Chapter 10

“The best laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men, Gang aft agley.” The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray. In war, it can be said that all plans go astray; and they do so in the worst possible manner, and at the worst possible moment. Sid had been fighting his way to this location for three months. Their movement had been slow and controlled. The army was in the area where one of the Damsels in Distress was being kept. The problem was that news of his army had preceded him and the slaves had taken it upon themselves to revolt. Every farm within ten miles of his position was up in flames. Three quarters of the sky was lit by flames.

Looking at the orange light reflected off the smoke in the sky, Sid swore under his breath and then said, “This is a disaster.”

Barson looked at Sid with a puzzled expression, and asked, “What’s the matter? We’re winning.”

“No we’re not,” Sid said in disgust. Not only couldn’t he find the Damsel in Distress amongst all this disorder, but this could lose the war against the slavers.

His reaction was a surprise to Connor, but not to Peterson. As far as Connor was concerned, each slaver that the rampaging slaves killed was one less that they had to face. He asked, “What’s the matter?”

“They are destroying our food supplies for the winter,” Peterson answered. Thousands of acres of crops going up in flames, meant starvation for everyone in the area. Since they were in the area, it meant starvation for them, as well.

“It’s worse than that,” Sid said. “They are losing the war for us.”

“What do you mean?” Olaf asked.

The wind changed direction and the sudden onslaught of smoke caused their eyes to water. Ignoring the discomfort, Masterson said, “We’ve collected about four thousand men and women. That seems like a pretty good sized army. Those idiots rioting out there number around six thousand, but they aren’t organized. The slavers are going to put together a force of about ten thousand disciplined men and put down this rebellion. They’ll go after each individual group and massacre them. No quarter will be given. Guess who is going to get clobbered in the process?”

“You’re right,” Barson said feeling embarrassed at his failure to think through the consequences of the uprising. Like everyone else, he had fallen into the trap of thinking about the campaign in terms of freeing individual slaves. The true goal was to take out the slavers.

Looking around at the others, Masterson said, “We’re going to have to pull back. It is time for a strategic retreat.”

Shaking his head in disgust, Sid said, “If we pull back now, we’re going to lose another thousand men and women for our army. They are as good as dead.”

Scratching his head, Olaf asked, “Can’t you just send out some men to recruit before we pull back?”

“We’re going to have to do that,” Connor said beginning to realize just how bad the situation had become. An influx of a lot of untrained soldiers could destroy the training of the men under his command.

The acrid smell of crops burning was irritating Olaf’s eyes and lungs. He looked over his shoulder in the direction where the cattle were grazing two hours behind them. Rubbing his eyes, he said, “We need to get out of this smoke. If the fires get out of control, we are in the path.”

“You’re right,” Peterson said. He nodded his head and looked over at Barson. “If we get caught in the fire, we’ll lose everything and this war will be over.”

Thinking about what would be required to save everything they had, Barson said, “We can pull out of here in less than an hour.”

“It’s night. I don’t like moving the troops in the dark,” Connor said.

“With those fires burning, the sky is lit up enough to travel,” Olaf said. He shook his head and said, “We really need to get the cattle out of here.”

Looking around the assembled group, Connor knew that Olaf was right. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “We can pull back. I don’t see too much difficulty in maintaining a four hour march tonight. Much further and the light from the fires will fail us.”

“We don’t want to light torches along the road. It’ll point right in the direction we’re heading,” Masterson said. He looked at Sid and said, “Other than that, I don’t see a problem with marching tonight.”

Acknowledging the good advice, Sid said, “We’ll do that.”

Olaf mounted his horse and asked, “Where will we meet up?”

Sid thought about it for a second and said, “Weavertown.”

“Good choice,” Masterson said. He had been ready to make that same suggestion.

“That’s four days from here,” Barson said thinking about the distance.

“It is also the only defensible position within ten days of here,” Masterson said. Turning to Connor, he said, “Send out twenty men, each in a different direction. Tell them to collect fifty men each and bring them to that farm we stayed at that was two days north of Weavertown. Don’t let them know that we will be camped at Weavertown.”

“No. It would be better to tell them to go to that town where they make the dyes,” Connor said. He was quiet for a moment and then added, “I’ll ask them to get twenty each. We can’t grow the army faster than that.”

“You’re right on both counts,” Masterson said acknowledging the other man’s skill in developing troops. He knew that any mention of Weavertown would demand investigation by the slavers. The last thing he wanted was for them to show up before their army was ready He’d rather be taking the battle to the enemy, than having the enemy pursue him.

