Chapter Seventeen

  All War is Unwise

  The mid-morning sun was already rising hot and hazy over the floodplain which lay between the Brurapura and Padesh Rivers. Small raised roads snaked through the vast delta. The land was as flat as a chessboard, thick with farms, and broken only by stands of jungle and the dikes upon which the roads ran. The 13th Dragoons had spent most of a week riding east from Bogat. Dryden looked out through a spyglass from the top of a berm. The farmland here was as flat as the rest, broad, dry, and fallow. Through his lens, he could see hundreds of small figures moving down a similar raised road that ran parallel on the other side of the large field. The enemy. They moved by the hundreds and thousands towards the west. Though some soldiers would be with them, most of these men were not soldiers themselves. They were slaves moving supplies to the front. Oxen pulled dozens of wagons. The wagons were strange to Dryden; they had only two great wheels instead of four and a rounded bamboo top that covered both the cargo and the driver. Hundreds more porters trudged forward with massive loads strapped to their backs. Soldiers walked with them, though they seemed less concerned with protecting them than keeping the slaves in line. They would not be expecting any resistance. The border rajas had been pacified, the V.A.C. forces east of the Brurapura had been dealt with, and the nearest Vastrum army was Haddock’s, somewhere far to the west. They thought this land safe. Dryden gave a wry smile. This conceit would be their undoing.

  The major looked to his left. A line of cavalry was assembled behind the berm. Benton’s men were at the ready. He looked to his right, where Khathan’s men mirrored Benton’s. He knew that Adams’ and Brine’s men were somewhere a mile distant on the other side of the enemy, waiting behind a similar berm. Pugh was with them. Havor, the Hussars, and the artillery were positioned to the west. They had prepared this ambush well. Connall Baine and his Jirimanjins had scouted well and helped to set the trap. In a few moments, chaos would be unleashed upon the baggage train. Dryden dropped back down the berm and practically leapt into Rosie’s saddle. It had been too long since he had fought atop a horse. The last time had been when they took Vurun. Since then, it had all been fighting on foot. He was not one to complain, but, not so secretly, he detested the work of infantrymen. His heart began to beat with the anticipation of a fight.

  Major Dryden turned to Sergeant Major Steele, a grim-faced soldier who had ridden into Dau with him, “Sound the charge, if you please.”

  Steele put the bugle to his lips and blew high, clear notes. Men spurred their horses. They surged together, mounting the embankment and coming down the other side like a wave. Dryden spurred again, and Rosie shot forward over the dry field. She was quicker than many other Vastrum steeds, and Dryden found himself slightly ahead of the line. As he rode, he found that his sword was in his hand, though he had not remembered drawing it. That often happened with the Styranian blade. He held it in his gloved right hand. He often wore gloves of late to hide the cruel burn scars that the sword had inflicted on him. He spurred Rosie again, though she was galloping hard already. Bugles were blowing in the distance, Pugh and his squadrons. Cannon thundered to the west. Shots ripped through palm trees that lined the road, tearing men and carts apart as the 6-pound lead shot ruined carts, oxen, and men alike. One good volley to create pandemonium, and the cannon went silent again, then the cavalry hit home. Rosie mounted the berm, split between two short palm trees, and Dryden was among the enemy. He cut down a soldier who was turning to face him. The hilt of his Styranian blade was hot through his glove, and the sword carved through the man in a bloody spray. Rosie surged past the dead man, and he pulled the reins to avoid the death throes of a dying ox and the splintered cart it had been pulling. An old Rhakani soldier swung at him with what might as well have been a walking stick. He cut the man down. Then there was no more. The rest of the line of cavalry was among the baggage train, too. The few soldiers fled. Porters threw down their packs and ran.

  As the enemy fled, Dryden saw Brine’s men coming up from the north side of the road. They hit the fleeing men in the open field. He saw a man barreled over by a warhorse and then trampled by the hooves. Another was cut in two by a trooper. Sergeant Gideon led a few Black City men through the field, cutting down fleeing Rhakani soldiers like wolves among lambs. The fight, if you could call it that, was over in mere moments.

  Dryden looked about him for officers and sergeants. He saw a few near him, Flint among them, and called out, “Lieutenant Flint, gather what slaves and porters you can. Round up the supplies. Let the men loot what they will, but we need powder, ammunition, and guns for the regiment. Burn everything we don’t take with us. We’ve no time to lose. Havor wants the regiment moving again before noon.”

  “Aye, Major.” Flint saluted. He turned, found several sergeants, and started barking orders. Then he turned back, “What of the prisoners?”

