Sturm Strike (Musket Men Book 10), page 9
Caldor fired his musket easily clearing the saddle of a horseman who had foolishly chosen to attempt to ride him down, then he stepped out of the way of the horse with the empty saddle and decided to hold on to the musket with only his left hand. With his right, he drew his pistol, bringing it quickly up to bear on the next rider to attack him, and with a love tap upon the trigger, blew that bastard away as well.
He dropped the pistol so he could hold his musket in both hands and proved how far he had come from being the arrogant prick of a cavalry lieutenant who had first met then-Acting Captain Sturm a year ago. He’d been training with infantry men for the entire year and he knew exactly what he had to do. He stepped forward and rammed the sharp tip of his bayonet directly into the knee of the next horse to come charging toward him.
Wounding the animal killed a piece of Caldor’s soul, but that was a hell of a lot better than getting his body hacked to pieces with misplaced charity. The horse screamed and went down throwing its startled rider to the earth at Caldor’s feet. The major had intended to finish the man off but it wasn’t necessary. The poor animal he’d just crippled tumbled end over end, flattening its former rider before ending in a screaming, writhing mass of agony.
Despite the risk to himself, Caldor couldn’t resist putting it out of its misery with a quick blow to the brains.
He looked around for other targets and saw sixty dismounted northern cavalrymen who had each done almost exactly what he had—shoot a man with their muskets, kill another with their pistols, then wield the bayonet-topped muskets to attack a third rider’s horse.
Ten seconds!
Ten seconds was all it took for this particular attack to be thwarted. The survivors were the southerners smart enough to keep riding if they had gotten through Caldor’s line or to turn and flee if they were still coming up to it.
He permitted himself two additional seconds of satisfaction before shouting to the men. Get your muskets reloaded and don’t forget to pick up your pistols.
Sheik Ismael led his proud warriors into the long graceful arc from which they would hammer the northerns with their arrows. He had not expected them to put so many men against him when Kadir was attacking with twice his numbers, but it would just make Adem and Kadir’s tasks easier. They would wipe out the other group of soldiers and—
“My sheik, Adem has failed,” Hanil informed him.
Ismael twisted his neck toward the area Adem should be emerging from in time to see a line of Alkhudar soldiers charge across the Spice Road and into the tall grass on the other side toward Adem.
“He can’t have—he didn’t attack them yet,” Ismael protested even as a musket ball passed so close to his head that he could hear the tiny piece of lead whining like an insect.
“He’s lost,” Hanil repeated. “Hopefully he will get most of his men back out alive.”
“So, we must retreat as—what is Kadir doing?”
As he often did, Hanil already had the answer. “He has forgotten that northern cavalry carry pistols. He thinks he has but one more shot to take but he has two. He shook his head. “It is time to retreat, my Sheik. We have already lost far too many men. We don’t have enough left to collect the bounties.”
“How did they do this?” Ismael demanded.
“It is a new type of fighting, my Sheik,” Hanil told him. “We will have to study what happened to us today and come up with equally new strategies to best them.”
Reluctantly, Ismael signaled the retreat.
Kadir lay on his back while his life bled away through a large hole in his chest. At least, he thought it was large. When the Alkhudar weapon struck him, it had felt like he’d been kicked by a wild horse. If he was to die of the wound, he wanted it to be big and impressive.
A shadow fell over him as a northerner blocked out the sun for a moment.
He said something in the barbaric tongue of the Wotan-worshippers, but Kadir could not speak any of it.
A moment later, the man raised his boot and crushed out the rest of Kadir’s life.
“They’re gone for now, Wagner,” Caldor informed him. “Detail some men to strip all of the valuables off the enemy bodies killing any wounded you find. I want our own wounded tended to and helped on to horses.” He rubbed the sweat off his forehead as he looked about them. “I want to be back on the road within the hour. We have to reach water or this fight was for nothing.”
Wagner nodded and staggered off to carry out his orders.
