‘Perhaps. Your point deserved it.’ Instead, she tapped her foot and glared at the map. ‘Well, you’re not going to let a small thing like a Holmland army stop us, are you?’
And so, that night they found themselves with George and Sophie creeping through the woods to the north of Divodorum and peering down on the battlefield they were skirting on their way to Stalsfrieden.
Originally, Aubrey had tried to convince George and Sophie to stay behind, but Sophie had united support from George and Caroline. Unspoken was the thought that they would be close to where her brother was, and Aubrey could see a spontaneous side mission waiting to spring upon him. He also knew the inevitable when he saw it. The romance of reuniting a family would appeal to Caroline, while George had only grown closer to Sophie.
Aubrey was sweating under his black balaclava, part of the all-black outfit each of them agreed to wear. Caroline and Sophie wore the sensible trousers and pullovers far more stylishly than any quartermaster could have imagined, Aubrey guessed, and he was sure that Caroline would have her silk fighting suit handy as well. Sophie thought wearing the balaclava was silly, until George pointed out how her blonde hair was a beacon in the darkness, easily seen at a distance. Caroline wore her leather aviator’s helmet to good effect.
He lay on his stomach, feeling his revolver poking into his side, and peered across the panorama that was spread in front of them. With Caroline, George and Sophie likewise prone, he brought up the field glasses, metal casing carefully blackened to avoid tell-tale glinting.
A mile down the heavily wooded slope was the bulk of the Gallian force. Aubrey could pick out camp fires and tents, but most of the soldiers had dug in – a long double line of trenches stretched for hundreds of yards to either side. Barbed wire was the feature of the Gallian emplacements, stretched and bundled, ragged and well placed, a warning and a saviour. The rear line of trenches was reinforced, and in places had a rough parapet made of sandbags. The front line, however, looked crude and hasty, more like a series of ragged fox holes than a resolute emplacement.
Nearly half a mile behind the trenches was the artillery – or what was left of the artillery. Aubrey swept the field glasses along what had been the pride of the Gallian gunners, but could only find one field gun that wasn’t shattered or overturned. Sandbags were scattered and earthwork emplacements destroyed.
The other side of the Gallian trenches was a bare, chewed-up area, three or four miles in extent, leading to the Holmland emplacement, which was almost a mirror image of the Gallian – trenches, barbed wire, but the artillery was ominously unharmed.
Aubrey had a moment, a tiny frozen moment when the future spread out in front of him. He saw the scene he was looking at repeated, and repeated again and again, across the Continent, across the world, as Dr Tremaine drove towards his goal.
The rogue sorcerer wanted blood. He needed a sacrifice on a scale unheard of, and duplicating this battleground was the way to do it. A meat grinder, a slaughterhouse, a mass killing ground where people died and died and died. Guns and barbed wire and mud and blood. Countrysides pounded until they were unrecognisable. Whole populations fleeing. Machines wiping whole armies away.
And for what? Manoeuvred by Dr Tremaine they might be, but whole countries had committed themselves to war because of ancient grudges, foolish ambition and simple, stupid misunderstandings. Was any of this worth the sacrifice of one life, let alone thousands?
Aubrey knew that the events leading up to the declaration of war would be pored over in the future, argued and debated. In the end, the way the war started didn’t matter. It was the way the war ended that was important – and he was determined to do what he could to bring that about.
Aubrey lowered the field glasses and shook his head. This was no skirmish. The forces on either side had dug in for the long haul.
‘Which way is Stalsfrieden?’ he murmured, hoping he wouldn’t have to pull off his boot and consult his compass.
George pointed. ‘If we climb that ridge, we can skirt the battlelines and then we should be able to follow the river valley right up to the border.’
‘After that?’
‘Ingenuity will be required, I’d say,’ Caroline said. ‘I hope you have something up your sleeve, Aubrey.’
‘Théo could have been down there,’ Sophie said softly. ‘I hope he is safe where he is.’
‘I’m sorry, Sophie,’ Aubrey said and he took a look back at the trenches. Pinpoints of light glinted all along the battlelines, making them look like stretches of stardust, ‘but I don’t think any of us will be safe until this is all over.’
Twenty-two
Atesting five days later – five days during which George’s woodsman’s skills and Aubrey’s concealment magic had been much in demand thanks to Holmland patrols – Aubrey was glad night was drawing in quickly to add extra security to their hiding place. Lying on his belly, scanning the eastern outskirts of Stalsfrieden, safe in the thick canopy of one of the huge willow trees on the bank of the Salia, he was relieved to have made it this far.
Aubrey hadn’t told his friends that the magical air bubble that had enclosed them in their underwater border crossing had been experimental, as he didn’t want to worry them while they were under the surface. He’d been continuously monitoring its integrity as the river current swept them along, right under the border bridge, and well past the Holmland border military emplacements. They’d fetched up on the northern bank of the river and now, Stalsfrieden stood before them.
Stalsfrieden was a sizeable city, twice the size of Divodorum. From his briefing documents, Aubrey knew its importance was determined by its nearby coal and iron deposits, so no matter how much it may have wanted to grow up into an arts or religious community, it had no option but to become a sturdy contributor to Holmland’s industrial might.
Yet Aubrey was puzzled by a singular lack. ‘Where do you think all the people are?’ he whispered.
‘I was wondering the same thing.’ Caroline had the field glasses, a smaller, more compact version suitable for travelling. She swept them over the streets and buildings. ‘All I can see are soldiers. A curfew?’
Even close to midnight as it was, a column was rumbling through the main western exit of the city, bound for the border and the Divodorum front. Aubrey was struck, and sobered by, the difference between a Gallian column and a Holmland column. The Holmland column moved briskly, whether lorries or marching troops, with an undeniable air of purpose. The artillery and the lorries themselves looked as if they’d just rolled off the assembly line. No horses or mules or camp stragglers. This was an entirely businesslike affair – and Aubrey hadn’t seen a break in the column in the hour they’d been watching. He imagined such a scene repeated on the eastern front, and in the Low Countries. Holmland’s military build-up had been even more thorough than the most pessimistic Albionite had thought. It pointed to a failure in intelligence-gathering.
And that’s something to be looked at when this is all over, Aubrey thought, if we’re able to.
The thought gave him pause. He had great respect for Commander Craddock, and Commander Tallis was a fine organiser, but could it be that they were both part of an old world? The world was changing drastically. Perhaps a new approach to intelligence gathering was needed, something more comprehensive and systematic.
His thoughts were interrupted by Sophie’s reaching past George and tapping him on the arm. ‘I have been counting.’ She pointed to the dirt in front of her. ‘Fourteen civilians is all I have seen.’