Timing is everything

 A wise Captain¹ once counseled me on the importance of being in the right place at the exact time.  As one might expect when flying a fighter, being on target on time is generally critical to 1) the success of the mission, 2) protecting the folks you are there to support and 3) improving the odds that your butt doesn't get blown out of the sky. Which is a very real possibility of it being "friendly" fire in training.

So, yes, I took that message to heart. And yes, nowadays, my BP still goes up quite a few digits when it looks like I (or we) are going to be late.  Late being defined as less than 5 minutes before the event begins.  15 minutes early is my desired TOT (Time over Target, Beans).  In war, that isn't desirable at all.  IIRC TOT was +/- 10 seconds for conventional munitions and +/-30 for those mushroom shaped crowd pleasers.  

Gratuitous Pic since I ain't got nothin'

Source

That last I just didn't get for a while.  I mean, really, who is going to fly over a target within one minute of one of them going off? A week later maybe, but 30 seconds?  It was finally explained to my Lieutenant self, that this was a peace time constraint because range time was limited and somebody else would be coming through to drop his practice ordinance, and would you please yield the playing field?

Oh!

But the training was good, hard and close to perfection was the minimum allowed. So, hitting a TOT is still part of my psyche. 

That helped in my job at the school district as I would be in place and starting the lesson before the bell stopped ringing.  Students soon learned that being in place when the bell started ringing meant on time.  Anything else was tardy.  They may have bitched, moaned and complained, but they learned and voila' they frequently would finish the assignment early and that was basically free time to explore the internet.

Get your mind outta the gutter, Beans!

Another place that being On-Time Juvat style is important to me is Sunday Mass.  I like to be there NLT 5 minutes early, 15 is better.  Give me a chance to settle in, say hello to some friends and discuss things that are concerning to me with the Big Guy in his house.

Not that there are many of those things going on in my life right now.  No Sir!   

RRRIIIIIGGGHHHTTTT.

So, Mrs J and I go to the Early Service on Sunday.  It starts at 0730.  The next Service starts at 0900 and the one after that starts at 1130.  Now, our current Priest, well, to be charitable, likes to hear himself talk.  Even at the 0730 service, when the service is finally over, there are folks that have been waiting outside for 15 -20 minutes .  My attention span isn't that long and while nodding off is not condoned, I have had several others in my vicinity doze off with me.  

So, 0730 it is.  Our alarm goes off at 0600,  Travel time is 15 minutes from Rancho juvat to church.  Meaning in the car, engine on, transmission engaged NLT 0700.  So, having accompanied Mrs. J to mass for ~45 years now, I realize that "Thou shalt not lie" requires a bit of interpretation.  I give her the 15 minute warning ("Hey, Hon, need to leave in 15 minutes") at 0645.  With accompanying 5 minute count downs.

That also gives us a bit of cushion to drive a tad slower than the speed limit in the dawn darkness when Bambi and Family are out on the road also.

Since yesterday was the first day of Standard Time, it was daylight and I was able to see just how many Bambi's there were between us and the highway.  Good thing yesterday was also the first day of Deer Hunting Season in Texas as there sure were a lot of them.

Both hunters and deer.  Going out to the car sounded a bit like a war zone, or maybe just a normal Detroit Day.

Peace out y'all.

¹ He was my first operational Flight Lead and was also my Flight Commander.  So, had my attention both in the air and on my Officer Performance Report. His Call Sign was "Flick".  Learned a lot from him in that first year.

The Long March - Cat's Paw

Éminence Grise
Jean-Léon Gérôme
(Source)

The Ruler was awake, though barely aware of the situation outside of the palace, he knew that things were not going well. He had been escorted from his bedchamber to eat his breakfast, he sat, eating slowly, all the while staring at the nearest window. His wife sat beside him.

"What's happening out there? Where are my guardsmen?" he asked in a trembling tone of voice.

His wife looked around the room, there was a single guardsman just outside the door, the only other person in the room was the Chamberlain. She looked at him, for once in her life at a loss for words.

"There has been trouble in the streets, Your Majesty. I believe your guardsmen have gone to assist the Imperials in calming the situation."

"Calming ... But, uh, why do I hear ... Oh what is that called? Oh, yes, why do I hear gunfire, that is gunfire isn't it?" He sounded confused, as if unaware of his surroundings.

"It's nothing dear, nothing to worry about. Eat your breakfast, we're going to the lake after you eat. Wouldn't you like that?" The Ruler's wife couldn't wait to be away from the palace, she knew just how bad things were getting out there.

Magnus was growing impatient, Antonius and his people had left hours ago. It would be light soon, he wanted the cannon, if there were any, in place at dawn. Let those in the palace wake up to that unpleasant reality, he thought.

He turned as he heard the sound of iron-shod wheels on the ancient cobblestones of the government district. Supply wagons?

