Analog SFF, April 2010 (8 page)

"Yes, sir."

"This would offer a great approach for that hook you spoke of, Odwan Freya. They could move along here, concealed from being spotted by anyone on the road roughly paralleling them to south."

The Asterans followed his gesture, nodding. “Six decires on the road,” Decire Costoni remarked. “That leaves at least four for the hook. I distrust our reports on this. If the Wikosans gathered even minor help from cities such as Lacanan,” he pointed to near where St. Louis should be, “or Midasa,” pointing to a place about midway between Omaha and Sioux City, “they could easily have at least six decires in the hook, or perhaps another hook to the south as well.” Costoni pointed to a another watercourse running south of the area. “What do you call this?"

"Dry Creek,” Tyndall replied. “Cap'n, if someone followed Dry Creek where it bends west, it'd take ‘em toward that same area with Spring Creek to the north."

"Cannae?” Lieutenant Garret wondered. “That's what Hannibal did at Cannae, tricking the Romans into attacking and then surrounding them on both flanks."

"None of us would escape this time,” Freya murmured, her expression as she looked at the map becoming concentrated like that of a cougar eyeing her prey. “But we are not so desperate as they think. If we turn their own plan upon them, Wikosa will suffer such a blow that for years they will be busy defending themselves from those they have preyed upon.” Her hand moved as she talked, sketching out movements of forces, while the others watched and listened, Benton with growing approval, Garret obviously surprised but listening closely, the two Decires nodding, and Tyndall's own jaw slowly dropping.

As they left the room, Sergeant Tyndall shook his head. “What do you think, cap'n?"

"I think it's bold and has a decent chance of success.” Benton smiled. “I once compared Odwan Freya to U.S. Grant. I guess I was more right than I knew."

"U.S. Grant? Hell, cap'n, if she pulls this off she'll be Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan all rolled into one."

The Asterans had developed fairly decent weather forecasting ability, being as reliant on the skill as any people who depended on grazing, farming, and trade for their survival. When the forecasters declared a mild period was coming up, Freya ordered the Asteran forces to prepare to march at any time. Captain Benton took his company out on the field before the city and drilled them out of their winter ease, getting the cavalry ready for offensive operations.

Additional mounted scouts were sent out in all directions. The city could ill afford to spare them from its battle forces, but it would need all the warning time it could get if any other enemy army came marching toward the city from an unexpected route.

When word came down the road that the Wikosans were coming, and with the predicted six decires, the Asterans and the cavalry set out. Benton looked up at the walls as they rode away, seeing many young women waving to his soldiers, and the soldiers waving back. “Just like old times,” Sergeant Tyndall commented. “Remember riding off in 1861?"

"Yes, sergeant, I do. We were going to have the rebellion crushed before the year was out. That's what they said, anyway."

"Things don't always work out like we plan.” Tyndall looked over to where the Asteran column was marching, accompanied by the small Asteran mounted force. The saddles of the Asteran riders now had stirrups, but otherwise they were still equipped just as the Wikosans would be. It had been bittersweet as well as amusing for Benton to see that the Asterans had carefully copied the cavalry stirrups right down to the “U.S.” embossed on the leather.

"Are you all right?” Benton asked Tyndall, knowing that Belisa was with that mounted force.

"I think so, cap'n. But when we parted, Belisa said she hoped I'd come home with an enemy's head tied to my saddle. Do you think she meant that?"

He hadn't seen any signs of such primitive, bloodthirsty behavior among the Asterans. “It sounds like a traditional thing to say to someone going off to fight. Something from their ancient past that isn't meant literally anymore."

The sergeant nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “I expect you're right, sir. Or, at least I hope you're right. I do like Belisa, cap'n, but there's some things I draw the line at doing even when a woman asks me."

Scouts searching with extreme care well off to either side of the road had confirmed the suspicions of the Asterans and the cavalry. There were mounted forces moving on both the north and the south sides of the road, far enough away to be unseen by anyone watching the Wikosan infantry march up the road itself. Wikosan scouts coming down the road had sighted the advancing Asteran infantry and raced back to tell their commanders.

