Page 71 of The Infernal Battalion

A few moments later, the drums trilled for attention, then settled into the steady rhythm of the marching pace. The Girls’ Own started forward, each battalion’s drummers picking up the rhythm, and then the guns rumbled into motion. Within minutes, smooth as a parade, the whole division was advancing down the road. General Ihernglass certainly kept them in good shape. Marcus got his horse moving, staying by the side of the road ahead of the artillery.

The country they were moving through was farmland, with the crops mostly already harvested, so he had a good view as the sun rose higher. Hedges divided the fields on either side of the road, with a few small farmhouses and the occasional village visible in the distance. Up ahead, he could see the cloud of dust and occasional flashes of blue from Val’s Third Division, moving roughly perpendicular to his own course. In accordance with Kurot’s plan, Val was taking the road southwest to Alves, to convince Janus that the enemy was obligingly strolling into his trap. Behind Marcus, invisible through the dust of his own trailing battalions, the rest of the army was scheduled to fall in, with Fitz serving as a rear guard ready to blunt the other half of Janus’ theoretical double pincer.

Stop, Marcus told himself firmly. It was easy to fret about the overall situation, but that wasn’t his role at the moment. There’s nothing I can do for Val or Fitz. What was important today was what was in front of him, the mission of the Second Division and what the enemy might do to stop him. He tried to recapture the proper state of mind for a subordinate commander—​the firm resolution that if things did go badly wrong it wouldn’t be because his own part had been fucked up.

The sun crawled higher. They passed through the crossroads where Val had turned off, a village of a couple dozen homes whose inhabitants had either fled or hidden. Beyond it was a slight ridge topped by a few trees, and after confirming with Erdine that his men had already been over the ground, Marcus trotted to the top of it to take advantage of the slight elevation. The Pale valley was very flat here, sloping gently down to the river with only a few hills like this one, and even from its modest height Marcus could see quite a long way. Ahead of him, the fields unrolled for miles, until they reached the broad, sparkling band of the river. He could see Satinvol, a dense cluster of houses, with several high-​steepled churches. Between his leading battalion and the town, there was nothing but more fields—​no marching soldiers, no sign of defenses.

So the envelopment Kurot anticipated either isn’t coming or hasn’t arrived yet. There could be soldiers out there, lying in wait behind hedges, but Erdine’s cavalry screen would flush them out. He pulled out his spyglass and focused it on Satinvol, but at this distance he couldn’t make out much more than a mass of buildings. If they’re on this side of the river, that’s where they are. His assignment, if no enemy presented themselves for a field battle, was to take the Satinvol bridge. It was possible Janus would yield it without a fight, but Marcus doubted it.

As the column wound past, he came down from the hill to rejoin it, looking for Cyte. When he found her, he waved her over and said, “Tell Erdine to push a squadron forward all the way to Satinvol, but not to get too close. If he gets shot at, he should come back. If not, ask him to look and see if the houses have been prepared for defense—​loopholes, barricades, that sort of thing.”

Cyte nodded and rode off. Marcus glanced at the sun. It was barely nine in the morning, and already the day felt old. Ahead of him, the Girls’ Own were singing a marching tune he didn’t recognize. Whether they’d heard it somewhere or invented it themselves, it was in the grand tradition of soldiers’ road songs in being spectacularly filthy, and Marcus found himself grinning despite the tension.

Erdine’s answer came back almost an hour later. The colonel himself rode up, falling in beside Marcus, and saluted flamboyantly. The huge feather in his cap quivered with each step of his horse, and the polished silver and brass on his uniform glittered.

“Sir!” Erdine said. “Report that we got within a hundred yards of the outskirts of Satinvol, sir, and then we were fired on by sharpshooters. One man wounded, not seriously. I observed soldiers in Vordanai uniforms among the houses, and definite signs that the position had been prepared for defense.”

Balls of the Beast. Marcus had been afraid of that. Storming a defended town was always a nasty business, and there was no way of knowing how many enemy there were or what reinforcements they might have available. “No sign of troops outside the town?”

“No, sir. We haven’t seen anything larger than a rabbit since we left this morning.”

“I want you to send a rider back there under flag of truce. Tell him to ask for whoever’s in charge, and deliver a message from Column-​General d’Ivoire. The town of Satinvol is likely to become the site of fighting today, and in respect of the fact that we are all Vordanai fighting in Vordanai territory, I request that he deliver this warning to the civilians and urge them to evacuate as quickly as possible.”

“Understood, sir.” Erdine hesitated. “You don’t think that’s going to warn them of our intention to attack?”

“I think they already know about that, Colonel. We can’t cross the river any other way, so we have to come straight at them. Besides, it’s the only decent thing to do.” I have enough on my conscience as it is.

“Yes, sir!” Erdine nodded, feather bobbing, and rode off. Marcus called for a runner, and found himself facing a girl no more than fourteen years old. She still rides better than I do.

