"A siege is like waiting in line for the good stuff in the middle of a bazaar for several months on end. Only, you're robbing the store with the other customers, and the shopkeeper is standing atop the ramparts and hurling pitch and shit at you to try and make you stop… not that different from my typical shopping trip, come to think of it."
-Dread Emperor Vile the Second, known for having laid siege to Summerholm sixteen separate times during his reign and failing to capture it even once.
"Well, shit," Catherine summarized.
Unfortunately, I had to agree with her apt assessment.
As an experienced veteran of a giant mess of a war with more than a hundred different battles and skirmishes under my belt, I had to say that there is nothing quite as tantalizing and misleading as the sight of a retreating enemy.
Logically, a running enemy generally meant that the people trying to kill you decided to give up and try to save their lives instead. What was there not to like?
A lot, as it happens.
Firstly, as I had to confront time and again, humans are illogical creatures. Just as your enemy decided to run, they could just as well change their mind, and now you were suddenly facing a fight instead of an easy kill. The logic again dictated that you were no worse off than if the enemy hadn't run away in the first place, but the psychological effects of the sudden reversal couldn't be underestimated. Not when I myself more than once had seen an overconfident Imperial Mage faring poorly because they had broken out of formation and got shot down for their trouble.
Not my mages, though. They might have been war maniacs, but they were my war maniacs. Which, in practical terms, meant that they had been more afraid of disobeying my orders than eager to bathe their fangs in the blood of another poor bastard unfortunate enough to face them in battle. Once I was done with the first few offenders, in any case.
Secondly, the retreat could be a ruse to begin with. Albionese in particular seemed to prefer that tactic during the later years of the conflict on the South Continent, making the overconfident commanders of our forces extend the already stretched thin supply lines in an effort to crush the enemy and finally be done with it.
I could still clearly remember one of the worst moments in my second life. Major What's-His-Name had not been a particularly bright specimen on his good days, and the closing months of Germanian ignominious invasion weren't that good for anyone involved.
Without going into too many sordid details, the, the, the utter idiot had managed to cost us nearly a half of the sole remaining armored division. Then, instead of accepting the consequences of his incompetence and getting recalled back to the Empire to complete tasks more suitable to his acumen, like digging and cleaning latrines, he had the gall to claim that he only followed my example in front of the general staff.
That, "timidity and hesitation didn't serve the Empire well, while aggression and relentlessness so readily demonstrated by such fine officers as Major-General Degurechaff could have already won us the war if everyone followed their illustrious example". That fucking worm. That complete imbecile. I felt my blood pressure spiking each time I thought about him after that, but that couldn't even be compared to what I had experienced at the moment. I had been this close to using a reinforcement formula and strangling the idiot with my own hands.
Not only had he misinterpreted my entire war philosophy, not only had he cost us the only mobile resource aside from my mage forces, the invertebrate had also managed to use me to shield his slimy self from his own mistakes! And they bought it! They fucking ate it with schnapps and K-Brot! He didn't even get demoted, for fucking Being X's sake!
The only positive outcome from that sordid business was the look of complete and utter rage on Major Lergen's face. I could still imagine in my mind's eye that moment when our eyes met, the sudden understanding and agreement that transcended any need for words or gestures.
I wouldn't say I disliked Major Lergen. Unlike the many, many, many officers in our Army that I wouldn't have trusted with a shovel, much less a rifle and lives of at least a battalion of other soldiers, he was certainly educated and competent enough I didn't at least feel constant shame by sharing a profession with him. He was maybe a little too bloodthirsty for my tastes, but who wasn't in the Imperial Army?
That paled in comparison to the profound feeling of mutual respect I had experienced towards him when we both realized that I was probably going to murder that reprobate, and Lergen was going to hold him down so that he wouldn't run.
Unluckily for both of us, things had turned out how they turned out. Looking back at it, I still wished Lergen the best and a bunch of dead commies besides.
Moving back to the matters at hand, pursuing the retreating enemy is overall a pretty good strategic choice. Seizing initiative when your opponent is on the back foot is as useful in warfare as in any other pursuit where you have to contend against someone else.
