Fourth Vector Ch. 22

The worker shrugged. "There's always interesting ones in Daban harbor. Except when the port was closed for the plague, but even then they just gathered out in the bay. But it's kind of empty right now. All those splendid-looking warships are gone."

Adalbert straightening up noticeably. The information on the warships was what he was seeking. Ever since his cousin had tasked him with the capture of Jack Easterbrook, he'd been on the trail to find the man. He'd been last spotted in Daban, so Adalbert made the long trek up from Zarah, passing through the war zone and slipping behind enemy lines to get here.

The key to finding Jack Easterbrook was to find his ships. Without them, he was essentially powerless, and there was no way he could receive support from his homeland.

But it almost meant following a lead that was weeks old. The Battle of Daban was already a month ago, and it was the last time the Javan fleet had been spotted. With the Picard army moving south, it was a question of whether the Javan fleet went with them.

If they did, he still needed to be on their trail. If he was lucky enough that they were still here, it took one more step away from the plan. From the sounds of it though, Adalbert wasn't about to get lucky.

"All gone? All the ships then?" he asked the worker. "Surely some would have stayed to protect the capital, right?"

"Our ships are still here," said the worker. "But all those fancy foreign ships are gone. The Carinthians and those Javan people. Did you hear those Javans came all the way across the ocean? Isn't that amazing? I used to hear stories about mythical nations on the other side of the—"

"So amazing," interrupted Adalbert before reeling him in once more. "Did you by chance hear where they went? Maybe they went south to fight the Swabians?"

"No idea, friend," said the worker. "They don't tell me where they're going when they leave. I'd assume they went south but I also heard a rumor the Javans were going back home."

Adalbert's brow crinkled in confusion. "Home? Across the ocean?"

The worker nodded. "Yes, sir, that's right. There's something to be said for it, because they haven't been back since they left, and I know the Picard fleet has recently left to fight the Swabians. Although there's no telling where they might've gone."

Adalbert rubbed his chin. "So they all went and left, did they? The Javans are all gone."

The worker took a long drink from his mug. "Well, not all of them."

Adalbert focused his glare on the man. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, I know there are Javans with the army in the south. Fighting the good fight, you know how it is. We were ecstatic to learn they took back Burwick a few days ago. Suits those bastards right. Don't come looking to pick a fight in Picardy! You're liable to get punched back in the mouth." The worker put his fists up in an absurd manner, punctuated more fully by how drunk he was.

"So their men are still here but their ships aren't," said Adalbert while he contemplated his next move. "That seems to suggest they'll eventually be back to get their men, won't they?"

"I sure hope so," said the worker. "It's almost like old times again! The Carinthians in our corner and the Swabians being hostile again, it reminds me of the history books. It sure is interesting times, friend. If I wasn't so damn old, I'd have half a mind of joining back up in the army just so I could see some of the action firsthand."

Adalbert resisted the urge to sneer. To think of this middle-aged, overweight man anywhere near a battlefield was utterly comical at worst and pathetic at best. He tried to imagine his countrymen using the fat man as target practice, and a satisfied smile filled his face.

"Indeed, well, I need to get back to my wares," said Adalbert quickly, receiving the information he wanted. "Thank you for your conversation."

"Good luck with the whole trading thing, buddy," said the worker before he burped loudly. "You might have better luck back in Samara though!"

Adalbert's cloak flowed after his body as he made his way out of the Scowling Goose, exiting out onto the street and quickly picking a quiet alley to traverse down.

The worker's information had been very helpful indeed. He would have it confirmed later on tonight by doing the same routine, hoping that the story matched up with someone else's. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Daban so soon on bad information.

As long as everything checked out, there weren't many other places in Picardy he could try. If Easterbrook was gone from Daban, there were only a few other places he could be. Burwick stood out prominently as the best option. It was where the main army was, and if there were Javans among them, there was a chance Easterbrook could be leading them.

There was no way he could be in Zarah, since the city was still under Swabian control. There was also no way that he would personally set foot in the city as long as Magda was there.

