Chapter 31 Stone Against Steel
Chapter thirty-one
Stone Against Steel
Stonevale, same day
Colonel Miles Bourg stood a step behind General Roundtree on a grassy hill less than a kilometer from the town, fort, and noble castle that comprised Stonevale. Beyond the hill, a force of thirty thousand pitched tents in the valley, while patrols gathered supplies or scouted for traps.
Though he’d never met Roosevelt Roundtree before their forces joined for the invasion, he’d found much to admire about the older, stout man who wore his silver hair in a side part.
He employed a calm, confident leadership style that never rushed, and he seemed to care about those under his command.
It had taken several days, but they reached their destination without injury or incident.
On the general’s other side stood Colonel Joshua Hobbs, binoculars pressed to his eyes, his glasses in his other hand. He was shorter than Miles and about the same age, with a crew cut and a flowing sweep of dusty-brown hair covering his chin and upper lip.
“Gentlemen,” Roundtree began, “we have some decisions to make. General Garcia’s instructions were to spare no one—obliterate everything.”
“Do you intend to wage war on the civilians, sir?” Miles asked, his expression hardening. The thought struck like sour metal at the back of his tongue. “Women, children, and old people?” He pulled off his cap, raked freckled fingers through his red hair, then jammed it back on against the sun.
“The ramparts of Fort Calder will not be easily breached,” the general pointed out. “But we could drive our tanks and armored cars right down Main Street while our artillery bombards the military target.”
“But if they have armaments in the castle, our troops would be caught in crossfire,” Hobbs said, lowering the binoculars. “I didn’t see any, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.” He refitted his glasses on his nose.
“True.” Roundtree stared at their target as if deep in thought.
With a sudden, inspired expression, Hobbs said, “Isn’t that general we captured the son of this town’s lord? What if we could make a deal with them to trade the general and other prisoners for Stonevale’s surrender?”
“It could be worth a try,” Miles agreed. “Sun Tzu taught that the best path to victory is when you don’t have to fight.”
“Indeed, Colonel Bourg.” Roundtree smiled at him, appreciation shining in his eyes. “However, they will want to see General Calder to ensure he and the others are alive, and we left them back at the Corinth airfield. Besides, I doubt they’d consider it a fair trade.”
Hobbs’ excitement waned, and he slapped a bug on his neck. “They have the high ground,” he muttered.
“Yes, Colonel Hobbs, a very defensible position,” Roundtree noted.
“If I were to pick a place to build a fortress, I could think of none better. However, their holding the high ground is not a foregone conclusion. Neither is their fortress impregnable. If we attack their citizenry, it will force them to leave their walls and meet us in the streets.”
“Hobbs, how many civilians did you spot out and about in the town?” Miles asked. “So far, noncombatants fled before we arrived.”
“I don’t know,” he said, flicking Miles a disgruntled smirk. “You look.” Stepping behind General Roundtree, he passed the binoculars to Miles.
Adjusting the wheel to focus for his eyes, Miles scanned the town. Some troop patrols, cargo trucks, and horse-drawn carts. He spotted one old couple sitting in rockers on their porch, as if daring them to attack. No other civilians.
“Only the military are outside,” he said, “but women and children could be hiding in safe places—churches or basements.”
“Or they could have evacuated,” Roundtree concluded. “Garcia would say total war is the only path to victory.”
“But, sir,” Miles said in a tone that caught the general’s attention.
He met Miles’ gaze, brows arched. “When the Republic flag flies above Stonevale, above the Capitol Building in Nelanta, don’t we want citizens to rule over?
Won’t we need people to farm the land and run the mills?
Don’t we want them to embrace our religion and way of life?
How will they ever do so if they only view us as butchers?
You didn’t burn crops or slaughter cattle on our way here because you realize we will need those resources when the fighting ends. How much more the human resources?”
“You make a logical case for minimizing civilian casualties,” Roundtree answered. “I’ve already been working on a plan to minimize our own in the taking of Stonevale. Now I’ve decided you will spearhead my plan.”
Miles’ lips parted and eyes rounded. He hadn’t expected to be put in charge of anything important. He was only here to fill in for General Jacobs. Pride and nervousness ran side by side in his veins. But he agreed not to attack the residents, hadn’t he?