As long as you can maintain your supply lines properly. Even better if you manage to arrange a situation that would require your enemy to run in your direction while you have fortified in a sufficiently defensible position. And a dozen other conditions that rarely materialize in real life, despite how much a wannabe armchair general would wish for it. Provided that, yes, running the poor bastards down was one of the better strategic choices available on a scale of total war, almost as good as not getting into a several-years-long fistfight with your neighbors over a scrap of land and a colony half a globe away.
In a tactical sense, however, the pursuit of the enemy without support from all other elements in your army is a fool's errand, a mistake committed only by the overeager and inexperienced.
Objectively, you could call Captain Juniper a little overeager and a tad inexperienced, if you compared her to a veteran Imperial officer in active service, that is. Unluckily for us, Juniper was also pretty smart.
This was a very long-winded way to say that instead of leaving a scouting force or two to determine our current location, the moment we broke her line of sight she apparently decided to recall her entire company and regroup.
I didn't like fighting smart opponents. There is a maxim about clever enemies being predictable because you can always count on them to take the best possible course of action, while a fool is unpredictable in their ignorance. This maxim seldom had anything to do with the reality I had lived through. The intelligent thing to do is intelligent in the first place because it hurts your opponent and minimizes your losses, while a fool is more likely than not to hurt themselves with their own stupidity.
Give me a mob with tactics from the last century over a smart opponent any day of the week.
We looked on at the last line of Juniper's company going through gates, having arrived with their wounded from the last night's battle scarcely an hour before us, from a comfortable ridge at the edge of the forest we'd just walked out of.
So. Now we faced the prospect of attacking Juniper in a fortified position while understrength, and, more importantly, with fewer people than what she had on hand. That was almost a textbook-perfect situation… for her, obviously.
Not that I expected her to stay behind the walls. Once she reorganized her company, healed everyone she could on short notice, secured the prisoners from our company, nothing would prevent her from sallying for another round.
"Welp, that's a bust," Sergeant Robber said conversationally to everyone and no one in particular, nothing in his voice indicating his worry. Probably because he wasn't.
Our small group consisted of me, Catherine, Lieutenants Nauk, Killian, and Pickler along with Sergeants Hakram, and, yes, Robber. Nobody, except for Robber, was particularly chipper, so his flippancy didn't find any welcome audience. By which I meant he got promptly ignored as he deserved to.
"We could wait until she gets out, attack her then," Hakram suggested thoughtfully.
"And do what, lose again? Last time went better for them than for us, the way I'm counting," Nauk rebuffed reasonably, earning a few points in my mental tally before saying something stupid and losing them again. "Nah, if we're doing this, we do it properly, head-on. Least we'd have something to tell about later."
"The ridge is adequate for the ritual I had in mind," Killian offered reluctantly, not quite agreeing with Nauk.
Over the last few hours of talking her head off about basic principles of thaumaturgy and ritualism — something I found quite informative since my teacher's explanations were a little different when it came to the higher concepts involved and different from how my understanding and calculations of the theory behind the practical applications lined up, despite all three of us studying the ostensibly same school of magic, while Catherine politely pretended to understand, generously, from about a third to a half of terminology, and inserted a quip or two where appropriate, depending on the flow of the somewhat one-sided conversation— I couldn't help but notice how… closer she stood to Catherine.
Killian certainly seemed more at ease than the night before or even this morning, the contrast palpable now that I noticed it. She had probably been more than a little awed by Catherine. Surprisingly, or perhaps, not so surprisingly, considering my own experience, Catherine managed to cut quite an intimidating figure in spite of her smaller stature… if you didn't know her well enough to notice the same telltale signs of nervousness and stress she had sometimes displayed back in the orphanage.
At least, she managed to hide it better now, while Killian… well. Glad was a bit too strong of a word for what I felt, but I was sufficiently satisfied my newest bout of social manipulation worked as intended without blowing up in anyone's face.
