Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(100)
Bekiaa looked at him. He knew how . . . tough her time had been in Saay-lon, then Indiaa. But had her time in Donaghey, away from the fight, been any better? She looked past him. Prefect Bele and his reserves had pushed the breakthrough back, but now her troops and the Grik were trading fire across the wagons almost muzzle to muzzle, and men, ’Cats, and Grik were blown down with every shot. That couldn’t go on. She was more certain than ever that the Republic hadn’t been ready for this war, but there was no doubting the courage of its people. “You’ll forgive me, Mr. Am-baas-ador, if I wonder how you stay so calm. I think I’m gonna shit myself.”
Courtney laughed. “I doubt that. As to the other, I suppose—if nothing else—Mr. Silva’s taught me how to behave in desperate situations. Whether the calm you think you see is courage or resignation to my fate, I can’t say. Part comes from my faith in you, however, because whether you hate it, love it”—he closed the loading gate and chambered a round, then gently touched her arm—“or fear it, you can still lead. And that’s what we need right now: a decision, action, right or wrong.”
She touched his hand and smiled. “Then my first decision is to order you to the rear. Get a horse an’ ride to Generaal Kim.” She pressed on even as Courtney’s face contorted and he blinked violent objection. “If he hasn’t already ordered a charge when you get there, you gotta persuade him. He’s listened to me on occasion, and he’ll listen to you coming from me—from here.” She blinked sadly. “I’ll be dead by then, if he hasn’t, and so will the Twenty-third Legion. But he might still save Third Army.”
Stinging with a sense he was running away, but realizing Bekiaa was right and one more middle-aged riflemen could make little contribution to her desperate plan, Courtney hurried to borrow a horse from the Gentaa teamsters conscripted to hold the cavalry’s animals while their riders ran to join Bekiaa’s charge. He nodded at the enigmatic man/Lemurian who seemed so unconcerned by events, and awkwardly swung into the saddle. Higher now, he had a better view of the battle. Bekiaa had been right. Almost the entire Grik force had concentrated against 3rd Army, and the fighting there was frantic. Unfortunately, the 23rd and, to a lesser extent, the 5th Legions had fallen under that avalanche as well.
As he turned to kick the horse toward Kim’s distant pavilion, he recognized another terrible weakness of the Republic military organization, besides its outdated formations. Though the Republic had wireless technology and a respectable telegraph network between its cities—a line had even followed Kim’s HQ—they hadn’t deployed field telegraphy. Certainly nothing like the new field telephones their allies were using. Courtney supposed they’d considered it impractical, in view of the traditional, independent role of their provincially separated legions. They’d ordinarily have access to local telegraph stations in any event. But even though they weren’t separated now, they were still too spread out for instant communication.
He rode as fast as his inexperienced horsemanship allowed, seeing there was indeed very little fighting in front of the rest of 1st Army, and many of its troops were cheering what they thought had been an easy victory. His chest clenched with dread as he heard the trumpets behind him signaling the charge and knew the 23rd, at least, was launching itself into a meat grinder the rest of the legions weren’t even aware of. Or maybe not . . . Directly in front of him, a couple hundred yards away, a large cavalry force was thundering his way, surrounded by clouds of colorful flower petals thrown up by galloping hooves. A constant trumpet was sounding, calling all cavalry cohorts within earshot. The cohort of the legion he was passing—he thought it was the 9th—was already forming up to join the coming formation as it passed. He finally recognized the leaders riding out front. One was General Taal-Gaak, his short cape flowing behind him. Most surprising was the sight of Inquisitor Kon-Choon riding awkwardly beside him in his usual stylish civilian kilt, waistcoat, and frock. He reminded Courtney of a small, extremely furry Scottish gentleman—with a tail. The intensity of his pale blue eyes and the carbine slung over his shoulder erased any humor Courtney might’ve found in the image. Abruptly, he turned his own horse to join the charge.
“Bekiaa?” Choon cried as Courtney was swept along.
“Charging, even now, to save Third Army,” Courtney gasped back.
“I knew she would not wait,” General Taal snapped, annoyed—and admiring. “Trumpeter!” he called. “General Kim’s preparatory notes, if you please, on his orders. Then sound the charge! A general charge, to follow us!” As commander of all the armies, Kim’s personal audible prefix would oblige everyone who heard it to obey the signals that followed. Taal glanced at Courtney and Choon. “I only hope we’re not too late!” They wheeled around the 9th Legion into the void left by the 5th—which must’ve followed the 23rd after all—and dashed into the heaving, thunderous maelstrom of smoke and flashing rifles, muskets, and blood-darkened bayonets ahead.
The battle on the Plain of Gaughala, on the edge of the Teetgak Forest, dissolved largely into chaos. There was no help for it, really, and if the Grik had possessed significant reserves it could’ve gone far worse. Only 2nd Army, at Kim’s specific orders, refrained from joining the melee that ensued, and it deployed into a block formation to move to support the 3rd and 1st. All but the leftmost legions of 3rd Army and Kim’s own 1st Legion poured into the attack behind General Taal, but by the time most of them got there, there was little left to do; the damage was already done. Very few Grik survived, aside from isolated companies and battalions that were probably late to their jump-off points. Those melted back into the forest to fight another day. Some of the guns disappeared as well, farther down the roads than the cavalry was willing to pursue, but probably more than half were captured. It was interesting and ominous that most of the guns had been spiked or otherwise rendered unserviceable by their crews—who fled in good order as well. It would later be calculated that of the roughly fifty thousand Grik that formed at the edge of the forest, possibly fifteen thousand died during their initial advance. Fewer bodies littered the ground after they shifted into their stunning, oblique charge, and that left more than thirty thousand to slam into the roughly eighteen thousand men and Lemurians of primarily the 7th, 8th, 10th, 14th, and 15th Legions.