Conqueror

Foley's dog yelped and leaped forward so quickly that he had to slug the reins back with brutal force to stop it. A splinter a double handspan long stuck out of one haunch; the animal kept trying to turn and reach the wound with its tongue.

Two of Foley's troopers grabbed the bridle while he dismounted; one of them threw a neckerchief over the dog's eyes while the other pulled the splinter out with a single swift yank. The dog's howl of agony was loud even by comparison with the noises of battle.

'Go!' Staenbridge barked. 'Go, go, go.'

The dust billowed away from the gate, showing a shattered ruin that sagged back out of the way. Bartin Foley was first through again, his riot gun in one hand; at his shouted direction a dozen men threw their shoulders against the splintered wreckage and walked it clear. Raj heeled Horace through a dozen paces, then drew him up with the pressure of his knees.

The interior of the camp was a checkerboard of stores in huge pyramids under tarpaulins, interspersed with tents. Some of the tents were on fire, and there was also light from iron baskets of burning greaseweed at the intersections. His head whipped left and right. To the left the Civil Government troops were already over the wall and down into the roadway that circled just inside it. The inner face of the berm was sloped dirt, or broad steps cut into the clay and faced with palm logs. Men poured down in, rallied around unit flags on the flat, moved off. There was a thick scattering of dead Arabs on the roadway, a few on the inner slope, more living ones running like blazes southward. To his right, toward the river, the fighting was still on the parapet itself. In a few places Civil Government banners waved from the parapet.

'All right,' he said. Just what I expected. That section had had fewest of his veterans, and most of the Sandoral garrison troops. 'Gerrin, let's collect some men and go help out. Waymanos!'

The issue of the day was no longer in doubt. Now he'd make sure the butcher's bill wasn't any higher than it had to be.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Breakfast was astonishing. Well, we did just overrun a supply dump, Raj thought, looking over the collection of delicacies.

He spooned up more potted shrimp. Peydro Belagez was eating them mixed with candied dates, which was something only a Borderer would do; Gerrin watched him with the horrified fascination of a gourmet, or a priest witnessing blasphemy. The commanders were seated at a long table in the huge pavilion tent that had been the base HQ. The Colonial engineers, left with time on their hands, had gone a little berserk. There were even baths, complete with kerosene-fired water heaters, enough for several hundred men at a time.

The morning air was fresh and hot, still a little smoky with the fires they'd spent half the night putting out. A bugle sounded outside, and a pair of mounted troopers trotted by with a long string of dogs on a leading rein: more of the force's mounts from the site where they'd landed. The barges and rafts were mostly here by now too, grounded on the riverbank or against the stub of the pontoon bridge that still extended halfway across. On the tall flagpole outside the HQ tent the Starburst banner snapped in the breeze.

The commander of the Rogor Slashers went on:

'And they still haven't stopped running, heneralissimo. They've split up into small parties and none of them show fight.' Belagez's dark leathery face showed a combination of exhaustion and satisfaction. 'Your instructions?'

'Ignore them,' Raj said. 'They weren't a problem in here, and they're not going to be one out there, either.'

He swallowed another mouthful of excellent-quality kave-the Colony sat astride the trade-route from Azania and kept the best for itself-and looked at Suzette. She had peeled an orange and then set it aside untouched, looking a little pale. Damnation. Think about that later.

'Casualties?'

'Less than two hundred,' Staenbridge said, sounding slightly surprised. 'That's not counting walking wounded fit for duty. We only had twenty dead.'

'Most of the live ones will pull through,' Suzette added. 'There are plenty of medical supplies here, and some excellent Colonial doctors, besides our own. Working under guard, of course.'

'Prisoners?'

Kerpatik thumbed through his lists. 'Over two thousand, heneralissimo. That is, two thousand military personnel. There were substantial numbers of camp followers here as well. The families of the soldiers have mostly fled. The, ah, commercial elements-' he rubbed thumb and the first two fingers of his hand together, '-they care little about the coinage as long as the metal is good.'

Raj nodded. Where you had a military base, you got knocking-shops. He'd be willing to bet there was alcohol for sale too, Koranic prohibitions or not.

'Jorg, issue Guardia armbands to some of your footsoldiers and get that under tight control. We're still in the field, even if we've captured all the comforts of home. Let's not let the troops relax just yet.'

'What about the prisoners?'

'Strip them down to their loincloths and let them go; tell them to start walking south. Now, we captured a good many documents here, including the daily logistics summaries.'

Several men exclaimed in delight. That meant they would know the Colonial army's situation in detail, right down to the names of the units and their muster strength.

'Evidently they've been having problems getting the supplies from the railhead to the siege lines outside Sandoral-plenty here, but they're short of draft oxen and fodder over on the west bank.'

Dinnalsyn nodded. 'They were trying to use locomotive engines to rig up a couple of spare pontoons as steam tugboats, to pull raftloads up to Sandoral,' he said. 'I had a look; it would have worked, more or less. Whoever was in charge knew his business.'

Raj nodded acknowledgment. 'In any case, the Colonials have virtually nothing in the way of reserve with their field army. They were living from day to day on what their convoys brought in, once the countryside was laid waste. Now, Messers, here's what we'll do. Jorg, you're in charge here. How many dogs did we capture?'

Muzzaf Kerpatik looked up from a mass of papers. 'Over twenty-five hundred, not counting gun teams, sir,' he said.

'Good. Jorg, I'm leaving you all the infantry. Mount half of them-the best half-on the captured dogs. You'll also have, hmmm, Poplanich's Own and the 21st Novy Haifa for stiffening. And half the field guns. Move them north in parties of a couple of hundred; keep in continuous contact. Your objective is to prevent Tewfik from making any lodgment on the east bank. Shouldn't be difficult; there isn't much in the way of boats over there, and it would take weeks to put enough material together for another bridge. Which they couldn't build in the face of our artillery, anyway-but keep a sharp lookout; we don't want to get as overconfident as the previous tenants.'

'Patrol the vicinity?'

'Vigorously. The infantry in good spirits?'

'Any better and they'd want to march on Al Kebir, mi heneral. Their tails are up.'

'Deservedly so. Now, I'll take the rest of the cavalry, and the guns, over to the west bank. There are probably still intact supply trains on the road north, and I want to sweep those up immediately.'

He rose, picking up his sword belt from the back of the chair. 'I want to be on the move in no more than five hours. Tewfik is crazy like a ferenec, and Ali is just plain crazy; let's not give them time to think up any way out of their predicament. Waymanos.'

* * *

'That will not work, Ali my brother,' Tewfik said.

His voice was dangerously calm, and he left out the honorifics. Ali turned his head slowly, the great ruby that