Day Ten
The soldiers of the advance scouting squad of Fortella’s 2nd Corps of the Empire of Barouk were up early as they usually were. Dawn would not arrive for an hour, but their task required an early departure. The twenty men lit a small cooking fire, although there was precious little to cook. The caches had all been found empty so far, and the unseen Alceans continued to snipe at the foragers each night. The men brewed a pot of tea and checked their weapons, a daily routine that was more habit than thoughtful.
“Foggy,” one of the men remarked.
“Comes with camping beside the river,” replied another man. “It will lift when the dawn arrives.”
The squad leader stood and stretched, tossing the rest of his tea into the fire. “We won’t be here to see it lift,” he quipped. “Finish up and get mounted. It is time to check the road ahead.”
“Just to find another empty cache,” one of the soldiers said softly as the sergeant strode away from the group. “I wish General Fortella would authorize an attack on these unseen Alceans. Then we could get some decent foraging done. There can’t be more than a hundred of them out there.”
“Why don’t you go to the general’s tent and wake him?” taunted one of the other soldiers. “I am sure that he will be interested in your suggestion.”
The men all laughed as they doused the fire and headed towards the corral. Within minutes they were mounted and riding out of the camp. The sergeant took the point as he led his men downstream to the bridge that crossed the Boulder River. The bridge was an old wooden-planked structure with stone pillars supporting its long spans across the wide, swiftly flowing Boulder River. The horses’ hooves tromped loudly in the stillness of the early morning, and the fog gave the sounds an eerie, almost spooky, quality. The fog persisted all the way across the river and well into the forest beyond, but the advance squad eventually emerged out of it. As dawn lightened the sky, the horsemen found their spirits lifted.
The Mya-Tagaret Road was well traveled and well maintained. It was broad and level for the most part, but there were no other travelers this day, nor did the squad expect any. It was clear from the empty caches that the Alceans knew that the armies were advancing towards Tagaret, but there had been no attacks, other than sniping at the foragers. The typical Federation soldier thought that the Alceans seemed content to try to starve the Federation soldiers into retreating. Such a retreat was a laughable premise to anyone who had ever served under General Fortella. The Baroukan general did not know the meaning of retreat, and he was not about to learn it.
The sun was already well into the sky when the men began suggesting a halt for the midday meal, which would actually be little more than a rest and stretch break. The sergeant put the men off, hoping to cover another league before stopping. As they rounded a bend in the road, the squad leader suddenly halted and held his hand up to bring the rest of the riders to a stop. Huge trees blocked the road ahead, but the trees were not merely felled across the road, which would be bad enough to slow down the column for a few hours. The trees were felled in such a way as to present a multitude of branches pointing directly towards the Federation column. The sergeant sighed deeply as he imagined how long it would take to clear the road. All of the branches would have to be hacked off before men could even approach the trunk, and if the position was defended by the Alceans… He did not want to think about it.
“Abatis,” scowled the sergeant. “I want the forests on both sides of the road searched for an alternate path around this obstacle. Proceed cautiously, and remember that we are in hostile territory.”
The sergeant pointed to individual riders and then pointed in the direction they should search. Five men were dispatched to his right and five more were sent into the woods to his left. The remaining ten men moved away from the barricade and dismounted.
“This is different,” commented one of them who had remained with the sergeant. “Do you think they plan to attack the column here?”
“It may just be to slow down the column,” answered the sergeant, “but I would be foolish to assume that. Our task is to find a way around it and then report back to the column. If we do not find an alternate route close by, we will backtrack to find an alternate road to Tagaret. Cleaning up this obstacle might take the better part of a day, and General Fortella will not stand for that.”
The sounds of snapped bowstrings sang out from both sides of the road. The sergeant turned and leaped onto his horse before the first of the screams reached his ears.
“Mount up!” shouted the sergeant.
“Fight or flee?” one of the men asked as he mounted his horse.
“We need to carry word to the general,” answered the sergeant. “Retreat!”
The sergeant recognized the ambush for what it was. He knew that staying and fighting would only serve the enemy’s purpose, otherwise the Alceans would not have attacked. He kicked his horse into a gallop and called out for his men to follow him. Only moments later he heard more cries from his men, but the cries were close behind him. He turned and looked back to see his men falling off their horses as unseen archers alongside the road let their arrows fly. The sergeant put his head down and coaxed as much speed out of his horse as he could. After a minute of galloping along the road, he breathed a slow sigh of relief. He sat up and gazed back towards the ambush site, but he could see no pursuit. Thankful that he had been spared the fate of his men, the sergeant turned around to see two men standing in the road before him. His heart skipped a beat as he wondered whether to halt and seek safety in the forest or try to race through them. He drew his sword and shouted a war cry, but the men were unshaken. They each nocked an arrow and aimed at the charging rider. The sergeant stared at them and blinked.
“Elves?” he gasped. “We are fighting elves?”
Both arrows found homes in the sergeant’s chest and his dead body tumbled off the horse.
* * * *
General Fortella rose earlier than normal. He wanted to reread the reports about the attacks on the foragers to see if there was a pattern to the timings or a flaw in the enemy’s method that could be exploited. He had been hesitant to send units into the forest to engage the unseen enemy until he fully understood the risks involved. That philosophy had been fine for the first few days, but the meager supply of food was beginning to take its toll on the men, both physically and in terms of morale. Something had to be done to change the situation, and Fortella was determined that today was to be the day he reacted strongly. He got out of bed and lit a lantern, but noises from outside the tent caught his attention. He walked to the tent flap and peered out.
Dawn had not yet arrived, and fog had enshrouded the camp. He peered through the mist and saw a squad of cavalry riding towards the perimeter. He recognized it as the advance squad. He let the flap close and returned to the table. Gathering the reports, he spread them out on the table before him and began reading them one more time, making notes when he saw something that might be important. An hour went by before he realized it, and Colonel Tamora entered the tent with mugs of tea and plates of food. The colonel looked at the cluttered table, and failing to find a safe place to set down the food, waited for the general to notice him. The general sensed the colonel and looked up.
“Anywhere, Tamora,” the general said with distraction. “Whitman is not even up yet. Wake him before you leave.”
“I will, General,” replied the colonel as he set the plates and mugs on top of the reports. “It is dawn, General. Shall I start the column moving?”
“Yes.” The general nodded. “Same formation as yesterday. Alert me when the 2nd Corps cavalry has completely left the camp.”
“As you wish,” the colonel replied before leaving the table.