I’ll See to it, Sir

Writer’s note: With novel editing coming along, I’m trying to get back into writing short fiction more regularly. So… here you go. Military fiction and a sort of soft sequel to one of the first pieces I ever put on here, ‘Recollections of a Prolaisian Footsoldier in the Gulf Sea War’, it also more properly introduces a character I want to use for a later series (Geldrun) and, with ‘Recollections’ and ‘The Ioanna Incident’, forms a network of stories about the Gulf Sea War that I’d like to keep adding to. Anyway, this one is about 3,500 words and will take the best part of a quarter hour to read.

I’ll See to it, Sir

‘We need patrols to swing around the Lydesi western flank; give us some idea of their strength and formation across the Chaleauroux,’ said Count il’Casime, General of the Southern Armies.

‘Yes sir, I’ll see to it,’ Geldrun replied. They were sat in il’Casime’s command tent, both sweating under heavy canvass and a warm southern sun. ‘Though I should also bring your attention to an increased Lydesi mounted presence around Goyn.’

The Lead Count, as they had taken to calling their commander on account of all the bullet wounds, thought for a moment. ‘The First Army’s second brigade are still camped there, yes?’

‘On our extreme east flank, yes sir. I worry the Lydesi might try to isolate them or get into our lines of communication.’

The general nodded. ‘Find them some additional cavalry support.’

‘The Fifth Dragoon Column, I thought,’ said Geldrun.

‘They need to keep a battalion back, but the rest could do it. I’ll send the order to il’Valant. And I need fresh maps for the area south of Laishon.’

‘I’m working on it. The maps I have include incorrectly marked fords — those of seasons gone by, not accounting for the heavier rain flow of last autumn.’

‘Very good, Colonel.’ il’Casime always used Geldrun’s rank, in place of his title. He was fine with that: he hadn’t worked his way up the ranks of the artillery corps just for everyone to think of him as Lord il’Prolais, the Grand Duke’s youngest cousin. ‘Speaking of the lieutenant-general, il’Valant complained to me today of a lack of shot for his guns.’

‘He’s been pestering me about it for a week, sir. And his gunnery officers for even longer. They’ll get it as soon as we do.’

‘Frankly, he should never have bothered me with it,’ said il’Casime.

A reprimand, perhaps implicitly of Geldrun himself. The general tapped his hat, on the table between the two seated men, for emphasis. They were alone, il’Casime firmly believing that full staff meetings were for giving orders, not discussion. Not that he tended to invite discussion during their private appointments either. A man of over fifty years, near two decades Geldrun’s senior, he was as stuck in his ways as an old sergeant’s wife.

‘No, he should not have. I’ll see to it, sir.’ Geldrun’s motto, this past year as commander of artillery and de facto chief quartermaster, chief adjutant, and chief intelligence officer for the Southern Armies of the Grand Duchy of Prolais.

‘And then there’s the Savarians to deal with,’ sighed il’Casime.

Their allies in this ill-fated war, not that you would know it from all the demands their generals had been making.

‘They’re still insisting on separate stores, in spite of their own shortages,’ Geldrun said. ‘But the Marquis of Louro’s army could swing west and check the Lydesi advance, while the rest of the Savarian forces dig in to our rear.’

‘You’re feeling bold today, Colonel.’

‘We need to do something, sir,’ Geldrun replied with a shrug. ‘We cannot just keep withdrawing all the way to Tabresorteux. And if an engagement knocks some sense into our allies, all the better.’

‘I’ll raise it with them tonight. That’ll be all.’

Geldrun added the discussed items to the top of his mental agenda, supplanting the other logistical, intelligence, cartographic, and myriad additional issues he had been planning to address whenever he could carve out the time. He rose, flattening his black artillery uniform – a stark contrast to the deep blue of the rest of the Grand Ducal Armies – retrieved his hat, and exited the tent.

War quickly became monotonous, in those long stretches between engagements. Geldrun’s war had settled into a steady rhythm, his days taken over by meetings, inspections, and personally seeing to whatever else he had the time for, his nights for writing orders and letters and ledgers and reports by candlelight. Occasionally, he slept. When he couldn’t, coffee sufficed.

And always, always, he was scheming. Schemes were what plans were called if you had to keep them hidden, especially from your supposed allies and fellow officers. In Geldrun’s experience, any plan could be improved through its translation into a scheme. When fighting a losing war against a superior foe, slowing backing up against a wall, schemes were the last best tool available to the industrious officer.

A new scheme was coming to fruition, assuming he was interpreting the reports correctly. It would be today or never.

