“Sir,” Miles said, marking Garcia with a serious gaze. “Do you mean to split the army?”
“Indeed,” he declared, sitting up straight in his chair. He flicked his head, shaking back his black hair, projecting a commanding stare from dark eyes. “Why waste time picking off inferior fortresses one by one, giving our enemies time to regroup and reinforce their ranks? If we crush their two primary bases at once, Nelanta will be forced to call for terms of surrender.”
“But General, sir,” Miles protested. “Our greatest strength lies in our overwhelming numbers. If we split the troops, we diminish that advantage. Choose Stonevale or Marchland, and let us all attack in force.”
Garcia snorted. “You give these peasants more credit than they deserve. Even halved, we greatly outnumber both objectives. My plan ensures divisions from Stonevale or Marchland can’t rush back to form a defense around the enemy capital. President Irons wants the war ended by Thanksgiving. He has a grand national celebration planned and needs Verdancian spoils to supply the feast.”
General Schuler, the highest-ranking woman in the Republic’s military, steepled her fingers, studying the map thoughtfully. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu. I’m certain I read in a history book about a similar strategy—”
“Ancient history has no bearing on the current state of affairs,” said Colonel Green, a silver-haired man known to move in lockstep with Garcia on most matters. “I suggest we capture Tupelo on our way to Marchland.” He pointed to the spot on the map. “I’ve received intelligence that it’s a wealthy town, and we could do with a victory to bolster our soldiers’ morale after the unexpected blow at Cypress Creek.”
Garcia glowered, clearly angry the matter had been mentioned. “Yes,” he said, grinding his teeth. “We’ll capture Tupelo and any others along the way. Take cattle and corn from the fields, hens from their coops, hogs, beans, fruit.Whatever you can’t haul away, burn to the ground. This is war, people. We don’t win by playing nice.”
“Agreed,” Miles said. “But what’s this about leaving our wounded behind rather than sending them to Fort Rustin for proper care?”
Surprised looks on faces informed Miles that the other top officers were unaware of Garcia’s orders.
“Is that true?” questioned General Roundtree, the commander of Fort Resolute in Dominion. While well-respected with an unblemished career, he had come under scrutiny recently for his close relationship with the now-disgraced—and deceased—Maddox Crane.
“True.” Garcia minced no words. “We can’t spare the trucks as they are all required to convey ammunition and rations for our fighting men. There aren’t enough ambulances, and we might need them if we meet with heavy resistance at Marchland or Stonevale. I’ve dispatched a pigeon to Fort Rustin, asking them to send vehicles to collect our wounded.”
“How many of our brave soldiers will die waiting for them?” General Schuler crossed her arms, jutting out her chin in blatant disapproval.
“Then they will have died for the cause and be honored as heroes,” Colonel Green concluded. “General Garcia, you’ve laid out an excellent plan. When do we deploy?”
“Wait a minute,” Miles interjected. “So, let me get this straight. We split our forces, march half to Stonevale and half to Marchland, with orders to seize food and livestock and subdue towns and villages along the way, then coordinate our attacks so they commence on the same day. How will we communicate with each other? What if one army arrives at its destination before the other? We have no long-range radios and can’t use pigeons.”
Garcia leaned forward, his elbows on the table, and sneered at Miles. “The only reason you are in command of the Fort Rustin Regiments is that General Jacobs, the old codger, is laid up with gout and couldn’t come himself. You forget your place,ColonelBourg. President Irons put me in command, andIwill give the orders. Or do you prefer a court-martial forinsubordination?”
The room fell into a breathless silence. Miles bowed his head. “What about the prisoners?”
“Ah, yes,” Garcia said, shifting into a more cheerful tone. “I received a note today from Nelanta requesting us to negotiate a prisoner exchange. It seems our guest, General Calder, is some lord’s son, and they are most eager to have him returned. Naturally, I’ll need a directive from President Irons before making any such decisions, but they will remain here with our wounded, under guard. We can’t be slowed down by dragging prisoners with us. This old airport is a defensible position with a high watchtower and no straightforward approach. I’ll leave a company here with sufficient firepower to ward off any rescue attempts. Now, if that is all …”
Miles kept his head down, not breathing a word. He had a bad feeling things would not go well with Garcia in command. At least he’d been paired with Roundtree and Hobbs. They had good sense.I hope Nurse Langston will stay behind with Eliam. I’ll go visit him before we have to leave.
Chapter twenty
The Witching Hour
Outskirts of Corinth, Verdancia, two nights later.
Crickets and katydids shrilled through the twilight as Lark took a corner of the broad camouflage netting. Luke and Harlan had laid their motorcycles against the side of the jeep where they’d parked under a clump of broadleaf trees. With this added layer of protection, the vehicles would vanish into shadow.
“That’s it,” Luke said, guiding the motion of the leaf-covered net. “Now, let’s secure it.” Tent stakes and tie-downs, and a few heavy stones locked it in place.
Lark slapped a mosquito against her neck, its belly bursting red in her fingers. They wouldn’t let her wipe on her bear grease—too smelly. “This is a stealth operation,” Luke had declared, “and that means neutral odors only.”
The team dressed in black-ops clothing, except for Luke and Harlan. Along with his detailed report, Major Williams had sent an assortment of items secured from dead Iron Army soldiers, including guns, ammunition, and uniforms. An operative from Corinth had supplied a map of the airfield, buildings marked, and the shed where General Calder was being held circled in ink.
“How do I look?” Luke asked as he buttoned the gray shirt with corporal stripes on its sleeves.
“Dreadful,” Wes said, squinting at him like a flawed circuit. “Like one of them.”
Luke laughed. “That’s the idea.” He glanced at Harlan, who had to tighten the belt to keep his pants up. “Revolvers and extra rounds, charcoal kerchiefs, even Republic Army issue boots. Thank goodness ours aren’t this stiff.”
“Hey, mine has a bloody hole in it,” Harlan said, pointing to his side. “Do you think anyone will notice?”
“Doubtful,” replied Skye. “It’ll be dark.”