"Better be. A great deal seems to depend on your General Voss."
"He's a dependable man, sir."
"So, with your army coming up West-bank from the south… which the Khan probably knows already – "
"I think not. The cavalry, coming east, should screen the army's march for at least a week or so."
"Very well, Monroe, let's say that's true – "
"We'll have my army coming up the west bank, and your East-bank army crossing the ice in the north, supported by the Fleet. The Khan will find himself between two immediately threatening forces – and will have no choice but to divide his army to deal with them. He won't have time to attack one with all he has, then turn to face the other."
"He may try to make the time."
"Not with his supply-lines threatened north of the Map-Ozarks, sir. No fodder; no remounts; no replacements. Time will be against him."
The old man sighed. "From your lips, to the ears of Floating Jesus."
"And Mountain Jesus as well, General."
"Well… it's a very young strategy, Monroe. With many ifs."
"It's the only one, sir, I think has any chance at all."
"Mmm… So, the Khan, once he realizes he's blundered by campaigning with an enemy left behind to cut his lines of supply, must send troops south to at least dislodge that enemy. But he must also leave forces in the north, to hold the river ice against the Fleet, and East-bank army."
"Yes."
"So he will send, or go south himself, to meet… you? I assume you intend to command that battle."
"Yes, sir."
Bailey put his head back and closed his eyes as if beginning a nap. "And what chance do you give this strategy, young man?"
"The only chance we've got, sir."
"Well, that's fair enough. A soldier's answer, at any rate." Still with his eyes closed. " – Of course, if he beats you, destroys your army without taking heavy losses, he'll use your own plan in reverse."
"Yes, if he won with light losses, he'd hook to the riverbank there, let his northern forces keep our northern forces busy until the river freezes down to him. Then he'd send his tumans out onto the ice to take Island."
"And the Kingdom."
"Yes. And the Kingdom. – But he won't have light losses, General. Win or lose, I promise we will ruin him in the fight. So Kingdom will still have a better than even chance against the rest of his army, in the north."
Bailey opened his eyes. "A fair-enough promise. Well, you have a notion, milord. And I like it – there's a nice, nasty unfairness to it. But it will depend, of course, on our people and your people fighting as one, though so many Warm-time miles apart."
"Yes."
"To deal with which difficulty, I suppose, I'm being recruited, though so old, and now impoverished."
"There would be pay."
"Um-hmm. Same nasty odor of taking advantage – always a sign of solid strategy."
"Horseshit," Sam said. "You'd have been very angry if you hadn't been asked to help by someone."
A sideways yellow glance. "And speaking of 'someone,' what does Her Majesty think of your 'advising' Kingdom's men?"
"She dislikes it extremely, and wouldn't have allowed even that if she had a better choice – and didn't need my army."
Bailey smiled. He had two teeth missing. "She is a remarkable woman. A better queen, in some ways, than Newton was a king. His heart was never really in it; he found us… a sad lot. And that Kentucky business, an absolute mess. General Ryan, and his so-faithful tribal allies!" The old man seemed to dream for a few moments, then roused. "So, you 'advise.' I doubt such grudging approval by Her Majesty will be enough."
"The Queen has allowed my engagement to Princess Rachel."
The general sat up. "Has she? Well… that might make a difference. And the girl will have you?"
"I believe she will, though reluctantly."
"Ah. 'Reluctantly.' 'Advise' and 'reluctantly.' Son, you're going to be very lucky to keep your head – even forgetting Toghrul and his Kipchaks."
"I know it."
Bailey hauled himself out of his chair, padded to the Franklin, and struck the hot stove-pipe with his fist. A small belch of ash and smoke came from the fire. "Fucking thing… If the Kipchaks had not taken Map-Jefferson City – "
"I know. In that way, Toghrul works for me."
"He'll work against you, when he finds he has to take half his army down to Map-Arkansas." The general's robe was dusted with ash. "Think you can beat him?"
"If he fights my fight – yes."
"And your fight will be?"
"Wait for him in broken, wooded country, hills with some height to them. On perhaps a seven-to-eight-hundred-acre front, cut by narrow hollows. And all under Lord Winter's snow."
"Map-Ozarks."
"Yes."
Bailey tapped the stove-pipe again, absently. "So, you leave him no room for sweeping cavalry maneuvers… He'll break his command into smaller units, try to work them along the ridges into your formations."
"I would, in his place."
"And, of course, he'll dismount most of his people – have them come against you on foot."
"So I hope, sir."
"He'll still have numbers on you, even with only half his army with him."
"Yes."
Thinking, Bailey touched the stove-pipe again, left his fingers on it too long. "Ow! Damn thing. It seem cold in here to you?"
"It is cold." Sam demonstrated by blowing a faint cloud of breath. "You need a bigger stove."
"What I need," the old man said, "are twenty fewer years and two thousand pieces of silver. You'll meet him on the ridges?"
"Cavalry waits along the ridges, in reserve. His dismounted men will have to attack up snowy hillsides; the Light Infantry will fight them as they climb the slopes. The Heavy Infantry will be waiting when – if – they reach the crests."
"Umm. Of course, the Khan will soon know of your army, and approximately where it will stand. There'll be no surprises for him, then."
"Yes, but it seems to me, no choices either. He'll have to come to us."
"Alright." Bailey dusted ash off his hands. "I'll do what I can, milord. As you 'advise.' But everything depends on your people marching north from West Map-Louisiana. If that army doesn't move north, doesn't threaten the Kipchaks' line of supply, there'll be very little either you or I can do."
"Understood. And Howell Voss should join them with the cavalry at any time; possibly already has."
"Let's hope so. What I can do, now, is pigeon to suggest strictly defensive formations to West-bank army in the south. Pomeroy will listen; he's not an idiot. It seems to me that Cotton is already doing the best he can in the north, at St. Louis."
"I think so. I'd be very grateful for that pigeon, sir. And East-bank army?"
"Ah… my old command. Mark Aiken will do as he's ordered, and there's the rub. Know that phrase?"
"I believe I've heard it, sir. Very apt."
"Well, there is the rub. Aiken will require orders, since moving even toward West bank is contrary to founding regulations. 'Advice' won't do – not even from me. He will move only at the Queen's command, or by the Queen's warrant. Won't do more, won't do less… I'd say that up till now, no one has ordered him to do anything, other than local defense situations. Still, once he's told what to do, Aiken will move, and quickly, and be glad to." The old man began to pace back and forth in front of the stove. It was slow pacing, with a limp. "We're… you must understand, Monroe, that we're an aggressive military. Defense is a poor doctrine for us. You know the Warm-time 'doctrine'?"
"I do, yes. Sir, the Kipchaks want to be attacked. They hope for it, as a knife fighter wishes for a clumsy thrust to counter for his kill. What they don't want, is delay, and a mobile and determined defense."