  “Kill any soldiers you find. We cannot take them with us. Round up the surviving slaves. Find Baine to translate for me. I would speak with them.”

  Men went to follow orders. Soon, Pugh rode up with a small contingent around him. Captain Brine was with him. The raven banner of the Bloody 13th flew above him, “Well met, Major.” Pugh said, “Invigorating fight, eh?”

  Dryden frowned. He could not deny he enjoyed the fighting, but looking around him at the dead, the victory felt hollow, “Killing old men guarding baggage trains is hardly sporting,” He replied, “Still, it is good to fight on horse again.”

  “Quite so. There is nothing like it,” Pugh agreed.

  “Have we any casualties?” Dryden asked.

  “One horse has gone lame, it appears. A man took a small wound from a spear. Nothing serious. We took them completely by surprise. There were few real soldiers here.”

  Baine came riding up, flanked by his red-skinned Jirimanjis, “You wanted me, Boyo?” He practically growled. He did not salute.

  Dryden ignored his lack of formality, “Indeed. I need to interrogate some survivors.” He gestured to where a group of them were being rounded up. They were practically naked, dressed only in white loincloths, some with white cloths wrapped around their heads. None wore any shoes. Most were rail thin and wiry, not quite starved, but not far off.

  Dryden edged his horse up to where the crowd of men was. There were perhaps a hundred porters rounded up already, some with wounds from the raid. Most of these men had quickly surrendered at the start of the fighting. As slaves, they had no interest in defending the goods they carried. They looked up at him silently, with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks. He saw scars and whip marks on many of the men. He spoke loudly, “Who will speak for you?”

  Baine moved his horse up so he was beside Dryden. In his rough voice, he repeated the words in Rhakani.

  A man stepped forward. He was young, perhaps in his twenties, but he had a hard look in his eyes. He was strong, with broad shoulders. He had a long, bright scar running down his face from a blade, and his shoulders were crisscrossed with many scars. His hair was cut short, though he had a thick beard. He spoke. His voice was raspy but deep. Baine relayed the words, “He’ll speak. Says his name is Suravashtra Gulgati.”

  “Where did they come from? Where were they going?” Dryden asked.

  Baine passed along the answer, “They came from Drahk. He says they crossed at Sava a week ago. They did not know where they were going, but they were always walking west. He says they are slaves, not soldiers. He asks what you will do with them.”

  “Where is he from?” Dryden asked. He wracked his brain trying to decide what to do with them. He could not care for them, not without slowing the march. But to leave them alone in this country might be the death of them. At best, they might find themselves recaptured by Rhakan. He detested the idea of abandoning the men to death or slavery. He had left people before to such fates. He would not do it again if he could help it.

  Baine and the man exchanged more words, “He is from Ssam. These men are from all over the empire. Some are from Tangong and Desha, captured during the conquest of their lands. Some are rebels who fought against Sarawa Maw. Some are men who could not pay taxes to the new regime. These men are not your enemy, Major.”

  “You said some were fighters? Would they fight against Rhakan?”

  Baine frowned but translated. There was silence at first. Suravashtra looked around and repeated the question to the other slaves. Some stepped forward and said words that Dryden took to mean “yes”, but others began to push and shout. A few men wailed and cried. Dryden scowled. He had not thought the question would create so much discord. He wondered for a moment if he had misjudged this, if some of these men had loyalty to Rhakan. He hopped down from Rosie, grabbed the whip from a nearby dead cart driver, stepped forward and cracked the whip beside him, “Quiet!” He shouted. The men did not understand his words, but they fully understood the meaning of the whip. In moments, the whole mass of prisoners was silenced and staring at him fearfully.

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  “Why are they fighting amongst themselves?” He demanded.

  “Some of them despair,” Baine replied. “They do not believe Rhakan can be beaten.”

  Dryden set the whip aside and stepped towards Suravashtra. He extended his hand to the man, “Tell them Rhakan can be killed. Tell them Vastrum will do it. Will he fight for us?”

  Baine again translated, “He asks if he will get to kill Rhakanis?”

  “He will.” Dryden looked the man in the face. He could see that the man had lived a hard life. Up close, he saw that the man was even more muscular than he had thought. There was a kind of intensity in his eyes that bordered on rage.

  Suravashtra stepped forward, his strong chin and thick black beard jutting forward, his dark eyes appraising Dryden in return. He said some words but did not take Dryden’s hand.

  “He says he will fight.” Baine gave the man’s reply.

