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Ravelin
Part 2
Hawkwin, Duncan and Jarren began the inspection tour later that morning. The bright mood in the mess hall was now replaced by a strong sense of urgency. Valandov’s Praetorian compound, which housed a battalion of nearly eight hundred troops — plus their support staff and other non-Praetorian personnel — was emptying out. Each of the battalion’s sixteen platoons was responsible for carrying its own armaments, food, water, medical supplies and camping gear.
Jarren watched with interest as soldiers hurried back and forth gathering what they needed and relaying information. All around them, sergeants and officers barked commands to their juniors, ordering them to secure their packs and weapons, but what stood out the most for Jarren was the organization and precision.
“Do you train for this, too?” she asked absently.
“Absolutely,” replied Duncan. “The Praetorship has drills for everything. We’ll be fully equipped with the boats loaded by lunchtime.”
“Contrast that with life in the militia,” quipped Hawkwin. “It takes us a bit longer to mobilize.”
Jarren smirked, recalling her own mandatory militia service many years earlier. “Yes, I remember.” She addressed Duncan again. “If you’ll be ready by lunchtime, why wait until tomorrow to leave?”
“I’ve given the troops the afternoon and evening off.”
“You let them know in Valandov to expect your people, right?” asked Hawkwin.
The marshal nodded. “Oh, yes.”
Jarren walked next to him. In an undertone that only he could hear, she demurred, “There wouldn’t be any other reason you might have delayed your departure, would there?”
Feigning ignorance, he replied, “Now what would that be?”
By now they were exiting the Praetorian compound and entering the city of Valandov itself. It was large, with more than one hundred thousand people living within its walls — and even more in the outlying farming villages. It was in defense of these villages that the majority of the local militia spent its time. Apart from policing duties, they fended off periodic incursions from grimal bands. The base for Valandov’s regiment was next to the Praetorian compound and they shared many training facilities.
In an almost comical mirror of the hustle in the Praetorian compound, the shops and taverns out here on the road to the dockyard buzzed with life as local businesses prepared for an influx of off-duty Praetorians.
“It looks like it’s going to be a productive afternoon,” commented Hawkwin.
“And evening,” added Jarren playfully.
Duncan smiled and winked at her. “They’ll have a week on the river to recover.”
She laughed.
The orderly thumping sound of a marching troop interrupted them. A fully armed and equipped Praetorian platoon jogged past, their huge backpacks bouncing in time. Jarren saw that the soldiers carried their own food packs, bedroll, and basic medical kit along with their standard array of tough leather armor and weaponry. People in the street made way for them as they headed down to the dockyard.
“How much do those things weigh?” wondered Jarren.
“Enough,” replied Duncan. “They’ll unload them onto the ships, but once we arrive we’ll all be carrying packs just like that all day long.”
“Don’t you bring along supply wagons?”
“Not for this mission.”
She looked at him quizzically.
Duncan eyed Hawkwin as he responded. “I won’t repeat Wallace’s mistakes. We need to be mobile — quick and light. Each of us will carry our own supplies for a week. When we reopen the fort, we’ll send word to the galleasses and restock it.”
“He’ll also send word to us,” added Hawkwin. “Once Ravelin is secure, we’ll send a regiment of the national militia to staff it along with one of Duncan’s companies. Then we can reopen the trade route into the Hanse.” Hawkwin sighed. This mission was considered a top priority by Premier Leodore Milius — a longtime friend of the general’s and foster-father to the young marshal now standing with him. Hawkwin had no illusions about the extreme danger facing his friend’s son.
Soon they reached the dockyard where nine galleasses bearing the standard of Valor’s Keep were tethered along with a host of commercial vessels. The platoon that had jogged past them was unloading its packs. Jarren gaped at the tall-masted ships. Sailors crawled all over the rigging and the hulls, preparing the ships to transport Duncan’s unit.
“What does a mission like this cost?” she marveled.
Duncan shrugged. “For us, it’s mostly free.”
“Excuse me?”
Hawkwin chuckled. “The Praetorship pays for the salaries and equipment for its own troops whether they’re on assignment or not. Everything else — food, accommodation, these ships and their crew — all that is borne by the national treasury.”
Jarren shook her head. “Isn’t that a bit one-sided?”
“That depends on your perspective,” replied Hawkwin. “Ravelin was more than just a frontier post. It guarded one of the only overland trade routes between Valandov Province and the Hanse’s Alpas District. Without the Ravelin garrison to keep the pass open, the economies on both sides of the border have been shattered. The financial benefit of reopening that trade route more than offsets the cost of this mission.”
“Then shouldn’t the Hansic Alliance help pay for it?”
Hawkwin coughed uncomfortably. “That’s a political question. I don’t do politics.”
Duncan smiled, but he quickly hid it when he glanced at Jarren. Her gaze had returned to the galleasses arrayed before them, concern etched onto her face.
“So there won’t be any backup from the Hanse?” she asked.
“Ravelin’s in Federate territory.”
She turned to Hawkwin. “And you’ll be here, waiting for news from Duncan?”
“That’s right.”
“But Valandov is a week away. If Duncan needs help...”
Duncan and Hawkwin exchanged knowing glances.
“This is a Praetorian fight,” replied Duncan carefully. “The general and I agree that sending more troops poses an unnecessary risk.”
“What if you need help?” she repeated, more sternly this time.
Duncan placed his hands gently on her shoulders and held her gaze. “We won’t.”
“You did last time.”
“I wasn’t in charge last time.”
The image of Duncan’s arrival at the Palladum half a year ago came suddenly to Jarren. She remembered the torn and bloody appearance of his group and Duncan’s own exhaustion. She recalled his frightening account of the battle at Ravelin, of the savagery of the grimals, and of Marshal Corinn Wallace’s complete failure. She knew about all of his missions, but that was the first time she had ever truly felt that she had come close to losing him.
Jarren looked away from Duncan, afraid that he might read some of these thoughts in her eyes. As she turned to head back to the road into the city, she saw a group of uniformed men carrying heavy packs board one of the galleasses. She could see strange tools and devices protruding from the tops of the packs.
“Who are they?” she asked. “They aren’t Praetorian, and they don’t look like members of the sailing crew.”
Duncan hesitated. “They’re... part of the plan.”
“You mean your battle plan?”
“Yes.”
She looked squarely at Hawkwin. “I thought this was a Praetorian mission.”
“It is. Those people have certain specialities. It’s an interesting plan. No-one’s ever tried anything like it before.”
Hands on her hips, Jarren stood angrily before them. “An interesting plan? You’re gambling lives on an interesting plan?”
Duncan stepped forward. “Jarren, it will work. Trust me. I’ll be back in three weeks at the most. I’ll tell you all about it then.”
“Why don’t you tell me now.”
Duncan reached out for her and held her close. They stood together for a moment in the midst of the bustling activity on the pier. Whispering softly in her ear, he replied, “Because you’d kill me.”
Smiling ruefully and shaking her head, she clasped his hand as they walked back into the city, with General Cyril Hawkwin following discreetly behind.
Stay tuned for the next chapter…
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