I said I liked your plan.”

 
“Well, what else can we do?” Joseph the Gamecock asked, aiming the question as much at malicious fate as at his wing commanders. “If we stay here and let Hesmucet maneuver as he pleases, we are liable to lose not just Marthasville but the whole Army of Franklin.”

  “We need to attack,” Bell insisted.

  “You keep saying that, like a parrot trained to do it in the hope of getting a sunflower seed,” Joseph said. As Bell glared at him, he went on, “Well, Pretty Poll, I have news for you: when the enemy’s army is twice the size of your own, you had better have a gods-damned strong position before you go and bite him on the leg.”

  “If you don’t attack, what point to having an army at all?” Bell asked.

  “Have you ever heard of defending?” Joseph the Gamecock said.

  “Indeed, sir.” Bell nodded. “You have defended Peachtree Province so well, the whole southern half of it no longer needs to be defended at all.”

  “If you’d thrown the army away, as you always seem to want to do, we wouldn’t still hold Marthasville,” Joseph said.

  “You always think we will lose if we attack,” Bell retorted. “If we attack and win, we hurl the southrons back and we go forward.”

  “True-if,” Joseph the Gamecock agreed. “Long odds, though, when we’re so outnumbered. That’s what you keep refusing to see.”

  “They’re only southrons,” Bell said contemptuously. “We can lick as many of them as we need to lick.”

  “It isn’t so,” Roast-Beef William said. “I must tell you, Lieutenant General, that is not so. They are Detinans, too. We have the advantage over them, perhaps, but not to the degree you imply.”

  “If it were so,” Joseph added, “we could have won this war a long time ago. It lacks a good deal of being won right now, or else I’ve been living a nightmare for the past three years and more.”

  “If we have the advantage over them, why are we running away?” Bell asked.

  “By the gods, you hardheaded jackass, we are not running away,” Joseph the Gamecock ground out. “We’re looking for room to maneuver.”

  “We’ve been `looking for room to maneuver’ ever since Borders,” Bell said. “When you had it, you didn’t use it. Now that you haven’t got it any more, you want it.”

  “That is uncalled for,” Roast-Beef William said.

  “This whole campaign, such as it is, is uncalled for,” Lieutenant General Bell said.

  “You have obstructed me every step of the way,” Joseph said furiously. “If this army is having difficulties, they are at least half-at least half, sir-of your making. For you to blame me now is like… is like… I don’t know what it’s like, but I know it’s vile. If the stone that smashed your leg had smashed your miserable rock of a head in its place, this army would be better off today.”

  “Sir, that is also uncalled for,” William said, and Alexander the Steward nodded.

  “I see,” Joseph said. “It’s fine for him to insult me and revile me, but I’m a wicked monster if I pay him back in the same coin. Ah, yes. Yes, indeed. That makes perfect sense.”

  Something close to desperation in his voice, Roast-Beef William said, “Quarrels only help the enemy, sir. They can afford them, because they outnumber us. We can afford nothing at all.”

  Joseph was too angry to be placated so easily. “Oh, of course we can! Just ask him.” He pointed to Bell. “We can afford to charge right out and attack the southrons, and five minutes later they’ll all be skedaddling for the Highlow River just as fast as they can. Won’t it be wonderful?”

  Bell had faced a lot of nasty weapons in this war, but he didn’t stand up to sarcasm very well. “That’s not what I said,” he protested, his voice breaking like a youth’s.

  “No, eh?” Joseph said. “It must be what you meant, though. Unless we win a victory like that, what’s the point of attacking Hesmucet at all?”

  “You deliberately twist all my words,” Bell said.

  “You deliberately twist all my deeds,” Joseph the Gamecock answered. Bell started to say something, but Joseph forestalled him: “Get out of my sight. You make me sick.”

  “Sir-” Alexander the Steward began.

  But Joseph had no patience for Old Straight, either. “And you,” he said. “King Geoffrey gave me this command to save his kingdom. By the Thunderer’s brass balls, I’m going to do it, too-as long as nobody gets in my way. I am sick to death of people telling me what I can do and what I can’t. I command here, and my orders shall be obeyed, or I’ll know the reason why. Have you got that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Brigadier Alexander said. “You would sooner do it your way than do it right, if I understand you correctly.”

  Maybe he’d thought he would shame Joseph the Gamecock. Maybe he would have, too, at another time. Not now. Now, Joseph just nodded. “That’s exactly right, Brigadier. I’m going to do it my way, and I’ll take my chances. You are dismissed.” He nodded to Roast-Beef William. “You, too.”

