Page 112 of The Infernal Battalion

Marcus hesitated. The harsher they were, the worse it would be in the long term. But we won’t get to the long term if we starve in the short term. The only saving grace was that their breakneck pace might keep them ahead of the wave of indignation.

“Do your best to keep things peaceful,” Marcus said. “Try not to use force if you don’t have to.”

He turned to Fitz, who raised one eyebrow. “Nothing to report that I didn’t say yesterday,” he said. “Sick lists are way up, and desertions are getting worse. If this keeps going, it will get a lot easier to feed my division.”

“It’s the same in the Second,” Abby said, settling down at the table with a weary sigh. “The Girls’ Own is holding up, but Sevran says there’s ugly talk among his men.”

“Mutiny?” Give-Em-Hell said. “You can’t stand for that, sir. Pick an example and give—”

“They don’t want to fight for Janus,” Abby said. “They just want to stop marching, and I have a hard time blaming them. They say we should have surrendered after Alves.” She looked up at Marcus. Her eyes were dull and flat. “It would help if we could tell them where we’re going.”

“You can read the map as well as I can,” Marcus said. “We haven’t got the strength to hold the line of the Vlind. If we can make it as far as the Rhyf, then maybe—”

“That’s another hundred and fifty miles,” Abby said. “We’re not going to last that long.”

“She’s right,” Fitz said quietly.

Cyte finished marking up the map and sat back. They all stared at it, lost in thought.

What can I tell them? That, in the end, they were just buying time? If we surrender, Janus will be free to march on Vordan City. This way they were luring his forces farther and farther south, far from where they would need to be. Every step they took following the Army of the Republic was a step they’d have to retrace. Raesinia can assemble new armies. Get help from the Borels. Something. But he doubted that sentiment would go far to fill empty bellies or soothe aching legs.

“We’ll go as far as we can,” he said. “That’s the long and the short of it. I don’t intend to waste the lives of our men—​if Janus surrounds us, we’ll surrender. But while we can march, we’ll march.”

“Well said, goddammit,” Give-Em-Hell roared. “Never give in while you’ve got an ounce of strength left!”

“I’ll tell Sevran,” Abby said, then muttered, “though I’m not sure if he’ll pass that along.”

“Once we cross the Vlind,” Fitz said, “I suggest we shift to a more westerly course. We’ll have to screen the Pale crossings, but I think that will be substantially easier than pressing south into hill country. We may even be able to ease the pace somewhat if General Stokes can delay the enemy flanking columns.”

“It’s an idea,” Marcus said. “But...”

An hour of discussion followed, the gritty details of marches and foraging assignments, spoiling attacks by the cavalry and what could be risked. A sergeant came in with steaming bowls of army soup, prepared by the old reliable method of boiling whatever you had in a pot until it was soft. Marcus wolfed his down mechanically, not paying enough attention to notice the flavor.

There was no resolving many of the questions, not unless the situation changed radically, and eventually they simply ran out of energy for further argument. Even Give-Em-Hell’s indefatigable impetus was flagging. And while Fitz seemed, on the surface, as impervious as ever, he withdrew into himself, answering only in clipped, precise monosyllables.

“Enough,” Marcus said. “Get some sleep. We’ll pick this up later.”

No one argued. In a few moments, only he and Cyte remained in the tent.

Two days to the Vlind. Marcus looked down at the map. There were a few rivers between the Vlind and the Rhyf, but none of them large enough to present a strategic barrier. If we make it to the Rhyf, it’s only another hundred miles to Enzport. He didn’t dare say that out loud to the other commanders. Even Marcus had to admit that making the trek, at their current pace, seemed impossible. But it’s our only choice, apart from surrender or a glorious last stand somewhere. Enzport had a deep​water harbor and modern fortifications. Once inside, the army could be supplied by sea, and keep Janus tied down in front of its walls indefinitely.

“I’m worried about Abby,” Cyte said, after an interval.

“Oh?” Marcus said.

“Erdine’s death hit her harder than she’s letting on. She’s... not coping well.”

Marcus had almost forgotten about the loss of the colorful cavalryman. It was the all-​pervading effect of exhaustion—​anything that wasn’t crucial to immediate survival fell out of his mind almost at once. The cavalry detachments of the divisions had been merged into Give-Em-Hell’s depleted command, so he hadn’t had to worry about finding a replacement.

“She seems to be attending to her duties,” Marcus said.

“She’s working herself to death,” Cyte said. “She doesn’t sleep more than four hours a night, and she’s barely eating. At this rate, she won’t last.”

Marcus shook his head. “What do you want me to do? I can’t afford to tell her to take a few days off.”

“I know. She wouldn’t do it anyway. It’s just... Jane’s gone, Winter’s gone, and now Erdine. The Girls’ Own is all she has left.”

“Can you talk to her?”