V4Ch5-The Merits of Scouting

Far from the bedroom the necromancer and his women rested in, yet not escaping their gaze, a scouting party returned just as the sun began to rise.

General Vespasian Sevenhills could hear the stir their arrival kicked up as they reached the periphery of the camp.

A thousand soldiers of the Second Army of Niet were awake already, and a loud buzz spread from the edge toward the center, where the General had pitched his tent.

As the murmur reached him, he could only catch muttered scraps of sentences.

“... bandits?”

“Finally some action…”

“Will the General…?”

He stepped forward, and all around him fell silent.

The men in between him and the scouting party all quickly parted and moved away as he strode toward the periphery. Fortunately, the scouts were cutting their own path toward him, so Vespasian was able to catch direct sight of them quickly.

They look rough, he thought instantly.

Two of the dozen men in the squad were visibly injured. One was clutching at a red patch in his side where a blade had passed unluckily through his gambeson. Hopefully not a severe injury, but torso wounds were almost always bad if left untreated. The other man’s ear was dangling from the side of his head, held on by only a thin strip of flesh.

“My lord!” said the lead scout, a grizzled veteran with close-cropped gray hair and a beard. He offered a sharp salute, which Vespasian returned.

“Please report, Valerius,” Vespasian said. “Wait.” He raised a hand before Specialist Valerius could speak. “Are those two men necessary for your report?” He pointed at the two injured scouts.

“No, my lord,” Valerius replied instantly, one of his lips tugging upward at the edge.

“All right, you two go and find a couple of healers,” the General said, tilting his head in the direction of the medical tent. “They might be able to save that ear. And abdominal wounds are always worth checking on.”

“Thank you, sir!” the men replied in unison. They saluted quickly and then rushed off toward medical.

“Thank you, my lord,” Valerius agreed as they walked away. “As for what we saw, shall I summarize it briefly and then take any questions, as you usually prefer?”

Vespasian nodded.

“Very well. There is a village just southwest of here. Almost a town by local standards, you know how underpopulated the border is. Perhaps a hundred inhabitants. Men are killing and looting there. A few hundred attackers, hard to be sure exactly. They’re razing as they pillage, so it seemed urgent to return quickly.”

“Men?” Vespasian asked. “Do we know whose men? Any banners? Or perhaps you could describe their equipment.”

The border region was an unsettled enough place that it could conceivably be the Walians again - the people Vespasian and the Second Army were actually here to curb - or it could be some band from the Discontented Lands, or a group of bandits, or the residents of some other village who wanted to settle a score and were taking advantage of the recent chaos.

“We couldn’t be certain, my lord,” said Valerius. “There were no banners. The look of them wasn’t particular to Walia, Niet, or the Discontented. Just the general border look, you know?”

Vespasian nodded. The people of the border region naturally tended to be of more mixed heritage than those from the heartland. But that wasn’t what he would expect from a Walian force, which usually contained one or multiple very distinct ethnic groups. As an empire that was ruled by one tribe that had conquered the others, it had a fairly strict internal hierarchy that correlated heavily with ethnicity. Intermarriage was frowned upon by the upper castes.

“With the equipment we saw, they could easily be bandits,” Valerius continued. “Gambesons like our own, not mail or plate.”

The scouts were the most lightly armored component of Vespasian’s force. Metal armor was more likely to give men away by sound than cloth, and if a metal mage happened to be among the enemy, and the scouts were wearing metal, that was the end for an entire squad of scouts.

More evidence that they’re likely bandits. Walia tended to encase its fighters in iron.

“Did you see them taking prisoners?” the General asked. That was the easiest way to identify Walian raiders most of the time.

Rather than seeking pitched battles, the supposedly war-like Empire now mainly conducted attacks intended to capture prisoners for their cultish worship practices directed toward War God Vika. Men and children for the gladiatorial arena. Women to reward their own fiercest warriors with.

“No, we didn’t witness that,” Valerius said slowly.

The other scouts around him shook their heads.

“Can’t say we did, sir,” muttered one.

“Did you believe they were bandits when you saw what they were actually doing, Valerius?” Vespasian asked carefully, keeping his focus on the lead scout.

Many men would tell their commanding officers what they thought the officer wanted to hear - or try to - even if it meant stretching the truth. The General had tried to break his own men of that, but sometimes he had to coax a bit to get the full benefits of their knowledge and experience. Asking questions where he tried to nudge them into giving opinions without revealing his own was one method.

Valerius hesitated. Then: “No… sir. No, I didn’t. But I don’t know why.”

“They was a little too methodical,” chimed in one of the other men.

“Were,” corrected another scout. “Were too methodical.”

“How do you mean?” Vespasian asked, fixing his eyes on the ungrammatical man.

The scout looked uncomfortable and scratched his head.

“Their fighting was a little too good for untrained peasants?” he said finally with an uncertain expression. “They stripped the bodies of everything, not just shiny things. Uh…”

Fortunately for him, Valerius picked up the thread. “My lord, a few of them caught us looking on and wounded two of ours even though we didn’t confront them. Why would bandits do that? Pick a fight against men carrying weapons who aren’t trying to stop their banditry? Why not sound the alarm instead? We’re scouts. They had to know we might bring in some reinforcements if they gave us cause to run… Yet we still escaped with our lives.”

Vespasian nodded. “Soldiers, then.”

“Can’t be certain, sir,” said Valerius, lowering his head. “I apologize for the limited information. We tried to rush here, seeing as there was murder and mayhem still ongoing when we left the scene.”

