Free Conflagration by Mick Farren

hungry troops as fast as possible, then quickly pull back into the operational range of the rockets. The fresh Mosul forces coming up from Savannah would have to choose between advancing into the decimating ravages of a prolonged rocket attack, or turning back and leaving Albany in control of Virginia.
    All of this must have weighed heavily on Dunbar’s mind as he faced his commanders across the mobile map table, but Argo could see no signs of strain in the Field Marshal’s face or posture. Dunbar had a reputation of a steely, if withdrawn, cool, and, once a decision was made, he was totally resolute. He maybe leaned forward on the map table a little heavily, but Dunbar did walk with a limp, the legacy of a Mosul sniper who had nicked him in the leg during the standoff on the Potomac. As the Albany field guns were momentarily quiet, he spoke with careful urgency. “The option is a hard one, gentlemen. To advance into this forsaken valley is going to cost us dearly, but we have no other choice, except to brace ourselves and pay the price. Without the luxury of time, we have no other alternative. We have to go, and we have to go now.”
    He looked round the assembly of his senior commanders as if daring them to counsel further delay. No one did. The smooth-shaven faces of the officers were grimly impassive, as the breeze fluttered the corners of maps that might have flown away if they had not been strategically weighted down with large stones. Dunbar was running the battle from a grassy knoll that overlooked the main trail into the valley and was sufficiently elevated to provide a clear view of the valley floor beyond. Although a command tent had been pitched, he was issuing his orders in the open, in full view of his men, and everyone who was able had crowded round to watch. Argo had used his rank and his position to get as close to the maps and the flow of action as he could. The soldier in the field had no grasp of any bigger picture. All the swaddie knew was shot and shell and the smoke that surrounded him, and the man next to him being suddenly cut down. Beyond that, he had little clue of what was going on, or even whether the fight was being lost or won. Argo liked to know what was happening and what was about to happen, and, the more he saw of war, the more he became convinced that knowledge was the ultimate weapon.
    Dunbar raised his voice to take in all those present. He was not generally the kind of commander who made rousing speeches to his men, but he apparently considered this the day to make an exception. “I can’t tell you that there won’t be blood spilled this day, and I’d be a fool or a liar if I pretended the coming fight won’t be bitter. The butcher is going to present us with a bill today, lads, and it’ll come with a total we’ll read and weep. The valley in front of us is going to be immortalized in history, and too many will find their last resting place there. Our task is to ensure that the majority of those who fall are Mosul, and only a very few are from Albany. This day will be formidable, my friends, and nothing is going to be improved by waiting. The time has come, gentlemen. We have prepared long enough, and now we must rise to the occasion. Return to your units. We’ll let the ordnance pound them a while longer, and then we’ll move.”
    CORDELIA
    Cordelia closed her eyes and concentrated, focusing to the near-exclusion of everything around her. Finally she opened them, shook her head, and replaced her blue sunglasses. “Nothing. No sign of anything. So far it’s a totally terrestrial battle.”
    Jesamine looked around as though seeking something that wasn’t there. “I feel we ought to be doing more. So many are going to sacrifice so much and we’re just standing around.”
    Over to Jesamine’s right, a column of mounted Ohio was wending its way up into the small segment of the western ridge that had been taken and held by Albany. They were following other cavalry units that