Fourth Vector Ch. 22

It didn't mean that the Javans escaped unscathed. Dustin watched too many men fall down in the process. Some of them managed to limp or scoot away to safety while a small minority never moved again.

In spite of the superiority of their weaponry, the fight was never far from victory for either side. At one point, Dustin even considered pulling back to another spot closer to the wall after downing another Swabian no more than feet from his position. One Swabian even rushed past the furthest Javan position, soon being cut down about ten feetbehind Dustin.

It proved to be the high water mark of the Swabian counterattack. With the heavy casualties they took assaulting the Javan position, they ran out of steam minutes into the attack. It wasn't obvious at first, but as the front ranks continued to fall and not be replaced, the Javans were able to press forward one more time.

"Go get 'em, marines! Push those bastards out of the city," roared Dustin as he finally moved forward from his long-held position.

The body of the Javan marines moved as one unit, quickly sweeping the remaining Swabians from their positions. Dustin waded through a sea of gray fabric, the street littered with enemy dead. Finally, the last band of Swabians decided to throw down their weapons, taking their chances on the magnanimity of their enemy instead of the futility of continuing the fight.

With that last surrender, their sector finally fell quiet. In the distance, Dustin could hear the sounds of the Picards and Carinthians fighting their way forward, but even then, those became fewer and far between. As the Javan force entered the main city square, there wasn't an enemy force left willing to fight.

What was left was a gruesome sight, even worse than the visual of dead soldiers. Instead of dead carcasses, they next saw the living ones.

Even though the city had only been under siege for two weeks, the common citizenry were in a bad shape. Many of them looked like they hadn't eaten in that entire time. Those that were already skinny were the most gaunt, with a great amount of them having sunken eyes and bony faces.

"Damnit, man, would you look at them?" said Greg finally as a small crowd of staving Picards gathered in front of them. "You'd think they haven't had a meal to eat this entire time."

Soon the crowd of Picards was greater than the swarm of Swabians had ever been. As they clamored for food, Dustin looked off in the distance, seeing the Carinthian soldiers closing in on the other side.

The battle was finished. The Swabian presence in Burwick was eliminated.

*****

"We need to get food into the city. As quickly as possible," said King Aedan, addressing the commanders of the entire army. "Any stores that we have."

All of them had now gathered into a small building in the center of Burwick that had once been a library. It was now hours after the attack, and the city was fully theirs once more.

"I've gotten word to the granaries inside the city to start releasing whatever food is available," said Neil. "Organization is going to be tough. So many people are hungry that there's going to be a mad rush to get whatever they can."

"We need to be careful with how much food they take in, especially at first," cautioned Greg. "If you give a staving man too much to eat too soon, you might end up killing him."

Aedan looked at Greg. "What do you mean by that?"

"Their bodies can't handle it," continued Greg. "They get used to so little nourishment that when they eat normally, it causes an unbalance that could wind up killing them. We need to moderate how much we let them eat."

"Moderate the food we give out to starving people?" asked Luis incredulously. "That doesn't seem right, and it's bound to cause us more problems that it solves."

Greg shrugged. "I'm telling you that I've seen it enough times. In the last war I fought, we liberated a camp of starving marines who'd gotten captured months earlier. Like fools, we gave them as much food as they could carry, thinking we'd quickly get them fattened back up and ready to fight. Those that overindulged died within days. Their bodies couldn't handle it. They were used to starvation rations. They needed to build themselves back up with small amounts of food." Greg turned to look at Aedan. "Trust me on this one, Your Majesty. Limit the food you give to them or you'll end up causing the deaths of those that we came to save."

The king went quiet for a moment or two as he thought the matter over. A minute passed before Aedan nodded finally and looked at Neil. "Limit the food like Greg said. His reasoning makes sense. These people have lived this long. A few days with less-than-optimal amounts of food won't kill them."

Neil wrote down orders and sent them to his lieutenant for carrying out. In the meantime, Dustin opened up next. "What do we do with the prisoners? How many in total do we have?"