"Magnus! I bring you gifts!"

Magnus breathed a sigh of relief, it was Antonius and he brought cannon. From the looks of it, six cannon, nearly a full battery.

Antonius dismounted after directing his people where to place the guns, out of range of accurate rifle fire, but close enough to bring the full weight of the battery upon the gates of the palace.

"We lucked out, we found most of a battery, only the howitzers were missing. Ample ammunition and limbers, hell, as you can see, the horses to draw the pieces were stabled nearby." Antonius was ecstatic, he'd fulfilled his mission in spades.

Magnus saw that not all of the people emplacing the guns were Antonius' people, "Where did the extra people ..."

Then he realized, they were wearing the uniforms of the regular artillery.

"Regulars?" he asked incredulously.

Antonius nodded, "Seems we're not the only ones looking for regime change."

"Sir!" The Sergeant had seen her first, a woman on horseback carrying a white flag. She wasn't in a uniform, but she was wearing the armband of the militia.

"Now what?"

The Major was growing frustrated, another message from the main column had arrived, they were delayed yet again. He was starting to wonder if the column commander was having second thoughts. After all, if he was still laboring under the misapprehension of the Meridional invasion force strength of 35,000, then his hesitation might be understandable, they would be outnumbered by more than 3 to 1 if that were the case.

"Damn it! Does the colonel know of the revised strength? It's not 35,000, more like 5,000, we have them outnumbered!" The major realized that barking at the messenger did no good, but he couldn't help himself.

"Revised strength? We have heard nothing of this," the messenger's facial expression reinforced his point.

Another message was dispatched, this time with two people carrying it, ordered to take separate routes. It had been apparent to the Major that his earlier message hadn't gotten through. Now the rebels want a parley? Perhaps they had waylaid the messenger and knew of the regulars' weakness. Had they thrown in with the Meridionals?

The woman on horseback was now on foot, blindfolded as she was led to the Major's command post. The Major cocked an eyebrow at his Sergeant, she shook her head, she hadn't been told of what the woman had come into their camp for. He nodded at the Sergeant to remove the blindfold.

The woman blinked a few times, trying to get her bearings, her eyes settled on the Major.

"Sir, I bring you greetings from my commander. He wishes a parley, at a time and place of your choosing. But he recommends that it happen soon. Apparently another Meridional force has been sighted two days south of the border, heading in this direction."

It was daylight, the walls of the palace grounds seemed deserted. Whereas the evening before, the figures of guardsmen could be seen along the ramparts, in the early light of dawn, those ramparts were empty.

"Staying under cover?" Magnus asked, looking at Cyrus, who shrugged.

"Who knows what's going on in there? They know that the hour of reckoning is upon them. The smart ones have already fled."

"I have heard no reports of anyone fleeing, there have been no sightings ..." Magnus was interrupted.

"There are secret passages leading in and out of the palace grounds. Legend has it that one tunnel is over two leagues in length, probably a myth, but you never know. That palace has stood for over two centuries and has seen its share of war."

Antonius gestured at the cannon, "Let's give those inside the impression that we mean business."

Magnus nodded, "You may commence firing."

The Eminence was bound and gagged. He wasn't blindfolded, which worried him, if his captors didn't care if he knew where he was ...

Enough of that, he admonished himself. His hands were numb, so he shifted in the chair he was tied to, it helped a little.

He looked around, it looked like he was in a tavern, one frequented by the working class no doubt. It was dingy, the floor was covered in straw, hiding God-knows-what underneath. There was a table to his front, with three chairs. He shuddered, it looked like a tribunal.

He shifted again, and was cuffed by someone behind him.

"Quit bouncin' around you scoundrel, your days are fast approaching an end. Stand to like a man."

When that man had stopped talking, three people came into the room. One carried a book, which he set upon the table with some reverence. That man stood behind the center chair, he was flanked on both sides, to his left, a woman, to his right, a younger man.

The Eminence began to sweat.

Three more men came into the room, one stood to his right, near the table, the second stood immediately to his left, the third posted himself by the door, obviously a guard. The Eminence presumed that the first two would act as prosecutor and defender. This was a tribunal.

The presiding judge, for such he presumed it was, spoke, "A moment of prayer, if you please."

The Eminence expected someone to say something, all simply bowed their heads. His own head was pushed forward on his chest and held there. His guard apparently wanted to have things "look right."

"Very well, we are here to judge and pass sentence on the individual who once ruled us in this very city. He now is a figure behind the scenes, hovering in the shadows as a puppet master, pulling the strings of our current cat's paw."

"Mr. Prosecutor, you may begin ..."

At that moment, the dull thud of cannon fire could be heard in the near distance. Everyone in the room paused, the gunfire was in the direction of the palace. The judge knew what it meant, few of the others did. The Eminence had a brief moment of hope.