Chapter Fourteen: Holding Territory
Mushahadat Albajar, Shamal Intimad, Ahl-Alnaar Ashomal
The Flower Moon, Day 24, Year 1197
“Welcome to Mushahadat Albajar, Knight Captain Lima,” Sturm said as he tossed him a key his men had discovered as they dragged dead guard members out of the rubble they were using as a shield while they shot arrows at Sturm’s militia. No one had even the slightest idea what the key was for—quite possibly it didn’t even go to a lock or chest within the tower complex—but he thought that it made for nice symbolism as he turned the fortress over to the Granite Knights. “Consider the tower and the surrounding lands a temporary responsibility until we are certain we want to try and hold this land. We can work out how much of the surrounding territory we will also be putting into your care sometime in the future—assuming, of course, you develop a plan that convinces me you can hold Mushahadat Albajar against the enemy.”
Lima caught the key as the earl spoke, glanced at it for a moment, then asked, “So you want my knights and I to stop here so that we can garrison Mushahadat Albajar?”
“Oh, no,” Sturm told him. “I’ll be leaving three or four hundred of Faust’s city militia with you to do the garrisoning. You just need to leave a command team of men experienced enough to govern this place and begin repairing the defenses.”
“I see,” Lima was clearly thinking over the problems that that team of knights would encounter and considering possible candidates. “How long will we be staying here to get organized and strengthen our defenses?”
“The army marches south again tomorrow morning,” Sturm told him.
The news surprised Lima. “That quickly?”
“Yes,” Sturm confirmed. “Your man will have the authority to requisition supplies, including powder, cannon, and work crews, from Vigilância Sul. In fact, they should already be assembling the work crews there. He should be thinking about what it will take to turn Mushahadat Albajar into a permanent bastion of Kriegsturm power—possibly the southernmost point of our permanent holdings.”
“I am a little bit confused regarding that,” Lima admitted. “Sometimes you speak of this expedition to the south as permanently adding to the territory of Kriegsturm and sometimes you seem vaguer regarding our purpose—as if perhaps we are only making a raid in force to teach Ahl-Alnaar Ashomal a lesson.”
“Both statements are accurate,” Sturm confessed. “The truth is, we don’t yet know how much land we can take back. While I would like to create a genuine province for Kriegsturm down here, I do not want to absorb lands that we are simply going to have to give back to the southerners in a year or three. I think that would make us look much weaker than if we didn’t actually conquer the lands at all. But we still have no credible idea how much resistance High Sheik Rami can raise to our invasion. At this time, he has taken no response that we can see to our cavalry raiding far down the Spice Road and now our own presence. So, I can’t make a realistic assessment of how much land I can actually claim here.”
Lima nodded as he absorbed Sturm’s points. “Recent history predicts that the high kingdom will offer no support for what you are doing.”
Sturm shrugged. “They offered no support for saving Al Andalus either—so we have to assume that any territories we conquer will have to be maintained with the resources of the earl of Fortaleza and local wealth.”
“There are two major vulnerabilities these lands will have even if we push our current conquest much further south—the Veldt and the Spice Road. The Veldt is the larger problem. The nomads live in it and as a result it is basically unsettled. It is also home to highly dangerous wildlife—lions, hyenas, hippopotami, axe beaks. The deeper you go into the Veldt, the less stable the water supply. It is fairly flush in the spring, but as is happening here, it is already drying up as we move through summer. Much of it will already be gone, which may limit how many nomads we have to deal with.”
“So, the lack of water is a strength and a weakness,” Sturm noted. “It makes it difficult to lead armies into the Veldt, but also limits the seasons that the nomads can move about in it to attack us.”
“Yes, it limits the seasons twice a year—now as we enter the dry months and then in the fall when the rains return. Unless you are operating in the spring, you absolutely must have dependable guides to find water—and no Southie makes a dependable guide for a northerner.”
Sturm already knew this, but he nodded encouragingly to Lima.
