General's message.
“Send a man to General Taylor and another the General Wilson informing them were are about to engage if the Southrons will offer battle,” he told his aide. “Suggest to General Taylor that if he can be prepared to move against their right, with General Wilson's approval of course, that we will attempt to turn the enemy in his direction.”
“Yes sir,” the aide replied and immediately summoned two more riders. Stone turned his attention back to his own forces. He could see that the tree line was thinning. According to his scouts there should be a clearing ahead. Stone figured this would be the most likely place for the southern cavalry to make it's stand if they intended to make one short of their own lines.
He hoped they would, since his own orders prevented him from pursuing within range of the enemy lines themselves. If the enemy reached their own lines, then his opportunity to engage would be lost.
He saw a slight ripple in his forward ranks and frowned slightly. That shouldn't be happening.
“See what that's about,” he ordered the nearest runner, pointing toward the now ragged area of his formation. The man sketched a salute and spurred his horse in that direction. Stone was about to call his aide over when he saw one of the Wildmen, a tribal leader of some sort named Blue Dog, heading in his direction.
Stone despised the heathens from the west with all his might. They were savage to a fault and had no apparent regard for anything other than the blood they shed so willingly. Stone was a soldier and as such he expected to have to shed blood in battle but. . . .
He shook those thoughts away. His Emperor had dictated that he would work with the godless savages, and so he would. That was that.
“General Stone,” the man spoke in heavily accented and broken Nor. “You mans losing their line.”
“I've sent a man to straighten it out,” Stone acknowledged the failure. “We've been in these woods for some time. It was bound to happen.”
“Line too long, too much mans,” Blue Dog pointed out. “Better to have small line.” This was an old argument with him.
“I'm sure it would,” Stone tried to be diplomatic. “But we don't have that option in this case. The Southrons are here in force. If we use smaller units or shorter lines, we invite defeat in detail.”
“Southmans better at horse war,” Blue Dog said flatly. “Fight them their way, lose much mans. Much horses. Better to fight Tumcah way. Southmans not so good then.” Tumcah was their word for themselves, Stone remembered. It meant 'the people' as best he could recall. It had always seemed arrogant to him.
“If we could, we probably would,” Stone nodded. “We can't face them in greater numbers like your people. We do not yet have the skill. But we are learning.”
And when we have you'll be sorry you ever met us , Stone thought savagely. He knew of the plans to turn on the Western tribes once the southern kingdom was conquered.
Blue Dog turned savage eyes on Stone, regarding him so seriously that for a moment Stone wondered if he'd spoke his thoughts aloud. Then Blue Dog shrugged, turning his horse away.
“We hold Right Horn,” he said over his shoulder. “Protect flank. Try save you when time come, but no promise.”
“We'll take our chances,” Stone managed not to snarl. Arrogant heathen bastard. He ignored the departing savage and turned his attention back to his own forces. His front line seemed to have corrected itself, and was emerging into the clearing it looked like.
“Enemy in sight!” a runner cried. “Southern Cavalry formed ahead, offering battle!”
“Excellent!” Stone almost rubbed his hands together. “All commanders!” he called to his runners. “Dress lines at the tree line, prepare for attack! On the double quick!” The runners took off flaying their horses with their reins, others taking their place in line.
Stone watched as his lines reformed, regaining the cohesion lost
“Send a man to General Taylor and another the General Wilson informing them were are about to engage if the Southrons will offer battle,” he told his aide. “Suggest to General Taylor that if he can be prepared to move against their right, with General Wilson's approval of course, that we will attempt to turn the enemy in his direction.”
“Yes sir,” the aide replied and immediately summoned two more riders. Stone turned his attention back to his own forces. He could see that the tree line was thinning. According to his scouts there should be a clearing ahead. Stone figured this would be the most likely place for the southern cavalry to make it's stand if they intended to make one short of their own lines.
He hoped they would, since his own orders prevented him from pursuing within range of the enemy lines themselves. If the enemy reached their own lines, then his opportunity to engage would be lost.
He saw a slight ripple in his forward ranks and frowned slightly. That shouldn't be happening.
“See what that's about,” he ordered the nearest runner, pointing toward the now ragged area of his formation. The man sketched a salute and spurred his horse in that direction. Stone was about to call his aide over when he saw one of the Wildmen, a tribal leader of some sort named Blue Dog, heading in his direction.
Stone despised the heathens from the west with all his might. They were savage to a fault and had no apparent regard for anything other than the blood they shed so willingly. Stone was a soldier and as such he expected to have to shed blood in battle but. . . .
He shook those thoughts away. His Emperor had dictated that he would work with the godless savages, and so he would. That was that.
“General Stone,” the man spoke in heavily accented and broken Nor. “You mans losing their line.”
“I've sent a man to straighten it out,” Stone acknowledged the failure. “We've been in these woods for some time. It was bound to happen.”
“Line too long, too much mans,” Blue Dog pointed out. “Better to have small line.” This was an old argument with him.
“I'm sure it would,” Stone tried to be diplomatic. “But we don't have that option in this case. The Southrons are here in force. If we use smaller units or shorter lines, we invite defeat in detail.”
“Southmans better at horse war,” Blue Dog said flatly. “Fight them their way, lose much mans. Much horses. Better to fight Tumcah way. Southmans not so good then.” Tumcah was their word for themselves, Stone remembered. It meant 'the people' as best he could recall. It had always seemed arrogant to him.
“If we could, we probably would,” Stone nodded. “We can't face them in greater numbers like your people. We do not yet have the skill. But we are learning.”
And when we have you'll be sorry you ever met us , Stone thought savagely. He knew of the plans to turn on the Western tribes once the southern kingdom was conquered.
Blue Dog turned savage eyes on Stone, regarding him so seriously that for a moment Stone wondered if he'd spoke his thoughts aloud. Then Blue Dog shrugged, turning his horse away.
“We hold Right Horn,” he said over his shoulder. “Protect flank. Try save you when time come, but no promise.”
“We'll take our chances,” Stone managed not to snarl. Arrogant heathen bastard. He ignored the departing savage and turned his attention back to his own forces. His front line seemed to have corrected itself, and was emerging into the clearing it looked like.
“Enemy in sight!” a runner cried. “Southern Cavalry formed ahead, offering battle!”
“Excellent!” Stone almost rubbed his hands together. “All commanders!” he called to his runners. “Dress lines at the tree line, prepare for attack! On the double quick!” The runners took off flaying their horses with their reins, others taking their place in line.
Stone watched as his lines reformed, regaining the cohesion lost
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