Vespasian nodded. That was the decisive factor, of course.

“I won’t allow our people to be brutalized right under our noses, regardless of who’s responsible,” he said. “Even if there was no duty to protect our own people, they would cease to respect us if we failed in that. Flavius, convey my orders. We’re taking the Willow Battalion, Lord Bruss’s mage squad, and Sir Wallace’s cavalry unit. Send Sir Wallace’s people ahead, with orders to observe until my arrival. They are not to engage, just try to stay concealed. Mark whether and where the men retreat. The rest of you are to remain behind with the baggage train. Stay vigilant. This may be a trick to divide our forces.”

“You’re going personally, sir?” one of the scouts asked.

Valerius shot him a look, and Vespasian had the amusing experience of watching the man quickly wipe the surprise from his face.

“I simply meant—”

“Of course I’m going,” the General said, cutting him off. “I have to see these bandits for myself. Can’t let you boys have all the fun.”

Five minutes later, he was in the saddle, his horse trotting alongside the infantry unit.

They passed through open meadow, and the ground became noticeably marshy.

Vespasian frowned beneath his helmet. The marsh ground was what had given the previous generation of soldiers such trouble in winning this strip of land from the Empire in the first place. Walians were fierce soldiers, but not much good at using cavalry. That was an area where Niet excelled. The high noble houses all maintained at least some cavalry, which made up a significant portion of the strength of the Royal Nietian Army. Perhaps double the Walians’ proportion of cavalry.

But on this ground, the advantages of mounted units severely diminished.

Even light cavalry like Sir Wallace’s would be slowed and perhaps lose horses to the ground itself before ever making contact with an enemy.

The General guided his own horse toward the visible dry spots he could see, keeping his eyes constantly roving their surroundings. The scout was leading them toward the site where the village was being destroyed, undoubtedly, but Vespasian could not help noticing how the trees seemed to be increasing in number along the side of the mixed marsh and meadow they marched down.

When they eventually reached this village, the terrain would be perfect for some sort of ambush.

The question is whether they’re ignorant bandits whose decision making is setting them up to be ambushed and destroyed, or whether they’re meant to be luring us.

He looked around himself more closely and frowned, then reined his horse in and fell back slightly until he found Lieutenant Rufen.

“Stay close by me, Lieutenant,” Vespasian ordered.

I shouldn’t have to give that order every time. You know your job, Rufen.

The man’s eyes widened slightly, and he nodded.

“Of course, sir.”

Lieutenant Rufen and his brothers Seymour and Cassian were illusionists.

They marched in near silence for ten minutes.

There was something wrong with this. That did not mean they could simply ignore what was happening or that it would be right to turn back now. But every instinct Vespasian had honed told him that they needed to navigate this situation carefully.

Finally, they reunited with the cavalry.

“Almost there, sir,” said Sir Wallace quietly. Just a hint of resentment in his tone, probably from being told to hold back until the General arrived. “The village is almost fully destroyed already. We could perhaps have made a rescue operation of this—”

“Your life is more important than the possibility of resurrecting those who are already dead,” Vespasian said bluntly. “You know our policy. Those who fall into the hands of the Walians are lost from the moment their warriors arrive at a place and aren’t immediately met by ours. We don’t undertake rescue operations. We just drive them off where we have superiority and make them suffer for whatever they take from us. That’s how we keep losses to a manageable level.”

“Sir, they’re right there,” said Sir Wallace, no longer holding back his irritation. He gestured at what was left of the village. Everything that was left was on fire. “None of them bothered to leave, even seeing us! And who says these are the Walians? Was that the scouts’ report?”

Have you bothered to question why they didn’t leave, Sir Wallace? It’s not a personal insult aimed at you, I can guarantee that much. They have their own reasons.

“No, it’s my assessment,” Vespasian said. “The scouts were honest about how difficult the situation was for them to read. And I may be mistaken. If I am, you can send your critiques to the Grand Duke as you please. The loss of this village may be partially on my own head.” He gave Sir Wallace a withering look. “But you will follow orders, not question them when we’re about to engage the enemy in battle.”

“I didn’t - I wasn’t going to go behind your back to the Grand Duke!” Sir Wallace objected.

Vespasian raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t say you were. Merely reminding you the option of going over my head exists if you question my judgment.” He turned his head and found Lieutenant Rufen. “Lieutenant, transmit my orders to the infantry platoon leaders. The platoons under Lieutenants Scipio, Lucius, Alaric, Corkus, Judeau, Pippin, Gaston, Otacilius, Emile, Crassus, Serpico, and Cornelius are to advance, keeping each squad within their platoon in its own small, tight formation. Use the smoke and fire for cover. Crush the enemy remaining in this village, and save any remaining villagers you can. Do not pursue them if they flee.” Vespasian looked back at the mounted knight he had just been bickering with. “Sir Wallace, take your cavalry and prepare to chase down any who run to east or west. Make sure that none make the tree lines.”

The knight nodded. He understood the task, at least. There were dense stands of forest to east and west of the village. That would make pursuit beyond the tree line dangerous for their cavalry. As for a retreat south, that would take these supposed bandits toward Walian territory.

The Lieutenant used his powers, and the General heard the words as clearly as everyone else on their side.

“All squad leaders under Scipio, Lucius, Otacilius, Crassus, and Cornelius…” He repeated the General’s orders perfectly.

As Vespasian watched, eyes boring into the scenery, the men marched into the village.