He wasn’t so sure about himself, either. Maybe I should have protested harder-protested at least some-whenBell sent us south just after he took command, he thought mournfully. No: certainly I should have protested. He knew why he hadn’t. Joseph the Gamecock had been sacked because he wouldn’t attack. Bell had been installed because he would. King Geoffrey had wanted attacks against the southrons. How could an officer mindful of that oppose them?
Well, the Army of Franklin, or what was left of it, had found the answer to that. Opposing attacks that failed, that might well have been foredoomed, looked like great wisdom in hindsight. With so many men lost, with the southrons not driven away despite those dreadful losses to the northern force, how were they going to hold on to Marthasville? Roast-Beef William had been a soldier and a teacher of soldiers for a long time. That notwithstanding, he had no idea.
Before he could find a way to put any of that into words, a runner came into the house Bell was using as army headquarters-the house Joseph had used before being sacked. “Sir-” he began, and then, catching sight of William along with the general commanding, fell silent.
“Say on,” Bell told him. “Say your say. Roast-Beef William may be a fool, but he is no traitor to the northern cause.”
“Sir…” That wasn’t the messenger; it was Roast-Beef William himself. But he shook his head. What point in quarreling further? When Bell called him a fool, what he meant was, He disagrees with me.
“Yes, sir,” the messenger said to Bell. “The news is that the gods-damned southrons are moving against the glideway line running north out of Marthasville, the line to Dicon and the rest of the north of this province. They’ve already overrun the line to Dothan. They’re marching on Jonestown, about fifteen miles north of the city, sir, moving on that line in a long loop from out of the east.”
“That’s the last line into Marthasville we still hold, sir,” Roast-Beef William said. “If the southrons seize it, we’re as near surrounded as makes no difference.”
“I know that.” Bell spoke in an abstracted voice, as if from far away. The pupils of his eyes were very small. William had seen that before, when heroic doses of laudanum had had their way with the commanding general.
Another runner dashed in. He stood on no ceremony whatever, saying, “Lieutenant General Bell, sir, the southrons are starting to fling firepots and stones into Marthasville, sir! What are we going to do?”
“They’ve moved their engines up close enough to reach the town, have they?” Roast-Beef William said. The second runner nodded.
“One thing at a time,” Bell said, more to himself than to anyone else. After a moment, he gathered himself and turned to William. “You go with your wing and massacre the southrons by Jonestown. If they’re bombarding Marthasville, they can’t have sent that many men north. Crush them, hold on to the glideway line leading north, and, as opportunity offers, push east toward the one to Dothan.”
“Yes, sir.” William saluted. The order struck him as reasonable-more than reasonable, in fact. Holding the glideway lines coming out of Marthasville was the main reason for holding the city itself. Of course, it would have done more good had the Army of Franklin still controlled the lines leading toward Julia and toward Nonesuch. But those were gone, cut by the southrons. No reinforcements or supplies would go to Parthenia along them.
Without the line to Dothan and the one to northern Peachtree Province, though, no reinforcements or-more vital-supplies would get into Marthasville. Hesmucet could sit down and starve the city into submission… if he didn’t prefer to knock it flat instead.
Bell had the same thought at the same time. “Hesmucet uses us barbarously, to throw stones and fire into a city still full of noncombatants,” he said.
“Sir, I would agree,” Roast-Beef William replied. “But if he will do it, it may work to his advantage, and I see no way for us to make him stop it.”
“Barbarous,” Bell repeated. “Shameless and barbarous.” His eyes hardly seemed to have any pupils at all. “I shall drive them away from Marthasville if I see even the smallest chance of doing so.”
“Yes, sir,” Roast-Beef William said, and then, because he couldn’t help himself, “Sir, please do be careful. We’ve already lost a lot of men. How many more can we afford to throw away?”
“If we triumph, the men are not thrown away.” No matter how much laudanum Bell had taken, he still sounded angry. “Joseph the Gamecock would not see that, which is why I command.”
“If we triumph, yes, sir,” William said. “We’ve hit the southrons two hard blows, and haven’t triumphed yet. We need to be able to defend ourselves, too, against the cursed numbers they enjoy.”
“This time, we cannot fail. We must not fail,” Bell said. “We have to win by the city, and we have to win up by Jonestown. You tend to the second, and I will take care of the first. You may rely on it.”
“I do, sir,” Roast-Beef William said. “I have to.” He strode out of Bell’s headquarters before the general commanding could respond to that. Getting out of there also kept him from thinking about how he meant it, which was probably just as well.
Go north to Jonestown. Drive the southrons away from it. Don’t let them seize the glideway line to Dicon. Reclaim the one to Dothan. Put like that, it sounded easy. Bell put it no other way. Turning those broad commands into reality was up to Roast-Beef William. So were all the myriad details of putting his wing of the Army of Franklin into motion. Details mattered little-hardly mattered at all-to Bell.
Roast-Beef William found himself unhappier than ever that Joseph the Gamecock was gone. Joseph had cared about details. Joseph had cared so much about leaves and branches and bark, in fact, that he sometimes had trouble remembering there were trees, let alone a forest. To William’s way of thinking, that was a lesser failing than barely noticing the forest because one was gazing at the kingdom of which it formed a part.
But no one cared about his way of thinking. King Geoffrey had proved that. If he decided he had to sack Joseph, why didn’t he put me in charge? William feared he knew the answer. It’s not just that I have no breeding-neither does Bell. But he’s a hero-his missing pieces prove it. All I am is a man who can get the job done. And now I have to-again.
Work with pen and paper saved him a lot of trouble. By the time he called in his brigade commanders, he had at his fingertips the details Lieutenant General Bell hadn’t bothered with. He gave them out, crisply and cleanly.
“How many men have the southrons got?” somebody asked.
“That I don’t know,” Roast-Beef William admitted unhappily. “But I must be of the opinion that their force is not overlarge. How could it be, when they’re operating fifteen miles north of Marthasville at the same time as they’re keeping the assault against the city in progress?”
No one argued with him. Had the southrons not had a large host, they wouldn’t have been able to operate in two such widely separated places at the same time at all. As far as William was concerned, Marthasville itself remained the most important target. This business of Jonestown was bound to be a distraction, a harassment, nothing more. Once he’d dealt with it, he could bring his wing back up to the city, to aid in the defense.
“Any more questions?” he asked. Hearing none, he nodded. “Very well, gentlemen. You know what’s required of you. I expect you will all do your duty, and all do it handsomely. Dismissed. We move in the morning.”
Some of the soldiers boarded carpets and went north up the glideway. Others moved by road; not enough carpets remained in Marthasville to transport his entire wing. He sent the men who would have to march up to Jonestown off ahead of those who would ride on the carpets: they would travel more slowly, and he wanted his entire force, such as it was, to get there at the same time.