  He could get rid of his wing commanders, but that didn’t bring him the satisfaction he craved. He’d hardly got back to the house he was using for a headquarters before a sentry stuck his head in to say, “Sir, Count Thraxton has ridden down from Marthasville. He’d speak to you, if you would.”

  “Count Thraxton?” Joseph said. “What does he want?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know, sir,” the sentry answered. “Will you see him, or shall I send him away?”

  “I’ll see him.” Joseph had no more desire to see Thraxton than he did some demon from one of the seven hells. As a matter of fact, there had been times during the war when he’d wondered if the Braggart was a demon from one of the seven hells. But he couldn’t send the man away, not when Thraxton served as King Geoffrey’s eyes and ears in Peachtree Province.

  “Count Thraxton!” the sentry announced in a loud voice, holding open the farmhouse door.

  “Your Grace,” Joseph the Gamecock murmured, bowing to the general who’d commanded the Army of Franklin before him.

  “Your Grace,” Thraxton the Braggart replied, returning the bow. Thraxton was tall and lean and sallow, with a face as mournful as a bloodhound’s though much bonier. A grizzled beard covered hollow cheeks; sad eyes peered out from beneath a bramble patch of eyebrows. If he’d ever been happy in all his days, he hadn’t bothered telling his face about it.

  Joseph waved him to a chair. “Sit down, your Grace, please.” He didn’t like having Thraxton looming over him like a bad omen. The Braggart folded up, one section at a time, as he sat. Joseph stayed on his feet, pacing back and forth as he asked, “What can I do for you today, General?”

  “I have come to tell you, sir, that King Geoffrey is not pleased with your plan to man the forts around Marthasville with Satrap Brown’s militiamen and to move the Army of Franklin away from the city,” Thraxton replied.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Joseph the Gamecock said. “Why does he object to it?”

  “His Majesty’s view, if I may speak frankly…” Thraxton waited for Joseph to nod. Joseph refused to give him the satisfaction. Thraxton coughed a couple of times-wet, almost consumptive coughs-and went on, “His Majesty is concerned that you intend to retreat away from Marthasville, and to leave the place undefended against the southrons. That is insupportable, both politically and militarily.”

  “In the first place, he’s wrong, and, in the second place, he’s wrong,” Joseph said. “If I put my own men in the forts, how can I possibly hope to attack the southrons? With my own force and nothing more, I can defend but I can’t hope to attack.”

  “King Geoffrey is less certain of this than you are,” Thraxton declared.

  “Well, bully for him,” Joseph said acidly. “I’m here, and he’s over in bloody Nonesuch. Which of us is likely to know better what this army is good for and what it isn’t, do you suppose?”

  “His Majesty has other sources of information besides yourself.” Thraxton’s tone was opaque, oracular.

  Someone’s been telling tales
out of school, was what the Braggart had to mean. As soon as the words were out of Thraxton’s mouth, Joseph the Gamecock could make a pretty good guess who that someone was, too. “Gods damn Lieutenant General Bell to the nastiest hell there is,” he growled.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Count Thraxton said, which was a lie, and a lie made all the more annoying because it was so obvious.

  “Oh, I’ll just bet you don’t,” Joseph said.

  Thraxton’s narrow shoulders went up and down in a shrug. He had to be dead to shame-he didn’t even care if he got caught out. “It’s beside the point, in any case,” he said. “Here is the point: will you take his Majesty’s advice on how to defend Marthasville, or will you not?”

  “Did he set me over the Army of Franklin, or is he in command of it himself?” Joseph asked.

  “You command the army,” Thraxton the Braggart answered, and a twist of his thin lips showed how much he wished he still commanded it himself. “You command the army, but Geoffrey rules the kingdom.”

  “Fine,” Joseph the Gamecock said. “Let him rule the kingdom, then, and I promise not to tell him how to do it-so long as he doesn’t tell me how to command the army. Seems a fair enough bargain to me.”

  Count Thraxton’s lips got even thinner and even paler. Joseph hadn’t thought they could. “I doubt King Geoffrey will care for the joke, your Grace,” Thraxton said in frigid tones.

  “I wasn’t joking,” Joseph said.

  “What a pity,” Count Thraxton replied.

  * * *

  Lieutenant General Bell had just taken a long, grateful gulp of laudanum when his aide-de-camp stuck his head into his farmhouse headquarters. Bell was anything but glad to see Major Zibeon. He’d gone too long without the drug since his quarrel with Joseph the Gamecock; his nerves were jangling, not only from the agony of his wounds but from craving for the potent tonic that salved him. His voice had a bark in it as he demanded, “What now?”

  “Sir, Count Thraxton would speak with you,” Zibeon replied.