“The Spice Road is a different type of problem,” the knight captain continued. “It is long and vulnerable, but it is unlikely that High Sheik Rami will take action against it. You will recall that Kriegsturm’s treaty with Alh-Alnaar guarantees the safety of the Spice Road. You are technically in violation of that treaty for confiscating all of those caravans at Vigilância Sul and later freeing the caravan slaves we have encountered on the Spice Road.”
“No, I’m not,” Sturm stated with no room for compromise in his tone of voice. “When Ahl-Alnaar invaded Al-Andalus, they ripped up the treaty. None of its terms bind us now.”
“I agree,” Lima said, “although I suspect that the tepid fools on the High King’s Privy Council will argue the point with you. But in terms of our discussion, Ahl-Alnaar—both Ashomal and Januban—wants the Spice Road open. In fact, they need it open. Caravans provide a significant portion of their revenues and the city of Madinat Alharir literally cannot feed itself without them.”
He paused a moment, inviting comment, but when Sturm offered none he continued. “And you should consider that if you intend to continue your ban on slavery, that is also going to cause both empires significant pain—not to mention certain parties in the high kingdom.”
Sturm knew that was definitely true, but he didn’t waste time talking about it. Not only did he think the practice of slavery an abomination, ending slavery, or at least cutting it back so far that it became ridiculously expensive to purchase slaves, was part of his strategy to end Sturmkuste’s financial dominance over Sturm’s birth province, Eisenland.
“So how did Kriegsturm deal with this in the past?” Sturm wanted to know.
“Ultimately?” Lima responded, “they did so poorly. But that was in part a result of them weakening their southern defenses to fight Anjou in the west—much as they just did to counter the latest Angevin invasion.”
“They really didn’t learn anything from the reign of Bloody Hadrada, did they?” Sturm grumbled.
“No, they didn’t,” Lima agreed. “But we must. Harald the Conqueror dealt with the vulnerability of the lands he was interested in by building three major fortresses about a day’s journey into the Veldt—Iꜣbt Sꜣw (the East Watch), Mudafi’ Sharqi (East Guard), and Akhet Webbon (Horizon Watcher). All have good year-round water sources to maintain the garrisons. Then, High King Harald would eradicate any tribe which caused trouble east of those fortresses.”
“What do you mean by eradicate?” Sturm asked, worried that he would absolutely hate the answer.
“Exactly what you fear I mean,” Lima told him. “He hunted down the tribes that caused him trouble and killed every man, woman, and child within it that he could get his hands on. It only took a few examples to get his point across. When he died, the nomads tested William the Scourge and he did the same thing to them. Springs were always bloody in those years. But the Spice Road and the northern settlements were safe.”
Sturm knew that he was never going to use his army to hunt down women and children, but he could see the possible need to decimate the fighting men of tribes that would not stop raiding his subjects. “What happened to these fortresses?” he asked.
“Like everything else that northerners built out here, they have fallen into disrepair. First, they were battered by cannon when the Southies drove Kriegsturm back to the pass. Then various men vying to become high sheik have occupied them. My sources tell me that High Sheik Rami currently possesses all three of the Veldt forts, but that he has never seen the need to fully garrison them. I would not be surprised if they have skeleton crews now as he would have needed his soldiers to fill out the armies that invaded Kriegsturm and are fighting with his cousin near the Wall.”
“So, if we’re to keep this land, I am going to have to take at least one of those fortresses, if not all of them,” Sturm realized.
“It all depends on how deep you want to cut into High Sheik Rami’s territory,” Lima suggested. “Honestly, with the limited manpower available to you, it might be wise to consider this town the furthest south you wish to actually claim.” He held up a hand to forestall protests. “I’m not saying you don’t want to raid a little deeper, but conquering is a lot different than holding and as you’ve pointed out—losing land you’ve claimed will make us and Kriegsturm look weak.”
Chapter Fifteen: Licking Wounds
Shamal Intimad, Ahl-Alnaar Ashomal
The Flower Moon, Day 24, Year 1197
“Lieutenant Wagner sent me to get your waterskins, major,” Private Cole announced as he approached Roel Caldor.
