1. Trouble on the Frontier
It was a bright spring morning in Covere, capital city of Ancelstierre. A mild breeze blew through the city's streets, and around the imposing buildings which made up the city's central district. One such building was the HQ of the Ancelstierran Army, separated from the Palace by a vast parade ground, and guarded day and night by mounted heavy dragoons in their gleaming ceremonial cuirasses.
Inside the building's maze of corridors was a small anteroom, in which a young man in the uniform of an Ensign of the Arquebusier Guards sat rigidly on a hard wooden chair, staring into space. Opposite him was a polished wooden door, guarded by two gleaming military police corporals, who might have been carved from stone, for they never moved. Not that Ensign Sam Horyse would have noticed if they did; his mind was far away in the deserts of the Eastern Frontier, the day his career had ended, although he had not known that at the time.
There had been nothing about the mission to suggest trouble; at least, no more trouble than usual in that disputed border region where the Frontier tribes were always giving trouble. A full company of the Arquebusiers, with a battery of horse artillery, a troop of light cavalry, and a small unit of Frontier Rangers, under the command of Major Fazackerly, was to retake and regarrison an outpost fort that had fallen to the tribes a year previously. The retaking had been easy; the tribes had not occupied the fort but had simply plundered it, destroyed what they could and left the rest to the wind and the carrion birds. The damage had been mostly superficial and the section of engineers accompanying the expedition had soon cleared the fouled well and begun repairs to the walls and defences. But, in that wide open country, they could not hope to hide their activities from the tribes, and they were not left in peace for long.
The attack had come at dawn, as they always did, when the light from the rising sun shone directly into the eyes of the defending garrison. They repelled that one, and the next, but for every Easterling tribesman cut down by fire from the Ancestierrans, there seemed to be ten more to take his place. The two Lewin machine guns had been the first to fail; the water-cooled barrels needed frequent replacement and by the time the third attack had been fought off, they had used all the spares. Then ammunition had run out for the light field guns. The Guardsmen were disciplined and made sure that every shot from their Martin-Armstrong .303 rifles counted, but as the sun climbed into the hot desert sky, it was obvious that they could not hold out much longer.
Major Fazackerly had been wounded in the third attack and was unconscious from a combination of a head injury and blood loss. Captain Golding had been killed outright leaving Lieutenant Caruso, the senior subaltern, in command. Caruso was an arrogant and ambitious young man, putting in some time on the Frontier before the inevitable staff job. The Frontier was full of types like him, hoping that the odd skirmish with a party of badly armed tribesmen would give him credentials as a 'real' soldier in the race for promotion. Never in his worst nightmares had he expected to fight a full-scale battle against a disciplined and well-organised enemy, and he was clearly out of his depth. At dusk on the day that Fazackerly was wounded, a meeting was convened for all the surviving officers.
"Ammunition returns?" snapped Caruso.
"Good news on that score, sir," replied Horyse, who was the next senior. "Colour Sergeant Crimmins found a cache buried under the old HQ building. About a dozen cases of .303, and best of all, two spare Lewin barrels and a box of belt ammo."
A ragged cheer greeted this news, cut short by a bark of, "Silence!" from Caruso. "Even with this extra, we cannot hope to hold the fort much longer. We are pulling out at midnight."
This announcement was greeted by a horrified silence, which Horyse broke. "Sir, with respect, I must protest. It's two days' journey back to the lines and we'd be exposed on all sides. The countryside must be crawling with tribesmen. Besides, we know that Major Fazackerly got a signal through after the first attack, before the telegraph mast was destroyed. A relief force must be close. And a forced march would kill the seriously wounded."
Caruso glared at him. "Maybe the relief force has been cut off, Mr Horyse. Maybe one was never sent. Perhaps the whole Frontier is in a state of uprising."
The argument raged for nearly an hour, mainly between Horyse and Caruso, with the odd interjection from Lieutenant Halstead of the engineers, who was in favour of making a stand. Things got more and more heated until Caruso banged his fist on the table.
"You are insubordinate, Mr Horyse. You will return to your platoon and make preparations to leave at midnight. That is a direct order."
It was just after 10pm when Colour Sergeant Crimmins, the senior surviving NCO, came to find him.
"Sir, it's Mr Caruso. There's been a bit of an accident." The sergeant's face was unreadable.
"What sort of an accident?" demanded Horyse.
"Don't rightly know, sir. Tripped on some rubble maybe. However it happened, he's out cold. What are your orders, sir?"
Soon after, Horyse faced the surviving officers and senior NCOs. "I'm assuming command," he announced. "Unless you have any objections, sir?" He looked at Halstead, who was technically his senior, but who as an engineer was considered to be outside the chain of command. Halstead shook his head.
"Not me, old man. What's the plan?"