When General Roundtree lifted his chin, turning toward the target, his granite profile looked carved for a statue. He pointed. “You see that mountain shadowing the fort, the one across the valley from its twin bearing the castle?”
“Yes,” said Hobbs. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the hard sunlight under a clear blue sky.
It was a striking landscape. Miles had never seen green mountains like these, nor grass and forests that extended forever.
Fort Rustin wasn’t in a desert clime, nor limited to prairie grass and sparse trees.
But because of the Mother River’s floodwaters and adequate rainfall, it overlooked the only corner of the Red River Republic suited for large-scale agriculture.
Therefore, forests had been cleared to make way for corn, beans, and pastures.
He found Verdancia’s lushness almost unsettling in its beauty.
“Why are they just sitting there?” demanded Major Hawkeye McKinley. He wiped dirt from his face with his forest-green neckerchief.
Roderic stood with him and the other senior officers atop the ramparts, studying the invaders.
The Iron Army wouldn’t have an easy time of it.
Fort Calder clung to the mountainside as if it had clawed its way there centuries ago and refused to yield.
Its lower walls were hewn from the same buff stone as the cliffs behind it, its upper barracks of brick and timber stacked with purposeful austerity.
Smoke from cookfires and forge chimneys curled upward and vanished into pine-shadowed slopes.
Gun platforms stepped up the rock in ascending tiers, cannons resting in their cradles like watchful beasts.
Where Highcrest Hall commanded with elegance, the fort endured with steel resolve.
“Intelligence reports that General Roundtree commands the corps—a more cautious and calculating leader than Garcia.” Roderic focused his gaze through the telescope mounted on the parapet. He adjusted it slightly, fixing on a hill a kilometer away.
“It’s a good thing we got most of the citizens out in time,” said Major Williams. His dark skin glistened with sweat despite wearing only a summer-weight, short-sleeved shirt. Overhead, the Verdancian flag rippled above the blue-and-silver Calder falcon banner.
“No simple task,” added Captain Cooley.
The evacuation to an abandoned mine thirty kilometers north began the morning after Roderic returned.
Some citizens refused to leave their homes, especially old timers.
Nearly a thousand others volunteered as militia troops, sending their loved ones away to safety.
Essential personnel—doctors, nurses, firefighters—remained to support the citadel and Highcrest Hall.
“I can confirm General Garcia is not leading the corps.” Roderic stepped back from the telescope, turning to his officers. “We need to be prepared for anything.”
“My cavalry stands ready,” McKinley declared, lifting his square jaw with resolve.
“The archers and riflemen are on three rotations at their posts,” said Williams, “to ensure they’re rested and remain sharp.”
“We could use Colonel Pickering directing our cannons and catapults,” Roderic said quietly. “Still, I have full confidence in you, Colonel Moore.”
“Thank you, sir.” The mixed-race lieutenant colonel squared his shoulders, his hands clasped behind his back, feet set wide.
To be fair, Moore had done most of the actual work while assisting the elderly Pickering and was quite capable. Morale was the primary concern, as everyone admired and revered the old bird colonel.
“I’ve kept half of our percussive shells in reserve, safe from bombardment in the bunker, while having enough on hand to see us through the first wave or two of assaults,” the eager officer reported.
“The ammunition is spread across the wall and turrets. There’s sufficient tar and catapult stones.
The howitzers are behind iron shielding, but a direct hit could knock one out.
I’ve drilled the crews, and they’re ready. ”
“Ammunition.” Roderic’s tone was solemn, speaking the word like a bad omen.
“We have the stronghold, the defenses. We ran out of bullets at Cypress Creek. Even here, they are in finite supply—explosive shells even more precious. Colonel Moore, we must defend Stonevale while expending them conservatively. Rely more heavily on catapults and lead balls so our ammunition will last as long as possible. Williams, that goes for your ranged troops as well. No one shoots at random. Even the machine gunners and light artillery.”
He gave each officer a serious, commanding stare.
“We can’t drown them in a volume of fire.
Each shot must hit a target. Tell your gunners to aim for clusters, archers for individuals.
