“What do you want me to do, sir?”
“Push forward. I will detach General Stokes to your assistance. You and General Warus are to break through whatever’s in front of you and advance to the Daater and the gates of Alves.”
“What about de Manzet?”
Kurot clearly didn’t like being questioned, but he grated, “He will be ordered to hold his ground, and the artillery reserve will support him. Once you get in the rear of the forces opposing him, they will be compelled to surrender.”
“I don’t think Janus will surrender—”
“He will have to,” Kurot snapped. “He has made his move. It is a clever one; I admit it. But I have the countermove, and once he sees that he is outmatched, he will be compelled to give in. Even Janus bet Vhalnich is not immune to the rules of war!”
“Yes, sir,” Marcus said. God save us from clever officers. All he wanted now was to get back to his men before things got worse. “Understood, sir. I will convey your instructions to General Warus.”
“Please do.” Kurot stared down at the developing battle. “You are dismissed, General.”
The walk to the base of the hill was hard on Marcus’ aching thighs, burning with the unexpected strain of the chase. They got new mounts for the ride back to the Second Division, and Marcus could swear his was glaring at him suspiciously. Maybe bad news gets around, even among horses. He patted the animal, and it chuffed.
The distant rattle of musketry, broken by the deeper boom of cannon, rolled in from below. The battle was getting started.
“Sir?” Cyte said. “Do you think Kurot’s plan will work?”
“It’s our job to make it work, Captain.” Marcus sighed. “If we can.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Thanks, by the way. For saving my neck back there.”
Cyte grinned. “You’re welcome, sir.”
*
Shortly after he returned to his own troops, Marcus gathered the colonels and sent a messenger to summon Fitz. He explained the problem, and Kurot’s plan. Fitz raised one eyebrow, speaking volumes, but nobody objected. As he’d told Cyte, that wasn’t the way things were done.
“Start pushing ahead,” Marcus told Abby as the meeting broke up. “If you run into anything solid, fall back on the other regiments and wait for orders. When Give-Em-Hell gets here, we’ll see if we can press a little harder. And stay in contact with Fitz’ people on your left.”
“We’ll handle it,” Abby said. “Don’t worry.”
And they did. The Girls’ Own fanned out, pressing ahead of the columns of the other regiments. Before long, scattered musketry rose out of the gently rolling fields and stone walls, enemy skirmishers putting up a racket. It wasn’t a serious effort to stop the advance, only slow it, and as the Girls’ Own came on, the opposition fell back. Marcus told Colonel Erdine to assist, and his squadrons rode out to back up the line, charging at knots of the enemy whenever they were flushed from cover. Behind this running battle, the three columns of the formed regiments kept moving, and by watching the smoke on his left Marcus could tell Fitz was keeping pace.
They were making ground, not quickly but steadily, and only a trickle of casualties was coming back to the aid stations. Marcus watched from whatever vantage he could find, accompanied by Cyte and a swarm of young soldiers ready to carry messages. For the most part, though, he didn’t have to interfere. Which is perfect. The less I have to do, the better.
They all heard Give-Em-Hell coming before they saw him, the ground drumming with the sound of thousands of hooves. As dust rose from the road behind them, a small group of horsemen approached. Feeling a little anxious, Marcus turned his spyglass on them and was relieved to see the familiar, diminutive figure of the cavalry commander in the lead. A few minutes later, Give-Em-Hell reined up and slipped out of his saddle, accompanied by several officers Marcus didn’t recognize. The cavalry had been reinforced and reorganized since the Murnskai campaign, though Marcus knew they hadn’t completely made good their heavy losses.
“Good to see you, General,” Give-Em-Hell said. His bowlegs gave him a bit of a swagger. “Nice day for it, eh?”
“Better than rain, anyway,” Marcus said. “Did General Kurot explain things?”
“Only that I was to come to your assistance,” Give-Em-Hell said. “And that something’s happened to Val and the Third.”
Marcus had been doing his best to put that out of his mind. “That about sums it up. We’re driving on to Alves.”
“Excellent!” the cavalryman roared. “Give me a few minutes to get my lads together, and we’ll give ’em hell!”
For once, the horseman’s straightforward approach was entirely appropriate. Marcus nodded, pointing. Up ahead, the line of smoke that marked the front was climbing a low ridge.
“According to the map, that’s the last real obstacle between here and the city outworks,” he said. “Once Abby clears it, take your heavies up there and charge down the other side. If there’s nothing in the way, don’t stop until you get to Alves. If you run into squares, hold back, and I’ll send some artillery to support you.”
Give-Em-Hell nodded. “These rebels haven’t got any horsemen worth a damn. We’ll give them a good kicking.”
“I want your light cavalry over on Fitz’ left,” Marcus said. “Make sure nothing comes at us from that direction.”
That open flank had been gnawing at Marcus’ mind. His right was hard against the river Pale, but his left—?the left-?hand side of Fitz’ line—?was in the air, facing the gap where Val’s Third Division had been. The enemy who’d replaced those troops were supposed to be fully engaged with de Manzet, but he didn’t want them turning about and suddenly hitting Fitz’ line end-on. We’re getting dangerously strung out. It was an inevitable consequence of Kurot’s orders, and the same would have to apply to Janus’ forces, but to an experienced commander it felt like an itch he couldn’t quite reach, a faint premonition of danger. Sending a division of light cavalry to cover the gap was applying a flimsy patch at best, but it would at least serve to warn him if things were about to go sour.
“Easy enough,” Give-Em-Hell said. “Though they’ll be unhappy to miss out on the fun.”
“There’ll be fun enough for everyone by the time we’re done,” Marcus said.
“Right!” Give-Em-Hell roared, grinning hugely. He spun around and scrambled back on his horse. With his officers in tow, he headed back down the road, toward where the first squadrons were just coming into view. They were cuirassiers, intimidatingly big men on big horses, with steel helmets and polished breastplates like medieval knights. They sent up a cheer at the sight of their commander approaching, and Give-Em-Hell acknowledged them with a wave.
Marcus caught Cyte smiling after them. “You’ve worked with the general before, I take it?”