‘Lieutenant,’ he called. He looked over what he had written and, satisfied, sanded, folded, and sealed the two orders.

‘My lord?’ inquired Geldrun’s adjutant as he poked his head through the divider that nominally separated their offices in Geldrun’s own command tent. A second divider hid his cot.

The colonel addressed the letters and handed them to the young lieutenant.

‘For Lieutenant-Colonel il’Darsaix of the Fifth Dragoons,’ he said as the gave over the first. ‘Tell him it’ll make more sense when he gets the other orders he is about to receive. And to be discrete.’

il’Darsaix had only taken command of his column when his predecessor fell at the Second Battle of Mounet. He was a good officer, deserving of the opportunity. If he did as instructed, Geldrun would make sure to secure the promotion in rank that should be rights accompany the man’s promotion in command.

‘And this,’ Geldrun continued, passing the second, ‘is for Captain Baltin, Third Horse Artillery Troop. Make sure he understands the core of the instruction: he is to redeploy just north of Goyn and put himself under il’Darsaix’s command, who he will meet there.’

Baltin would understand. The horse artillery was Geldrun’s own mewling baby, formed but a few years earlier based on his proposal. Inspired by the similar units he had observed in Lydesis, when he had been military attaché there – able to keep pace with fast moving cavalry and rapidly redeploy to provide the kind of close gunnery support that standard foot artillery could not. They had proved formidable, though the Lydesi seemed to think it rather unfair that another army used their own doctrines against them.

Only five troops, a total of thirty light guns, had been formed thus far, and Geldrun kept all of them under his personal command, distributing them at his discretion to the cavalry brigades and then recalling them back to him. Putting his limited resources where they were most needed to apply maximal pressure.

The adjutant departed and, after a few minutes of reading through scouting reports, Geldrun followed him out, calling for his horse.

He was at the heart of the First Army’s main encampment, where he had stayed the past few days to be close to the general. Soon, he would need to go over to the Third Army, and maybe inspect the outlying camps of the brigades closest to the enemy. Or perhaps check on the rear of their forces and make a personal inspection of their depots.

Not that any of this would last for long. A week, they had sat on this ground. Geldrun gave it another week until they upped sticks and marched a little more north. Gave a little more ground. Maybe there would be another inconclusive battle in the meantime, or maybe they would avoid one. Either way, the road led north, back the way they had marched the previous year to head off the Lydesi invasion.

Small victories had held the Lydesi back last summer, chief amongst them the First Battle of Mounet, of which Geldrun himself had been hailed the unlikely hero. The Lydesi army’s lines of communication back over the mountains that divided their two nations had been too disrupted to bring in reinforcements over the following winter. As the weather turned, so too had their fate.

Rain melt opened up new passes through the mountains. The Second Battle of Mounet had bloodied the Prolaisians and sent them into retreat, though a battle at Lons had prevented it from being a rout and the Siege of Mieres had allowed them time to recover. Withdraw until we meet the Savarians, coming to reinforce us, then turn and beat back the invaders. That had been the plan. The Prolaisian and Savarian armies had met up two weeks back. They were still withdrawing.

And, throughout, Geldrun had seen to everything. Provisioning an army of the run – requisitioning supplies from the civilians they were abandoning. The burning of a dozen bridges and razing of half as many forts, to prevent the Lydesi from using them. When six-and-twenty cannons had been caught out of position, soon to be overrun during the slow retreat, only saved by yet another scheme – this one involving two dragoon companies, a mess of carefully contradictory orders, and a number of hastily painted logs.

He was holding together an army with grit and bravado. It couldn’t continue. It had to.

With a sigh, Geldrun mounted his horse – a steady, dependable, and above all predictable gelding he had bought during his time in Lydesis. He was comfortable around the animals, but only up to a point. The idea of riding to battle on a dumb beast, capable of bolting at any moment, would’ve been bemusing if it wasn’t so terrifying. He didn’t know how the cavalrymen did it.

Hoshang – that was the steed’s name;  a joke at a friend’s expense – assumed his customary plodding pace, which suited Geldrun just fine. Gave him time to think, as he started on the path through the gargantuan camp towards Lieutenant-General il’Valant’s own base of operations, on its north-eastern side.

Fifteen-thousand soldiers called the camp a loose and exceedingly temporary home, the majority of the First Army’s strength – the rest being spread between smaller camps to cover the Lydesi lines of advance. Far more men than had ever been meant to camp together, packed into canvass with two shirts and a single coat per enlisted man. The only thing louder than the noise was the smell.