"Nearly an entire regiment's worth of prisoners," answered Neil. "Fortunately for us, that was nearly twenty-five percent of their force that we didn't have to fight. The simple math was against them, and I guess they figured it was better off not dying for."

"Fine by me," said Aedan. "We can take the prisoners and march them back to Daban. They'll be secure far away from the front lines. How are we with casualties?"

"Relatively light by all accounts," said Neil. "We lost the most men on the initial assault, but we're down to about eighty-five hundred men."

"We lost about two hundred in total," added Luis.

"And we're down about forty," said Greg.

"Overall, not terrible," said Aedan. "Our force is still very much intact, and after a few days of rest, we can easily continue to move further south to Zarah and finally liberate the entire country."

Before the king got a chance to continue, one of his men entered their headquarters and passed him a message. The king read it quickly before tossing the message directly on the table in front of all of them.

"It appears our pickets have gotten sight of a Swabian fleet approaching the coast of Picardy," the king ominously. "It appears we destroy one threat only to find ourselves with another."

"Perhaps this is our chance to keep up our newfound momentum?" said Neil.

"We can hope," said Aedan, before turning to Luis. "Can you get word to Admiral Romero to join our forces? Even with your ships, we might still run short of being able to offer battle to a true Swabian battle fleet." Aedan then turned to look outside the nearest window. "What I wouldn't give to have Jack back right about now."

*****

It was a chilly evening, one where the wind had the irritating habit of making you feel completely underdressed, despite enough layers of clothing. Magda pulled her gray robe tighter around her shoulders as she looked out from the balcony of the Swabian headquarters in Zarah.

Below her, a platoon of Swabian soldiers marched along the otherwise quiet street, their gait perfectly synchronized in accordance with their training. These men were the best that Lord Avila had to offer, his 1st Regiment, those that proudly wore the nickname of Cormfeld's Finest. They were among the first men to be brought to the standard by Lord Avila over a decade ago, and they were the most experienced soldiers he had. Men such as these would never run from battle. They would only attack until victorious.

It was just these kind of men that Magda desperately needed right now.

"Ma'am, I have a message from our scouts near Burwick," said one of her aides from behind her. He passed the note into her hand and she read it quickly.

Magda let out a long sigh. "So Burwick has fallen. How unfortunate."

"No word on the number of survivors or if any portions of our forces were able to get out of the city," said the aide.

"Nor will there be," added Magda. "I don't want any survivors coming to my camp now. They'll be tainted with the stain of defeat. I can't have that." Magda turned her attention back to the platoon below. These men, with the five other regiments still in Zarah, were all that remained of the Swabian presence in the country.

Yet a mere six thousand men weren't enough to stand up to an allied army that was twice their size and growing daily as the Picards that had formerly been stuck behind enemy lines reached the safety of their own lines.

No, she needed more men, and if she were to continue to hold this part of the country, she would need them soon.

It wasn't that Lord Avila didn't know her predicament. They were simply stretched too thin. There weren't enough of them to hold both Zarahand Burwick, and the enemy was able to pick them off one by one because of that simple fact. She had pleaded with Avila for more reinforcements if they were to make this stand in the south count, but so far, she'd received nothing in the way of a reply.

What was even more disturbing than being outnumbered was the simple matter of the enemy army having mastered the concept of flight. She had regular dispatches that told of the enemy's flying contraptions, soaring high above while her regiments watched the skies helplessly. She'd even heard tales of them dropping bombs from the sky, a terror for those on the ground of unmatched proportions.

With that kind of technology, Magda needed something to balance the scales. She needed something advanced that would let them not only hold onto their remaining foothold in Picardy but expand and roll the allied army back.

For that reason, she sent yet another dispatch back to Lord Avila, pleading for more men and more weaponry. As she sent the message, she just hoped that he would finally respond. His silence on the matter had been deafening since she arrived in the country three weeks ago. Part of her had to wonder whether this would be her penance for the defeat in Daban. Was she to lead a futile defense of Picardy with limited resources as her punishment? Was this the way he was to assure her death in a lost cause?

Such thoughts did her no good. Magda quickly shook her head, trying to regain control of her emotions.

