פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ
Chapter Eleven: Final Measures
Diest Arcanum met eyes with the remainder of the Legion and Banner generals gathered around: Trystan, Warsal, Blane Cathon, and Courwin. Less than half of the officers that the Band had begun with. A single torch stabbed into the earth within the circle of men, casting flickers on their dour faces.
"Who is to lead now that the Marshall-General is lost?" Major General Vike Warsal of the 37th Banner asked bluntly.
"Lieutenant General Stren Vader will be taking command of the entire Band. I accede to seniority." Arcanum nodded to the older man.
"Thank you, Diest." Vader cleared his throat, "Due to the massive loss at Getty's...Trystan will be raised to Lieutenant General, taking over Zephyr Hawk Legion from Hill, presumed dead. His 50th Banner will be joined with Warsal's 37th. Stragglers from other banners will be temporarily formed up as a company under Blane Cathon."
The cousin to the late Marshall-General nodded to his new assignment, and the rest of the major generals acquiesced to the new positions. Vader continued, "The latest scout report states that the body of Shadowspawn from Getty's Canyon is in our pursuit, some leagues away. They have organized themselves and will arrive, at best estimate, in the morning.
"That will give us somewhat of an advantage. As we all know, Trollocs will have difficulty seeing with the dawning sun in their vision. Although the sun will be in our faces more, our eyes will adapt easier. Furthermore, we have placed that...river...between us, but it seems that we are bracketed in the back by steep cliffs. And there's no Getty's Canyon this time for us to cross. The only way in- and out- is crossing that river. We will make our stand here. After all, we have nowhere to run. General Arcanum will provide you with the battle details."
Arcanum cleared his throat. "Zephyr Hawk Legion will form their infantry lines along the river, with the First Legion in reserve. My Thunder Legion will be providing the support with our cats. We will have field works at the edge of the river, and in the river itself. We will be outnumbered; even worse than Getty's Canyon. But we will be prepared," Arcanum added grimly.
"Have your men split into shifts on construction of the fieldworks. Normal communications cipher. Dismissed for now. Return in an hour for battle orders." The new Marshall-General Vader ended the meeting. The lower generals melted into the night, leaving Vader, Arcanum, and Trystan behind.
"Major, any suggestions?" Arcanum asked a shadow entering the sphere of light, revealing himself as Drov Borsy.
"E-Corps supplies are at an extreme low." Borsy addressed the three generals, "Our entire arsenal consists of a few wagons of caltrops. We will be able to facilitate the construction of the fieldworks, the spike wall, at least a crude version. We have some naph and brew as well."
"I have some carts full left." Arcanum said, "Mostly Witch's Brew, but some Naphtha as well. Might as well use them here. They'll be no retreating this time."
"Perhaps. The Engineer Corps still has some cards up our sleeves, as the late Cathon used to say. Something we can create rather quickly. Just need to cannibalize some supply wagons, proofing caulk, and lots of naph." Borsy winked.
"Good. Update me on your results." Vader grunted.
"Oh, and we have sieved the water from that river." Borsy unplugged a water skin and poured some liquid out onto a pan. In the flickering torchlight, Arcanum could see the filmy water swirling, and he blanched at the smell emanating from it.
"We did our best to make it edible, short of distilling it." Borsy emptied his skin and capped it, "It tastes like dung, smells like dung. But it isn't dung. Though, you can't take my word on it."
"Dismissed, major." Vader said, tipping the pan over with a foot, spilling the water into the ground. Borsy gave a quick salute and left.
As the generals returned, Vader spread a large map on the ground, hastily surveyed by Borsy's Engineers Corps, and they began to plot the strategies of their defense. As the commanders brooded over the plan, Arcanum couldn't help but remember that no strategy survives contact with the enemy. But better to fill their mindspace with strategy rather than dread the approaching execution. As the generals deliberated over the map, messengers came and went, delivering progress reports and orders, flitting to and forth like moths to a flame.
Sometime later, Arcanum rubbed his eyes tiredly, and excused himself for a breather. He walked into the night to rest his mind and personally see the preparation. He had often felt useless with numbers and such (unless it pertained to his precious machines), and would rather physically interact with his men.
With all fuel in short supply, the camp was drenched in darkness, and Arcanum felt a shield of anonymity surrounding every shadowy figure in the camp, including himself. As he walked through the encampment, men who would avoid the general in the daylight would start up conversations with Arcanum, who found it rather refreshing.
In rotation, half the soldiers were asleep, the other working feverishly away. When Arcanum arrived near the river, he could already see the skeleton of the fieldworks stabbing forth from the soil. Arcanum could count around five rows of fieldworks, each a wall of spikes jutting out of the ground at an angle towards the river. Four reserve fieldworks, Arcanum noted to himself, for when the first wall fall.
Arcanum weaved his way through the narrow opening of the fieldworks, arriving at the waterfront. He could make out large, dark shapes bobbing far out on the river, which startled him at first.
"What are those things?" Arcanum pointed out those floating figures to a faceless soldier working nearby. The man seemed to peer up at the general's face, but apparently did recognize him.
"Some toys the specs cobbled up. Hulks of wagons, waterproofed and caulked." The soldier returned to his work.
Arcanum digested the man's statement slowly, remembered Borsy's earlier plan, and wished that he had learned more of the details. He studied the floating wagons for a time, but unable to see them clearly, he walked on. He came upon an engineer working a miniature catapult, firing caltrops into the river. When those sharp-headed steel traps landed in the river, they sunk to the bottom to lie in wait for the foot of a Trolloc. By now, the entire riverbed should be almost entirely blanketed by a coat of sharp spikes. Seeing the man work the mini-catapult, the Thunder Lord immediately asserted his birthright to all ballistic machines, and began to correct the man's inefficient aim, much to the engineer's annoyance. Finally, the man ran out of caltrops, and scurried away quickly, leaving the trop-flinger behind in his haste to get away.
Arcanum studied the far shore, lost in thought. The darkness was a cloak of protection, for the dawn would herald the arrival of the Shadowspawn horde that had destroyed more than half of the soldiers of the Light. He glanced to the east, and saw the faint pink haze of an approaching day. He could almost hear the heavy footsteps of the Trolloc Horde approach.
פּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּפּצּ