Finally, Link spoke.
"THERE IS A POSSIBILITY. IT IS NOT LIKELY. WERE THE ENEMY LED BY ANY OTHER COMMANDER I WOULD DISMISS IT OUT OF HAND. BUT I CANNOT. NOT WITH BELISARIUS."
Silence followed again, for well over a minute. The Malwa officers did not ask for an explanation of those cryptic words. None would have been given if they had.
Gauged, analyzed, assessed. Made its decision.
"SEND THE KUSHANS FIRST. ALL OF THEM. ON FOOT."
The officers were visibly startled, now. After a moment, one of them ventured to ask:
"On foot?"
Silence. The officer cleared his throat.
"But—Great Lady Holi, it is essential that the maneuver be made with great speed. Belisarius will realize what we are doing by sunrise at the latest. Quite possibly earlier. It is almost impossible—even with the harshest orders—to keep such a large body of men from making some noise. And we have no control over the Persians, in any event."
Another interjected, "We must get the flanking column upriver as fast as possible. So that they can ford the Euphrates before Belisarius can block their way. That requires cavalry, Great Lady Holi."
"BE SILENT. I UNDERSTAND YOUR ARGU-MENT. BUT THERE IS A POSSIBILITY, IF BELISARIUS IS CUNNING ENOUGH. I CANNOT TAKE THE CHANCE. THE YE-TAI, AFTER THEY CROSS, CAN RACE UPRIVER TO SEIZE A BRIDGEHEAD. THE REGULAR CAVALRY, FOLLOWING, CAN BRING THE KUSHANS' HORSES WITH THEM. THEY SHOULD STILL BE ABLE TO REACH THE YE-TAI IN TIME TO HOLD THE CROSSING."
The officers submitted, of course. But one of them, bolder than the rest, made a last protest:
"It will take the Kushans so much time, if they cross the river on foot."
"THAT IS PRECISELY THE POINT.
"NOW, DO AS I COMMAND."
All opposition fled. The officers hastened from the pavilion, spreading the command throughout the great army encamped below the dam.
Alone in its pavilion, Link continued to calculate. Gauge. Analyze.
Its thoughts were confident. Link was guided not simply by its own incredible intellect, but also by intelligence—in the military sense of the term. Roman prisoners had been taken, here and there, in the days of fighting. Interrogated. Those of them with personal knowledge of Belisarius had been questioned under torture, until Link was satisfied that it had squeezed every last item necessary to fully assess the capabilities of its enemy.
It would have done better, had it been in Link's power, to have interrogated a Persian survivor of the battle of Mindouos. The man named Baresmanas.
But, perhaps not. Link would not have asked the right questions. And Baresmanas would certainly not have volunteered the information, not even under the knife.
But he could have. He could have. He could have warned the Malwa superbeing that mercy can have its own sharp point. Keener than any lance or blade; and even deadlier to the foe.
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Framed
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Chapter 37
"Finally," hissed Belisarius.
The general was practically dancing with impatience, waiting for his horse to be brought up to the artillery tower where he had made his headquarters for the past week.
He was already in full armor. He had begun donning the gear the moment he heard the first katyusha volleys. As he had predicted, the Malwa were attempting to cross the Nehar Malka on a pontoon bridge. He was convinced that the maneuver was a feint, but, like all well-executed diversions, it carried real substance behind it. Thousands of Malwa troops were involved in the crossing, supported by most of their rocket troughs. By now, an hour into the battle, the scene to the east was a flashing cacophony. Katyusha rockets crossed trails with Malwa missiles. The Syrian soldiers on the rockpile added their own volleys of fire-arrows, aimed at the boats on the canal. The Nehar Malka was lit up by those flaming ships.
In the darkness ahead, he could make out the looming shape of his horse. Maurice, he realized, was the man holding it.
"How long ago?" were his first words.
He could barely make out Maurice's shrug.
"Who's to know? The Persians are being damned quiet. Much quieter than I would have expected, from a lot of headstrong dehgans. But Abbu's scouts report that they've already moved out at least half of their forces. Due west, into the desert."
Sourly: "Just as you predicted."
Belisarius nodded. "We've some time, then. Is Abbu—"
Maurice snorted. "Be serious! Of course he's in pos-ition. The old Arab goat's even twitchier than you are."
As Anastasius heaved him into the saddle, Belisarius grunted. "I am not twitchy. Simply eager to close with the foe."
" `Close with the foe,' " mimicked Maurice, clambering onto his own mount. "My, aren't we flowery tonight?"
Securely in his saddle, Belisarius grinned. It was obvious that the prospect of action—finally!—had completely restored his spirits.
"Let's to it, Maurice. I do believe the time has come to reacquaint the Malwa with the First Law of Battle."
He tugged on the reins, turning his horse.
"The enemy has arrived. And I intend to fuck them up completely."
"What?" he demanded.
Maurice took a breath. "You heard me. Abbu's courier reports that they're sending the Kushans across first. On foot, all of them. They even dismounted the Kushan cavalry. They've got their Ye-tai battalions massed on the bank, mounted, but they aren't crossing yet. Behind them, Abbu thinks they're forming up kshatriya and Malwa regulars, but he's not sure. He can't get close enough."
Belisarius turned and stared into the darkness, raising himself up in the stirrups in order to peer over the wall. He was on the road at the eastern end of the dam, just behind the front fortifications. For a moment, he plucked at his telescope, but left off the motion almost as soon as it started. He already knew that the device was no help. It was a moonless night, and the Malwa crossing the almost-empty riverbed were a mile south of the dam. He could see nothing, not even with his Aide-enhanced vision.
"Kushans first, and without horses," he murmured. "That makes no sense at all."
He scratched his chin. "Unless—"
"Unless what?" hissed Maurice.
Scratched his chin. "Unless that thing is even smarter than I thought."
Maurice shook his head. "Stop being so damn clever! Maybe they want to make sure they don't make any noise crossing the Euphrates. Kushans on foot will be as silent as any army could be."
Belisarius nodded, slowly.
"That's possible. It's even possible that they made arrangements with Ormazd to have horses left for them. Still—"
A little noise drew their attention. An Arab courier was trotting toward them from the western end of the dam.
"Abbu says now!" the scout exclaimed, as soon as he drew up. "Almost all the Kushans are in the riverbed. At least eight thousand of them. Probably all of them, by now. Their first skirmishers will have already reached the opposite bank."
Belisarius scratched his chin.
"God damn it to hell!" snarled Maurice. "What are you waiting for? We can't let those men cross, general! After all our casualties, we don't have much better than eight thousand left ourselves. Once they get on dry land—on the south bank—they can ford upstream any one of a dozen places. We'll have to face them on—"