"We stay here. I estimate we can hold off two or maybe even three more attacks. Colour sergeant Crimmins?"
"Sah?"
"You will take personal charge of the Lewins. Pick the best gunners, and set them up on the Eastern wall. Those two barrels won't last long so make them count."
"Yes, SAH!" The colour sergeant snapped out an immaculate salute and doubled away shouting as he went. "Turner, Watkins, on the double. Go and rout out Corporal Taylor and Corporal Sims, and all four of you report to me on the eastern wall. MOVE!"
Horyse turned to the remaining men. "Mr Halstead, do what you can to shore up the defences. Can you rig up some booby traps?"
"Reckon I can," drawled Halstead. "There was some gunpowder in that stash that Crimmins found, and I daresay the artillery have some slow match left."
"Very good. Ensign Leach, you are to give Lieutenant Halstead whatever he wants from your supplies." Leach, the impossibly young and scared-looking boy who commanded what was left of the artillery detachment, nodded. "Cornet Larson?"
"Sir?" Larson, in command of the cavalry, was also impossibly boyish looking. Horyse, who a year's Frontier experience and his lieutenant's exam under his belt, and was only waiting for the paperwork to go through before putting up his second pip, felt like a veteran in comparison. But Larson had proved a brave and capable officer, with the sense to listen to the advice of his troop sergeant.
"Keep yourself in reserve, and all of your men who still have mounts. Those who are unmounted to join the infantry on the walls. If there's still no sign of the relief force tomorrow, you will break out at sunset and attempt to either hook up with the relief force, or fight your way back to the lines and tell Colonel Richards what's happened. The rest of you, return to your platoons. Issue ammunition and make sure bayonets are sharp. Oh, and detail a party of walking wounded to get some fires lit. We've plenty of wood and we might as well make the most of the quiet to get a brew on and a hot meal."
The following morning's attack was just as ferocious as the others, although the carnage caused by Halstead's improvised mines caused a definite, if brief, faltering in the enemy advance. By the end of it, they had used up almost half of the remaining ammunition, although the Lewins were still able to fire, even if not for much longer. They had lost a dozen more killed, including Ensign Leach, and maybe double that number wounded. The worst loss was Colour Sergeant Crimmins, with a lung wound that would almost certainly kill him before the night was over if he could not be evacuated to a base hospital.
As the sun rose towards its zenith, and the carrion birds descended on the dead, a shout came from the lookouts on the western wall.
"Sir, sir, dust on the horizon, sir!"
"Mr Larson!"
"Yes, sir?"
"Take four of your men and investigate. If it's the relief force, report our status and urge them to hurry. If it's the enemy, do not engage but get an estimate of numbers and report back."
The relief force were inside the walls within the hour. Orders were to extricate the beleaguered garrison and the make-up of the relief force reflected this, with a full squadron of light cavalry and two companies of light infantry. There was also a platoon of Frontier Rangers, soldiers who had chosen to spend their careers on the Frontier and who looked and dressed more like Easterling tribesmen than regular soldiers. Light, fast motor ambulances had been provided for the most seriously wounded, and these were dispatched immediately with an escort of cavalry.
Major Robbins, in command of the relief force, had been warm in his congratulations, as had Colonel Richards, Horyse' commanding officer back at Fort Hagan. It had, therefore, been a shock to be summoned by the colonel two days later and told that he was to return to HQ in Covere immediately, to appear before a Board of Inquiry, with a view to possible court martial.
"May I ask the charge, sir?"
Richards looked uncomfortable and shuffled the papers on his desk. "It seems that Lieutenant Caruso has accused you of insubordination and disobeying a direct order. All nonsense and I'm sure it will be sorted out. I'll send a glowing character reference, you can be sure of that."
Horyse wanted badly to believe the colonel's reassurances, but something did not feel right. His misgivings were confirmed on his first night back in Covere. Confined to barracks, he was lying on his bunk trying (and failing) to read a newspaper when there was a knock on his door and Major Fazackerly strode in, head still bandaged. After some small talk, the Major turned to more serious matters.
"I expect you are wondering what's going on?"
"I am, sir."
"Fact is, Caruso has connections. Political connections, and connections in the highest levels of the General Staff."
"I thought that might be the case, sir.
"They need a scapegoat, and Caruso's patrons are going to make damned sure it isn't him. He's claiming he ordered you to evacuate come what may, and that the butcher's bill would have been a lot lighter if you'd obeyed that order."
"What?" Horyse leapt from the bed. Fazackerly held up his hand.
"Settle down, man. That's nonsense and we both know it. Any first-year cadet could see that holding out was the correct option."
"He didn't even give that order. Lieutenant Halstead will confirm that."
"Even if he had, once you assumed command, military law states clearly that you had the right to issue your own orders provided they were legal. So I very much doubt they can make that one stick. The insubordination is a different matter. He claims that you were rude and that you called him an offensive name in front of junior officers."
