Some Sort of Strategy

Mintopua. The End of Autumn, 2405.  (Part Three of Three.)

“Ho, Baccio,” shouted Ottaviano. “What took you so long?”

Baccio strode between a wagon and a tent to approach the table at which his friend, goblet in hand, stood.

“Someone likes the sound of their own voice,” he answered. “Half the words used would have explained just as much.” Picking up a goblet, he asked. “Wine for breakfast then?”

“Wine and water, friend. I am a civilised man.”

“Then I shall join you, gentle sir,” said Baccio.

“So, what did you learn? Are we likely to be travelling again?”

“I doubt it,” said Baccio. “It seems the vizconde is keen to keep us in his employ.”

“I knew it. After our …” (here Ottaviano hesitated for a moment, as if thinking of the right word) “… glorious victory against the Alcentian brigands, he needed no proof of our worth.”

Baccio had a wry smile on his face. “No further proof, anyway,” he said. “I think he gave us the task to see if we could fight. Not fight well but fight at all.”

“Aye,” said Ottaviano. “There’s been a whole lot of marching and enemy surrendering, and very little in the way of fighting. But that’s all on account of the vizconde’s orders and the enemy’s reluctance. Still, there’s been some fighting now.”

“If you could call it a fight,” said Baccio, frowning.

Only three days previously the compagnia had returned from a well-executed hunt for a small army of brigands – several slippery companies of light horse and archers – sent by the VMC to nip at the vizconde’s heels. If burning wagons and murdering camp followers could be considered nipping.

Having attracted the brigands’ attention with a noisy and ill-concealed baggage trayne, the company’s foot and mounted men at arms had then appeared from their concealment upon the flank, driving the foe into a little valley. There, the villains soon found themselves facing the rest of the compagnia, bolstered by almost every crossbowman in the vizconde’s army.

Unable to turn back, what with the armoured veterans pursuing them, they were subjected to an almighty storm of bolts and bullets, raining down from the heights both to the left …

.. and the right of them.

As well as many more from the front.

Worse still, two cannon muzzles poked from between a wall of pavaises …

… delivering deadly blasts of grapeshot to quicken their bloody destruction.

“We may not have done much fighting, Otto, but luring them into a bloody ambush was a fine proof of our worth in war, and a fitting punishment for their deeds. Not really a battle, but plenty of killing. The general said the noose was so tight that barely any of them escaped back to Alcente and their VMC masters.”

“And with the loss of so few of our own,” added Ottaviano. “Some would say that was the very epitome of the art of war.”

Baccio grinned. “As I like to say, we fight for pay and …

They completed the sentence together “… You can’t take it with you if you die.”

Raising their goblets to toast the idea, the two of them took a swig.

“So, friend,” said Ottaviano. “You said the vizconde was keen. Does that mean he’ll agree to more generous terms?”

“Mmm, after a fashion,” answered Baccio. “We’re to be paid no more than the last two seasons, but this time he will also fund the growth of our merry band, for the raising of new companies, so that if we take care of our lads we might leave his service as a full army. It’ll be a return to our glory days.”

“Clever indeed. He retains our service as well as further increasing our fighting strength. A win for us and a win-win for him. It all sounds marvellous, except that we haven’t actually won the war, just a skirmish, which means the real battles are yet to be fought. The VMC’s hardly likely to allow us to get away with more massacres, at least not without some nasty fighting to achieve them, and that means casualties. We could lose a lot more than Marshal Luigi, may Morr welcome him into the garden.”

The army’s battle standard bearer, Marshal Luigi Esposito, had died to a well-aimed (or lucky) arrow shot, in the opening moments of the ambush, just before the enemy attempted to flee and ran into the deadly trap prepared for them.

“I can’t argue,” said Baccio. “But if there was no war between the VMC and the vizconde then he would not need us. And I’d much rather be here fighting against men than in the north breathing the ratmen’s deadly poisons.”

