Chapter 10
The best laid plans of mice and men oft go astray. In war, it can be said that all plans go astray and do so in the worst possible manner. 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.
"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 the 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 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 both 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. 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.
Masterson just stared at Sid wondering why he needed a shovel. The explanation came when Sid and the man went over to the x- frame to cut down the body. The man supported Sandra's body while Sid cut the ropes. The man had tears in his eyes. By the time they had her free, Peterson had returned with two shovels.
Together Sid and the man worked to dig a hole. It was hard backbreaking work. The ground was hard and rocky. The shovels were dull and made of wood. The pair worked silently. Although Sid would have dug the hole deeper, the other man stopped and said, "It is deep enough. I will cover the grave with stones."
"As you wish," Sid said allowing the man to show his personal sign of respect for Sandra. He knew that the moment the body was covered that it would return to Cassandra. He thought about how the women there would react to her death. Frowning, he knew that it would be a day of mourning in Cassandra.
"Hold on," Masterson said. He went up to the burnt out farmhouse and looked around. Scattered across the yard were clothes, items of furniture, and other objects that had been pulled out of the house before it was burnt. It took him several minutes, but he finally found a sheet. Part of it was burned, but there was enough left to cover the body. He brought it back to Sid.
Accepting the sheet from Masterson, Sid said, "Thank you."
Sid wrapped the body in the sheet. Working together, the two men laid the body in the shallow grave, Sid stepped back to give the man a chance to say farewell. It took another twenty minutes to fill the grave in with dirt. Once that was done, Sid stepped back to allow the man to build a cairn over the grave.
While the man worked, Sid examined his companion in grief. The man had a strong body that was used to hard labor. Well defined muscles bulged when he picked up the heavy stones. His back was lined with scars from a whip. In the uncertain light, he realized that some of the stripes on the man's back were fresh. It was obvious that the man had not accepted being a slave very easily. He worked with a slow measured pace that finished the job quickly.
Finished with the burial, Sid stepped over to the cairn and said, "Just a moment of silence to remember her."
The two men stood beside grave with heads down and in silent consideration of the woman they had buried. Masterson watched from a distance wondering why Sid was wasting so much time with a simple burial. He could see that Sid was upset by the death, but they had already encountered dozens of slaves who had been killed. It was only when he recalled Gerald and his mysterious women that it started to make sense.
Stepping back from the grave, the man examined Sid for a minute. Sid waited patiently knowing that the man was making up his mind about something important to him. Coming to a decision, the man said, "My name is Fred Michelson."
"I am Sid Jones."
"Sid Jones," Fred repeated to commit the name to memory. Looking at Sid, he asked, "You are here to destroy the slavers?"
"Yes."
"What of Sandra?"
"She is one of the reasons that I'm here to destroy the slavers," Sid answered. "I noticed that you were whipped recently. Am I to understand that you got them for trying to help her?"
"Yes, sir. Three days ago I tried to get some water out here for her," Fred answered.
"She was lucky to have a man like you here for her."
"I wasn't able to help," Fred said fighting back tears.
"All we can do is to try. Success is never guaranteed," Sid said. "The heroism is in trying. The shame comes from not trying. You have no reason to be ashamed."
The man stared at Sid taking comfort in the words. For hours he had been berating himself over his inability to save her. As Sid had said, he would have to take comfort in having tried to help her. It was more than any of the other slaves had done. He looked at Sid and said, "You would have succeeded."
Feeling guilty at his failure to rescue her, he said, "What do you mean? I tried, but I was too late."
It had finally dawned on Masterson that Sid knew the woman that he had just buried. He leaned forward to listen to the conversation hoping that he would learn more about Sid's background. Peterson grabbed his arm and said, "Leave them alone. It is a personal matter."
Masterson glared at his colleague but sat up straight on his horse. With a calm hand, he backed the horse away from the pair of men. Peterson backed his horse away to give the men privacy.
"You are one of the heroes she was sure would rescue her?" Fred asked in a whisper and leaning forward so that only Sid would hear.
"Yes, I am," Sid answered wondering what Sandra had told the man.
"Where are you from?" he asked staring Sid in the eye.
Sid considered the question and finally answered, "Earth."
Sandra had told Fred of Heroes from a distant land called Earth. These were men of the highest quality with characters that were the envy of all men around them. They would risk their lives to rescue what she called Damsels in Distress. All the Damsel had to do was survive long enough for the hero to arrive. Seeing how the other men around him deferred to Sid convinced him that he was dealing with one of those Heroes.