“Let’s get to it,” Sid said pleased that his three advisers were working together so well.

Nodding his head, Olaf turned and rode off in a rush. The smoke in the air would make the cattle nervous. The quicker he could get them away from it the better it would be. The other herders would be pleased to get on the road despite the dark.

Sid watched Olaf ride away. Smiling, he said, “Olaf is coming along.”

“Yes, he is,” Masterson said. He had no idea how Olaf was managing it, but the herd was actually growing in size.

Thinking that he would pass along that assessment to Olaf the next time that he saw him, Barson said, “With your leave, I’ll get the wagons ready to move out.”

“You have it,” Peterson said with a smile. He watched as Barson ran off to get the wagons together and on their way. Although it sounded easy, it was a tougher job than the one Olaf was performing. He had fifty wagons to load and get moving. The smoke would make the horses nervous and they wouldn’t want to settle into their harnesses. Camps didn’t like packing up after dark and moving out.

Grinning at Peterson, Sid said, “Barson is coming along. Pretty soon he’ll be ready to take your job.”

“True,” Peterson said watching Barson organize the cooks for loading their kettles onto the wagons. The young man moved confidently through the camp, calling out orders in a calm voice. The most impressive part was that he allowed people to do their jobs without interference. If there was a problem, he assigned someone else to help out rather than interfere directly.

“Both young men are credits to their fathers,” Sid said. The fact of the matter was that most of the young men and women who had been brought to him by their fathers were outstanding. He was going to be pleased to face the men when he brought them home.

Peterson added, “Barson and Olaf working together have really kept us in good supplies. In most campaigns, I end up with empty wagons. This time, I’m adding wagons, and the herd is getting larger everyday because of them.”

“Let’s mount up and go to the top of the hill. I want to see just how bad it is,” Sid said.

Looking behind him where the men were camped, Connor said, “I’ve got to send out the men and get the rest prepared to march back to Weavertown.”

“Go ahead,” Sid said while walking over to his horse. He mounted up and rode ahead knowing that the others would catch up to him.

When he had nearly reached the top of the hill, Sid paused beside a strange structure at the entryway to the farm. Looking over at the structure, he tried to puzzle out what it was. In shock, he realized that it was an x-frame on which a woman had been tied. Riding closer, he looked at the woman and realized she was the Damsel he had been seeking. The realization that she was dead struck him like a knife to the stomach.

Noticing a man seated at the top of the hill, Sid rode on. The man’s posture advertised to the world that he had lost something very dear to him. He looked like a man who had lost all reason for living. Barely able to restrain the anger at finding the Damsel dead, Sid asked, “Who did that to the woman back there?”

“The man who used to own her did it. She wouldn’t accept his advances and slapped him. He hung her there a week ago,” the man answered turning to look at Sid and curious about the fury in the man’s voice.

“When did she die?”

“This morning,” answered the man. As a slave he had been able to do nothing. When the revolt started, he had rushed out to cut her down. He reached the x-frame only to discover that he was too late. Early that morning she had been alive, but by noon she was dead. He turned to look at Sid and said, “I tried to get to her during the revolt, but I was too late to save her.”

“You cared for her?” Sid asked in a quiet voice that barely covered the distance between the two men. His anger at himself had changed to compassion for the other. He couldn’t hear the answer, but could see the pain and anguish on the man’s face. Looking over at the farmhouse, he asked, “What happened to the owner?”

“I killed him,” answered the man in a dead wooden voice. Standing to face Sid, he said, “It didn’t help. I don’t feel any better.”

“It never does,” Sid said. He climbed off his horse and took out his knife. He said, “Help me cut her down. We’ll bury her.”

“Why should you care about her?”

“Her name was Sandra Lawyer from Cassandra. She’s one of the reasons I’m here,” Sid said. He had known that he was in the area where she was reported to be, but the slave revolt had foiled his search.

“You knew her before all this happened?”

“I had heard that she was in trouble,” Sid answered. He didn’t mention that he just knew of her before this happened. He was supposed to get to know her a lot better after it was over. Shaking his head, he found it incredible that any one would risk so much to have a child.

Peterson and Masterson rode up to Sid at a leisurely pace. One look at Sid and both men knew that he was upset. Concerned, Masterson asked, “What’s the matter?”

“If you want to help, get two shovels. My friend and I have some business to take care of before I do anything else,” Sid answered gesturing over to the other man with a tilt of his head. The man acknowledged the others with the barest nod of his head. Peterson turned on his horse and rode away to get two shovels.