Page 69 of The Infernal Battalion

“God be with you all,” Kurot said. “Vordan is relying on your valor.”

*

“It’s hard to know what to think,” Val said, hunkering a little deep into his coat. He and Marcus rode together back up the road from where Kurot and his staff had camped. The rain was only a drizzle now. “If something goes wrong, I’m the one who’s going to be up the creek.”

“If it works, you’re the one who’s going to get all the credit,” Marcus pointed out. “Tip of the spear and all that.”

“Kurot will get the credit, you mean.” Val shook his head, a dribble of water running out of his cap. “Let him, honestly. As long as my men come back alive.”

“He seems to be taking Janus seriously, at least.”

“I suppose.” Val hunched his shoulders. “I can’t help but wish you were in command, Marcus. What would you do if you were in Kurot’s place?”

“I’m trying not to think about it,” Marcus said. “Panic, most likely.”

Val laughed. “I don’t think you’ve ever panicked in your life.”

You didn’t see me when dead men rose up with glowing green eyes, Marcus thought. But he said, “You just need to be careful. Remember you’re not intended to fight a major engagement, just give the impression that you’re ready to. And Give-Em-Hell will be there.”

“There’s that. After what happened in Murnsk, half the army thinks he’s practically superhuman.” He brushed his horse’s mane with one hand, sodden hair squelching. “I have a bad feeling, is all.”

“You always have a bad feeling, Val. It’s just nerves. Remember that tactics exam where you took class first?”

“I threw up just beforehand. In my boot.” Val smiled faintly. “Had to chuck it out the window and take the test in one sock.”

“Exactly.”

“There’s a little bit more riding on this than drinks at the Hafhouse, though.”

“I know.” Val had changed, too, Marcus realized. You couldn’t hold the lives of thousands of men in your hands and not change. Not unless you’re Janus bet Vhalnich, I suppose. “I think when we’re done you won’t have to buy your own drinks for a long time.”

“There’s a happy thought. Adrecht would have volunteered for the assignment just for that.”

Marcus laughed and clapped Val on the shoulder. Ahead, he could see the lights of the Second Division camp, and he waved to his old friend and turned off the road. His horse squelched across the sodden fields. He acknowledged the sentry’s challenge and then her salute as he came closer, and threaded his way through the outer ring of tents to his own.

Cyte was waiting for him, and mercifully she’d thought to save him a plate from dinner. Pork, apples, and some kind of bitter greens reminded him of the food from Mieran County, though the preparation was less artful. Enjoy it while it lasts. When they went on the attack, they’d probably be moving too fast to gather supplies, and the army would go back on good old dried meat and hardtack.

“Anything I should know about?” Marcus said, chewing vigorously. He swallowed and reached for his canteen.

“Not really, sir. A few out sick, but fewer than last week. The new recruits are toughening up. Colonel Erdine is complaining that the weather is hard on his horses.”

“Tell him that when I figure out how to give orders to the weather, I’ll take care of it.”

“Noted, sir. Any new orders from the general?”

“Mmm,” Marcus said, mouth full. After a moment, he went on. “I’m expecting written orders soon, so I don’t know how much I can tell you. But you can pass the word that we should expect action before long.”

Cyte nodded grimly. Everyone had known that was coming, of course. But to the recruits, the immediate prospect of combat was always something they had to work themselves up to, and it was better to warn them than to let it take them by surprise. Even the veterans could be forgiven for worrying a little, going up against Janus. I sure as hell do.

When the written set of orders arrived, Marcus was amused, though unsurprised, to find that they were both thorough and verbose. His line of march was spelled out in detail, complete with approximate times he was expected to reach certain landmarks and where his nearest supports would be positioned at each stage. If Marcus had sent it across an instructors’ desk at the War College, he would have received extra marks. After years in the field, though, all he could do was wonder what would go wrong first.

*

Rain, it turned out. Rain mixed with dirt made mud, and mud was a soldier’s worst enemy.

He’d hoped the thunderstorm would pass on, giving them clear weather, but more gray clouds rolled in behind it. It rained all the next day, not the torrential downpour of the night before but a steady, solid curtain of water. Marcus ordered an early start, but it wasn’t long before the familiar problems started to trickle in. Thousands of marching feet churned even the stoutest road into mush. Wagons got stuck, guns foundered, and horses injured themselves. Traffic jams grew from these seeds and stretched on for miles.

Val’s Third Division had the lead, and the schedule called for them to reach Grenvol on the Daater by noon. In fact, Val’s outlying pickets made contact with Give-Em-Hell’s cavalry, holding the town, closer to two thirty, and he wasn’t actually crossing the bridge until after three. That took longer than expected, too—​whoever had written up the timetable hadn’t accounted for the bottleneck the narrow bridge presented. Marcus’ troops, who were next in line, had plenty of time to close up ranks before it was their turn to file over the churning water. A few civilians came out to cheer them on, but the rain seemed to have dampened everyone’s spirits.