Advance and Retreat by Harry Turtledove

Author:Harry Turtledove [Turtledove, Harry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780743435765
Google: auUGAAAACAAJ
Amazon: 0743488202
Barnesnoble: 0743488202
Goodreads: 1759289
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2002-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

VIII

Lieutenant General Bell hadn’t just listened to the

moans of wounded men on the battlefield. At

Essoville in the west and at the River of Death, he’d added his own moans to the mix. Better than most of his subordinates, he knew what the wounded were going through, for he’d gone through it himself. He’d given up trying to escape the laudanum bottle. It was as much a part of him now as his ruined left arm.

All things considered, though, he was more pleased than not with the day’s fighting. He wished the Army of Franklin could have held its original line, but it hadn’t had to fall back too far. The army remained in good order. It hadn’t been routed. It had hurt Doubting George’s men as they came forth to attack. If things hadn’t gone exactly as Bell hoped, they hadn’t missed by much, either.

He levered himself off a stool and made his slow way across the pine boards flooring the shack that was, for the moment, Army of Franklin headquarters. Runners waited on the front porch, shivering against the chill of evening. They came to attention and saluted when he stuck his head out.

“Fetch me my wing commanders and my commander of unicorn-riders,” he told them. “We have to plan tomorrow’s fighting.”

“Yes, sir,” they said as one. After briefly putting their heads together to see who went to get which officer, they hurried away.

Benjamin the Heated Ham reached the farmhouse first. That didn’t surprise Bell. Benjamin commanded the center, and Bell’s headquarters lay in his part of the field. He saluted. “Good evening, sir,” he said. “We’ve weathered the first day. That’s something, anyhow.”

“That’s not all we’ll do, either,” the commanding general declared. “Let them throw themselves at our works again tomorrow. Let them bleed to death charging field fortifications.”

“Yes, sir,” Brigadier Benjamin replied. “I hope they do. It’s a pity you didn’t feel that way when we assaulted John the Lister at Poor Richard, sir.”

Before Bell could do anything more than glare, Colonel Florizel limped into the farmhouse. “Reporting as ordered, sir,” he said.

“Hello, Colonel,” Bell said discontentedly. He still wanted to replace Florizel, but surviving brigadiers were so thin on the ground in the Army of Franklin, he hadn’t been able to do it. He couldn’t complain about the way the colonel’s wing had fought today. “I congratulate you, your Excellency, for withstanding the southrons’ hardest thrusts.”

“I’m no wench, sir. They’d better not go thrusting at me,” Florizel said. Bell had seldom laughed since the wounds that mutilated him, but he did then. Benjamin the Heated Ham threw back his head and let out a long, high, shrill guffaw. Colonel Florizel went on, “Sir, I’m not sure the godsdamned southrons did strike us harder than they did anywhere else.”

“What? Don’t be silly. Of course they did,” Bell said. “Everything our spies could learn in Ramblerton plainly shows Doubting George planned to throw the main weight of his army against our right. You had the key assignment, and you did a beautiful job of carrying it out.

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