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thiswasn't the stretch where Doubting George's army was pushing hardest, what
was happening off to the left, out of Gremio's sight but, with luck, not out
of the commanding general's?
Lieutenant General Bell? Wrong?Gremio laughed. How could anyone possibly
imagine Bell making a mistake? The idea was absurd, wasn't it? Of course it
was. Up till now, Bell had conducted a perfect campaign, hadn't he? Of course
he had. The Army of Franklin had smashed John the Lister at Summer Mountain,
hadn't it? And then gone on to destroy John's remnants at Poor Richard?
He shook his head. Some of those things could have happened. Some of those
thingsshould have happened. But they hadn't. That was at least partly Bell's
fault. Could he make another mistake? Gremio knew too well that he could.
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Thinking along with him as the underofficer so often did Sergeant Thisbe
asked, "What if they're hammering us at the far end of the line?"
"Then they are," Captain Gremio replied with a fatalistic shrug. "I don't
know what we can do about it except either send reinforcements or run away."
Off to the south, somethingroared . The chill that ran through Gremio had
nothing to do with the weather. A roar like that touched him deep in his
brain, deep in his belly. A roar like that meant,Whatever is making this noise
wants to eat you and it can . Another roar resounded, and another, and
another.
The dragons looked old as time, deadly as murder, and graceful enough to make
an eagle blush. Their great bat wings effortlessly propelled them toward the
northerners' trenches. They took no notice of the southrons out in the open
below them. It was as if they'd decided to feast on pork, and didn't care
whether mutton was out there waiting for them.
Several northerners didn't wait to be eaten. They jumped out of the trenches
and ran away, as fast as they could go. "Hold!" Gremio shouted, though he
wanted nothing more than to run, too.
"Why?" somebody yelled back, fleeing faster than ever.
For a couple of heartbeats, Gremio found himself altogether without an
answer. Then the rational part of his mind reasserted itself. "Because they're
magical!" he exclaimed. "They aren't real. Theycan't be real. When was the
last time anybody saw a dragon that isn't on a flag west of the Great River?
Over in the Stony Mountains, out past the eastern steppes, yes. But here? Not
a chance!"
"They surelook real," someone else said.
And they did. The fire that burst from their jaws looked real, too. More men,
not willing to take the chance, scrambled out of the fieldworks and started
running away. The southrons shot several of them when they broke cover.
Colonel Florizel limped past. "Don't panic, boys!" he shouted. "It's just the
gods-damned southrons telling lies again. What else are they good for?" He
nodded to Gremio. "And a fine day to you, Captain. We're doing pretty well
here, aren't we?"
"We're holding them, sir, sure enough," Gremio answered. Florizel had
limits anything requiring imagination was beyond his ken. Within those limits,
though, he made a pretty good soldier exactly how good, Gremio had come to
understand more slowly than he should have. The captain asked, "How are we
doing off to the left? I can't tell from here."
Florizel's face clouded. "Not so well. They've forced back the line there. We
may we likely will have to fall back here, too, just to keep things straight.
I don't think any counterattack at that end will push the southrons out of our
works."
Gremio looked over his shoulder. Another ridge line stood a mile or two north
of the one the Army of Franklin presently held. He jerked a thumb towards it.
"I suppose we'll make another stand there."
"Yes, I suppose we will, too." Florizel nodded. "We've hurt the southrons.
They've hurt us, but we've hurt them more than a little. If we can hold off
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the next attack if they can even manage another attack, tomorrow or the next
day I'd say we'll have won ourselves a victory . . . and I don't mean the kind
Bell says we won at Poor Richard, either." He made a sour face.
"You . . . may be right, your Excellency." Gremio still reckoned Florizel an
optimist, but he couldn't say for certain his superior was wrong. Florizel
knew more about what was going on than he did. And even an optimist could be
right some of the time Gremio supposed. He said, "Funny how we've held them
here, where they were supposed to be pushing hardest, but we had to give
ground at the other end of the line."
"Yes, this is a mite strange," Colonel Florizel agreed. "Still and all,
though, battle's a funny business. What you figure will happen doesn't, and
what you don't does."
"That's true. I wish it weren't, but it is," Gremio said.
"Has my regiment fought well, Captain?" Florizel asked.
"Yes, sir," Gremio answered truthfully.
"Good. It's a funny business of a different sort, you know needing to ask
about the soldiers I commanded for so long."
"You still command us, Colonel."
"Yes, but notthat way. How about your old company? That will give you some
notion of what I mean."
"My old company is doing just fine, sir, even if it does have a sergeant in
charge of it," Gremio answered.
"Good. That's good. You know, if you'd ever wanted to promote that Thisbe to
lieutenant's rank, I'd have done it in a heartbeat. He's a hells of an
underofficer. I saw that right away." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]