Morale was a problem and, like all problems, Geldrun’s to deal with. Not really because of the defeats and the retreating – the soldiers didn’t seem to much care about that. No, it was the waiting, the inaction, that seemed to bother them. Gave them too much time to think and grow idle. Time to find alcohol and dalliances and make a general nuisance of themselves. Of course, they could be sent on patrols, made to practice at arms and drill, but even they saw the that such tasks were intended only to occupy them.

An impossible problem to solve, but it could be mitigated. That was what Geldrun was reduced to: endless mitigation. No issue dealt with, only made small enough to be ignored in favour of the larger, more immediate problems.

He arrived. il’Valant had taken over a public house and postal office that sat at the crossroads around which the army was camped. That and a few farmhouses were the only buildings for miles around and all had been requisitioned. Geldrun had himself been offered a room but preferred to stay isolated to avoid unnecessary interruptions to his work. He announced himself, gave over his reins to some soldier on guard duty, and marched in.

It was dark. Low ceilinged with small windows. The common room, in usual times, converted into the First Army’s headquarters. Filled to the brim with officers, many lounging at their leisure, coats thrown over their chairs and glasses filled with wine or cognac.

‘Lord il’Prolais,’ called Lieutenant-General il’Valant. He was across the room, waving Geldrun over. You could tell a lot about an officer, Geldrun had always thought, by whether they addressed you with military rank or social one.

‘Lieutenant-General,’ Geldrun replied, making his way over. He took an offered seat, declined a drink and, once Lord il’Valant had dismissed the other men at the table, began to speak. ‘I regret that you felt it necessary to involve the general. He has enough concerns, and I am already dealing with this one.’

‘I’m not trying to show you up, you understand,’ said il’Valant. ‘But without powder and shot we cannot fight. So, of course I have to notify Count il’Casime. I’ll run it up to Marquis Edgerie, if I must.’

‘The marshal is well aware of our logistical issues, sir.’

‘Oh don’t give me that, il’Prolais. You are holding back supplies. Take Goyn, for example. I am trying to build a stockpile there, to make a play at the Lydei eastern flank, yet the brigade I ordered to hold the town haven’t received anything since they arrived there. The supplies exist, just in the wrong places. How can I make that advance with such awkward and insecure lines of communication?’

Geldrun took a breath and did the difficult thing. The thing he had to do, and hated.

‘You may be correct. I propose we go to Goyn now and inspect the situation. If that particular store has been neglected, I shall do my best to correct it.’

il’Valant smiled broadly. ‘Well now, that is very good of you. Very reasonable. Glad we could work this out. Come then, let us be off.’

It was a good road they travelled along. The kind that could support a strong body of men, transporting and supplying them. Geldrun approved of it heartily.

‘Now, il’Prolais,’ il’Valant, riding beside him, began, ‘what I really do not understand is all those reports flying around saying that extra supplies were being sent to Goyn. Was that just some attempt to save face in front of the count?’

Geldrun smiled to hide a scowl. ‘No, Lieutenant-General.’

‘Perhaps, then, you were unaware of how dire the situation truly was?’

‘Perhaps,’ Geldrun agreed, turning his attention back to the surroundings.

A low hill to their north would make a good position for artillery. A commanding view of the terrain. But it lacked a clear line of retreat and, as Geldrun inspected further, some dead ground to the east would protect an advancing formation until they were almost within musket range. Though, if a flanking battery could expose the defilade, it could shore up the position. He made a mental note to show his officers maps of the area and have them take some ranges – it could well be a battlefield as the war progressed.

Goyn was already visible. A small town with open fields to its south and undulating terrain, largely forested, to the north-east. With just one acceptable road, and a couple more inferior ones, from which it could be supplied, Geldrun entirely disagreed with making it the staging point for an attack. Luckily, it had other uses.

An adjutant had gone on ahead, warning the garrisoning brigade of the lieutenant-general’s arrival. They entered the town, the two senior officers at the head of a small group of adjutants and soldiers acting as guards, to a salute of musketry. il’Valant seemed to enjoy it.

He wasn’t a bad commander, Lieutenant-General il’Valant. Brave and decisive in battle. Liked by his soldiers and junior officers. Pompous, yes, but that came with the territory. The man just lacked understanding of the kind of war they were fighting. He made grand plans for aggressive counter attacks that would expose and overstretch their armies. And that, sadly, made him a problem to be skirted around rather than an ally to be entrusted.

The brigade-general in command took them on an impromptu inspection. The man outranked Geldrun but deferred to him. Geldrun hoped that was due to his role as artillery commander and closeness to the general, but knew that his birth most likely also played its role.

