Free Hope Renewed by David Drake, S.M. Stirling Page A

he thought, that steam engines scare them spitless. They probably thought they were captive demons. “It’ll toughen them up, too. See that they get in some drill with their Armory rifles, Ludwig.”
    Bellamy tossed his chin upward slightly in affirmation; with a slight start, Raj recognized the gesture as one of his own. How times change.
    “The Brigaderos can use some hard marching,” Ludwig Bellamy said judiciously. Welf shrugged unwilling agreement. “They’re good shots and good riders, but a bit soft in the arse.”
    For that matter, there were plenty of officers in the Civil Government’s armies who wouldn’t dream of campaigning without half a dozen servants and a wagonload of luxuries.
    Not the ones who went to war with Raj Whitehall, though.
    “So.” Raj turned to the other commanders. “Jorg, you and Ferdihando will bring the 17th Kelden Foot and the 24th Valencia on the next series of trains, right after me and my detachment of the 5th.”
    Jorg Menyez was a slender balding man, with receding brownish hair and mild blue eyes, red-rimmed as usual. He was violently allergic to dogs, the reason he’d gone into the low-prestige infantry service.
    “Infantry first?” he said in mild surprise. He’d shown what foot soldiers could do if properly trained and led, but it was still odd.
    “I need reliable men in Sandoral right away,” Raj said. “Osterville’s in charge there. Dogs aren’t the most urgent priority, where dealing with Osterville’s the problem.”
    There were a few snickers. Osterville had been sent to take over in the Southern Territories after the reconquest, when Raj was recalled in not-quite-disgrace. The command of the Fortress and District of Sandoral was quite a comedown. None of the officers who’d been with Raj had supported Osterville, for all that he was one of Barholm’s Guards; that was one reason he’d lost the political struggle with Mihwel Berg of the Administrative Service. None of it was likely to make him kindly-disposed toward the Heneralissimo Supremo .
    Menyez sneezed thoughtfully into a handkerchief. “He’s supposed to have twenty thousand men there,” he said. “I doubt there’s half that fit for duty.” Osterville would be drawing the pay of the vacant ranks; it was a common enough scam, if not on quite that scale.
    “Five thousand if we’re lucky, but that’s more than enough to make trouble if Osterville’s a mind to,” Raj said. Insane to make trouble with the Colonials over the border , he thought absently—but he’d seen what jealousy could do to a man’s mind. “Which is why I want your riflemen in place.”
    “Si, mi heneral.” Menyez frowned. “How did Berg manage to get Osterville canned from that post? Berg’s not a bad sort, for a pen-pusher, but Osterville was one of Barholm’s Guards, after all.”
    Raj shrugged. “He’s pretty sure I did it,” he said. “Spirit knows why. In any case, we’ll cross Messer Osterville when we come to him. Movement: after Colonel Menyez, the remainder of the cavalry,” he went on, listing the battalions. “Any questions?”
    Kaltin Gruder, the commander of the 7th Descott Rangers, shrugged his heavy shoulders. Pale scars stood out against the olive tan of his face.
    “No problemo, mi heneral,” he said. “Thrashing the wogboys has its attractions; the looting’s good and I like the smell of harem girls.”
    Raj clenched his teeth for a moment. There were times when the task of restoring civilization on Bellevue was like pushing a boulder up a greased slope. Gruder was a professional; he wasn’t supposed to be thinking like a MilGov barbarian noble or an enlisted man . . . then he caught the grin and answered it.
    I talk to Center too much, he thought. Angels have no sense of humor, it seems.
    The cool irony that touched the back of his mind was wordless, but it communicated none the less.
    “Colonel Dinnalsyn, you’ll space the guns out between the battalions. One last thing: we’ve