“Thank you, private,” Caldor responded. Like most of the men who were not serving as pickets, he was standing with his horse making sure the big animal got a good drink. A cavalry man who didn’t look to his steed’s needs first wasn’t worth the name. He’d intended to fill his skins afterward, but let the private perform the task.
They had taken a lot of casualties in the last two days—not, fortunately, a lot of dead, but a great many of the men had been sliced or punctured by an arrow and he needed to get them somewhere they could receive proper care.
When Lightning finished drinking, Caldor led him to some tall grass and let him eat. Then he gathered up his refilled skins, took a long-delayed drink, and went to join the picket watching the remains of the cavalry troop that continued to dog them. “You men look like you could use a drink,” he told them as he passed a skin to each of the men. “I’m sorry it’s only water. We all deserve something stronger.”
“Water tastes mighty good right now, major,” Private Stine told him before taking a long pull from the skin.
“Not too much too fast,” Caldor warned him. “Try and content yourself to a few mouthfuls for the time being. We can have more after we eat a meal.”
“I’ve heard that too, sir,” the other man said. “Don’t know that I understand it though.”
“I don’t understand it either,” Caldor admitted. “But that Brother Filipe of the Granite Knights assured me that drinking too much after being parched like this could make us sick or even kill us. So, let’s not test the wisdom of an army with a thousand years of accumulated wisdom waging war in this territory and just drink slow until the meal is ready.”
“Yes, sir,” both men responded with a grin before taking another pull of water.
Caldor turned his attention to the enemy cavalry, barely visible in the distance. “I’ll bet there are a lot fewer of them now then there were this morning.”
“Yes, sir,” the men agreed.
“What I can’t figure,” Caldor confessed, “is whether or not they’ll make another pass at us without reinforcements.”
Both men lost their grins and adopted serious expressions.
“That’s why your guard duty is so important,” Caldor told them. “We cannot afford to be surprised by those bastards. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Both men assured him.
“Good, then I’ll stop distracting you.”
Both men tried to hand the water skins back to him but Caldor only accepted one of them. “You can bring that one back to me after your off duty. We should have some food out here to you soon.”
“They’ve reached the water, my Sheik,” Hanil informed him.
Shiek Ismael sat gloomily with his son, Adem, thinking of the hundreds of men he had lost in the past two days and worrying that he didn’t have the numbers he needed to assault the enemy again. Yet, he didn’t think he could afford to just give up either. To lose hundreds of men and have nothing to show for it? A man didn’t stay sheik very long if he accepted such a situation.
“We can go in again tonight,” Adem suggested. “They will probably sleep soundly with their belly’s full of water again.”
“They will put out pickets and sleep with their weapons beside them,” Hanil corrected the young men. “If these Alkhudar have shown us anything, it is that they are like the Ghulam—strong, disciplined, and uncowed by the Göçebe Insanlar.”
“Well, we can’t just let them get away after killing so many of our brothers,” Adem protested.
“And yet, I do not believe we have the strength to kill or capture them,” Hanil stated.
Ismael feared that he agreed with him. “We need help from Naar if we are to bring these dogs down,” he declared.
A moment later, one of his men approached him. “My Sheik, there is another tribe approaching from the Veldt.
“Ah,” Ismael breathed. “Ask and you shall receive.”
Chapter Sixteen: Marching South
Shamal Intimad, Ahl-Alnaar Ashomal
The Flower Moon, Day 25, Year 1197
Sturm’s army was on the road again before the sun finished appearing over the horizon. Part of the push to get moving was based on the undeniable fact that it was much cooler in the early morning than it would be in the hours after noon. That meant that he could make much better time with less strain on his men in the morning then he would later in the day. He had still not decided if that meant he should stop trying to march in the middle of the afternoon. A break during the hottest part of the day might conserve the strength of his men and actually make them travel faster in the long term.