You're the Butcher of Blenheim. Stop whining like a teenaged girl, she scolded herself.

She turned back to face her aide suddenly, seeing the man's eyes go wide at the quick movement. Magda let out a small, satisfied smile. At least she could still command the respect of the army despite her internal thoughts.

"Go get Colonel Meyer. Quickly," said Magda, watching as the aide scurried away instantly.

Meyer was the cocky colonel that Magda found in charge when she arrived. The man quickly lost his swagger once he found out who she was, and he'd been as docile as a puppy ever since. Despite her less than imposing stature and feminine features, her reputation was enough to cow even the most hardened warriors of the Swabian state.

Meyer appeared after a few minutes, noticeably still sporting the wounds on his face from their first meeting. "Yes, ma'am, what can I do for you?" he asked, his voice awkward and uncertain. It was a marked change over weeks ago, but Magda was satisfied with not having to deal with the typical testosterone that filled the rest of the army.

"Your regiment down there looks polished and professional," she said cryptically, gesturing to the men on the street.

"We're the 1st Regiment," he answered. "We're the best in Swabia, hands down. There are no other men in the army with more experience, training, or aggressive spirit," he said, regaining some of his cocky disposition.

"Good, I want you to personally pull together all the remaining regiments into one force," said Magda. "Currently, the regiments are spread out around Zarah and her environs. We've had the luxury of doing so as we attempted to round up Picard soldiers stuck behind our lines, but now we need to change our strategy. Burwick has fallen."

Meyer nodded. "It was only a matter of time. They were cut off and heavily outnumbered."

Magda locked eyes on him. "As we will be soon unless we change our tactics. We need to do something different."

"What are you proposing then, ma'am?"

"I have requested reinforcements from Lord Avila, but I want you to form all the regiments into one army and make the move up the road toward Burwick. We cannot afford to let them come down from the city uncontested. We have to make them pay for every ground they manage to take. If we're allowed to be bottled up in Zarah, we'll suffer the same fate as those in Burwick."

"I can have the regiments mustered at once and be ready to go tomorrow morning outside the city. Burwick is a week's ride away from our current position."

"Good, let's plan to get moving immediately. I don't imagine the Picards will be in too much of a rush to come south after their victory," said Magda. "We will have a window of opportunity. Let's not squander it."

"What about the talk of these flying vessels?" asked Meyer with a raised eyebrow. "Supposedly they can see us coming a long way before we get there. How are we to combat that?"

"I'm told the land between here and Burwick is flat and heavily-forested," said Magda. "Have the forces stay off the main road and remain concealed. When they are to fight, keep them covered and make only quick attacks before they pull back. We need to make the most of our numbers right now, and even at half their size, we can still make them pay greatly for every step they take toward Zarah."

"The men won't like that very much," said Meyer with a stiff chin. "They're professionals, used to standing bravely in the direction of enemy fire. Having them fight like guerrillas won't go down very well."

Magda smiled and took a step closer to the colonel. Meyer paled slightly and took a half-step back. "Then tell them that any man who has a problem with those orders will have a date with the Butcher of Blenheim. Can you do that, Colonel?"

Meyer swallowed visibly. "Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent." Magda patted his cheek like a pet. "Get moving at once."

"Yes, ma'am." Meyer saluted and turned quickly to leave. Before he could exit the balcony, she stopped him one more time.

"Colonel Meyer? Has Adalbert Avila been spotted anywhere in Zarah?" she asked.

Meyer shook his head firmly. "No. All the men have his description and orders to bring him to you at once if he's spotted in the city. We're positive he's not in Zarah."

"Good," said Magda quietly. "If he is found, I want your men to kill him."

"Ma'am?" questioned Meyer.

"You heard me," she snapped. "Bring his head to me if he gets found in the city. No exceptions."

Meyer saluted again. "Yes, ma'am," he said quickly before making a hasty exit.

Magda looked back out from the balcony, settling her gaze on the street.There will be no more Swabian defeats in Picardy.

*****

Adalbert Avila stood in the streets of Daban and pulled his cloak tightly against his frame. Winter was coming to Picardy, and the wind had the terrible habit of blowing straight off the bay and whipping down the long streets of the city.