"The ritual," Catherine started, before trailing off. Her eyes snapped to look at Killian, away from the fort. "How many times can you pull it off? And how often?"
"That-" Killian began, her answer half-strangled, half-pitched, before reconsidering. She turned to me. "That would depend on Tanya, actually. Once the preparations are complete, I could reliably use her as a channel-" She grimaced and changed her wording for some reason, to Catherine's amused chuckling. "-channel magic into her to power the ritual. It really is the question of how much of it Tanya could conduct without bursting into flames…"
"That actually happens?" Catherine asked, seeming alarmingly interested.
"Almost never," Killian said. "A practitioner starts feeling debilitating effects long before they reach that point. There was a study several centuries ago that erroneously correlated the negative symptoms with the limit on the mage's power. Attempts were made to remove them-"
Oh, I knew that one. My "private tutor" told me about a few families of Soninke nobility who dabbled in soul surgery before it was a well-defined field of Trismegistian sorcery. They had correctly, as far as modern theory presented it, anyway, determined that the soul is responsible for spellcasting, and the body received feedback on magic only through some involved metaphysical bond it shared with the soul — until the body died, that is — but Praesi nobility as a class were very firm believers in things you would find on motivational posters, like "Nothing is impossible if you try hard enough" or "Limits can be broken by those willing to put in the effort". They'd thought that the feedback the body received was hampering their ability to continue casting past their artificially induced limits brought forth by weak flesh, so their solution had been to remove the soul from the body and stuff it inside a high-quality jewel that wouldn't feel pain or nausea from the blowback. Obviously.
It had apparently been a staple of high fashion to house your soul in as ostentatious jewelry as possible for several years in Ater, Wolof, and a few other bigger cities of the Empire, before the side effects were made public.
"-they ended poorly." Killian finished, skipping over the details.
The jewels didn't feel pain, sure, so a practitioner had nothing to warn them before the jewel housing their soul exploded from magical overdose.
Two families had gone completely extinct from magical accidents and "accidents" that involved their enemies capitalizing on the sudden weakness. On a positive note — or so Tazin had told me — it advanced the field of soul surgery by several decades and killed off the mages stupid enough to experiment on their own souls without establishing a testbed of subjects first.
Some of the research results were used even nowadays. Mostly as punishment.
"The problem is, I will be redirecting the current instead of channeling it myself," she explained. "My involvement and my exertion will be minimal, so Tanya will have to say for herself when she can't handle more." She glanced between me and Catherine, her lips stretched into a thin line like she was going to add something unpleasant. "Sergeant, I hope you can accurately measure your limits."
Catherine made a weird choking noise. Was she feeling ill? I hoped not, we still had an assault to go through. And she still had to actually explain her plan.
"Also, it would be really nice if you stopped before we started or after we finished casting," Killian continued firmly, either unaware of or ignoring Catherine, like a sane person should, at times. "We could do it in the middle, I suppose, but it would be very miserable for everyone involved."
"-'s what she said," Catherine muttered. Or something to that effect, I could have misheard.
Hakram, who was the only one still standing beside us once we'd gotten into an involved magical discussion, decided that this was the time he took his leave, for some reason. He coughed politely and excused himself, backing away slowly.
"Well," I said. "We could use a signal system: establish three or four short words that I would need to say to indicate-"
"Alright, that's enough," Catherine interrupted, quite rudely, in fact. "I'm sure a simple stop will suffice." She added in a quieter voice, half-turned away from us. "Or you're going to kill me before the battle even starts."
Killian looked at her for a few seconds before promptly going beet red, for no reason I could easily discern. I supposed I needed to blame stupid teenage hormones, as always.
I could tell, I had to live through puberty three times, which was honestly three more times than I felt necessary for any human being. Even if my second time was almost nonexistent due to malnourishment and high background stress I was under the most of it, allowing me to ignore it and focus on the more important things, like surviving and finally getting a cushy job back in the rear.
