to save him, either. There won't be any orders he can use for cover, no way he can say 'I was just following instructions,' or 'Everything I did was in policy.' You said the Sharonians are going to demand punishment for anyone who's abused their POWs? Well, who do you think they're going to punish? I know why Neshok thinks he reports directly to me, why there's no one in the chain of authority between him and me. But why do you think it's that way, Klayrman?'
Vothon, Toralk thought. You've been planning this all along. You're using Neshok, and you're making sure that when he finally goes down, he can't take anyone else-except maybe you-with him.
'Sir-'
'No, Klayrman. We're not going to discuss this any more. Not tonight, at any rate. Tonight, we're going to have supper together, and we're going to discuss the latest intelligence data from Five Hundred Neshok and how it affects our future planning.
'I've decided we're going to have to split our forces. We can't afford to leave this other sub-chain just sitting there, waiting to serve as a conduit into our own rear areas, especially if we don't manage to punch out Traisum cleanly, after all. So, I'm going to send Carthos up the other branch first thing in the morning. He'll have four universes to cross before he gets to Traisum, whereas we'll only have two more, but according to the Five Hundred's reports-' the two thousand showed his teeth in a cold, humorless smile '-those are very recently discovered universes, compared to the ones along the other route, and they're covered only by very light forces. I'm not that worried about the opposition he might hit, but it's also a lot longer route, almost twice as long as the shorter, better-explored one. Even with dragons, it's going to be a long, bitter haul, and it will be even worse for the other side if they hold us short of Traisum and try to exploit the other sub-chain to get at our rear. That means it's going to be a secondary theater for both sides, and that we're a lot more likely to hit serious resistance in Failcham and Karys than he is on his axis of advance.
'And that, in turn, means I'm going to need my best Air Force Commander here, so I'm keeping you on this side. I'm afraid you'll be acting under my direct orders, while Carthos gets a more independent command.' The two thousand met Toralk's gaze levelly. 'I'm sorry about that. It means he'll get more credit for making the decisions about everything, ranging from tactics to supply considerations … even methods of intelligence- gathering. I'm afraid no one's going to give you a lot of credit for any decisions like that which have to be made during our own advance.'
Toralk looked back at his commanding officer and realized what Harshu was truly saying.
I shouldn't, he thought. I shouldn't let him do this. I should either support his decisions, his policies, openly, or else ask to be relieved, not let him cover me while he throws Carthos and Neshok to the dragons … along with himself.
For a long, quivering instant, he hung on the brink of saying that out loud. But then-
'That's all right, Sir. I won't pretend I'm happy about everything you've just said, but you're right about at least one thing. We do have a job to do out here, and I suppose it's time we rolled up our sleeves and got on with it.'
Division-Captain Arlos chan Geraith stepped out of the comfortably heated car onto the rear platform.
The noise of steel wheels drumming along steel rails, the hammer of wind, the vibrating rattle of fittings and glass windows, filled his ears, and it was bitterly cold (although not nearly so cold as it would get in a few more weeks) as the enormous train rushed through the night.
The vast breadth of the Grocyran Plain stretched away to the north and east, an endless land of swamps, birch forests, and conifers in the center of the vast continent of Chairifon. The double strand of rails stretched thirty-nine hundred miles, as a bird might fly, from this universe's Lake Arau in the eastern foothills of the Arau Mountains to the southwestern mountains of Harkala, close to the ancient city of Aeravas. But this massive train, loaded with the men, horses, vehicles, and artillery of the First Brigade of his Third Dragoon Division of the imperial Ternathian Army was no bird. The compromises forced upon the Trans-Temporal Express' construction engineers by uncooperative terrain had added at least seven hundred miles to that theoretical straight-line distance.
They were less than halfway across the universe of Faryika, pounding furiously down-chain towards Traisum, with almost nine thousand miles still to go. The good news was that there was only one more water gap to be crossed; the bad news was that the gap was over a thousand miles wide and that shipping would be agonizingly hard to come by in the thinly inhabited universe of Salym. It was going to take time to get his men and equipment across that stretch of saltwater.