"I swear my life in service to you, sir," Fred said holding a fist over his heart and bending over at the waist.
"I'll not abuse your oath of service," Sid said giving the appropriate response. That a man who had just been freed would commit to a life of servitude was overwhelming. He held his fist over his heart and bent over at the waist. He added, "I shall ask nothing of you that I would not ask of myself."
The addition let Fred know that his oath had not been misplaced. He breathed a sigh of relief and asked, "What may I do for you?"
Masterson had only observed someone swearing that oath once in his life. It was an oath which the receiver had no choice but to accept. The man was dedicating his life in service to Sid. Even if Sid hadn't accepted, the man would have followed Sid for the rest of his life and stepped in to provide whatever services he could. Wondering what could have motivated the man to swear an oath of service; he turned to Peterson and asked, "Have you ever seen that?"
"No," Peterson answered awed by the demonstration. That was an oath that was never given lightly. It was the same as accepting indentured servitude, but without any promise of ending or personal gain.
"I've only seen it happen once," Masterson said. He looked over at Peterson and said, "I don't understand why the man swore the oath to Sid."
"I'm sure you don't. To tell the truth, I'm not sure why he did it," Peterson said. He sat back on his horse and studied the two men in front of him. He added, "That's why we'll never have a man swear such an oath to us."
"You're probably right," Masterson said shaking his head.
Ignoring the discussion that was taking place behind him, Sid said, "We'll get you a horse, Fred. I hope that you know how to ride."
"I'll learn, sir," Fred answered. Having pledged his service, he would learn whatever skill was necessary to provide the best service possible.
"Fred, I want you to call me Sid."
"Yes, sir."
Gesturing in the direction of Peterson, Sid said, "We'll be leaving in a few minutes. Go with Peterson and he will fix you up. He'll get you some clothes, a weapon, and food to eat."
"Thank you, Sid," Fred said. He bowed and backed away from Sid.
Peterson rode forward and came to a stop beside Fred. Leaning down, he said, "I'm Peterson. Come with me and I'll get you something to eat. I'll get you some clothes and weapons once we catch up to our supplies."
After watching Fred follow Peterson, Sid turned to look at Masterson. He said, "Let's get to the top of the hill and check out what's going on."
"We were going to do that two hours ago," Masterson said with a wry grin. He understood why Sid had stopped to bury that woman, but he wasn't happy about the delay.
"There's no rush," Sid said with a sigh. Looking over at his adviser, he added, "We'll be riding at the back of our retreating army anyway."
"Yes, Sid," Masterson answered. After having served with Gerald he had not expected anything else.
From the hilltop, Sid examined the surrounding area. It was a disaster. Slave quarters, fields, and outbuildings were burning. Tools, food stores, and other necessities were going up in flames. Once the fires burned out, the rioters would find themselves without provisions for the winter. The only places for them to go would be slaver controlled lands or back towards the areas they had already freed.
"We've been careful to leave communities behind us that are provisioned well enough to survive winter and sufficiently armed to remain free," Sid said shaking his head. He wondered what would happen when the rioters turned towards those communities.
"These folks are going to die," Masterson said. He shrugged his shoulders as if to say that was the nature of war.
"They are going to get some of those communities we've left behind us killed as well," Sid said.
"Well, I suppose we'll just have to take that into account in our plans going forward," Masterson said looking over at Sid with a slight smile. He knew Sid well enough to know that he was going to have to put together a campaign that would spare those towns even if it slowed the rest of the war down.
"What does that mean?" Sid asked with narrowed eyes. Although the frequency in which Masterson ignored the human cost of war had diminished, there were still occasions when he seemed oblivious to it.
"It means that we'll have an army to fight. If we're fighting that army in the right way, then your precious communities will be a little safer," Masterson said. He liked the idea of finally facing a real army rather than a loose consortium of landholders.
"I'm glad to see that you are starting to see the world my way," Sid said with relief. Looking at the fires in the land below them, Sid pointed to an area and said, "The fire has spread to the woods."
"It'll start spreading faster now," Masterson said. A wildfire was nothing to take lightly. One fire like this could destroy a huge area, killing everything in its path. This fire would burn uncontrolled until the wind shifted direction and forced it back on areas already consumed by flame. He felt it was a shame that the wind was blowing towards them rather than farms still held by slavers.
"Just like the slave revolt," Sid said with a frown. This revolt
threw all of his plans into disarray. He pointed to the next hill and
said, "You can see them starting to burn the farm over there."