Adalbert flinched at the sound of her name in his mind. He didn't doubt that the woman would hold onto her promise to kill him if he ever entered the city again, and he wasn't stupid enough to doubt her.

With Burwick being the only remaining option in the country, and since Adalbert wasn't liable to go searching any other countries based on whims alone, he stopped into a small convenience shop on the edge of the suburban area of the city. At this time of evening, it was packed with those on their way home, many of them trying to get food or use the restrooms, so they paid little attention to the disguised Swabian as he went inside.

Adalbert quickly found the section he was looking for, the one that contained a small wall of handheld maps. He'd scarcely been looking over the section for more than a few seconds before he was approached by the proprietor of the store.

"What can I help you find there, sir?" asked the elderly man, taking in Adalbert's heavy cloak with a confused look.

"Burwick," answered Adalbert laconically. "I need a map to Burwick."

*****

"You're absolutely certain this will be a difference maker?" asked Lord Avila with a raised eyebrow. He stared into the Swabian engineer's eyes, almost daring him to look away.

This was one area where he had to be absolutely certain and Avila was determined not to leave without knowing the truth.

"Y-yes, my lord," said the engineer with a high-pitched voice. "We've been running extensive tests with them. At the beginning, we had a hard time getting enough power out of their engines, but after some deliberate tweaks, we were able to get a model that lasted in the field much longer."

"Define much longer. How long are we talking?"

"About two hours or about thirty miles, whichever comes first," said the engineer.

Avila nodded as he once more walked around the invention. He took a moment to drag his knuckles along the hardened steel exterior. "And they are impervious to gunfire?"

"Impervious to just about everything. They won't stop naval artillery, but they should fare well with all other types of ordnance."

Avila nodded. "How many of them do you have ready to go? How many can be operational in a few days?"

"About eighty, my lord," answered the engineer. "I can have a further twenty ready in five days."

"How about three days?" bargained Avila, remembering the dispatch in his front pocket.

"Three days?" squeaked the engineer. A heavy layer of sweat had already started to gather on his brow. "That might be quite difficult, sir. We'd need more manpower for one."

"Then get it. Send the bill to my estate," said Avila with a smile flick of the wrist. "I have a ship leaving for Picardy in four days' time." He then gestured to the invention in front of him. "I want these to be on it."

The engineer nodded in a hurry. "I'll do everything I can, my lord."

"See to it that you do. Send the engineers along with them. I can see these things breaking down once they are actually in battle. Make sure we have a way to fix them."

"I will, my lord. My entire team will go with them. About five hundred men, all trained in how to operate, build, fix, and sustain these inventions."

Avila nodded his gratitude. "Good. Let me know of any setbacks right away. Otherwise, I'll be off to my estate."

He didn't wait for the engineer to respond. Avila moved with purpose through the factory, not stopping to look at the other weaponry being worked on by his small army of inventors. He'd gathered some of the best and brightest in all of Swabia to Cormfeld, and together, they were creating the weapons of tomorrow, the superweapons that would give them the edge in the coming wider war.

Avila truly believed the conflict in Picardy was the catalyst that would spark such a war. For one, he would not permit his forces to be kicked out of the country without escalating an all-out war. Such a conflict would require Emperor Aurelius to throw his support to him lest the entire country lose face.

As a counterpoint to the above, he also didn't believe that the Picards would allow the rest of their country to come under his dominion without looking for more allies than just the Carinthians. With the Apulians rebuilding, and this foreigner from the east meddling in his backyard, he knew it was only a matter of time until things escalated.

Anymore, it looked like that first notion would come to pass first. It was only days ago that he received the dispatch that Burwick had fallen to the Picard army, rendering their foothold in Zarah as tenuous and unreliable at best. He had to move quickly to secure their final position.

It was the very spirit of the message in his front breast pocket. Magda Bulow had been desperate for resupply and rearmament, and he was determined to give her every tool she needed to complete the job. That included the sending of four more regiments, as well as the earlier mustering of the Swabian fleet under his command for action in Picardy.

