Page 95 of The Infernal Battalion

“My boys are up to it,” Give-Em-Hell said, eyes twinkling. “What about the heavy divisions?”

“They cross next and form up on the far bank. If any enemy make it to the crossing—” Marcus grinned. “You know what to do.”

“Right! Understood, sir.”

Marcus turned to Cyte. “Send to Archer. I want his guns across as soon as the cavalry is clear. If they get stuck, use men from the infantry to help haul them, whatever it takes. Set up on the far side to support the crossing.”

That wouldn’t hold for long. Two batteries of cannon could make the crossing hot, but Janus could bring up enough guns of his own to smother them with fire. The majority of the Army of the Republic’s cannon had been with the army reserve, and that had been supporting de Manzet. If Janus captured the whole thing, he won’t be short of artillery.

“After the guns,” he went on, “the infantry start crossing, carrying our supplies.” Some gear—​tents and uniforms, sealed barrels of salted meat—​could stand a ducking. Those would be easiest. Others, especially powder, the men would have to carry above their heads to keep dry. “We’ll contract the perimeters as we get men across. The Girls’ Own will bring up the rear.”

Cyte nodded and hurried off. Give-Em-Hell was already dictating orders to his own officers. Marcus caught Fitz’ eye.

“Damned fine work, that last attack,” he said. “That could have been a lot worse.”

“Thank you, sir,” Fitz said. “I’ll pass that along to my men.” He paused. “How long do you plan to stay ahead of Janus?”

“As long as we can,” Marcus said. “We’ve got plenty of room to maneuver. How far is it to Enzport?”

“Three hundred fifty miles, give or take,” Fitz said.

“If he follows us that far, then we can surrender,” Marcus said. “But he won’t. Destroying this army won’t win him the war. He won’t let himself be distracted from the prize.”

Fitz nodded. Marcus looked down at the map again.

“God damn,” he muttered. “I feel like I’m back in Murnsk.” Retreating over another river, watching a wall of water bear down on me—

“You got your men out of that,” Fitz said. “You’ll get them out of this, too.”

“I didn’t get them all out,” Marcus said quietly. Not Andy, and not a lot of the others.

“At least this time,” Fitz said, “a flash flood seems unlikely.”

Marcus refrained from saying that it had seemed unlikely then, too. In any event, the weather showed no signs of supernatural meddling as the retreat went on. The light cavalry streamed past, a river of men on horseback, each squadron with a string of remounts bringing up the rear. They saluted or waved their carbines to Marcus as they went past. The heavy cavalry followed, splashing water dampening the battle-​stained cuirassiers’ brightly colored uniforms.

As he’d predicted, getting the guns across was the biggest headache. The river bottom was soft and muddy, and the small six-​pounders were submerged to the axle. Again and again, they got stuck and had to be hauled out by teams of heaving infantrymen with ropes. In the end, though, they lost only one, a twelve-​pounder whose axle snapped when it became inextricably mired in the mud. Marcus ordered it abandoned, and the retreat went on.

All this time, from the north, the sound of musketry got closer. Fitz ordered one of his regiments to disperse as skirmishers, to thicken the line of the Girls’ Own, while the rest of the troops made the slow crossing. It wasn’t long before the smoke of the running firefight came into view, then the soldiers themselves, men and women stopping to load, fire, and then run back to the next piece of cover as answering flashes came from the hedges and fencerows.

If Janus had possessed a good cavalry division, he might have been able to punch through the skirmish screen and strike at the vulnerable, disorganized troops making the crossing. But the cavalry reserve had remained loyal to Give-Em-Hell. Marcus kept a few squadrons of cuirassiers on the near bank, to counterattack if Janus decided to try something, but the assault never came. For the most part, the enemy seemed satisfied with their day’s work. As well they might be. At least two-​thirds of the Army of the Republic was scattered or captured, with the remaining third in full flight away from the capital.

The sun was sinking toward the horizon when the last of the infantry started the crossing. The wounded who could be moved had already been evacuated with the cutters. Those who couldn’t, or who weren’t expected to survive, had been left behind in the company of a few volunteers to surrender. Abby finally arrived, with the last few companies of her soldiers, as the sky flamed red. She had a bloody bandage on one arm and was coated from head to toe in powder grime.

“Sir!” She saluted despite her injury. “This is the last of us.”

Marcus looked over the few dozen women who accompanied her. There were a few men in cavalry uniforms, too, though their horses were nowhere to be seen.

“Time to put a river between us and them, I think,” Marcus said. “Are you all right to cross, or do you need to ride?”

Abby looked at the bandage on her arm and snorted. “I’m fine, sir. Cutter just a got a little overenthusiastic.” She hesitated. “You should know, sir. Colonel Erdine brought some of his men up to reinforce the line. He was hit while we were falling back. He’s... dead, sir.”

Erdine, the cocksure cavalryman with the plumed hat. Her lover. Marcus shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Goddamned gallant idiot,” Abby said, quiet enough that Marcus wasn’t certain he’d been supposed to hear. She took a deep breath and raised her voice. “All right! Everyone, over the river!”

Marcus waded across himself with the rest of them, the water warmer than he’d expected. On the other bank, they were lighting torches as the sun faded. Cannon were parked atop the riverbank, silent sentinels watching for anyone who might try to follow.

Marcus didn’t think they would, not here and not tonight. But they’ll come. And we’ll buy time.