McKinley, I want to meet with you in my office to plan out after-dark stealth attacks on the edges of the enemy camp.
Use dynamite with preset timers to blow up their armored vehicles.
We’ll discuss how and where. Everyone else, return to your units. Keep your eyes and ears open.”
“Yes, sir,” they replied.
Then Lieutenant Rushing, serving as Roderic’s aide, asked, “What about Lord Calder? Did he leave for the mines with your wife and children?”
Roderic let out a sigh and shook his head. “He insists on holding his castle. I sent a company to defend Highcrest Hall if we fail here. But in the end, it won’t matter. We must hold, or all is lost.”
Miles was glad for the clear skies, with the stars and moon shining above.
He had led a troop of horsemen around the back side of the mountain, ridden uphill until the grade became too steep, and left the horses behind.
They carried backpacks of explosives around the ridge, through thick pines, red spruce, and maples, taking positions above the bastion.
The small force reduced the risk of detection by Verdancian lookouts and ensured minimal losses if they were discovered.
It was a good plan. Their primary objectives were the howitzers, heavy machine gun nests, and the barracks.
If they could cripple the enemy’s ability to defend the fort, the area lord might be willing to discuss terms.
He used a short-distance radio to communicate with his captain and lieutenants to coordinate the attack.
Four platoons crouched on the scarped cliffside awaiting his command.
If this works, the campaign ends with minimal loss of life.
The civilians will be safe, and General Roundtree will gain prestige in Dominion.
Checking his watch, Miles waited for the hands to align.
He thought about his wife and daughter in Rustin, his son in the hospital tent.
He’d received no word of his condition. Gritting his teeth, he half-hoped Garcia would fail to capture Marchland.
It would serve him right for neglecting his son’s welfare and that of all the wounded left behind without transportation.
He pictured Eliam lying on a field cot, Nurse Langston tending him.
Pressing the talk button on his radio, he gave the word. “Sky-drop is a go.”
A thunderous boom shook the Inner Redoubt, knocking Roderic off his cot. A crack split wide in the command chamber wall as dust showered from above. Rushing jumped up and pushed his feet into his boots. “Sir—”
“I know.” Roderic hadn’t taken his boots off. He grabbed his belt, bearing sword and pistol, and a rifle. The clang of the alarm bell joined the report of another blast, this one farther down the wall.
A sergeant rushed in, alarm on his face. “Let’s go,” Roderic called. “All hands on deck!”
Outside on the wall, he found his troops alert, performing their jobs as they’d been trained.
Bucket brigades rushed to put out fires.
Machine gunners raked the cliffs above the fortress.
Infantry climbed the steep slope in pursuit of the enemy.
Roderic ducked as a barracks roof exploded, sending rubble flying.
A six-inch splinter drove into his forearm as he shielded his face, white pain flaring through him.
Two more detonations followed, then only the clanging bell, the rush of boots, soldiers’ shouts, and the rat-a-tat-tat of his Gatling guns.
“Report!” Roderic barked, furious with himself for having slept. Stupid! But he’d never considered they would climb the mountain guarding their rear and drop bombs.
“We lost three howitzers,” an artillery captain replied, “and a couple of machine gun nests. No report on casualties from the barracks collapse yet, but there were hundreds of soldiers in that wing. Colonel Moore sent three platoons up the mountain after them. This is our terrain, sir, not theirs.”
Roderic nodded. “Not as bad as it could have been, and they can’t try it again. Rushing, draw up a schedule. I want scouts all over that mountain and behind Highcrest Hall. We won’t be caught off-guard a second time.”
“Yes, sir,” the young lieutenant answered. “General Calder, you need to report to the infirmary and have that removed and your arm treated. You’ll be no good to Stonevale if you come down with an infection.”
“Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “That.”
“I’ll get the patrols arranged and check on the barracks they hit,” Rushing assured him.
“We’re going to miss those howitzers,” the artillery captain said sourly. “At least only a case of shells each went up with them.”
Roderic yanked the splinter from his arm and threw it to the stones at his feet. “Time to strike back,” he said. “Send for McKinley.” There were a few more hours before dawn—plenty of time to silence the Iron Army’s big guns in kind.