Benton led his cavalry overland, moving as quietly as possible, using any cover available, traveling far enough to the south to outflank the Wikosan mounted force planning to outflank the Asterans on the road. Much farther to the north, Odwan Freya was leading a force of Asteran infantry and the small Asteran mounted force to outflank the Wikosans on the north side.

The Wikosans appeared to have at least six hundred mounted fighters, against the combined numbers of a U.S. cavalry and Asteran mounted force of less than one hundred fifty. Little wonder the Wikosans advanced with too much confidence and too little care, trusting in their deception and their strong superiority in numbers.

The final approach to the battlefield was in the predawn dimness, the cavalry column moving silently through prairie grass dry and brown from the winter. The wagons had been left behind in the city, unneeded for such a short period in the field, and too likely to be spotted by the enemy. As the sun rose, Captain Benton led his company through small, unnamed courses and creek beds south of Dry Creek. “Lieutenant Garret."

"Yes, sir."

"We're leading our horses to conserve their strength. Did your professors teach you the other reason for walking horses rather than riding them?"

"No, sir."

Benton pointed upward. “A man on a horse has a much higher silhouette than a man and a horse walking. A man riding a horse can be seen by a man on the ground much farther than they can see that man."

Reaching their objective, Benton halted the column and pulled out his field glasses, then handed his horse's reins to the bugler and hiked up the side of the gulley they were in to look north, keeping low as he reached the top. He gazed through the field glasses, slowly traversing the landscape, but from here couldn't see the main Wikosan force coming up the road, or the Asterans coming up to meet them. There was no sign of the left or right hook of the Wikosans, either, or of Freya's force farther north. “Lieutenant Garret, go back west along this gulley and see if you can spot any of the moving forces. Sergeant Tyndall, get our own scouts out to the north and see what they can find."

Benton lowered his field glasses, unhappy at his inability to communicate with the other parts of the Asteran force but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. The people of this world knew all about using mirrors to flash simple messages quickly over long distances. Indeed, the ruined imperial guard towers they'd seen had done that as part of their mission. But attempting to flash messages between the different parts of the Asteran force now would only betray their presence to any Wikosans moving in the same line of sight.

As the sun climbed in the sky, it beat down into the gulley, the air growing warm despite the season. Down here, the almost ever-present Kansas wind couldn't penetrate well, so the cavalry sat and literally sweated out the wait, most of the cavalrymen grabbing a nap with the practiced efficiency of veterans.

Lieutenant Garret finally came back, moving bent over to keep from being seen by any Wikosan looking this way, and knelt beside Benton. “Captain, the Asterans are coming up the road just as planned. They and the Wikosans on the road are in sight of each other and both sides are spreading out on either side of the road for a fight."

Several minutes later three of Benton's scouts scuttled out of the grass and slid into the gulley. “Sir, them Wickies are there in Dry Creek, all right. About five hundred yards north of here. All cavalry, near as we could tell,” Corporal Stein reported. “About three company's worth of them, I figure."

Roughly three hundred, then. “Do they have any scouts out on this side?"

"No, sir. Not a one. And all of them are looking north toward the road. I reckon we could've walked up and carried off a couple of them and the rest wouldn't have noticed."

"Show me where they are.” The scouts pointed, Benton studying the area carefully through his field glasses and now spotting a few plumes among trees growing in the creek bed. Some careless Wikosans were wearing helmets that stood up high enough to see. “Is there anything for the horses to worry about between us and them?"

Corporal Stein pointed east. “A little prairie dog town over that way, captain. That's it."

"Good job. Lieutenant Garret, let's get the company lined up."

They'd learned all about this from the plains tribes. How to sneak up on an enemy, ensuring surprise, the importance of scouting the terrain carefully, and then an overwhelming attack before those being assaulted had time to gather their wits.

Moving with care to avoid making noise, the company formed into one line facing toward the enemy, each cavalryman holding his horse and ready to mount, about one yard between the men and horses as they stood abreast. “Pass the word down the line,” Benton ordered. “The men are to use their pistols. They are to fire a volley just before contact with the enemy, and only after emptying their pistols are they to draw sabers and fight with blades."