There was a moment’s silence as, like many times before, they remembered the horrors of Campogrotta. Then Ottaviano poured some more wine, without water this time, for both of them.

“You know, Baccio, if this war continues, the vizconde is going to need garrison troops, both for here and back at Capelli. It was a bold move keeping the army intact after the capture of Capelli and risking the loss of what we had only just taken. Most commanders would have felt obliged to leave at least part of their army behind to guard such a new acquisition.”

“Aye, well, I reckon the vizconde wanted the enemy to attempt Capelli’s recapture, to draw them away from the city walls,” said Baccio. “And the razing of Motolla was as much a further attempt to lure them out as it was a chance for plunder. And yet even now, with the capture of Mintopua, they choose to stay put.”

“They could march to Capelli now, though, couldn’t they, for we no longer stand in their way, nor could we catch them by the time we learned what was happening. And if we leave this place just as undefended, they could snatch it back in little more than a week. What’s the point of taking places only to lose them so soon afterwards? Maybe that’s why the vizconde is paying to increase our numbers?”

Baccio laughed. “You think we would provide those garrisons? Sitting comfortably supping wine while the enemy marched around too afraid to assault because they were defended?”

“Why not, Baccio? Sounds lovely!”

“Doesn’t it? Except we’re far more likely to be the ones marching out to face the VMC’s army in the field, while the vizconde’s Estalian soldiers and his own compagnia men do the wine tasting. We’re far more expendable.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Ottaviano. “No one seems willing to face us. Even the brigands fled at the first opportunity, more fool them. The Alcentians have very little fight in them, at least not when under the command of foreign masters.”

“True,” agreed Baccio. “But it’s not the VMC’s Tilean soldiers we have to worry about. It’s their armies of ultramontane mercenaries. They can fight, as proven by their victories against the orcs. Their refusal to leave the city is far more likely to be some sort of strategy than a sign of weakness or cowardice. Gabbriello told me some of what we’ve learned from the prisoners. The enemy doesn’t just have an army in Alcente, but another at Monte Castello, and both those armies have a heck of lot of northerners in them – whole regiments. Those men have no homes to slink off to if we offer them the chance. They’ll have to fight.”

“They could leave on ships,” suggested Ottaviano.

“Only if the VMC orders ships to take them,” argued Baccio. “Besides, they’re probably upset about what happened after the surrender of this place, so now revenge comes into play.”

The vizconde had agreed that on Mintopua’s surrender, its militia and garrison soldiers would be disarmed and allowed to return to their families, but when the time came, he ordered that the agreed terms – which proved to be amenably reinterpretable – did not extend to the ultramontane soldiers and captains. So it was that several many VMC mercenaries, from Marienburg, the Empire states and elsewhere, were immediately fettered upon surrendering and imprisoned (although some did escape, having learned what was going on). After that, the questioning began, then the torture.

“You know,” added Baccio. “I reckon even the torturing was an attempt to lure the VMC out. The vizconde really wants to take them on, but not while they’re on the city walls of Alcente. I reckon that from the very start, everything he’s done has been to draw them out.”

“And yet,” said Ottaviano, in a sing song sort of way, “they have stayed put. You have to ask why?”

“For a start, I don’t think they care about what happens to the Tileans under their rule. All they care about is profit”

“How can it be profitable to allow us to take so much from them? Despite their soldiers’ supposed courage and skill, I think their lack of action is due to indecision on the part of their commanders. They’re probably awaiting orders from their faraway masters in Marienburg, which will likely take many months. Meanwhile, as they are supplied from the sea, and still possess their little empire to the east, they themselves can wait in comfort.”

“Mmm,” said Baccio, sounding doubtful. “Maybe it’s not orders they’re waiting for, but instead their Monte Castello army to return, so that they can outnumber us when they do finally deign to give battle?

“Then may Myrmidia bless us with tactical prowess, while the vizconde finally gets what he wants.”