Avila had also secured the loyalty of two other lesser lords of Swabia, allies of his that had pledged the use of their forces in Picardy. Negotiations were in place to send another four allied regiments to Picardy, making his army there a true Swabian force.

It was the perfect combination for total victory of the errant country. He wouldn't be satisfied until they'd achieved victory on both land and sea, showing the Picards once and for all that they shouldn't have resisted his first efforts in Daban.

He was determined to make the plague the most humane and dignified option they would have.

"Come, Otto, we're leaving," he said brusquely to his servant, while the man waited at the front of his armory. Like the well-trained retainer he was, he quickly moved his feet to join him as they walked out of the building and headed the short distance over to his estate.

"My lord, I've received word of a recently-arrived visitor to Cormfeld while you were inside the armory," said Otto during the brief walk. "I'm told the man was seen with the emperor's personal standard emblazoned on his shoulder."

Avila sighed. "Wonderful," he said with sarcasm. "What could Aurelius possibly wantnow?"

"I'm sure this probably has something to do with our Picard venture," offered Otto hesitantly.

Avila turned his glare toward the man. "Don't you start now."

"Yes, my lord," said Otto with a heavy gulp.

To his credit, the man said no more. Avila didn't need to hear one more time about how his operation in Picardy put them all at risk. The emperor had warned him to get out of the country, and now he was doing the exact opposite—he was escalating the conflict.

But Avila was willing to gamble that the operation would pay off. And if he wanted to take the emperor's throne one day, he had to be willing to roll the dice no matter the odds.

He just hoped it wasn't his time to pay the piper.

As soon as he was inside the estate, Avila found the courtier waiting for him. Sure enough, the man wore the imperial standard of Swabia on his shoulder, leaving no doubt who the message was from.

"Lord Regaulfus Avila?" questioned the courtier at once.

Avila rolled his eyes. "Obviously," he said, pointing to his state of dress. "Only a Lord of Swabia would dress in such a fashion. Now what do you want?"

The courtier bowed before him. "I come bearing a message from the Imperial Leader of Swabia, the great father of our country. Emperor Aurelius Raggathorn."

"And what does the great emperor have to say to me?" asked Avila.

"He wonders why you are still sending your armed forces to Picardy," said the courtier. "Especially when you've been told to cease that activity."

"But we are," argued Avila. "Just now, I've given orders to bring all of my forces home, wrapping up the war."

Even the courtier seemed to sense that it was bullshit.

"Why then, are there more of your regiments getting ready to ship out?" asked the courtier. "Why is that your docks are busier than ever as they attempt to keep a steady flow of men and material to the country?"

"My ships are there to bring my forces home," lied Avila. "My men are simply training. War exercises, to keep them fresh."

The courtier raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

A moment of silence descended on them before Avila opened up again.

"Is there any more to this statement or did the emperor waste his time in sending you here just to accuse me of further disobedience?"

"Careful, my lord," said the courtier. "I'll be sending a transcript of our entire conversation back to the emperor. You wouldn't want to let him see your . . . malcontent."

Avila shrugged. "Very well. If it's all the same to you, then I have work to be done."

"Know this then, Lord Regaulfus Avila," said the courtier. "Emperor Aurelius has given you your last warning. Pull out from Picardy completely, or you'll find not only your governorship of Cormfeld at risk, but also everything you hold dear."

Avila swallowed heavily.So, it has come to this. My last ultimatum.

"Understood," he answered in a loud, clear voice.

The courtier didn't offer much in the way of goodbyes. He turned on his heel and left the estate as quickly as he appeared. He scarcely needed to stay—his message had been delivered. Avila expected him to now run off like the good dog that he was to his master, no doubt telling him of his insolence before an official courtier of the throne.

Regardless, Aurelius would have to wait. When Picardy was at his feet, then he would move to secure the throne of Swabia. With his newfound aid from the lesser lords of Swabia, their support would enable him to launch his bid for the imperial throne. As of now, it was only a matter of time. When Picardy fell, so would fall the emperor.

Aurelius had best enjoy his time as emperor. His time is now limited.