The judge spoke, "What you hear are cannon, opening the siege of the palace. The resistance seized a battery of guns last night, this is the beginning of the end for those who suppressed the people."

There were satisfied looks all around the room. Then the Defender spoke.

"Your Honor, now that the end is in sight, I move that these proceedings be brought to a close and my charge be remanded to custody until such time as he can be brought in front of ..."

"In front of what, Your Honor?" The Prosecutor's voice dripped with disdain.

"Give him the benefit denied so many of our citizens in the brouhaha after the last election? Give him the protection of the law he and his handlers spat on for over a decade? No, I object, most strenuously, I object!"

The Defender spoke again, or tried to, "Your Honor ..."

"Objection sustained, this proceeding will continue. What have you to say in your defence, prisoner?"

"My charge is gagged, how can he ..."

"Remove his gag."

The Eminence worked his jaw, the gag had been unpleasantly tight. "Might I have a glass of ..."

He was cuffed again, "Speak proper to the magistrate, you scum!" His guard bellowed at him.

"That will be enough Cletus, bring the prisoner a glass of water."

The Eminence drank and decided to try and overawe these peasants, for so he saw them. "Now look here, I do not recognize the authority of these proceedings. They are clearly illegal and I am being illegally detained, I demand that I be released at once!"

No one said a word, the Prosecutor simply nodded to a guard by the door, who went out. That man came back in an instant carrying a thick, bound sheaf of papers. The Eminence's heart sank.

How could he not recognize the work upon which he'd labored since leaving office? His memoirs, complete and thorough they were. They also contained enough evidence to find him guilty in this drum head court.

He was doomed.

The Colonel shook his head, "Only five thousand you say?"

"Might be as few as three thousand of their regulars. A number of tribesmen came with them." The messenger, the only one who had made it back to the column, answered the Colonel's question.

"Was there no earlier attempt to contact us?"

"Yes Sir, but the Major only sent a single messenger, whose body I found nailed to a tree beside the road. The Meridional tribesmen have sent scouts in your direction, it looked like their work."

The Colonel shuddered. The tribesmen came from the deep south of Meridia. They were a nomadic people, roaming the vast steppes in the south of that country. They knew no law save their own, paying lip service to the regular government of Meridia. They came north for the promise of loot.

And slaves.

"Sound the advance, we march through the night. Skirmishers out, we advance as if into combat!"

As the staff ran to put the Colonel's commands into action, the Colonel turned to the messenger. "Will you march with us? I can't ask you to go back alone, it is far too dangerous."

The messenger smiled, "Begging the Colonel's pardon, but there isn't a steppe rat out there who can match me in my own country. I'll be fine. I will let the Major know you're coming. When can we expect you?"

The Colonel pulled his watch out of his waistcoat, pondered for a moment, then snapped the time piece shut, slipping it back into its pocket. "Tomorrow, before noon, if this weather holds and we meet no resistance. Can I at least offer you a fresh horse?"

The messenger smiled again, "My horse knows this country as well as I, perhaps better. No, but thank you, Sir. I am away!"

With that the messenger turned his steed and trotted off.

The drums began to sound, the trumpets blared, the troops stepped off. The Colonel noticed that the troops advanced with bayonets fixed. He almost felt pity for any who stood in there way.

Almost ...

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.

Ewok Report, All-Saints Day 2023

Destruction in Odesa region after Russian drone attack in the night on October 6, 2023. Port infrastructure in Izmail district was damaged, including Orlivka checkpoint on the border with Romania, granary and 9 trucks
(Source)

It's been a while dear Sarge and friends (TM), but I had some family circumstances to take care of, and moreover changed my locum from small house on the outskirts of the city to flat nearer to my workplace. So please excuse my lack of reporting for  many weeks.

It didn't help that Ukraine's frontlines nearly froze in "All quiet on the Western Front" manner. sure Ukrainians were pushing down hard in some places, and Russians wasted another few dozens of tanks and thousands of lives in others, but overall it seemed firepower trumped maneuver in such a way that old bastard Petain described in two words:

FIREPOWER KILLS

As such, there was nothing noteworthy to report - until news showed new item on the battlefield making its mark : US ATACMS.

In just 2 strikes involving no more than handful of old-model (circa 1995) missiles carrying "steel rain" submunitions (waste not, want not - if you gonna scrap the ammo nearing end of it shelf life you might as well use it to destroy your enemies) Ukrainian AF dealt massive blow to Russian Ka-52 attack helo force based at Berdyansk and Lugansk Russian AFB (Berdyansk those who follow me also being the place where once Russian LST was sunk by Tochka SRBM strike).  No less than 9 Ka-52s  were destroyed totally or wrecked beyond repair, along with some Mi-8 transports. 

(Source)

(Source)

Relevant geolocations by Oryx, continuing their mammoth task of chronicling weapons losses of the war.