At least the cloak he wore was warm. It was an upgrade from the usual Swabian robe he wore, but he couldn't take the chance with such a garment in the Picard capital city. It wasn't that long ago that the Swabians had been kicked out, and he didn't want to take the chance that they might still be thirsty for Swabian blood.

For that reason, he kept the cloak up tight around his head, shielding his face from view. Ordinarily, it might have drawn attention to him to see him so bundled up, but in this weather, he was just one of hundreds who did the same to block out the cold weather.

Adalbert made his way up and down the suburban streets, far from the city center. He didn't dare cross the old city walls into the main core, knowing the Picards were watching all that entered into the heart of the metropolis. The closest he could get right now was the suburbs, and that's why he looked for a watering hole where he might be able to secure some new information. But first, he needed an appropriate target.

He picked one called the Scowling Goose and soon made his way inside. The tavern itself was full for the time of day, with many Picards crowding the tables as their shifts at work ended. Adalbert picked a dimly lit corner and settled himself in, keeping the cloak up around his head. He wouldn't take any chances even here, even with the majority of the residents being somewhat incapacitated thanks to alcohol.

"Friend, that is some get-up you have on," said a Picard man a stool away. "Is it really that cold out there?"

Adalbert turned to look at the Picard man, noticing his heavy frame and fatty jowls first. He seemed harmless enough, but it was his dockworker's uniform that drew the most attention. Adalbert scooted over toward the man.

"Frigid, but that's what you get with the onset of winter," said Adalbert, disguising his Swabian accent as best he could.

"Why do you talk so funny?" asked the worker with a raised eyebrow. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"Samaran," said Adalbert quickly, knowing any answer was better than the truth.

The worker nodded knowingly. "I knew a few Samarans over the years. Funny people. Of course, most of that comes from your own government. How do you manage not being ruled by a king?"

"As best we can," answered Adalbert vaguely. He didn't want to get into the particulars of a country he didn't know so well, and he wanted to steer the conversation back to safer topics. "Been in Daban for two weeks and still haven't found a decent watering hole."

The worker laughed. "The Goose is the best you'll find in these parts. I don't even work nearby, but I'll make the trip all the way here. Beer is cheap and the patrons are a talkative lot. I pass by about five other taverns on the way here with overpriced alcohol and bad clientele."

"Good to know, in any event," said Adalbert before diving in further. "So where is work for you? What do you do?"

The man jammed his thumb against the patch on his uniform. "Down at the commercial docks. I've been doing that job for three years now, and the pay really isn't bad. Of course, it's better than ever right now due to the manpower shortage. Say what you want about the plague, but at least it made all of our wages go up since there's fewer men who can do the job."

"I'm glad then I arrived after the plague was already over," said Adalbert.

The man waved his hand angrily. "Tragic, I tell you. And the gods will damn those Swabian shits forever for resorting to such savagery. I lost a brother because of that plague."

Adalbert pulled his cloak tighter around his head. His suspicions were largely correct, but despite the small joy of being right, it also meant he could take no chances with his new "friend."

"So what's the latest at the commercial docks?" asked Adalbert, changing the subject. "Any interesting ships in the harbor?"

"About the usual," said the worker before draining his mug and requesting a refill. A busty barmaid soon appeared, offering a broken smile before refilling it to the brim. "Hours are long, work is plenty, and the pay is decent." He then turned to look at Adalbert. "Why, are you looking for a job?"

Adalbert shook his head. "I'm just a simple trader, and I'm good with my decision to stay that way.

The worker grunted. "Suit yourself, but it's not bad. Especially with the markets being so quiet nowadays. I figured you couldn't be making much with that cloak on."

Adalbert scowled quietly as he fingered the worn part of his cloak.And this was one of the better ones I could find, he thought to himself.

He must have been silent too long.

"Now, I didn't mean anything by that, friend. Just calling it like I see it," said the worker defensively.

Adalbert shook his head, making his cloak tumble around his head. "Are there many ships down in the harbor? Any interesting ones?" he asked, guiding the topic back around.