*****

Much to Greg's disappointment, the first week after the Battle of Burwick found the army still encamped inside the city, not having moved an inch. The reason was simple enough, even if he found it lacking—the army was just exhausted and needed to regain its strength.

The quick march out from Daban all the way to Burwick, as well as the skirmishes with the Swabians had worn out the combined armies, not used to the frequent pace of wartime, before they even arrived at the city. When that was combined with maintaining the siege, which required every man to stay on the line to prevent an enemy breakout, the men that conquered Burwick were an exhausted bunch.

Not all the men, thought Greg, looking over at the Javan marines, many of which were now chomping at the bit to push south for the liberation of Zarah. The marines were in the best shape due to their recent activity, and Greg could tell by the looks on their faces that they shared their commander's sentiments. It was the Picards and the Carinthians they were waiting for, and with whom the overall pace of the army rested.

"Give me fifty pushups apiece and then proceed to one hundred jumping jacks," said Greg to the gathered marines in front of him as he led the morning calisthenics regimen. He soon hit the deck with them, never ordering the men to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. After completing the ordered allotment of exercises, the Javans came to a rest before Greg had them get ready for a run.

That run was around the perimeter of Burwick, and they completed two laps around the city at a distance of about twelve miles before he let them have their break. He was determined that the Javan force would continue to be the tip of the spear for the entire army, showing them what true fitness looked like.

As the men were dismissed, Greg made his way over to the Picard headquarters inside Burwick where Neil Fagan had taken up a command residence. The morning was still young, and Greg expected the general to have set a date for their push south. No one was more eager than he to get moving, and if he had to pressure Neil to set the date, he would do so. Every day they dallied in the city was another day the enemy was permitted to dig in and get stronger, so the sooner they could leave, the better.

"Ah, Greg, there you are," said Neil after the marine had stepped into his office. Neil was sitting behind a large desk in the former library, which had been converted to his nerve center for the army. Neil was in the middle of writing a dispatch while Greg made himself comfortable in a seat beside his desk.

"Morning, Neil. What's the good news today? Are we setting out for Zarah soon?"

"In a few days' time," answered Neil, looking up from his dispatch. "The army is just about ready to move again after the battle."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "If they're ready to move now, what's the reason for the delay?"

"We're waiting on more supplies coming in from Daban," said Neil with hesitation. "Most of the surrounding stores in Burwick have been destroyed by the Swabians, or they'd taken the supplies. The army can't move yet until we have what we need."

"Why don't we have the supplies meet us on the road?" asked Greg with impatience. "We can get moving in the morning light, and they can catch up to us later."

Neil let out a small chuckle. "So anxious to get moving already?"

Greg nodded firmly. "I'm anxious to finish the job. One city is ours and one city is still left to go. Let's kick them out of the country permanently."

"I'm with you in that matter, Greg, I really am," said Neil before taking a deep breath. "This is going more slowly than I imagined as well, but I'm told the supply convoy is making all possible speed."

"I'm not trying to doubt you, Neil," said Greg sympathetically. "I just want to get this fighting done with."

"As do we all," replied the Picard general. "I've heard of some interesting reports though. It appears the Swabians are not going to wait for our arrival to Zarah it seems."

"Are they coming north?"

Neil nodded. "My spies on the road to Zarah have reported a large body of Swabians moving up from the city. Many of them aren't moving via the road itself, but using the cover of the forests to conceal themselves. They are estimating the body to be several thousand men in totality, but since they are moving with cover, it's hard for them to get a hard number."

"At least they won't be as stupid as their comrades to get bottled up inside the city," said Greg with a somewhat amused expression.

"We can hope for a more set-piece battle this time," said Neil. "After all, we still outnumber them nearly two to one. A field battle will be cleaner as well than fighting in the city anyway."

"I wonder what they are hoping for as far as an outcome. Surely they would have to know that they're outnumbered still, right?" asked Greg.

"You would think so but the Swabian mind doesn't always follow logic," said Neil as he rubbed his chin. "I wonder if they have reinforcements coming."