  Dryden kept his hand extended towards the man, “Good. Any man who fights may take weapons and ammunition from the baggage train here. Tell him they can keep what they can loot. They must go their own way, though. They will be too slow on foot. We only ask that they cause chaos among the Rhakani supply lines.”

  Baine looked at him quizzically but repeated the words. The bare-chested man from Ssam looked shocked. Dryden knew the man had likely expected to continue as a slave, only with a new master, after the fighting. Perhaps he had even expected to be killed. At best, perhaps, he had thought they would be cut loose to fend for themselves. But here Dryden was, offering the man not only his freedom but the weapons to fight back.

  “Tell him we do not have slaves in Vastrum, ” Dryden stared the man straight in the eye as he said the words.

  Upon hearing Baine’s translation, Suravashtra finally took Dryden’s hand.

  “He says he had heard Vastrum was an empire of cruel men. He wonders if he has not heard wrong,” Baine translated.

  Dryden thought momentarily, then replied, “Tell him he has heard right—we are as cruel as any empire. We only know that men fight harder when they find themselves masters of their own fates.”

  The man looked at him strangely, then nodded in understanding. He turned and repeated the offer to the rest of the slaves. Every man among them took a musket from the supplies they had been hauling. Once supplied with all the guns and supplies they could carry, they jogged off across the field to the north. Dryden watched them go for a moment. As the men began to disappear into the trees, he saw Suravashtra stop, look back once, catch his eye, and then he turned into the dark green jungle and disappeared from sight. He did not know if he had done the best thing, he only knew it felt right.

  Dryden again mounted Rosie and said, “See that the rest of the supplies are gathered and taken with us.” The order was redundant, as Flint had dozens of troopers doing just that.

  Major Pugh pulled his horse alongside Dryden’s, “You think that wise?” He asked softly so the men could not hear his comment.

  “What?” Dryden asked.

  “Arming the slaves. You have not recruited soldiers but have formed a band of outlaws. So, I ask again, you think this wise?” Pugh asked softly.

  “All of war is unwise, yet here we are all the same. If it causes any chaos, it would be at the enemy’s rear and to our great benefit.”

  Pugh nodded sagely, “You may be right. Still, do we not have a responsibility here?”

  “What responsibility?”

  “To bring order, rather than sow chaos?”

  Dryden scoffed, “We have a responsibility to win. It is our only duty. Once the war is won, we can consider such things.”

  “What of honour? Ought we to be arming bandits, John?”

  “Honour deserted us long ago, Leo. Besides, what of our responsibility to those slaves we rescued? Ought we to take them with us? Or leave them defenseless? There are a dozen responsibilities, all competing with one another. I have only chosen the one that might see us closer to winning, even if the chance is only slight.”

  “Arming brigands is spitting into the wind and hoping it hits your foe. It is a futile gesture and as like to blow back at us.” Pugh frowned.

  “What’s done is done, or do you propose we spend the afternoon chasing those men back down now that we have armed them?”

  “Indeed,” Pugh said, sounding annoyed, “Whatever the case, we must not tarry here much longer. Havor wants to make the city of Sava within the week.”

  “Does he mean to cross the Padesh as well?” Dryden asked, surprised.

  “He has not shared his plan with me.” Pugh sounded annoyed at that, too.

  Since the 13th had stolen away, crossing the Brurapura in the dead of night, Havor had kept only his own counsel. Even Mar had been kept at arm’s length. Colonel Havor had only given orders as needed and relied upon the initiative of his officers. Crossing the Padesh would mean entering Desha, one of the many conquered kingdoms of Rhakan. The 13th was already well beyond their orders. But to cross that line was something else entirely.

  Dryden’s face darkened, “Come, let us speak with the Colonel, find out what he means to do.”

  “Captain Brine.” Dryden called out, “Pugh and I are going to speak with Havor. You are in command here for now. Round up the men and supplies. Rejoin the main camp as quickly as you can. We must not tarry. I want it done within the hour.” Then he turned to Connall Baine, “Mr Baine, stay with us if you please.” Then he spurred Rosie, who had mostly recovered from the skirmish, and together he, Pugh, and a small detachment of troopers rode back down the road toward the position where the artillery, baggage train, and the 6th Hussars were waiting with Havor.

  They rode down a raised road that followed one of the numerous dikes through the floodplain. Rice fields, palms, and bits of wetland cut by dikes, ditches, and small streams went as far as they could see. As they passed, Dryden could see the eyes of frightened farmers and villagers looking out at them from tiny collections of raised huts. Soldiers passing by in war were always a danger, be they friend or foe. Soon, they arrived back at the position that the artillery had taken. Several guards challenged them briefly before they saw who approached. They rode by several pickets and 6-pound guns placed along the tops of the dikes. They found Colonel Havor sitting in a foldable chair of bamboo and canvas. He was seated beside Mar, Major Trant of the Hussars, and the artillery commander, Major Van Dijk, a short but stout taciturn man, with dirty blonde hair and a short moustache.