After a tour of the men and a few guns, they went to the main stores, in the east of the town, where Geldrun duly agreed that they were undersupplied. In a dire state. An absolute priority for his logistics network.

‘Thank you, sir,’ the brigade-general said to all that. ‘Once we can supply them, I might suggest deploying a cavalry column to the vicinity, to chase off prying Lydesi eyes before you truly build up the town for the attack.’

‘I already sent that order. At Count il’Casime’s request, no less. Only dragoons for now, to help defend, but I shall see about a full brigade of horse to see off the enemy,’ said il’Valant.

‘Then I look forward to seeing them, sir.’

‘They’ve yet to arrive?’ il’Valant asked with a squint to his brow.

‘You’ve been seeing a lot of Lydesi, then, have you?’ Geldrun interrupted.

‘Their light cavalry. A couple of squadrons at least, and we’ve seen them far more these past two days.’

‘Well, let us hope the Fifth Dragoons get their act together and arrive soon,’ il’Valant said.

‘I am sure they shall,’ replied Geldrun.

With it getting so close to dinner, the two senior officers declined an invitation from the brigade-general and prepared to leave, stopping only for a small glass of cognac. As they lingered, Geldrun grew worried. Had he misinterpreted? It was always possible. Still, not every scheme could succeed.

They made their goodbyes and mounted up. And then, finally, the sound he had been waiting for. The telltale crack of muskets and screams of battle.

The brigade-general charged out of his quarters and shouted for a report. A skinny lieutenant ran into view from the south and the direction of the fighting.

‘Sir! Sir! Three squadrons. They broke through the piquets. No-one saw them coming.’

The brigade-general broke out into a flurry of action, sending for his colonels and his horse and reports of the situation. il’Valant wore his shock openly.

‘Sir!’ Another runner came hurrying down the street. ‘One squadron is rounding to the east.’

More than a few men swore and the activity redoubled. To the north-east, hidden in the trees, guns opened up.

‘What’s that?’ il’Valant cried. ‘How did they get artillery there?’

‘I believe those are our guns, sir,’ Geldrun said. ‘Ploughing into the flanking squadron. Perhaps we should get a closer look.’

They galloped in the direction of the fighting. As the shouts and shots grew closer, smoke appeared. And then the glow of flames.

‘Eynas Reito!’ swore il’Valant. ‘They’re fired the stores.’

The lieutenant-general drew his sword and galloped into the chaos. At least a hundred Lydesi horsemen were charging through the district, picking off isolated Prolaisians, though many of the enemy had died to cannon-fire. il’Valant did his best to bring them together into a fighting force, herding the Lydesi out through massed bayonets. Dozens fell on both sides, while Geldrun watched from the rear.

‘More are coming!’ someone shouted. Geldrun looked, his heart in his mouth, but then relaxed. Reinforcements, yes, but not for the Lydesi.

Blue uniformed Prolaisian dragoons cantered out from the treeline, close to the artillery. They dismounted at the edge of the town and fired a volley into the Lydesi horse. Between infantry in the town and dragoons and guns outside of it, the Lydesi broke, losing over half their number as they fled.

The sounds of battle to the south of them lessened, then stopped. The Lydesi had fallen back.

Inside Goyn, someone attempted to organise a firefighting effort. But it wouldn’t work: the stores were lost. Outside the town, the dragoons remounted and entered, cheered by their compatriots. Their commander approached Geldrun and il’Valant.

‘Thank Eynas Reito for you,’ il’Valant said. ‘Report.’

‘Lieutenant-Colonel il’Darsaix, Fifth Dragoons, sir. We saw the attack and intervened when we could.’

‘Fifth Dragoons? Were you not ordered to come straight here? Why ever were you hiding in the trees?’

il’Darsaix glanced to Geldrun, who subtly shook his head.

‘Just reconnoitring, sir. We linked up with the Third Horse Artillery Troop.’

‘il’Prolais, what were your horse artillery doing in the area?’

‘Who could say, sir?’ Geldrun replied. He looked to the burning stores. ‘A shame about that. Would have been worse if it was full. I suppose the enemy must have intercepted those reports that it was in fact full. Still, they will take time to replace.’

‘Yes, it could have been worse.’ il’Valant sounded pensive. ‘And I suppose I won’t be able to move any more troops to the area, at least for a while.’

‘By which point the armies may have moved position,’ said Geldrun. ‘Alas, I’m sure this won’t set back your plans for an attack by too long.’

Geldrun turned his horse to hide a grin. He didn’t lie to himself. He knew they would most likely lose this war. But may he be reborn eternal if he made it easy for their enemies. Making his excuses, he left alone. Another scheme required his attention.