His brigade had been reduced from a beginning strength of forty-six hundred to barely two thousand, despite the influx of almost a thousand replacements, and the 23rd’s total casualties mirrored his own. Then there was what had happened to Baron Morning Star’s brigade. But the men were still stubbornly full of fight, he thought.
“Sir, I realize there are prepared positions waiting for us there,” he said after a moment, “but the new line will increase our total frontage by almost a quarter. And our backs will be directly against the Sairmeet-Lake City High Road. If they push us back any farther, reach the high road.…”
His voice trailed off, and Hyntai nodded in unhappy agreement.
“You’re right, of course. On the other hand, we’re actually being pulled back behind the line to rest and refit. Three other bands—St. Tyshu, St. Ahgnista, and St. Jyrohm—are already holding the fortifications. We’re going into reserve, at least for the moment.”
Relief showed in Pauzhyn’s eyes, but the worry remained to keep it company.
“I know the Host’s front line will be very close to the high road,” Hyntai said soberly, “but we have no choice. Sanjhys fell three days ago, and the heretics’ balloons are already directing artillery on the approaches to Vekhair. This is for your private information, not to be shared with any of your officers, but Earl Rainbow Waters has ordered Vekhair’s evacuation.” Pauzhyn stiffened, but Hyntai continued steadily. “It’s to be carried out very quietly, by night, with the transport flotilla lifting the men out and ferrying them to Lake City.”
“And their heavy weapons, Sir?”
“And their heavy weapons will have to be abandoned,” Hyntai acknowledged gravely. “The flotilla has barely sufficient lift for the men; artillery and rocket launchers will have to be left behind … along with a rearguard to prevent the heretics from breaking through once they realize what’s happening. The Earl has no choice but to save what he can, though. The heretic general on their right flank—General Klymynt—is already pushing mounted infantry around to cut the road along the north shore of the lake. With those damnable balloons spying on him, Lord of Horse Mountain Flower would be trapped against the lake before he made fifty miles if he attempted to break out overland. If he had more depth—or perhaps I should say more width—he might be able to evade the heretics despite the balloons, although, to be honest, I doubt there’d be much chance even then. He has too many infantry and too few dragoons to win a footrace against them. The good news is that the locks between Sanjhys and Vekhair have been destroyed, so at least Klymynt can’t simply continue across the lakes with his ironclads!”
Pauzhyn nodded with the air of a man trying hard to find something positive in what he’d just heard, and Hyntai laid a hand on his shoulder.
“I know it’s far harder to gird yourself for battle when all you see before you is an endless retreat, Shyaing, but you and your officers and men have made me proud—very proud. And unlike last year, or the year before, the heretics are being forced to fight for every foot, even with those spying for them.” He jerked his head at the balloon. “All we can do is continue the fight, and it’s already July. The campaigning season won’t last beyond September—early October at the latest—this far north. If we can hold them to this slow an advance, then we should be able to stand along the line of the Ferey River this winter.”
“And next summer, Sir?” Pauzhyn asked very, very softly.
“And next summer will be in God’s hands,” Hyntai replied even more softly.
.II.
Gorath Bay Approaches
and
Hankey Sound,
Kingdom of Dohlar.
“Oh, shit,” Seaman Ahlfraydoh Kwantryl, late of His Dohlaran Majesty’s Ship Triumphant, whispered as the image swam clear through the spyglass.
“What was that?” someone asked rather pointedly from behind him.
It was Kwantryl’s misfortune to be assigned to Lieutenant Bruhstair’s six-gun section in Battery Number One. He hadn’t much liked Bruhstair when they’d served together aboard Triumphant, and he’d decided he liked him even less now that the ship had been laid up and they’d been transferred ashore. It wasn’t that Bruhstair was incompetent. In fact, he had a real knack for the new model artillery, and for someone who’d turned twenty—less than half Kwantryl’s age—barely five months earlier, he was damned good at his job. He was, however, a prude in every sense of the word. He’d been remarkably unsympathetic when a seaman—whose last name happened to be Kwantryl—over-imbibed (and overstayed his leave) in an establishment run by ladies of negotiable virtue. On top of that, he disliked even the mildest profanity, and God help anyone who took God or the Archangels in vain in his hearing.
And of course the little snot had to have the sharpest damned ears in the entire Royal Dohlaran Navy.
“Sorry about that, Sir,” Kwantryl said with what might have been a tiny edge of prevarication. “I think you’d better have a look, though,” he added more seriously, stepping back from the spyglass on the observation tower’s railing.
Bruhstair gave him a sharp look, then bent to the spyglass himself.
Under other circumstances, Kwantryl might have been amused by the way the lieutenant’s shoulders tightened so suddenly. At the moment, however, all he felt was agreement with Bruhstair’s response.
“Just this once, Kwantryl,” the lieutenant said finally as he straightened up from the spyglass, “I think your vocabulary may have been … appropriate.”
He snapped his fingers at the other seaman sharing the lookout duty at the moment. Seaman Ahlverez looked up quickly, and Bruhstair pointed at the observation tower ladder.
“Get down there and tell Lieutenant Tohryz we’ve—that Kwantryl has—just spotted several columns of smoke headed this way. Tell him I estimate there must be at least a half-dozen heretic steamers out there but the ships themselves are still below the horizon, so I don’t know how many are ironclads.”
Ahlverez paled visibly, but he also nodded and darted down the ladder so rapidly Kwantryl was afraid the idiot would hang a toe and plunge to the bottom with a broken neck.
“And now, Kwantryl,” Bruhstair said with a razor-thin smile, “I suppose you and I should see if we can’t get a better count. Even at their speed we should have time for that before we go to quarters.”
* * *
“Riverbend reports Cape Toe in sight, Sir,” CPO Matthysahn announced, still bent behind the swivel-mounted double-glass focused on the signal flags above the leading ironclad, three cables ahead of Gwylym Manthyr. He peered through the double-glass for a few more seconds, then straightened. “Bearing four points off the starboard bow, she says, Sir. Range twelve miles.”
“Thank you, Ahbukyra,” Halcom Bahrns replied. He did a little mental math, then turned to the midshipman of the watch. “My respects to Admiral Sarmouth, Master Ohraily, and Riverbend’s sighted Cape Toe, four points off the starboard bow. Range from the flagship is approximately thirteen miles.”
“Your respects to the Admiral, Sir, and Riverbend’s sighted Cape Toe, four points off the starboard bow and the range from Manthyr is thirteen miles,” young Ernystoh Ohraily repeated back. Bahrns nodded, and Ohraily touched his chest in salute and headed for the bridge ladder while Gwylym Manthyr and the reinforced 2nd Ironclad Squadron, now up to a total of six units, continued plowing towards Gorath Bay at a steady ten knots.