For a loooong time ATACMS were no-go item for Ukraine wishlist. There have been fear of nuclear retaliation, etc. 

Nothing materialized.

Russia, basically is stuck on escalation ladder where all steps above are disaster, and most of steps below are lost war. 

So, there it is for the Ukrainian War, nearing steadily its third year.

One definite lesson is, prepare lots and lots of ammo for any war with peer competitors. Enough to kill millions of enemies, in fact, because Russia seems undaunted by casualties nearing by estimates 300k.

Now, this would have been extent of my report, if not for "some damn fool thing in the middle East".

It seems history, while never repeating itself verbatim, is awesome in the art of rhyming.

On nearly exact anniversary of the Yom Kippur War of 1973 - older readers know the name very well... - Arabs managed to surprise Israel again, after it did again put its faith more in static defences (Bar Leva line vs Gaza strip wall) with not enough boots on the ground and firepower on call to defend them. 

Only this time it was not regular military versus regular military clashing in the mostly desolate Sinai.

It was horrific spectacle that Salamander best described as Hamas LARP-ing Einsatzgruppen of the time of "Holokaust by bullets" in 1941, before the Germans perfected their industry of killing.

I wont bother to show you graphic footage. It is beyond point. Just enough to say we all know that only course of action left for Istael is total eradication of Hamas. Regardless of how many civilians in Gaza die in the process.  

I am again leaning on dear friend Salamander , because he has great written article on how the Israelis will proceed from here.

Personally, writing this from Szczecin (ex-Stettin) I will posit that Danzig 45 COA¹ worked wonders in the long term, with Germans and Poles having friendly border (despite my just voted-out nationalistic government loud anti-German propaganda).

Note to everyone, there is nothing any country in the world can do to stop Israel from their COA once taken. No one is going to trade their capital city for Gaza, despite loud cries of support from the usual quarters (Tehran, Ankara, cough, cough). And for Israel eradication of Hamas has become matter of survival. And israel has nukes.

That doesn't mean there is no potential of escalation. Hezbollah in Lebanon has formidable arsenal of missiles, and Houthis already  sent some SCUDs and drones Israeli way, most of them being intercepted by US Navy Aegis ships in Red Sea (Good job!), and at least one landing in Egypt. So much for accuracy...

So, basically US has one land war to look after in Europe, one in the Middle East, and Chinese are watching intently for an occasion to jump the Taiwan strait.

This looks awfully like 1930s with wars flaring up in Ethiopia, Spain, China, Poland until eventually all merged in one global conflagration.²

Pardon my pessimism, but on All Saints Day I feel obliged to quote Plato:

Only the dead have seen the end of the war.

     -- Ewok Out!

 

¹ Course of Action

² He ain't wrong!

The Long March - You Say You Want a Revolution?

(Source)

"Why are we stopping?" The Eminence was growing increasingly nervous as so far his carriage was making almost no progress at all towards the river docks. He was beginning to wonder if the captain had received the messenger sent telling him to prepare to get underway at a moment's notice.

"Your Eminence, the street ahead is blocked. I can see armed men and from what I can see, they aren't Imperials or regulars." The captain of the Eminence's mounted escort was trying to control his own nerves and having the Eminence barking at him wasn't helping.

"Can't you push them aside?"

"Sir, we are outnumbered."

"Oh come now, they're rabble and you know it." The Eminence decided to climb down from the carriage and see for himself.

"Your Eminence, please wait ..."

The captain's horse reared up, spooked by something. The captain was trying to control his mount, wondering what had gotten into the animal when a second arrow whirred in. This time the rider was struck, not the horse.

"Eminence, flee ..." was all the captain managed to say before he fell from his horse into the street.

The Eminence froze at the sight of the commander of his escort lying on the ground, a rebel arrow protruding from his midsection. He was halfway out of the carriage, his foot on the step, he hesitated.

Looking around he noticed that his escort was gone, even the driver of his carriage and the two footmen who rode on the back had fled. He was alone and from the shouts coming from the direction of the roadblock, the carriage had been noticed.

"Major?"

The Major turned to his Sergeant, "What is it, Top?"

"Just a thought, Sir. But why don't we send one of the troopers who know this area on ahead, on horseback? See if he or she can get a read on what's going on along the border."

The Major thought for a moment as he continued to march, "That ain't a bad idea, I'm betting you already have a couple of people in mind."

"Yes Sir. There's Jeremiah, he'd be my first choice. He's from a small village a couple of miles from the garrison. He's only been in the regulars a year or so, so he hasn't lost his regional accent yet. The other troopers call him the river rat because of that."

"Anyone else?"

"Hannah 312.¹ She's from Garrison Town herself. She's been in longer so she's lost a lot of her accent, but she can still put it on when she wants to. She's a better rider than Jeremiah."

"Which one would you send?"