"To take a guess, from the volume of energies involved," I started answering the initial question after making a couple of mental calculations on the spot, choosing to ignore the whole thing. "I would be able to channel fifteen without significant interruptions."
"Fifteen?" Killian spurted. "I… probably shouldn't be surprised."
"Fifteen more after that, with some space in-between to catch my breath," I added, a bit less sure. "I wouldn't want to channel anymore, though. After all, I still have to fight later."
"Fight. Later," Killian repeated. Was there something wrong with what I said?
"Could you… aim it?" Catherine asked excitedly.
I started smiling.
"You are insane," Killian told Catherine after she had explained her plan to us. I tutted. How insubordinate. Well, technically, they were of the same rank, so I could let it slide, this time.
I scratched my chin thoughtfully. It wasn't actually much different from what I'd been doing in my last life. I would be stationary and on the ground instead of flying and dodging the potshots from the anti-air guns and enemy mages, and… that's it.
If you put it like that, it was evidently significantly easier than what I'd been doing for almost ten years.
That was about my part in the participation. Overall, the plan was… still not bad. Pretty good, actually. Gave us significantly better odds than any other confrontation with the resources we and Juniper had on hand.
I couldn't come up with anything better anyway, and, after some deliberation, I wouldn't butt in even if I could. This was Catherine's show now, and she was pretty decent in running it. Moreover, this was a wargame, not an actual war, so even if she made mistakes and lost, it would still be vastly more preferable than her doing the same somewhere later down the line, possibly with me under her command.
"I think it's a good plan," I disagreed politely. "We should call the rest of the officers over and explain it to them, see what they think."
"You're both insane," Killian said, now accusing both of us. Really, Lieutenant, Catherine's plan was one of the safest things I would have had to take part in by far.
"Hey, Sergeant!" Catherine waved a hand at Hakram. "Can you tell everyone to come over? I think we have something."
"I'm done here," Killian sighed. "I'm going to make some preparations before we start. The ritual would need some modifications if we went along with this… this…"
She threw her hands up in the air and started walking.
"We aren't going to start before the Evening Bell, anyway," Catherine called after her. "So take your time."
Killian's head bobbed minutely up and down in acknowledgment, but she didn't turn or say anything.
"Probably not the best first impression," Catherine muttered, speaking to no one in particular.
I patted her hand, removing it immediately once she noticed my gesture of support before anyone else in our company could notice my insubordinate behavior. This was why I didn't like mixing the chain of command with any other kind of unprofessional relationship.
My obligations as a soldier under her command were to wait for her orders and fulfill them to the best of my ability unless they were stupid or illegal. While nobody could reliably protect against stupidity, Praesi had some… interesting legal practices, so I wouldn't be worried too much about the latter part.
My obligations as her friend, however, dictated that I was required to support her. It was a good thing I didn't need to do so unconditionally and had a standing invitation to, "call me out on my shit whenever you feel you need to", or this friendship would be almost more trouble than it's worth.
"It's alright," I said. "And Killian's going to come around once we succeed." I allowed myself a small smile. "It's not like anyone's going to die, right?"
"Not that reassuring," Catherine said, but smiled back. "You really think s- everyone will-" she broke off, gesturing around her. Luckily for her, I understood what she meant this time.
"Praesi military is very goal-oriented, from what I've seen," I mused. "As long as success is achieved along with necessary parameters, nobody is going to complain. The rank and file cannot help but adopt some of the attitudes instilled on them from up high."
"That's, surprisingly insightful of you," Catherine casually insulted me, looking thoughtful.
I rolled my eyes.
"Also, I have a really good aim, a passable vantage point, and absolutely no desire to get court-martialed. Everything will be just fine."
"And on that cheerful note, let's get this meeting started," She replied, gesturing to follow her to where the rest of our officers were gathering to walk towards us.
"This is insane," Robber, of all people, ( or goblins, as the case may be ) had the gall to say. "I like it."
Nevermind.
Killian made an exasperated noise from where she was standing without opening her mouth.