Time, he thought. Please, Vothan give me the time! It's not supposed to take months just to get my troops into the likely theatre of operations! The War College never prepared any of us for a move like this one.
Or, his thought turned grimmer, a war like this one could turn into.
He unbuttoned the top button of his coat and took the flat, thin case from an inside pocket. He opened it and extracted one of the long, slender, handrolled New Ternath cigars, then returned the case to his pocket. He took a moment to savor the rich smell of the tobacco, passing it slowly under his nose, then clipped the end, put it in his mouth, and struck a match. He shielded the fragile flame in his cupped palms until it had burned away the last of the chemical taste, then lit the cigar slowly and carefully, turning the tip in the match flame until it was evenly alight. Then he tossed the match from the platform and watched it arc out into the carriage's slipstream like a short-lived comet, snuffed out the instant it left the wind-shadow of the platform.
He stepped to the right side of the platform and leaned on the rail as he gazed out westward across the plains. Thick stands of birch, trunks gleaming silver-white in the moonlight, stretched away on either side of the right-of-way, interspersed with equally thick stands of evergreens. The reflected light from the coach windows raced along the ground, keeping pace with the train, flickering hugely as it crossed boulders or the sides of the occasional rail cutting. Stars gleamed overhead, and a halo of ice crystals encircled the high, white moon as it floated in a sky of midnight blue. Far ahead, invisible from chan Geraith's position on the platform, three powerful engines thundered down a diamond cavern, carved through the darkness by the lead engine's powerful headlamp, and a thick streamer of funnel smoke trailed back from them like a twisted banner, shot silver and black with moonlight.
They were the only bubble of life and light-of human life, at least-for literally thousands of miles.
The permanent human population of this entire universe was less than twenty thousand, which meant First Brigade's three thousand men had increased it by over fifteen percent. And it also meant that those less than twenty thousand human souls were a tiny, tiny presence on this vast and empty world.
They'd had to leave the mighty Paladins of their original train behind. None of the immediately available heavylift freighters had boasted the capacity to carry those enormous locomotives across the water gap in Haysam. Besides, they'd been too badly needed for the Sharona to Haysam run. Hayrdar Sheltim, chan Geraith's train master, had needed three of the Norgamar Works' individually smaller and less powerful Windcleaver-J 2-8-4 locomotives to replace the pair of Paladins, but it was probably just as well. The Windcleavers were nimbler than their larger cousins, better suited to the mountainous terrain between them and Harkala.
He drew heavily on the cigar, watching its tip glow brightly, savoring the moment of privacy and the pristine beauty of the world racing past him at least as much as he savored the rich taste of the smoke.
He treasured moments like this. Moments when he could step away from his staff, his unit commanders.
When he could take off the persona of a division commander, allow himself to step off the stage where his performance must engender confidence and determination.
I suppose it's sort of sad that I have to stand out here freezing my posterior off to find what Misanya calls my 'comfort zone.'
He smiled at the thought of his wife. She was a soldier's daughter, as well as a soldier's wife, and she understood what that meant, how their joint lives must be subordinated to the sometimes harsh demands of his chosen profession. But it had also left her with a refreshing irreverence for the sort of posturing and grand tragedy that certain soldiers of their acquaintance liked to embrace. She was quick to exterminate any tendencies in that direction in her own husband, at least, for which chan Geraith was profoundly thankful.
Then his smile faded as he reflected upon how many weary thousands of miles behind him Misanya was.
Stop that! he scolded himself. You're not the only a soldier who's missing his wife tonight, Arlos!
Which was true enough. And it wasn't as if he didn't have enough other things to worry about. He particularly disliked what Company-Captain Lisar chan Korthal, his staff Voice, had been reporting from the negotiations at Hell's Gate. The obstructionism Platoon-Captain chan Baskay's messages described made no more sense to chan