"Jeremiah, he can ride a horse alright, not as good as Hannah 312, but he's competent. Hannah'd get there quicker but she doesn't know the country as well as Jeremiah. So I'd send him. I've already talked to both of 'em, they're willing."

"If we had two horses ..."

The Corporal cocked an eyebrow at her commander, "But we don't, just the one horse. Your horse. Do you mind letting it go on this mission?"

The Major nodded, "Send Jeremiah. As for the horse, have him take good care of her, I've grown fond of the animal."

"Will do, boss."

Daniel had left only a score of his people to shadow the regulars on the road, he'd left Asher in charge, trusting in his old friend's judgement and common sense. The bulk had followed him towards the border. Mounted scouts had been sent ahead to determine what was happening at the garrison. With any luck he should hear back from those scouts no later than the morrow. He expected to have a sizeable force within striking distance of the border within a few days, four at the most.

Daniel had been ambivalent about fighting this rebellion from the very first day. He understood most folks' grievances with the central government, they levied more and more taxes and the people in the rural areas got less and less benefit from those taxes. As his son had said, "Damn it, Pa, all the money goes to those city folk who don't want to work. Plenty of jobs out in the country but ..."

He remembered that the discussion had gotten nowhere. His son wanted to work the farm when his parents had passed on, the life suited him. But more and more young folk headed to the cities when they came of age. They wanted no part of the hard work farming required. The siren call of the city lured them away. Where they discovered that there were more people than jobs.

He was also suspicious of the results of the last election. One of his neighbors insisted that it was a "pretend" election, that the former Ruler had actually won, but his opponent "stole" it. Daniel understood his neighbor's suspicions, but he believed that they lived in a nation of laws. So how could the election possibly be invalid?

When a rural village, not far from the capital, stopped paying taxes to protest the election, the newly formed Imperials descended upon them. Many felt they deserved it, after all, hadn't they broken the law?

But the Imperials went berserk, slaughtering livestock, burning crops, and destroying buildings. They left nothing for the villagers to survive on. When the village headman had protested, they took him and his family into custody. They were conveyed in chains to the capital.

That very night, an Imperial patrol was ambushed outside the capital, an Imperial was slain, two were wounded. So the nearest village was razed, the inhabitants butchered. Daniel decided at that point that his neighbor might be right. What legitimate government would do such a thing?

So he took his family into the hills.

Jeremiah had ridden through the night, the Major's horse was exhausted. He dismounted and brushed the animal down. He decided that both man and beast needed a rest. So they found a covered area, inside the forest, and spent the day resting.

As night fell, they were on the road again.

The further south they went, Jeremiah noted the empty villages. No one was upon the road, but there was no sign of an enemy, only emptiness.

Two hours before dawn, he reined in the horse. To the south there was a great glow in the sky. He had heard tell from the old-timers in the regulars of such things, burning cities seen from afar, the campfires of a vast army nearby. He quickened his pace.

As the eastern sky grew lighter, he turned the horse into the forest, he knew a path which would take him to a high point on a ridge above Garrison Town. Perhaps there he would be able to tell what was afoot.

"Rider coming in," the militiaman hissed at her companion.

Their own horses were tied up not far away, here, they could look down into the borderlands. Garrison Town smoldered, it had been set alight when the Meridionals had launched their first assault at the garrison, which lay adjacent to the town.

But the walls of the citadel were not so easily breached. The inhabitants of Garrison Town were now within the citadel, assisting the garrison in any way they could. The field was quiet now, the two militiamen realized that, if they were closer, the moans and shrieks of the Meridional wounded would fill the air.

The man nudged the woman, there, a regular on horseback. When that man saw that he was too close, he dismounted, led the horse back a ways then tied it to a tree.

Before going back to the crest, he stroked the horse's muzzle as he reached into his haversack. He produced a quartered apple, which he fed to the beast, then he whispered something. Stepping back, he turned. He was looking down the muzzles of two rifles.

"You have me at your mercy, troopers. I yield."

The female militiaman spoke, "A long way from home, aren't you bluebelly?²"

"That I am, is it true that the Meridionals have come across the border?"

The male militiaman snorted, "No, your own troops decided to attack themselves."

The female hissed at her companion, "Shut up, Hezekiah. We might have a common enemy here, not each other, but those Meridional bastards down there. Go ahead bluebelly, take a look." She gestured with her rifle.

Jeremiah got low and approached the crest, he said one word, "Bastards."

Hezekiah, after seeing the bluebelly in profile, asked him a question, "You got people round these parts?"

The woman started to speak.

"Easy Ruth, I think I know this bluebelly's family. You're from up the Four Corners, right? Your Pa was a farmer, killed by the Meridionals a couple years back, then your Ma sold the place, went to live in Garrison Town, right?"

Jeremiah walked back to the horse. "Who are you?"

"Hezekiah of the Greens, down by Burke's Crossing."

