The Guns of Empire by Django Wexler

among the cavalry were answered with good-natured profanity.
    â€œBlackstream’s not wrong,” Sevran said quietly. “I’ve been at this long enough that I get itchy whenever someone starts talking about flank marches and surprise arrivals. It never seems to go quite according to schedule.”
    â€œAll we need to worry about is making sure our piece
does
,” Winter said. “Besides, this is Janus we’re talking about, not some idiot who happened to grow up with the king. He knows what he’s doing.”
    â€œOf course. I just think it would be prudent to keep a reserve ready. In case things don’t go according to plan.”
    â€œI’ll keep that in mind,” Winter said, a little more dryly than she’d intended. “Now, I believe you have a regiment to attend to.”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€”
    The April air was still chilly, but at least the sun was out, the weak morning rays struggling to dry the damp uniforms of the men and women who’d crossed the Ytolin. With the cavalry fanning out ahead of them, the column moved out, Winter ordering the bands to keep up a fast, encouraging tune while the vanguard seta rapid pace. The Girls’ Own took the lead, as usual, ready to send out a skirmish screen if they ran into the enemy.
    The early stages of the march were uncontested, however, and it wasn’t until nearly noon that riders came back from Colonel Erdine to report that his scouts had engaged the Borelgai. Even this turned out to be only cavalry patrols, content to fire a few shots from their carbines and withdraw in front of the Vordanai horsemen. Erdine’s dispatches assured Winter that no Borelgai scouts would get within sight of the infantry column.
    â€œThere they go,” Cyte said quietly, riding beside Winter just behind the Girls’ Own.
    Winter looked at her quizzically, but Cyte only closed her eyes for a moment and held up a hand. Winter concentrated, and a moment later she heard it, too. Under the tramp of boots and the chatter of voices, there was a nearly subsonic rumble, like thunder in the far distance. It grew with every moment and every step Edgar took to the west, a deep, irregular grumbling. The sound of guns, far off, echoing over the hills and across the river.
Marcus is starting his attack.
So far everything seemed to be on schedule, though she was glad she’d insisted on the early start.
    The soldiers in the column heard the guns, too, and the atmosphere in the ranks changed. The shouts and laughter gradually died away, replaced by muted, businesslike conversations. During their infrequent rest breaks, she saw soldiers checking and rechecking their cartridge boxes or making sure their bayonets were loose in their sheaths. A young woman—possibly one of the recruits from Talbonn—stood with her face screwed up and on the verge of tears as she strained to go through the manual of arms in front of an unsympathetic-looking sergeant. Other Girls’ Own soldiers were checking the thin daggers almost all of them kept concealed somewhere in their uniform; in the event of capture, they were for escape or, worse come to worst, suicide if the alternative was unbearable.
    Winter was pleased to see that there was no depression or panic, just a calm assessment of possibilities. Only the Girls’ Own and Sevran’s Second Infantry Regiment had seen serious fighting. The other two regiments, and Ibsly’s entire division, were mostly reinforcements culled from the west and south.
This is a hell of a way to be thrown into your first battle.
    Just when she was getting ready to order the column back to the march, a half dozen horsemen cantered up, with Erdine himself in the lead. The cavalry colonel was in fine form, hair golden in the midday sun under his broad hat, hiscolorful plume bouncing gaily as he rode. He waved to Winter, controlling his mount with an effortless ease she envied.
    â€œGeneral!” he