Page 70 of The Infernal Battalion

The march went on until long after dark, but even with the lengthened hours they ended up well short of their planned campsite, still between the Daater and the small river Ixa. General Kurot was waiting when Marcus finally arrived at the camp himself, soaked through and spattered with mud after a day spent herding soldiers and finding crews to rescue bogged-​down equipment.

“General d’Ivoire,” Kurot said. He had a rain cape with a raised hood, keeping the damp from his uniform, though spray still fogged his spectacles.

“General Kurot,” Marcus said. “The last of my division is coming in now, sir.”

“We are still short of the Ixa,” Kurot said. That was the scheduled jumping-​off point for the move against Janus.

“I realize that, sir,” Marcus said, and gestured at the heavens. “We’ve been lucky to get this far in this mess.”

Kurot’s lips were pressed into a thin line. “Then it is your opinion that it is impossible to regain the original timetable?”

Is he joking? “Yes, sir,” Marcus said cautiously. It’s not my opinion; it’s a fucking fact.

“Very well.” Kurot let out a breath and closed his eyes, with the air of someone taking the high road. “We will allow one more day to get across the Ixa, and plan the attack for the morning of the day after tomorrow.”

“Understood, sir!” Marcus said.

“I will inform General Solwen.” Kurot inclined his head. “I expect better results tomorrow, General.”

The rain stopped around midnight. That was cheering, but it would be some time before the mud dried out, and the next day’s march suffered from most of the same problems. Despite Kurot’s admonition, Marcus was pleased with the way the Second Division handled the adversity. The veterans in the Girls’ Own and the other regiments didn’t complain when he rounded up teams to haul lines or lift guns. They just rolled up their sleeves and did it, and that attitude spread to the recruits. Several times Marcus responded to a call for help to find that a passing company had pitched in unprompted, unsnarling the line before he even needed to intervene.

“A little mud is nothing,” he heard one older woman telling a wide-​eyed young man, “when you’ve been to Murnsk and seen blizzards in July.”

Cavalry patrols returned regularly, reporting running skirmishes with their opposite numbers. They were unable to penetrate the enemy cordon, so Janus’ exact position was unknown, but the orientation of his cavalry screen told them that he was still somewhere around Alves. Meanwhile, Give-Em-Hell’s men worked hard to prevent anyone who got within sight of the Army of the Republic from getting away. That would be especially crucial in the morning, when Val’s division would split off for its diversionary march west.

That night, after shedding his mud-​spattered clothes, Marcus reread his orders for the next day and sent for Cyte. She turned up promptly, her boots flaking dried mud whenever she moved.

“Sorry, sir,” she said. “Haven’t had the chance to brush them.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He tapped the orders. “We’re leading the charge tomorrow. There’s a town called Satinvol with a bridge over the Pale. Kurot wants us to take it by nightfall.”

“Understood, sir.”

Marcus frowned. He didn’t like this next part, but however he twisted himself there didn’t seem to be a way out of it.

“If the enemy has dug into the town itself,” he said slowly, “in your opinion, which regiment would be best suited to handle the attack?”

“The Girls’ Own, sir,” Cyte said, without hesitation. “They have the most experience in loose-​order tactics. General Ihernglass generally deployed the entire regiment as skirmishers, with Sevran’s Second Regiment leading the close-​order assault.”

“That’s what I thought,” Marcus said. So tomorrow I’m going to order a bunch of young women to charge into musket-​fire. He clenched his jaw. I promised Abby I’d do what’s best without being... old-​fashioned about it. It still felt wrong. “All right. We’ll see where they make their stand, assuming they decide to put up a fight at all.”

He found himself desperately hoping they wouldn’t, that the clash between blue and blue could be delayed just a little bit longer. But he could read a map as well as Kurot could, and Satinvol was the closest upstream crossing to Alves. He’s not wrong. If we take it, we’ll be well and truly on Janus’ supply line. I just hope that’s not exactly where Janus wants us.

*

The next morning, the drummers woke the camp as soon as the first hints of light infiltrated the eastern sky. As the gray faded slowly to pale blue, the Second Division shook itself out, like a dog emerging from a pond. Tents were struck and left in piles for the baggage train to collect. The regiments formed up on the road to Satinvol. In the lead was Erdine’s cavalry, charged with scouting ahead and keeping the column from being surprised. Then came the Girls’ Own, two thousand young women in columns of companies for quick marching. They called cheerfully to one another in the predawn light, taunts and half-​eager, half-​anxious banter. Some soldiers responded that way to the prospect of combat, Marcus knew. He could see others staring at their shoes, as though intent on memorizing every detail, or murmuring prayers, or checking and rechecking their kit.

Behind them came Archer’s divisional artillery, one battery of twelve-​pounders and one of six-​pounders, still limbered to their caissons, facing backward. Marcus wanted the guns in position as soon as possible, though it risked slowing the overall march if they got snarled. Archer knew his business, though, and the alternative, to arrive with no supporting artillery, would be much worse.

On the other side of the guns was Sevran’s Second Regiment, a unit of “royals” who’d been in service since before the revolution. In theory, anyway—​in practice, Marcus guessed that casualties and replacements meant only a fraction actually had been around that long. It was part of their mystique, though, the image of themselves that the veterans passed down to the new recruits, and it showed in their neat uniforms and well-​dressed ranks, in the way they held themselves superior to the sloppier volunteers. The line of blue continued down the road, out of Marcus’ view, but he knew that de Koste’s Third Regiment and Blackstream’s Fourth were waiting for the men in front of them to step out. Nine thousand soldiers, give or take, holding themselves ready for Marcus’ order.

He’d commanded a larger force in Murnsk. But somehow it didn’t change the feeling of power, the sense of potentiality, of enormous energy coiled and ready to be hurled like the thunderbolt of a pagan god.

The sun finally crested the mountains to the east, a sliver of gold breaking clear of the peaks. Marcus, sitting uncomfortably astride his horse, beckoned to Cyte and watched enviously as she brought her mount over with barely a touch on the reins.

“Signal the advance,” he said. “Then go to Erdine and remind him that I want him to be careful. It’s four hours to Satinvol, but if Kurot’s right and Janus’ troops are advancing, we could end up in a meeting engagement anytime before then. Make sure we’ve got riders ready to send back for support.”

“Sir!” Cyte saluted, turned her mount, and hurried off.