Jeremiah nodded, and surprising the two militiamen, extended a hand, "Jeremiah of the Icewaters, as you say, from Four Corners. Your family were kin to our neighbors, the Willows."

Hezekiah slung his rifle, shaking Jeremiah's hand. "'At's right, you went in the army a couple of winters back, said you didn't like town life."

Jeremiah smiled, "Well, I didn't, but I'll tell ya, army life ain't much better. Are ya gonna let me go back to my outfit? This is my Major's horse."

Ruth looked askance at Hezekiah, "What, and bring more regulars into the area?"

Jeremiah shrugged, "Those are my orders, we're the first element of a relief column, traveling light we are. But there are ten thousand men and women coming on behind us. We're to assist the garrison."

Ruth shook her head. "I don't much like it, but with those damned Meridional bastards across the way, I suppose we could use the help."

Jeremiah mounted the horse, "Thank you, perhaps we could fight them together."

Hezekiah chuckled, "Heck yeah, we can fight each other later. Cast the foreigners out and we can get back to our little family squabble."

Jeremiah smiled and headed back to the column. War makes for odd bedfellows, he thought as he headed out.

The Eminence had shed his cloak, dumping it on the floor of the carriage. Underneath he wore rough laborer's clothing. He made as if he was rummaging through the contents of a valise, his own, as a group of people from the roadblock approached.

"Hey, step away from there fellow, we don't cotton to thieves around here," said a rough voice.

Turning, the Eminence, with an accent far less refined than his usual speech, answered, "Not thievin', looking for whose carriage this be. And I found this."

It pained him to hold out his own sigil, painted on the side of his valise.

"Well, what have we here? That's the mark of that devil, the so-called Eminence."

The Eminence grimaced internally, but kept his expression neutral, "I believe it is. I saw some men run off that way," he gestured back towards the palace, "shortly after that fellow got shot off his horse," he said gesturing at the dead captain in the street.

"Damn, well, maybe you should come with us, our commander might want to have a word with you," one of the men said.

The Eminence knew that in better light, someone might recognize him, so he let his voice sound pleading as he said, "Ah, come on fellows, I was on my way home, down Mulberry Way. My wife's visiting her sister there, who's feeling a might poorly."

"Mulberry Way, huh? What's the sister's name?"

"Mary."

"Hell, half the women in the quarter are named Mary, but what the hell. You don't look like you mean any harm. Run along, make it fast, we've got patrols out. Now we know that the devil is on foot, maybe we can run the bastard down and hang him."

"Jesus, Will, you'd hang the fellow without a trial?"

"Nah Sir, I'd ask him, 'How do ya plead?', he'd say not guilty, I'd say you're guilty as hell, then sentence him to hang. That enough of a trial for ya?"

The first man laughed and said, "Fair enough, let's get back. As for you," he said pointing at the Eminence, "git, before I change my mind."

The palace was in chaos, half of the guardsmen had fled, shedding their uniforms and stealing civilian clothing from wherever they could. They also departed with a large amount of the palace's silver.

The Ruler was sound asleep, his wife was frantic, she called for a maidservant. There was no answer.

She stepped out of the bedchambers, a single guardsman was present, sitting in a chair drinking from a bottle of what appeared to be the Ruler's brandy.

"How dare you, you foul ..."

The guardsman turned, and leered, "Hhmm, ya ain't bad looking for an old broad. Come! Have a drink with me."

As he lurched to his feet, the Ruler's wife fled back into the bedchamber, bolting the door behind her.

The drunken guardsman banged on the door for a few minutes, then left. No doubt to seek comfort elsewhere.

The Ruler's wife sat heavily in a chair next to the bed. She began to shake and sob, she knew at that moment, that all things were coming to an end.

¹ Not everyone in this story has a family name that they use as an identifier. I plan on explaining some of the peoples, cultures, and customs of this world at some point. For now, suffice to say, most people only use their given names, When there are more people of that name in a unit (which is by no means rare) they use their given name and service number as an identifier. Rather like a Welsh regiment in the British Army. There are two Hannahs in the Major's battalion.

² Regular infantry wore blue tunics and gray trousers.

The Long March - Chaos

(Source)

The War Minister was the first to arrive, as he was ushered in, he noted the hooded figure sitting at the back of the chamber. A chill ran up his spine, he hadn't been told that His Eminence was in the city.

He nodded to the Ruler who appeared to be deep in thought, staring at the door. The man gave no sign that he had seen the War Minister. That worthy wondered if the Ruler was even aware of his surroundings. Unusually, the Ruler's wife was not present.

As he stood behind his chair awaiting the others, he also noticed that there were more guardsmen in the chamber than usual. He had a very bad feeling about all of this. That and the sound of distant gunfire, rifle and cannon, made him wish that he had found an excuse to visit his estate rather than remain in the capital.