"I did not, sir. Yes, I argued my case forcefully, but within the bounds of military etiquette. Again, I'm sure Mr Halstead will confirm that."
Horyse' recollections were broken by the two military policemen slamming to attention as the door opened and Lieutenant Andrew Sayre came out.
"Horyse? They are ready for you now." Horyse nodded and stood up. Sayre looked at him, awkwardly.
"Chin up, old man, it may not be as bad as you think."
Once, Horyse might have confided in Sayre. They had been best friends all through school, and then roommates at the Covere Military Academy, where they had got into more than their fair share of the scrapes for which the high-spirited cadets were famous. But, on graduation, they had gone their separate ways. Sayre was rich and well connected, and his ambitions lay in politics. For him, the army was a means to an end. Horyse, alone and with no income other than his army pay, had been determined to make a successful career on merit alone. Now, it seemed that career was in ruins before it had even properly started.
Horyse came to attention and saluted the Board, then removed his cap and sat in the chair indicated.
"Now then, Mr Horyse," said the elderly general who was the chair of the board, "perhaps it would be best if you explain events in your own words."
An hour later, it was all over. General Forbes turned to the rest of the board and cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen, have you any further questions for Mr Horyse?"
"I do," answered a grizzled officer in the uniform of the Frontier Rangers. He had been the only one of the board who had seemed to take the remotest interest in Horyse' testimony, interrupting frequently with sharp, incisive questions that had actually helped rather than hurt the young officer's case. He, at least, seemed more interested in learning lessons from the debacle rather than assigning blame. The general gave a sigh and glanced at the clock; it was getting towards lunchtime and he had expected by now to be comfortably ensconced in the Senior Officers' Mess with a well-earned glass of sherry.
"Colonel Quartermain, please keep it brief."
"Thank you, sir." Quartermain turned to Horyse. "Ensign, your account differs somewhat from those of others who have presented evidence. If there are any witnesses to corroborate your version, it is your right under military law to have them called before this board."
"Yes, sir," answered Horyse, eagerly grasping at the proffered lifeline. "Colour Sergeant Crimmins and Lieutenant Halstead will, I am sure, corroborate my testimony."
"Out of the question," snapped General Forbes. "The SMO informs me that it will be some weeks before Crimmins can leave his bed, let alone appear before his board, and we cannot wait that long."
"Cannot a deposition be taken?" demanded Colonel Quartermain, and for the first time, the general looked at a loss. A staff captain hastily stood up.
"Unfortunately, sir, the nature of his wound means that the colour sergeant is currently unable to speak."
Quartermain gave the captain a sceptical look, then turned back to the general. "Well, surely we can hear from Lieutenant Halstead. I gather he was fortunate enough to come through unscathed. In fact, I cannot think why he was not already on the witness list."
"Captain Matthews?" asked the general. The captain stood again, consulting a sheaf of papers before clearing his throat awkwardly.
"It would seem, sir, that Lieutenant Halstead has been sent on compassionate leave to the Western Archipelago. Apparently he has an aunt there of whom he is very fond, and who is seriously ill."
Horyse stifled a snort of disgust and disbelief. He had been on friendly terms with Halstead, and on the long march to the fort they had talked at length of many things, including family. Halstead's large family was a source of envy to Horyse, who had only one younger sister. As far as Horyse was aware, Halstead's mother and father were alive and well and running a thriving wool business in Staverton, the second city of Ancelstierre. He had a bevy of brothers and sisters, and a matriarchal grandmother who ran the extended family with a benevolent tyranny. Numerous aunts, uncles and cousins in Staverton and the surrounding countryside had been mentioned, but certainly no connection with the remote Western Archipelago.
Colonel Quartermain frowned. "Then, we had better get him back here, Captain. This young man's career and possibly his liberty depend upon it."
The captain cleared his throat once again. "I regret, sir, that will be difficult. I gather there was a small fire in the orderly room yesterday. A clerk was smoking and left his cigarette unattended. He has been placed on a charge, but among the paperwork destroyed was Lieutenant Halstead's leave form with his contact address. We have no way to get in touch with him until he returns, which may be some weeks."
That, really, was that. Horyse was sent back to wait in the chilly anteroom while the board conferred, and a short time later, the military policemen came to attention once again and Sayre beckoned him in to face his fate.
Hory's stood rigidly in front of the board and listened to the president's words. The charge of disobeying a direct order was dismissed; however, it was clear that Horyse' behaviour had been insubordinate and thoroughly unbecoming an Ancelstierran officer, particularly one serving in a distinguished regiment such as the Arquebusier Guards.
"You will receive an official reprimand," concluded the general, "and will be re-posted to somewhere where your attitude will not bring the army or your regiment into disrepute. You will return to your quarters and await further orders."