"I wouldn't even attempt to do anything like that with regular artillery," Lieutenant Pickler told us bluntly, before grimacing, like saying the words that came after would physically pain her. "With magic, though… it might be possible." She glared at me, sharply. "How are your marks on trigonometry?"
I resisted the urge to scowl.
"More than adequate," I answered her because they were. Somewhere in the upper middle of what engineering corps usually scored if I remembered correctly.
"But that's irrelevant since my night vision is much less sharp than a goblin's," I continued leadingly. It wasn't even flattery since it was objectively true. "I will need someone from sappers regardless for the latter stages."
"Might as well be me," Pickler said. "I won't be of much use with the rest of the line."
And just like that, I knew we had her. Now I was an exotic artillery platform instead of a bullshit magical human Claimant, or whatever it was that Pickler thought about me.
I hoped Catherine was taking notes. As a Callowan who didn't hold a higher rank than any of the gathered here, she needed all the tools at her disposal, including charisma, the force of personality, and outright flattery, even if it was a terribly inefficient way to run the military.
Nauk had agreed from the start, almost before we started explaining. For him, any plan that involved a straightforward fight was good enough, even if we had to resort to tricks on the side. I had had some doubts about him, but after repeat performances, I felt I could safely slot him into an "Imperial warmaniac" slot inside my head.
A shame, but at least I knew how to work with, and if necessary, around him.
Killian was the most sensible out of all of us, on the other hand. It was probably because she knew just how huge the risks involved were. Sadly for her, she just got outvoted. Ah, democracy, one of the worst ways to run an army.
What was I getting out of all this? Why, a chance to test my theory that, if my part of spellwork was comfortably within the boundaries of comprehension, any shenanigans from Being X would fail to materialize. And, while I did have some trouble following the entire ritual preparation, my part in it as a glorified battery was well within my capabilities. This was as close to controlled conditions as I could imagine, being close enough to combat experience that I would easily ascertain whether I could count on using magic semi-safely on a battlefield or should start working on a plan to stow away on a ship to Mieza.
I had a sudden intrusive thought that, if we did win, Ratface was going to remain our captain. I really hoped he would learn from the experience to listen to his subordinates, or just become a better tactician if nothing else, but I wasn't holding my breath.
On second thought, democracy was nice, while it lasted.
"Does anyone have any questions about their part in the plan?" Catherine asked, trying for calm assurance, but coming off as a little uncertain instead.
Nobody said anything, not even Killian.
"Then let's get to it."
It was around the time for the Evening Bell, and I was standing on the same ridge with nineteen of my colleagues arranged in a ritual formation around me, reagents from our supplies scattered in appropriate positions, the sun burning lazily the back of my neck on its way to going over the horizon.
It was really fortunate we had come out on the western side of the forest. For one, it wouldn't be blinding me during the spell. For another, it was almost a complete certainty, that by this time, we were noticed and identified by the cadets in the fort. Just as the sun would have hampered my efforts had we emerged from the east, now the sun would hopefully somewhat frustrate their defense.
Every advantage, no matter how insignificant, was nice to have.
"Are you ready?" Killian asked me with an air of resignation of someone knowing how stupid the orders given to her were, yet having to obey them all the same. Yes, I was quite familiar with her expression.
It irked me some that she didn't trust me not to fuck up, but objectively, I couldn't blame her for that. I also couldn't exactly say I was on my third reincarnation, the second of which I'd spent as an Imperial Aerial Mage with one of the highest kill counts on my part of the front to reassure her.
Instead, I just nodded, trying to project an image of quiet confidence.
"Alright, everyone," she called out to the rest of our line. "On my mark, begin powering the ritual."
I turned to the fort, already making calculations. Lieutenant Pickler was standing outside the ritual formation in order not to disrupt it, so I had to fire my first shot by myself. Not that I would have any problem with that.
Surprisingly, once the ritual was completed once, it would "fix" itself on this part of Creation, becoming much less vulnerable to disruptions-
"Mark!"
I felt a thrum of magic around me, goosebumps rising on my skin in response. I shifted my stance to stand more comfortably, inhaling to calm breathing-
"Draw!"