He turned as the Economics Minister and the Foreign Minister entered together, the money man was flushed, he looked as if he had just been reprimanded and threatened. By whom? The War Minister wondered.

Finally the last two men on the council came into the chamber, the commander of the armies, and the commander of the Imperials. The first was formally addressed as Marshal, the second was addressed as Legate. Though the Marshal, in theory commanded more men, the Legate had more personal power.

The Marshal's troops were typically distributed throughout the country, more so now that the rebellion had drawn the regulars farther afield, far from the capital. The Legate's troops, the Imperials, tended to be concentrated in the capital city itself. Though three cohorts were in the field with the regulars, the other seven were in the capital itself. They were the true source of the Ruler's power.

The men all sat quietly, though there was one woman on the council, the Home Minister, she was traveling in the northern regions of the country. She was busy trying to keep the northern provinces loyal to the central government. No one spoke. Then His Eminence cleared his throat.

The Ruler seemed to awaken from whatever daydream he had been having and looked around the room. He seemed surprised at the Council's presence.

"Uh, so, what's the agenda for today?" The Ruler sounded confused.

The Council chamber remained quiet. His Eminence again cleared his throat.

"Perhaps Your Eminence would like to start us off." The Ruler turned towards the hooded man with deference and not a little fear.

The hooded man stood up, casting off the hood he typically wore over his head when near a window or out in public. He had once held great power in the country, but the law had prevented him from continuing in office, so he had stepped down. His chosen successor had failed in the last freely held elections so he had remained on his island for four years, plotting, conspiring, and planning for the day when his new chosen one could ascend to the highest office in the land.

"Gentlemen."

His voice was measured, reasonable, he spoke as if to a gathering of children, simple children at that. The man had absolutely no shame and always considered himself to be the smartest man in the room. He had been raised to believe that from the day he had first come to the public's notice. He was an obscure man at the time, unknown outside of his home province. But he had powerful and wealthy backers.

They had provided the money and the support he needed to run for high office. Somehow, this unknown, untalented, and untried individual had won. Powerful forces behind the scenes worked to ensure that he kept that power. While he couldn't hold the office any longer, he was the man who seemingly pulled the strings. But in truth, he was as much a puppet as the man he addressed now.

"Your Highness, I think it's time we revealed your plan to the Council." His Eminence acted as if he had not developed the plan himself. In reality he hadn't, those who manipulated him had and then convinced him that it was all his idea.

"Uh, yes, my, uh, plan. Why don't you brief the Council, you know the plan so well."

"Very well, Your Highness, I shall."

The Imperial cohort came up the boulevard slowly, skirmishers to the front, the main body in a loose column formation. It was obvious that these men were nervous. Their mounted auxiliaries were nowhere to be seen. Magnus watched their advance with interest. They were almost where he wanted them.

The Imperial skirmishers were now in range of the archers. With their ability to loose their arrows over obstacles, Magnus liked to use them as an area effect weapon. The archers didn't need individual targets so they could remain protected behind the barricades.

Along the boulevard there were markers, not obvious but there for one who knew what to look for. As the trailing skirmishers passed a set of those markers, Magnus nodded to his head archer, the Imperial skirmishers were in the kill zone.

"LOOSE!"

The battalion was "taking a break," rather than advancing at the double time, they were marching at the standard pace. They were making good time but the Major was worried about wearing the troops out just before going into battle, which was a distinct possibility.

"Major."

"What is it, Top?"

"We need to stop for at least an hour, let the people adjust their gear, get off their feet, prepare a hot meal, otherwise ..."

The Major turned towards the front rank, he was on foot, his horse being led by his batman. The troops looked determined, but he could see that gear was coming loose, no doubt various parts of their bodies were chafing. He was especially worried about their feet. They were the infantry's best friends, abuse them and you no longer had infantry, you had immobile targets.

"BATTALION!"

The company commanders echoed that with "COMPANY!"

"HALT!"

The troops came to a halt, each trooper at attention, not a man or a woman swayed. The Major felt that he could do anything with such people, they were rock solid in his eyes.

"Company commanders, we're going to take an hour to eat, rest, and square our gear away. I want the medics to check everyone's feet. In one hour we're back on the road."

"FALL OUT!"

The troops began filing off the road, half of each squad removed their boots while the others began prepping a quick meal. The medics began circulating, from the chatter, the Major could tell that morale was still very good.

There was a bit of bitching, natural in a soldier, which made them feel better. If they weren't bitching, something was seriously wrong.

He went around to each company in turn, having brief chats with the commanders and their senior noncoms. He spoke to a number of the troops, sometimes just a "hello" and a nod, the people greeted him with smiles, one or two, old hands, razzed him about the prolonged stop with comments like, "Sir, this younger generation sure isn't as tough as back in the day. Not like us, hey?"

