Marching Through Peachtree wotp-2 Read online

  “Oh, happy day,” Doubting George replied in a hollow voice. He knew-and Hesmucet surely knew, too-that the garrisons in Franklin were a case where the whole was much less than the sum of its parts. They were enough to hold northern raiders at bay. Against the Army of Franklin… George didn’t want to think about that. Some of those garrison soldiers hadn’t done any real fighting in years. “What else have you got for me? Something, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes.” Hesmucet nodded brightly. “I’ve ordered a good solid division to come west from across the Great River. But they’re a little occupied right now, what with Earl Price of Sterling’s unicorn raid down into ShowMe.”

  “Splendid. Nothing plus nothing equals nothing,” Doubting George said. “If I’m going to defend Franklin against a real live army, shouldn’t I have at least part of a real live army of my own?”

  “Oh, I suppose so.” By the way Hesmucet sounded, he didn’t really suppose any such thing, but was humoring a willful subordinate. He went on, “I’ll give you half of the wing you’ve been commanding. I intend to take all of Absalom the Bear’s men with me.”

  “What?” George felt on the point of bursting with outrage. “Half? And the worse half, at that?”

  “Half,” Hesmucet said. “And I’ll give you Hard-Riding Jimmy and his brigade of unicorn-riders, all of them carrying these fancy new quick-shooting crossbows.”

  “Hard-Riding Jimmy’s still wet behind the ears,” George said, which was true: the officer couldn’t have been much above twenty-five.

  “If you don’t want him, I’ll be glad to keep him.”

  “I didn’t mean that, sir,” George said quickly. Yes, Jimmy was young. Yes, he’d been a staff officer till not very long ago. But he’d shown signs of making a good fighting soldier, his riders were very tough… and George doubted he’d get any other men if he didn’t take Jimmy’s.

  Hesmucet smiled at him. “I thought you were a good, sensible fellow. So that’s all settled, then.”

  He sounded perfectly happy. And why shouldn’t he? George thought. He’d settled everything to his own satisfaction. George was the one left with the odds and ends of military meat. He said, “Give me one other thing.”

  “What’s that?” All of a sudden, Hesmucet didn’t sound so happy any more.

  “Give me John the Lister, too, as my second-in-command.”

  Sure enough, the idea seemed to affront Hesmucet. He said, “John’s a fine officer. I had in mind taking him along with me.”

  “I’m sure you did,” George said. “But you’re taking everything you want and leaving me with nothing but dribs and drabs. You say you count on me to keep order in Franklin and make sure Bell doesn’t steal the place while I’m not looking. Well, I need somebody I can count on, too. Give me John the Lister, gods damn it.”

  When had someone last presumed to swear at the general commanding? Not for a while, unless Doubting George missed his guess-probably not since Fighting Joseph decided he was underappreciated and so spectacularly left King Avram’s service. Hesmucet did take it pretty well. He scowled, but didn’t growl when he might well have. And, in the end, he nodded. “All right, take him. I may not like it, but you make good sense.”

  “I thank you, sir,” George said. “To the seven hells with me if I think Brigadier John will thank you-or me. He’s got to be looking forward to marching across Peachtree himself. But somebody has to stay and do the dirty jobs.” He chuckled. “And besides, misery loves company.”

  “It may be a dirty job, but it’s an important one,” Hesmucet said. “If Bell comes, he’ll come full force, and you’re the best defensive fighter I’ve got.”

  “Flattery won’t get you far, sir,” George said.

  “It’s not flattery. It’s the truth. Standing on the defensive, you’re as good as anybody on either side of this gods-damned war. When it comes to putting in an attack, I’d choose some other men before you.”

  “Tell that to the traitors who tried to hold Proselytizers’ Ridge against my men, sir,” Doubting George said hotly.

  “Well, you have a point-of sorts,” Hesmucet said. “But you got a little help from Thraxton the Braggart, you know.”

  He was right about that. However much Doubting George wished to deny it, he couldn’t. He did the next best thing, saying, “You’ll find out whether I can manage an attack or not, by the gods. You wait and see.”

  “I look forward to doing just that, Lieutenant General. With any luck at all, we’ll both smash up the traitors. And if we can do that, and if Marshal Bart can keep the Army of Southern Parthenia bottled up in Pierreville-well, if all that happens, the war’s within shouting distance of being over.”