  “How went the fight, Majors?” Havor stood as they approached, smiling.

  “A simple matter. One casualty, but it was nothing serious. Brine will be bringing up the supplies we took shortly. There were some slaves that the Rhakanese were using as porters. I questioned them, gave them weapons, and released them.”

  Havor’s face darkened, “Why on earth would you arm them?”

  “It seemed the proper thing in the moment,” Dryden replied.

  Pugh glanced sideways at him but said nothing of his disagreement.

  “The proper thing?” Havor asked, “Giving guns to the natives?”

  To Dryden’s surprise, Major Pugh spoke up for him, “Many of them are ex-soldiers captured by Rhakan. They will make good fighters at the rear of the enemy. He gave them what they needed to fight and let them go. They’re heading north.”

  Havor stood looking between his two majors, “You’ve made brigands…“ He began but then stopped himself, “Very well. I suppose there’s nothing to be done now but live with the choice. Did you need something more?”

  Pugh dismounted his horse and spoke, “Indeed, sir. We came to find out what we’re to do next. We’ve had little enough of a plan since we crossed the Brurapura except to ride east and capture the supplies of the enemy. We’ve done that for a week. We know the enemy pursues us. Are we to head for Sava and cross the Padesh? Are we to head north towards Dhek and rally with General Belfair? If there is a plan that you have kept from us, now is the time for us to hear it.”

  “We’re crossing the Sava,” Havor said, “Taking the fight into Rhakan herself.”

  “If I may, that is a bold plan, sir. Are you sure it is not too bold?” Pugh asked.

  “What would you have me do, eh?” Havor’s tone shifted to one of weariness.

  “Sir, I only mean to say that should we not consider other possibilities?”

  “Strange, I would have thought the plan would appeal to you, Leo.”

  “Have you considered heading for Dhek, sir?”

  “Considered and rejected.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “General bloody Belfair,” Havor said the name with utter disdain.

  “He makes a fair point, Leo.” Dryden interjected, grinning, “Being under Belfair’s command makes for dangerous ground, as you well know.”

  “You can’t choose your path based on old grudges, sir,” Pugh complained.

  “I can, and I will. Besides, I think this path is superior on its merits. We’re not just riding across the Padesh for a holiday. We are bound for Drahk.”

  “What’s in Drahk?” Pugh asked.

  “Khaung Maw,” Havor replied cooly.

  Connall Baine interrupted before he could explain further, “That’s a dangerous country between Sava and Drahk. Hills, jungle, tigers, dragons, and that’s before you talk about the hill people. There’re no roads, at least not for hauling carts and cannon. You’d have to be dicked in the knob to ride in there. Even Sarawa himself wouldn’t do it. Khaung Maw lost the war for the throne, yet he’s been able to hold out in the north. Ask yourself how.” Then, without waiting for the question, he answered, “Because it’s bloody impossible to get up there, mate.”

  “Yet I mean to,” Havor said, his voice stony and face full of determination.

  “And yet he bloody well means to, he says.” Baine scoffed, “And I suppose you expect me and my boys to lead the way, eh? Well, you can bloody well forget it.”

  “What will it take for you to reconsider?”

  Baine did not skip a beat, “Triple the fee Haddock is paying. Double the bounty on any beasts I kill protecting the men and horses.”

  “A true mercenary,” Havor smirked at the man, “Done and done.”

  Baine cursed and laughed, “That was too easy. Bloody well should have asked for more, eh?”

  “Is it as dangerous as you say?” Dryden asked, dubious of the claims. Of course, the country would be hard, but perhaps not so hard as that. He wondered if the claim had been merely a negotiating tactic by the Old Salgair.

  “Aye, sonny, it is, and more besides. If we get up there by some chance, boyo, it’ll be a proper grog fight for the ages.”

  Pugh sighed, “Before we concern ourselves with the jungle, first, we must take Sava, which will be no small feat. Unlike Bogat, Sava is a real city. It will be defended.” Pugh frowned, “And we must do it with only cavalry and a few cannons, all while staying ahead of the enemy who may be chasing us down from behind even while we stand here talking…”

  Havor’s face broke into a grin. “Well then, Major, we haven’t a moment to spare, eh?”