That kind of talk invariably invoked indignant protests from the younger troops, the Major had to chuckle when one of the women referred to her corporal as an "old fart." That man was in his early thirties, he shuddered to think what they'd say if they knew how old he himself was.

Daniel was watching the regulars moving south, a detached battalion he could see, no baggage, just personal gear. They had been moving fast. He wondered why they had been detached from the main body, it was almost as if they were responding to an emergency situation.

He couldn't guess what that might be. The frontier garrison was too strong for his people to attack, they'd need cannon for that, which they did not have. Were the Meridionals making trouble? They did send occasional raids across the border, was that what this meant? Perhaps a major raid was under way? He turned as he heard someone behind him. It was Asher and another man he didn't recognize.

"This fellow says he's come up from the frontier."

Daniel extended a hand, the man took it.

"Name's Solomon, Sir. I have a message from my commander, verbal." He looked at Asher, wanting to give his message only to the commander of this unit.

"Whatever you need to tell me, you can tell Asher."

"Sir, the Meridionals are across the border, this is no raid. They have cannon, they have cavalry. The border garrison is besieged."

Daniel shook his head, "No doubt they mean to take advantage of our troubles. Bastards." The last word came out as a hiss.

"What do we do about them?" Asher nodded at the regulars, who were starting to form up on the road.

"Well, now we know why they're marching at such speed." He spent a long minute in thought.

"Commander?" Asher prompted Daniel.

"We leave them be. They are, after all, fellow Centralians, in other times we would be marching to help them. Damn it, what are those bastards in the capital thinking?"

Asher chuckled, "Thinking? When do politicians ever really think? What do we do, boss. You make the call, we'll follow."

Daniel nodded grimly, "Send messages throughout the hill country, the nation is in danger. We march to the border. Then we'll see."

Cyrus gasped in disbelief, "They're falling back."

Magnus nodded, he was near the top of the barricade, looking down at the ruins of the Imperial skirmishers. "They're not used to people fighting back I suppose."

"What now?"

"Have we heard from the flanks?"

"The enemy has halted in place. They don't know whether to shit or go blind." Cyrus chuckled.

"A colorful way of putting it." Magnus paused, then said, "We fall back to the next barricade, booby trap this one. Send word to the flanks, if those cohorts don't move, observe them. If they fall back, then hold but let us know."

"And if they advance?" Cyrus asked.

"Then they are doomed, the trap has been laid."

The message had arrived while the War Minister and the Economics Minister were in a screaming match. The Ruler had retired to his quarters, saying, "Your Eminence, deal with this, I am too tired."

The Eminence simply nodded, he had arranged for the Ruler's drink to have a sedative in it. The Ruler would be down until tomorrow morning he assumed. He cleared his throat and spoke, loudly.

"Gentlemen, that is quite enough, sit and I will give you your ..."

Which is when the messenger forced his way past the guardsman at the door.

"Sir! The Meridionals have invaded!"

The Eminence made a gesture as if that meant nothing, "A raid, nothing more."

"No Sir, messages received from the south indicate at least 35,000 infantry, swarms of irregular cavalry, and ay least a hundred cannon!"

"Are you sure?"

"Sir, the garrison commander is my brother, I trust him. He is certain and he isn't prone to exaggeration."

The Eminence turned in frustration as another man forced his way into the room, he carried a naked sword. The Eminence realized it was the commander of the cohorts he had sent to the laborers' quarter.

"What are you doing here, man! Why aren't you with your troops?"

"Sir, my auxiliaries have deserted, my center force has taken heavy casualties and my centurions inform me that the men will not advance a step into the laborers' quarter."

"This is mutiny!"

The Chamberlain was listening at a window closest to the fighting. He had seen numerous Imperials in the street, all fleeing from the fighting. He had seen a single group which maintained its order, but they too were fleeing.

He listened, the gunfire was getting closer.

The Eminence burst from the conference room and shouted, "Have my carriage made ready, I will require a mounted escort as well."

The Marshal followed behind him asking, "Where are you bound, Your Eminence?"

"Back to my island. Get this situation under control Marshal!"

The Legate came out as well, "Your Eminence, I shall have my men escort you ..."

"To hell with your men, Legate. Marshal I want regulars, the Imperials are apparently all cowards," he stormed from the room.

The Legate's face went red, the Marshal turned and placed a hand on the man's sword arm, "Easy Legate, you know His Eminence's temper. Have your Imperials secure the palace. Protect the Ruler and his family until I return."

"Where, where are you going?" the Legate sputtered.

"To gather an escort of course, then I will go to my headquarters to assess the military situation. After that? I shall probably offer a prayer for the nation to return to sanity. Pull yourself together man! We could be at the end of a rope if we don't handle this properly!"

The Legate's red face immediately paled. The Marshal was right, with his own men fleeing, and most of the regulars in the field ...

Perhaps he should go to his estate with his personal guard and await events there. Things were starting to get far too exciting for his tastes.