“Find General Kurot,” he said. “Tell him we’ve encountered nothing short of Satinvol, but the enemy has dug in there and intends to defend the town. I’ll begin the assault as soon as my troops are in position. Anything he can spare from the artillery reserve would help, but we absolutely must have at least a battery of howitzers.”

“Got it, sir!” The young soldier turned her horse about and kicked it to a gallop, back down the road the way they’d come.

A mile short of the town, Marcus took the column off the road and got ready for combat. He told Abby to throw the first battalion of the Girls’ Own forward as skirmishers, pairs of soldiers spreading out over a wide front. The second battalion stayed formed up as a reserve, with the other regiments taking up formation beside it. Archer unlimbered his guns from their caissons and hooked the teams to the cannon themselves, dragging them forward across the furrowed, muddy earth. The Girls’ Own front line advanced in time, staying ahead of the artillery.

The first shot came from the enemy’s lines, a flower of gray smoke blooming from the gap between two houses. Marcus could see the cannonball in flight, seeming to hang motionless in midair at the apex of its trajectory for a moment before descending with shocking speed to hit the ground in a spray of earth. It bounced, landing again in another miniature explosion, and then again, the interval steadily decreasing like that of a rock skipping across a pond. The range was much too long, though, and the ball came to a halt well short of the approaching lines. Marcus imagined some lieutenant being scolded for opening fire too early, giving away the concealed gun’s position.

If they have a lot of artillery in there, this is going to be a tough nut to crack. He’d managed to put it out of his head that it was his own people across the field, commanded by his old commander and, maybe, friend. They were just “the enemy,” as usual, once the cannon started to roar. We’re going to need those howitzers. He was still ahorse, near where the Girls’ Own reserve was waiting, watching the guns bump across the uneven ground.

Archer deployed the first half battery at eight hundred yards, long range for twelve-​pounders. On the other hand, he didn’t have any target smaller than a house, so accuracy wasn’t really necessary. The teams were well trained, and before long the six guns were shrouded in smoke. Hollow booms echoed across the field, weirdly out of sync with the muzzle flashes. It took only a few tries before the cannoneers had their solid shot plowing into the buildings on the outskirts. Plaster billowed from every hit, and roofs caved in or sprayed fragments of slate tiles. Marcus devoutly hoped the civilians had heeded his warning.

The second half battery went into action at five hundred yards, close enough to bowl shots into the buildings end-on rather than arcing them down at a high angle. In the town, someone’s patience cracked, and all at once the defending artillery opened fire. Marcus counted a dozen or more muzzle flashes, earth flying up all around Archer’s batteries to mix with the smoke. Archer’s men adjusted their aim in turn, shots probing the smoky rubble for the flashes of their opponents. An isolated cannon was a hard target to hit, though, and at this range the duel could go on all day.

Marcus didn’t intend to wait that long. The Girls’ Own kept advancing, a thin, uneven line of blue. A few of Erdine’s horsemen, keeping an eye on the town, retired past the advancing skirmishers with waving caps, trotting back toward the rest of the cavalry. Marcus’ hands tightened on the reins as the women closed the range.

At two hundred yards, the defending cannon gave up trying to hit Archer’s long-​range guns and switched to canister, spraying musket balls like giant shotguns. The skirmishers made for poor targets, but a few blue-​coated figures began to fall, punched backward off their feet or collapsing in place like broken puppets. Archer’s second battery, the six-​pounders, went into action, slamming canisters of their own back at the enemy positions. Marcus’ mind filled in the sounds of breaking glass and the pock, pock, pock of balls tearing into plaster.

A hundred and fifty yards, and the defending musketeers opened fire. That was very long range, which meant the commander in the town either was incompetent or had no concerns about running out of ammunition. Marcus guessed the latter—​certainly if Janus had anticipated a defense of this position, he would have made certain it was well stocked. The Girls’ Own held their fire until half that distance, one of each pair of skirmishers bringing her weapon up to sight and fire, then ducking away to reload while her partner took her turn. From this vantage point, the enemy were invisible except for the smoke puffing out of the damaged buildings, but they had to be getting the best of the exchange. The fields offered only scattered rocks and hedges for cover, not loopholed buildings and stone walls.

Archer’s first half battery, farthest out, had fallen silent, and Marcus could see the teams reattaching themselves to the guns, getting ready to close the range. Good man. After another few moments, Marcus turned his horse and rode over to the second battalion of the Girls’ Own, waiting in close order while their companions fought and died. Sevran’s Second Regiment was just behind them, and Sevran himself was on foot with Abby, watching the distant flashes of the fighting.

“Sir,” Abby said, as Marcus approached. “My girls need support.”

“So they do,” Marcus said. “Colonel Sevran?”

The colonel came to attention. “Sir?”

“Storm those houses, please. Close columns.”