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Praetorium Honoris

Saturday, November 4, 2023

The Long March - Cat and Mouse

Storming the Winter Palace
Vasili Vasilevich Sokolov
(Source)
The Eminence made his way through the deepening shadows, sticking to alleys and side streets as much as possible. He had to hide behind a trash bin briefly when he heard shouts from down the street. As the noise got closer, he saw the flickering of torchlight and many angry voices raised in song.

He cocked his head, the tune sounded familiar. It wasn't the National Anthem, not the new one anyway. Then he heard it clearly as the chorus arose. It was a song from a war long ago, from a time when the nation had found itself fighting a civil war. The tune made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

The mob surged past, in the direction of the palace he realized. Once they were gone, he began to move once more. As he kept to the shadows along the side of the alley, he heard a shout.

"Hey you, what are you doing back there? Show yourself!"

The Eminence didn't move, perhaps whoever it was would move on, thinking that they hadn't really seen anything at all.

"Come on, Andrew, we need to keep going. We'll miss all the fun at the palace."

"Don't be too sure, Ananias. Word on the street is that a number of Imperials have gathered there. Whether for safety or plunder is anyone's guess."

Then the voice turned its attention back to the Eminence.

"Come out where I can see you, hands up! No use trying to hide, I can see your foot poking out."

The Eminence looked down, sure enough, his foot was in a patch of light. How had he not noticed that?


The battalion had reached within a league of the garrison by nightfall on the second day. A messenger from the main body indicated that they would be up no sooner than four days hence. The column commander felt it was best to move by easy stages rather than wear the troops out by force marching them.

The Sergeant shook her head, "Looks like we'll have to keep things under observation until then. Scouts estimate enemy strength at three to five thousand."

"Really?" The Major remembered being briefed that the Meridionals had come over the border with close to 35,000 men. Probably somebody mishearing a verbal report. He could see how someone could hear "35,000" when the report had been three to five thousand.

"What do the scouts say about the enemy, regulars? Tribesmen? Bandits?" The Major realized that the numbers meant nothing if they were facing a rabble. But the Meridional regulars were tough and well-drilled, they'd have a fight on their hands if they had brought their regulars over.

"Predominantly regulars, the horsemen that were reported are tribesmen, dangerous but they don't like a stand-up fight. Probably a few hundred bandits in the wake of their army. Looting and murdering as is their wont." The Sergeant spat in the dirt at that, like most professionals, she despised marauders.

The Major was studying his map when the lead scout reported in. 

"Corporal, come have a look. I want to position the battalion in a position that's defensible but where we can keep an eye on the Meridionals."

The Corporal came over, brushing dirt from his uniform. It was obvious he'd done some crawling around close to the enemy.

"Sir?"

"Take a look, we're here," the Major pointed at the map, "I'm guessing you fellows went down this gully and then up behind these hillocks on your scout."

The Corporal looked at the Major in surprise, "You know the area?"

"I was stationed here when I was a private. Nice country, but rough."

The Corporal studied the map, then pointed and said, "This ridgeline here should be perfect. It's flanked by deep gullies, hard to cross, lots of brambles in 'em. Almost as good as barbed wire."

"Yep, I agree. Why don't you lead the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th Companies to the position, I'll follow with the 1st. Before we come up, I need a messenger to head back to the column," he said, looking at the Sergeant.

"I'm on it, Sir." The Sergeant went to make that happen.


Daniel was watching the regulars through his glass. They were taking up a defensive position along Long Ridge, a good position, he thought.

He'd had word from Asher, the main body of the column was still coming on, taking their time. Asher had also sent word that a messenger had come in from the capital. There was rioting in the streets, rumor had it that the Imperials had fled the city.

Daniel was still toying with the idea of sending a message to the regulars moving into position along the ridge. With the Meridionals across the border, it didn't seem right that the Centralians should be fighting each other. The Imperials were different, they spat on their fellow citizens so no one cared what became of them. His own wife had referred to them as scum and criminals. Which he couldn't argue with.

"Benjamin?" he whispered.

"Chief?"

"Go find Abel, I've got a proposition for him. And for those regulars down there."

"Be right back."


Magnus had brought his forces up to the palace. They'd rushed the place, hoping to seize it by a coup de main, but there were people inside who weren't ready to quit. There were a number of bodies in the street leading to the main gate to attest to that.

He'd sent some of his people to the armory with specific instructions on what he wanted. "Don't try and take the place, if it's defended, let me know. If it isn't, go inside and see if there are any cannon there."

Antonius had smiled, "If there are cannon, we'll drag 'em back. To the palace?"

"Where else?"

Cannon fire would dissuade all but the most dedicated defenders in there, he figured. The Imperials had scattered, couldn't be more than thirty or forty guardsmen left. One of the palace servants had come out indicating that he didn't want to die inside. He'd thrown his lot in with the rebellion. He'd told them that the guardsmen were willing to sell their lives, if they stood half a chance.

Cannon would probably convince them to give up.


The Eminence's hands were tightly bound behind him, he was blindfolded and gagged. The people who had taken him had also bloodied his lip when he had proclaimed his innocence.

The party which had taken him had hustled him along, with not a few blows when necessary, as they rushed through the night. It seemed that they were on some sort of secret mission.

He was brought up short and immediately was on his guard.

"Who the hell is this?"

"Caught him skulking about in the rear, obviously thought to avoid being seen. Well, we saw him, sure we did."

"Get that blindfold off of him, let's see his face."

The Eminence blinked in the bright torchlight. At first he couldn't see a thing, just the shapes of a number of people, men and women, surrounding him. All armed.

"What the ..."

