Marching Through Peachtree

What would Thraxton have done with the Army of Franklin, had King Geoffrey given it back to him instead of to Bell? Something unfortunate-Bell was sure of that. Again, what he’d done to the Army of Franklin himself never crossed his mind. The men let me down. He was sure of it.

We’ll smash up the glideway line. We’ll cut Hesmucet off from all his supplies, Bell thought. We’ll see how much the soft southrons like living off the land. We’ll see how well they fight when they’re hungry and short of everything, the way we always are.

He had visions of Hesmucet’s men stumbling across the plains of Peachtree Province with hollow eyes and bony fingers, moaning for a crust of bread. On the other side of the Western Ocean, Great King Kermit’s army had all but come to pieces when it had to retreat from Pahzbull in the middle of a hellsish winter. That was more than fifty years ago now, but people still told stories about it.

Liking the vision in his own mind, Bell offered it to his aide-de-camp. Major Zibeon chewed it over, then said, “That would be very nice, sir-now which gods are going to supply the Sorbian winter here in Peachtree Province?”

Bell’s ears heated. Zibeon had been polite in calling him a fool, but he’d called him a fool nonetheless. “We can still whip them,” Bell growled.

“I hope you’re right. I even think you’re right, sir,” Zibeon said. “But I don’t see southron soldiers starving in the snow, not hereabouts.”

“What precisely do you see, Major?” Bell’s tone was certainly cold enough for a Sorbian winter.

“Right now, I see that we’ve stolen a march on the enemy,” Zibeon replied. “I see that we’d better take advantage of it, too.” And not even Lieutenant General Bell could argue with him there.

Rollant sprawled down by a campfire with a groan. “I’m sick of marching,” he said. “I don’t like it even when we’re going where we’re supposed to. When it turns out we spent the first half of the day going in the wrong gods-damned direction… I don’t fancy that a bit.”

Smitty was every bit as worn as he was, but managed a weary grin. “You go tell that to General Hesmucet, Rollant,” he said. “He’s bound to listen to you, right? After all, you’re not just anybody. You’re a corporal.”

“And you’re an idiot,” Rollant said. Smitty gave an extravagant wave of the hand, as if accepting praise far beyond his deserts.

Sergeant Joram tramped past. “Get water, Rollant,” he said.

Before Rollant had been promoted, that would have meant his going down to the closest creek with the squad’s water bottles. But, now that he was an underofficer, he got to tell other soldiers to go instead. But picked a couple who hadn’t had the duty for a little while: “Gleb, you and Josh take care of it.”

Josh groaned as he got to his feet, but didn’t argue. Gleb said, “I don’t want to do it. You had me do it a few days ago.”

“Yes, and it’s your turn again,” Rollant said. “We’ve been through everybody else in the squad since then. Go on. Get moving.”

Gleb shook his head. “Hells of a note when a blond thinks he can tell a real Detinan what to do.”

Ice and fire ran through Rollant. He hadn’t had much of that trouble-less than he’d expected-till now. Maybe he could head it off here. Tapping the stripes on his sleeve, he said, “It isn’t a blond telling you what to do, Gleb. It’s a corporal telling you. Now go fill our water bottles.”

“No,” Gleb said.

“He can put you on report, Gleb,” one of the other soldiers said. “Go on.”

“He can kiss my arse, that’s what he can do, gods-damned yellow-haired son of a bitch,” Gleb said, and stayed where he was.

Rollant did think about reporting him. But there was authority, and then there was authority. He sighed. He might have known this day was coming. Lieutenant Griff and Colonel Nahath had expected it sooner. Well, it was here now. He put down his crossbow, unbuckled his sword belt, and laid the shortsword by the bow. “Get up, Gleb,” he said.

“My, my,” the Detinan said as he got to his feet. He also undid his sword belt. “Think you’re hot stuff, don’t you, on account of you got yourself promoted? Well, I’ll tell you something, blond boy-that doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

“You talk too much.” Rollant’s heart thudded in his chest. He didn’t know if he could take Gleb. If he couldn’t, he doubted he’d ever be able to give another order again. But he surely wouldn’t be able to if he let the Detinan get away with disobeying.

He’d hoped Gleb would surge forward without any thought at all. No such luck-the soldier advanced cautiously, eyes wary, arms outstretched. Rollant threw a looping left. Gleb ducked under it and laughed scornfully. He dug a fist into Rollant’s ribs. “Oof!” Rollant said, and took a couple of stumbling steps backward.

Gleb laughed. “You’re not so fornicating tough, are you? I’m going to like stomping the shit out of you, you bet.”

The right Rollant threw was even wilder than the left had been. And it served its purpose: to persuade Gleb Rollant had no real stomach for a standup fight. With a nasty chuckle, Gleb closed on him.

Rollant slid a foot behind the Detinan and pushed, hard. Gleb let out a startled squawk. But, as he was falling, he grabbed Rollant and pulled him down, too. Everything till then had gone just as Rollant pla

Gleb hit him in the side of the head. He saw stars. But the Detinan howled and clutched at his own right hand. Rollant landed a blizzard of punches and brought his knee up between Gleb’s legs. Gleb let out a bubbling shriek. Rollant scrambled to his feet and kicked the Detinan several times. “Had enough?” he got out through bruised lips.

Gleb nodded. Rollant kicked him again, maybe hard enough to break a rib or two, maybe not. He didn’t want Gleb thinking he’d almost won and trying for another installment.

Something like that was on Gleb’s mind. “Wasn’t for your gods-damned hard head-” he mumbled.

That got him another kick. Once more, Rollant didn’t know if he’d broken the other man’s ribs, but he didn’t think he’d missed by much if he hadn’t. He stood over Gleb, breathing hard. “Get up,” he growled. Gleb stared at him out of one eye; the other was swollen shut. “Get up, you son of a bitch,” Rollant repeated. “You’re gods-damned well going to get your arse down to the creek and fill our water bottles.”

He waited. If Gleb said he couldn’t, he’d be even sorrier than he was already. Slowly, the Detinan struggled to his feet and started collecting water bottles. “Yes, Corporal,” he said mushily as he headed for the stream with Josh, who’d waited to see what happened. When he spat, he spat red.

So did Rollant. He ran his tongue over his teeth. He didn’t think he’d broken any. That was something. He looked at the other soldiers in his squad. Nobody said anything. He gestured. “Go on. Get back to setting up camp. It’s finished.” They all but fell over one another as they scrambled to obey.

Later that evening, Sergeant Joram came by, looked at Rollant, did a double take, and looked again. “By the gods, what happened to you?”

“Nothing,” Rollant answered, as a toddler might after breaking a vase.

Joram snorted. “Nothing, eh? I see that. Was it the kind of nothing I’d guess first time out?” Rollant only shrugged, which hurt. The sergeant tried another question: “What happened to the other fellow?”

“Nothing,” Rollant said again, but he couldn’t help adding, “Maybe a little more nothing than happened to me.”