Sergeant Tyndall passed the word, then grinned at Benton. “Good thing you got the company some of them new Smith and Wesson revolvers, cap'n."

Good thing, indeed, given the odds facing them. The .44 caliber Smith & Wessons that the Army had bought this year could fire six shots almost as fast as a trooper could pull the trigger, whereas the old Model 1860 Colt cap and ball pistols had taken a while to fire each shot and a long time to reload.

Then they could only wait. Benton kept looking north, but his thoughts were often not on the Wikosans, but on the Asteran force to the north commanded by Odwan Freya.

"They'll be fine, cap'n,” Sergeant Tyndall startled him by saying in a low voice. “Belisa says that Odwan is one tough fighter."

"Thanks,” Benton muttered, embarrassed that Tyndall had read his feelings.

A moment later, the sounds of horns floated over the prairie. “Those are ours, cap'n,” Tyndall confirmed. “Asteran, I mean. They're ordering the infantry on the road to advance."

The feint attack was going in. “Pass the word for the men to prepare to mount,” Benton ordered.

Tyndall took a long drink from his canteen, then spat to one side. “Faking a retreat is hard to do right, cap'n. You think that Agani and Costoni can do it?"

"They've got the best troops the Asterans can muster as well as the worst, and the best ones are supposed to form a shield wall in the rear to keep the weaker ones from really running.” That was how it was supposed to work, anyway.

More Asteran horns, Tyndall listening carefully. “That's the order to attack, cap'n."

"Mount up."

All along the line, cavalrymen swung into their saddles, one hand grasping their bridles and the other drawing and cocking their pistols.

"Uncase the colors."

The flag of the United States of America and the guidon of the 5th Cavalry regiment came free of their canvas tubes, unfurling in the breeze.

The sounds of the horns were confused now. Decires Agani and Costoni had command of the force on the road, which was even weaker than it appeared since half of it was made up of the sort of older, younger, or inexperienced fighters whom Freya had characterized as only good enough to defend the walls. Those soldiers would be falling back now as the Wikosans advanced, the enemy no doubt thrilled at how easily the Asteran attack seemed to be crumbling.

Benton raised one hand. “Company B, advance at a walk!” His hand came down and the cavalry surged into a walk, moving as one, the line of men and horses coming up from the gully and heading toward the still-hidden mounted force of Wikosans. Dressing their line to keep it as straight as possible, the company advanced.

This was the hard part for any cavalry force, to wait to commence the charge until they were the right distance from the enemy. Charge too early, and the horses would be spent when they made contact. Charge too late, and they might not have enough speed up.

The metal-on-metal clanging din of battle on the road could be heard now as well as the calls of horns, and Benton saw the Wikosan mounted force, still screened from the road but every man in their own saddles now, every head turned north toward the fight.

Three hundred yards, the cavalry moving steadily through the high prairie grass, silent but for the rattle of harness and the crackling of the dry grass being shoved aside by the horses. Two hundred yards, the Wikosans milling about, plainly eager to go but waiting for some signal.

"Bugler,” Benton ordered. “Sound the trot."

As the notes of the bugle rose over the prairie, the line of cavalry kicked their horses into a trot.

The enemy horsemen looked back as the sounds of the bugle finally rose over the racket of the nearby battle and the noise of the Wikosans’ own horses and gear. Their mouths gaped open in shock, then Benton heard them shouting warnings to each other.

One hundred and fifty yards. “Bugler, sound the gallop."

This time the bugle call was more insistent, and at the demand of their riders the cavalry horses leaped forward, the straight line maintaining its order even as the horses raced faster toward the enemy. Benton gripped his pistol harder, the wind whipping at his face.

The Wikosans were turning their horses and colliding with each other as the enemy force struggled to reorient toward the new threat.

Roughly fifty yards. “Bugler, sound the charge!” Benton shouted over the thunder of one hundred horses galloping to the attack. The bugle sang urgently and continuously, its notes ringing over the battlefield, and now the cavalrymen roared as they kicked their horses into an all-out assault, the flags flying open behind the color bearers as Company B hit the enemy with the mass and momentum only a cavalry charge could create.