"D'ya know who you've captured, Marcus?"

"Some skulker, I dunno."

"It's His Eminence, in the flesh. What a happy surprise."

The Eminence said not a word, to protest the identification would be futile, he recognized the voice of the speaker. One Gustavus, a frequent visitor to the palace, he was a noted vintner and supplied the palace wine. He had spoken to the man on more than one occasion.

He realized then, that the game was up.




36 comments:

  1. The Eminence chickens are in the landing pattern, with their tailhooks, flaps, and gear down?

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  2. Hmmm.....looks like there's going to be an opening for the position of The Eminence shortly.

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  3. "Tribesmen"? I am very interested.

    I will be interested to see what happens to His Eminence. Sometimes folks like him manage to survive any situation.

    As to Daniel sending a message - possibly, but such alliances are generally only temporary - unless the regulars are ready to switch sides as well.

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    1. I hope to expand upon who the Meridionals are and what their land is like.

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    2. If you think of the various Cartels in Mexico as tribes and collections of tribes, it makes sense. They don't bring in any old Jose into their group, it has to be linked by family, by tradition, by people from their area. You know, tribes.

      Like the various gangs of bandits during the last Mexican Revolution/Civil War, that gave us Pancho Villa. Most of his men were from his 'tribe,' from his family, from family connections, from the area he hailed from.

      Of course, this is all a WAG, as our host and muse have kept us guessing before.

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    3. And I shall continue to do so. 😎

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  4. Pour l’encouragement des autres.
    It would do well for a lot of our "eminences" to read this, ponder the situation and take it to heart.
    Just sayin'
    juvat

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  5. He was caught! will he be shot like Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu? On meat hook like Mussolini or die slowly impaled like Gadhafi?

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    1. His fate has yet to be determined.

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    2. I think the Emperor and Empress will most likely get the Ceausescu treatment. His Eminence most likely either the Rasputin or Mussolini treatment. Of course, what I think doesn't matter to OAFS' Muse.

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  6. His Eminence, hostage? Bargaining chip (to be sent back one "chip" at a time to encourage reason)? Or so feared by the Ruler and sycophants that he's worthless for that?

    The Regulars... same ones who had arranged the unfortunate friendly fire accident with the Imperials. I can see them wanting to join with the Militia.

    As to the invaders, they have Danged Yaqui cavalry with them?

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  7. Very interesting tale you are weaving.

    As to the Imperial Palace, it's all fun and games until the cannon come out, then it's a blast!

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  8. You events down on the border strike me as very similar to the Republic of Texas days, with dueling territorial claims, Injun troubles, settlers, banditos, regulars, militias, and mostly irregular warfare dependent on brave men (and women), bold initiatives, stealthy scouting and decisive actions.
    I highly recommend Thomas Cutrer's "Ben McCulloch and the Frontier Military Tradition" 402 pages published in 1993, available on ABEbooks for under $10.00. One description sums it up as:

    "Biography of Ben McCulloch who served as a Texas Ranger, U.S. Marshall, Indian fighter, Mexican War hero, and Brigadier General for the Confederacy in the Civil War. He was mortally wounded at the battle of Pea Ridge in 1862. From the Dust Jacket: "A protege of David Crockett and Sam Houston, Ben McCulloch (1811-62) led an extraordinary life as a frontiersman, entrepreneur, and soldier. This first modern biography tells his colorful life story and through his career illuminates mid-nineteenth century American military culture. In particular, [the author] focuses on the tension between traditional volunteer citizen-soldiers and the emerging professional military establishment."

    I especially liked the part about President Buchanan sending McCulloch to Utah in 1858 as the "bad cop" along with a career politician ("good cop") to deliver a pardon to Brigham Young, on the condition that the Mormons let Johnston's Army peacefully into the Utah Territory to set up a camp. This ended the "Utah War, although the Army remained there to keep an eye on the rebellious Mormons until 1860 when they hastily returned to the east to confront a real rebellion. Many of the officers in Utah resigned to serve with their Confederate states.

    McCulloch lived a most interesting life, with connections to an amazing number of significant events and prominent people.

    I encourage everyone to get the book above, while waiting for Sarge's literary masterpieces to arrive in hard copy.
    John Blackshoe

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    1. Sounds like a fascinating man. Might have to track that down. Of course, with all of the fine books I've been told about in these spaces, I wonder when I'll find the time to both read and write. (One most certainly feeds the other.)

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    2. You know, if you read the first paragraph as "in Texas today" instead of "the Republic of Texas," it actually works, for Texas today. Sad, isn't it?

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  9. This story is turning into pure torture for me: you have got me hooked there.
    If I had some means to 'persuade' to write day and night .... I guess I would do it.
    I am counting the minutes until your next instalment: what is it going to bring us?
    Is it going to be Mussolini on 29 April 1945, hanging from the roof of a petrol station in Milan?
    Or is it a hasty court martial and a salvo from an AK47 like for Ceaușescu on 25 December 1989 in Târgoviște?
    Anyhow, please keep on writing!

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    1. There are days when I could write 24/7, but then life reminds me that I need to eat, sleep, and go to work. The times when real life intervene give the Muse time to come up with ideas. So I've got that going for me.

      Thanks, Martin.

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  10. Wheels in wheels. This could be happening on a smallish island (say Cuba) where all of this is my-side v your-side, for centuries, and then some outsider arrives and unbalances the works. Or they can unbalance it themselves, a little too much taking, a few too many too hungry, just that last guy "mad as hell and I'm not taking this any more!" A good stable government is a blessing, usually only noticed went it's gone.

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Just be polite... that's all I ask. (For Buck)
Can't be nice, go somewhere else...

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