But we’ll do it, he told himself, settling behind his desk to deal with the day’s paperwork. That was one thing he wasn’t going to miss when he abandoned the train for one of the Steel Mules and headed forward tomorrow morning.
We’ll do it, he repeated, and when we have, the frigging Arcanans will damned well wish they’d never been born.
* * *
“Chan Wahldyn! Vothan’s Chariot, man! We’re supposed to be building the godsdamned road!”
Company-Captain Hyrus chan Derkail, CO of Silver Company, 1407th Mounted Combat Engineers, looked up. Senior Armsman Tyrail chan Turkahn, the senior noncom of his second platoon, stood atop one of the parked Bisons, hands on hips, glaring at another Bison which had just slithered across fifty feet of muddy roadway and demolished the approach to the crude felled-tree bridge across yet another of the Dalazan rain forest’s innumerable waterways.
It really wasn’t Armsman 1/c chan Wahldyn’s fault, and chan Turkahn undoubtedly knew that as well as chan Derkail did. Expecting him to admit anything of the sort was futile, of course. Senior armsmen simply didn’t do that. As the junior armsman of chan Derkail’s own first platoon had explained to him, one might be able to accomplish more with a spoonful of honey than a cup of vinegar, but one could accomplish even more with the toe of a boot applied smartly to an errant trooper’s arse.
At the moment, however, chan Derkail was more concerned with getting chan Waldyn’s Bison back out of the stream-or off the wreckage of the bridge, at least-and getting that bridge repaired. The Bisons could ford this particular river without undue difficulty, and the Mules could probably do the same, but the commercial drays couldn’t, and they were carrying a lot more of the logistical load than the operations plan had originally called for.
Fortunately, Senior Armsman chan Turkahn realized that as well as chan Derkail did. For all his red-faced outrage, he was already clambering down and wading into the confusion-and the waist deep stream-to sort things out. Platoon-Captain chan Gairwyn, 2nd Platoon’s CO, wasn’t afraid to get his own boots muddy, either. He arrived in a splatter of mud on an even more mud splattered Shikowr gelding, and dismounted quickly beside chan Derkail.
“Sorry about that, Sir,” he told his company commander. “Chan Wahldyn knows to be more careful than that. That’s why chan Turkahn’s playing traffic director.”
“Not his fault,” chan Derkail replied. “Or yours or Senior Armsman chan Turkahn’s, either.” He shrugged. “We’re getting at least two thunderstorms a day, Ersayl, and that stretch is more like porridge than mud at the moment. No wonder the Bisons and Mules wallow like pigs in shit trying to get through it! We just need to make a note to move the tracked vehicles’ fords farther from the bridges to give us a little more slack.”
“Agreed, Sir. And chan Farcos is already on it.”
The platoon-captain pointed, and chan Derkail grunted in satisfaction as a Mark 2 Bison came churning up the roadway. The massive vehicle was over twenty feet long and ten feet wide, and its kerosene-fueled monotube boiler produced almost twice the steam pressure of the Mark 1’s pelletized coal-fired boiler. In fact, it had better than twice the horsepower of the TTE’s famous “Devil Buff” bulldozers, and Battalion-Captain chan Hurmahl had decided to fit a quarter of the 1470th’s Mark 2s with bulldozer blades of their own. Now Junior-Armsman Urmahl chan Farcos, the senior noncom of 2nd Platoon’s third squad, lowered the blade on his vehicle and went grinding forward.
Jungle trees toppled and deep, soft rain forest loam rose in a bow wave as the Bison began broadening the cleared approach to the stream, and chan Derkail watched it with a sense of wonder experience had yet to dull. He’d grown up as a combat engineer of the Imperial Ternathian Army well before Division-Captain chan Stahlyr had first proposed his radical concept of “mechanization.” In those long forgotten days-all of five years ago-scores of men and dozens of horses would have spent the better part of two full days laboring on the task chan Farcos and his Bison would accomplish in no more than a couple of hours. There were times-many of them, especially when he found himself cursing a breakdown or dragging yet another of the massive vehicles out of the muck when they hit a swamp deep enough to mire even them-when he missed those simpler days of muscle-powered shovels and transports with hooves. But without the Bisons, without the additional bulldozers, graders, steamrollers, and steam shovels the TTE was driving forward behind the spear point of the 1407th Engineers, this entire operation would have been flatly impossible.
As it was, it was simply very, very difficult.
So far, at least.
The company-captain removed his hat and mopped at the perspiration coating his shaven scalp. It didn’t make any difference, of course. By the time he put the hat back on, the sweat would be just as deep and just as irritating. But at least it gave him the temporary illusion of having done something about it.
At the moment, Silver Company was five hundred miles from the current railhead and barely two hundred from the Nairsom portal at Lake Wernisk. According to the Voice messages from their rear, the TTE was doing wonders improving the roadway behind them, as well as extending the rails, but that was still five hundred miles of heat, snakes, monkeys, insects, crocodiles, and mud. Frankly, chan Derkail was astounded they weren’t suffering even more delays.
More trees crashed down as chan Farcos bulldozed them into the river, and chan Derkail nodded in approval. Even with all the powered equipment, they were the better part of a week behind schedule. The good news was that the schedule had built in a certain amount of cushion for slippage. The bad news was that they were rapidly using up that cushion, and somewhere far out in front of them, on the far side of the Nairsom portal, Battalion-Captain chan Yahndar’s patrol was already nearing Lake Wernisk. It would be weeks yet before 3rd Dragoons main body overtook its 12th Regiment, but when that happened, this muddy, mucky, hot, humid, rain soaked, bug-infested wound gouged through the rain forest would be the entire division’s logistical lifeline. The task of building and, even more importantly, sustaining that lifeline was in the hands of Hyrus chan Derkail and his men, and they weren’t about to fail at it.
He shoved his sweat-sodden bandanna back into his pocket, settled his hat on his head, and nodded to chan Gairwyn.
“I’ll be moving up towards the head of the line, Ersayl. If you need me, have chan Kostyr Flick a note to chan Dorth.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll let you know as soon as we’ve finished widening the ford, as well.”
“Good.” Chan Derkail patted the platoon-captain on the shoulder. “And don’t forget we’ll need a four or five hundred more feet of timbers tomorrow. It might be a good idea to start felling the trees while chan Farcos is working on the ford. Company-Captain chan Kilstar will be coming along behind you later this afternoon. He should have the transport to haul the logs forward.”
“Yes, Sir.” Chan Gairwyn saluted, and chan Derkail gave his shoulder another thump before he climbed back onto his own horse and started across the stream.
Chapter Thirty-Four
February 16
“Well,” Namir Velvelig sighed, dismounting to lean against the side of his unicorn, “there it is.”
The trees around him rattled mournful, leafless branches that did absolutely nothing to cut the frigid wind. He’d been far colder than this upon occasion back in Arpathia, but that made the current weather no less unpleasant. Getting wagons through the broad belt of woodland hadn’t been a happy experience either, even with the Arcanan levitation spells, and it had slowed them considerably. The trees had also provided welcome cover for the last several miles, however, and he’d been careful to halt well back within their concealment before he dismounted.