“I certainly do, sir,” Colonel Andy said.
“All right, then-make that the effective date,” George said. “I’m pretty sure we won’t have to move sooner, and if we aren’t ordered out till later, we can just delay day by day, as necessary.”
“Yes, sir,” Andy repeated. “That makes good sense.”
“I’m sorry, Colonel,” George told him. “I’ll try not to let it happen again.”
Colonel Andy opened his mouth, closed it, and shook his head. He walked off without saying anything. George smiled at his retreating back. He knew his occasional fits of whimsy not only perplexed but also alarmed his adjutant. As befitted an aide, Andy was nothing if not serious. George was serious when he had to be and when he felt like it. There were times when he didn’t-and, being a general, he could get away with indulging himself now and again.
Raiders from the northern forces still operated on this side of Goober Creek. Snipers with powerful crossbows-not the quick-cocking kind most footsoldiers carried, but bigger, heavier weapons that used either a crank or a foot pedal to draw the bow, and that shot correspondingly farther than an ordinary crossbow-took a steady toll on his men. And Brigadier Spinner’s unicorn-riders did their best to disrupt the flow of supplies from Rising Rock up to General Hesmucet’s army.
They didn’t have an easy time of it. Hesmucet had assembled what was without a doubt the best set of military artificers Doubting George had ever seen. When Joseph the Gamecock retreated over the Hoocheecoochee River, he’d naturally knocked down all the bridges spanning the stream, including the one that had carried glideway carpets. Counting its approaches, that one was three hundred yards long, and thirty yards high at its highest point over the Hoocheecoochee. Hesmucet’s artificers-with some help from Colonel Phineas’ sorcerers-had taken four and a half days to re-create the span… and all the timber they used was live trees when they started the job.
Against men of such talents, even the most diligent destroyers had their work cut out for them. And the southrons kept Brigadier Spinner’s unicorn-riders too busy to let them attack the glideway line up to Rising Rock as diligently as they would have liked. Ned of the Forest might have done better; Doubting George, like every other southron general, had developed a fearful respect for the untutored, almost unlettered northern commander of unicorn-riders. But Ned was off by the Great River, and he was too busy to turn his ferocious attention to that lonely glideway line snaking up from the south.
Contemplating that, George said, “Do you know, Colonel, I’m vain enough to think I can stand up against anybody as a tactician.”
“I should hope so, sir,” Andy replied. “You’ve earned the right.”
George nodded. “I expect I have. But I will say this as welclass="underline" General Hesmucet is the best strategist I’ve ever seen, and I take my hat off to him for it.” Taking himself literally, he doffed his gray chapeau.
His adjutant frowned. “How do you mean, sir?”
“He goes on throwing enough distractions at Ned of the Forest over in the east to keep Ned from coming this way and playing merry hells with our glideway,” George said. “That’s a long reach of thought.”
“Well, what if it is?” Colonel Andy said. “I’m sure it would have come to you, too.”
“I’m not,” Doubting George said, “not by any means.” Maybe that means Marshal Bart did the right thing in making Hesmucet commander here in the east, and not me, he thought, and grimaced. What a depressing notion.
“Sir,” Andy said, “just remember this: if it weren’t for you, this army wouldn’t be here today. This army probably wouldn’t be anywhere at all today, because the traitors would have smashed it to pieces by the River of Death.”
“Oh, I think the men I was in charge of then had a little something to do with that, too,” Doubting George said dryly.
“General Guildenstern was in charge of good men, too, and they ran back towards Rising Rock just as fast as they could go,” Andy said.
That wasn’t fair. Count Thraxton had ensorceled Guildenstern, so that he gave precisely the wrong order at precisely the wrong time. It was one of the very few times in the whole war that Thraxton the Braggart’s sorcery had done what he wanted it to do. Lieutenant General George knew as much. He smiled anyhow. Remembering a colleague’s embarrassment went a long way toward cheering him up.
Andy went on, “And this wing of the army has done more hard fighting since we came north than any of the others.”
“It is the biggest wing, you know.”
“Even so,” his adjutant insisted. “And it’s the biggest wing because you’re the best commander General Hesmucet has.”
Doubting George considered the competition. James the Bird’s Eye was a comer, no doubt about it, but hadn’t had nearly George’s experience leading large numbers of men. Fighting Joseph… George shook his head. He didn’t want to consider Fighting Joseph. All right, maybe I am the best commander General Hesmucet has, he thought. But that doesn’t mean I’m better than Hesmucet himself, and that’s what I want to be.
He brought his thoughts back to the essential business of winning the war. Standing outside his pavilion, he could see Marthasville. He could all but reach out and touch Marthasville. “We just have to stretch things out,” he murmured.
“Sir?” Colonel Andy said.
“Joseph the Gamecock hasn’t got enough men,” George said. “If we make him do too many things at once, he won’t be able to manage all of them.”
“May you finally be right, sir,” Andy said. “We’ve been saying since the start of the campaign that, if we did this, that, or the other thing, Joseph the Gamecock’s army would break to pieces like a pot made of clay. We’ve been saying it and saying it, but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Well, well.” Lieutenant General George eyed his adjutant in surprise. “And here I’m the fellow with the reputation for doubting. I’ve earned it, too, I must say. Have you caught the disease from me, my dear Colonel?”
“In this cursed northern heat, a man can catch any disease under the sun,” Colonel Andy replied. “The healers mostly don’t know how to cure them, either. Why shouldn’t I catch doubt along with everything else?”
“I’ll tell you why,” George replied. “Because this time we really are going to lick the traitors right out of their boots, that’s why. One of the things that has made this campaign so hard is that Joseph the Gamecock has always had room to maneuver, room to retreat. He doesn’t any more, not if he wants to hold on to Marthasville. All the chances for maneuvering work for us now.”
“I told you, sir: may it work out as you say.” Colonel Andy still looked glum. “But what do you want to bet that something will keep us from making the move to the northeast that General Hesmucet has ordered from us?”
“I can’t imagine what that would be,” George said.
“I can’t imagine what it would be, either,” his adjutant said. “But we’ve already seen a lot of unimaginable things in this campaign. What are a few more?”
George would have been happier had he had a ready answer for that, but he didn’t, and he knew it.
Joseph the Gamecock eyed his wing commanders. “Gentlemen, the thing we need most in all the world right now, it seems to me, is room to maneuver.”
“Another fancy way to talk about retreat,” Lieutenant General Bell muttered. Joseph didn’t think he was supposed to hear, but he did.
Here, though, Bell wasn’t the only discontented officer he had. Roast-Beef William clucked and said, “Sir, I don’t see how we can get room to maneuver without moving away from Marthasville, and holding Marthasville is the point of the exercise.”
“We can hold Marthasville with Duke Brown’s militiamen,” Joseph said. “The satrap’s men are starting to come into the forts around the city.”