  Doubting George couldn’t very well deny that, either, nor did he want to. Instead of telling Hesmucet to go to the seven hells, which was what he wanted to do, he gave him a precise salute. “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’ll start getting ready to move with what you’ve so generously left me.”

  Again, Hesmucet refused to take offense. “If thinking I’m a first-class son of a bitch makes you meaner, Lieutenant General, then go right ahead, and I hope you get some good from it.”

  Muttering, George ducked out of the commanding general’s pavilion. Muttering, he mounted his unicorn and rode back to his own headquarters. Muttering still, he dismounted and tied up the beast. Colonel Andy came over to him. “Well, sir?” the adjutant asked.

  “Not very well, as a matter of fact,” Doubting George replied. “I get half my present command, along with every soldier in every garrison in Franklin-and a division tied up across the Great River. Put them all together, and they add up to… not bloody much.”

  Andy cursed with surprising fluency and passion for a small, round, chubby-cheeked man. “Justice is dead. No, by the gods, justice is murdered. And we both know who killed it,” he said.

  “It can’t be helped,” George said. Andy looked at him as if he’d just turned traitor. He still wasn’t happy-he was anything but happy-but he went on, “Hesmucet’s right: the job needs doing. He chose me to do it, that’s all. Someone has to. I’ve just got to make the best of it.”

  “For that job, he could have chosen any general,” his adjutant declared. “Why did he have to pick you?” He answered his own question: “To keep you from going along with him, that’s why.”

  “I thought that, too,” George said. “It made me furious, let me tell you: so furious, I almost drew blade on him. But then I asked him for John the Lister as my second-in-command, and I began to understand.”

  “Which is, sir, more than I can say I do,” Colonel Andy sniffed.

  “Think on it,” Doubting George told him. “I wanted at least one good, solid officer to help me, because I can’t be everywhere at once. If he’d left me Absalom, I wouldn’t have asked for John, and I wouldn’t have made a fuss till I gods-damned well got him.”

  “I still don’t understand a word you’re saying,” Andy replied.

  “Hesmucet did the same thing I did,” George explained. “I want John the Lister to back me up. Hesmucet wants someone he’s sure he can trust to back him up-and I happen to be the man. It’s a compliment, of sorts.”

  “Of sorts,” Andy echoed bitterly. “He marches off toward Veldt, and if that goes well the bards will sing of it for the next hundred years and more. And you go back to Ramblerton, and when has anybody ever won glory by going back instead of forward? For all you know, for all Hesmucet knows, Bell won’t try to come south at all. You can march your garrison back and forth, back and forth, through the mud. Happy day!”

  That had also occurred to Doubting George. He wished his adjutant hadn’t spelled it out quite so plainly. “It’s the chance I take. I have to make the best of it. And if Bell doesn’t come south, maybe I’ll be able to move north after the Army of Franklin myself. Who knows?”

  They hashed over possibilities for a while. Little by little, both George and Andy grew resigned, perhaps even mollified. As Andy said, “You kept the Army of Fr
anklin from wrecking us altogether by the River of Death, more than a year ago now. Maybe it’s fitting that you be the one to finish it off.”

  “If I can.” Doubting George started to say something more, then pointed. “Someone’s riding this way in a hells of a hurry. Wonder who that could be.”

  “Looks like John the Lister,” Andy replied after a brief pause.

  “Why so it does,” said George, who was anything but surprised. As John reined in, George raised his voice: “Hello, John. What brings you here?”

  “You do, you-” With visible effort, John the Lister restrained himself… to a degree. “You’re the reason I can’t go west, gods damn it.” He was red with fury all the way to the top of his bald head.

  “I am sorry about that, Brigadier. I truly am.” George meant it. He spent the next quarter of an hour calming the irate John and explaining exactly why he’d chosen him.

  John the Lister was a capable-and, even more to the point, a sensible-man. As George had before him, he listened and, a bit at a time, calmed down. At last, he said, “Well, I still don’t love you for it, but I can see why you did it. If Bell does bring his men south-and what other move has he got left? — we’d better be able to stop him. He won’t get through us, eh?”

  “I doubt he will,” Doubting George replied. “By all the gods, John, I doubt it very much.”

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