It was time to do my part. I drew the magic around me, holding it in place to be shaped by Killian. It felt like… if I had to come up with an analogy that would make sense to someone without magical awareness, it was like having a heavy sack of unevenly shaped potatoes dropped on my hands and having to hold the whole sack while someone peeled them. A little straining, a little uncomfortable, maybe too prosaic for someone's tastes, but by no means difficult.
To my increasing excitement, any signs of mental contamination also failed to materialize. It was too early to celebrate, though.
I adjusted my aim and waited for the next command, spending my time feeling out the changes Killian was introducing to the shape of the spell. To extend the metaphor, her hand was sure and quick, and she didn't bump my shoulders too much, so I felt comfortable with letting her do her part and directed whatever was left of my focus to observe with interest.
Mostly, her work consisted of melding potatoes together and shaping them into something resembling an artillery shell.
Almost a second before she was finished, I felt it in the sudden shift of the flux. Thus, the moment she shouted-
"Fire!"
-I was already propelling the completed spell-
With an explosion of sound, splinters, and shrapnel flying everywhere, the front gates of the fort practically disintegrated under the spell. Just then, I noticed jagged lines of the protective barrier, presumably erected by the defenders of the fort, punched cleanly through and shimmering out of existence along with the gates. And nobody on the walls was killed or maimed. There you go, naysayers.
I puffed at my fingers. Still had it.
Nobody said anything. Nobody even breathed, by the sound of it.
"Maybe let's try something a little weaker next time," I said into the ensuing silence.
This remark seemed to break the, heh, spell, and our whole line erupted in cheers, the rest of our company soon joining them, though I didn't.
It was an adequate showing on our part. Now we just had to repeat it another twenty times, with possibly moving targets that we didn't want to hit accidentally.
Lieutenant Killian was apparently of a similar mind with me, since she didn't join in, either.
"Can't believe it worked," she muttered from her position in the ritual right behind me, quietly enough that only I could hear her over the shouting.
She was being too cautious for her own good.
"Of course it worked," I told her, turning around, careful not to roll my eyes. With how much holding back I was doing in that regard, I would be surprised if I didn't develop some sort of a nervous tic in a few years. "We had a capable and competent mage directing us, after all."
"You?" Killian asked.
"You," I said, rolling my eyes after all that wasted effort. "You created the ritual, you directed the spell, you shaped it, I just held it, aimed and fired it."
"That's… true," Killian said carefully, almost disbelievingly. Where did all this self-doubt come from?
Sometimes, I forgot how wet behind the ears all the cadets I was training with were. Ah, to be young and insecure again. No, thank you.
"And I have every confidence you will do it again and again," I continued patiently. Now that I thought of it, while I had the opportunity, I would need to calm her doubts about me, too. "As confident as I am about my part of the spell." I saw Pickler not wasting any time and wading her way through the formation towards us, her expression somewhat more… respectful than it was before if I read her correctly. Maybe she was just glad to be doing something. "With you and Pickler, I don't doubt we will manage just fine."
"Laying it on a little too thick, Sergeant," Killian admonished me, despite looking away in embarrassment, her cheeks slightly reddened.
"Apologies, Lieutenant," I agreed easily, turning away to look at the castle. Already, I could see the First Company scurrying around like an anthill someone kicked over. "I will return to the task at hand."
"You do that," Killian said from behind me. "And… thanks."
I nodded my head in acknowledgment in lieu of an answer. Mission accomplished.
"Alright, settle down already!" Killian shouted suddenly, almost making me jump.
Around me, the mages returned to the formation with remarkable alacrity.
"Now that we knocked, how about we start the party?"
Our line shouted as one in response.
"On my mark!"
Pickler came over to my left side.
"Not bad for a rookie," she told me quietly. "Now that I'm here though, we can start getting fancy."
"Mark!"
"Wall or tower?" She asked.
"Tower," I said confidently, getting a grin with too many teeth in response.
"Draw!"
"Fire!"
I released the spell-
Pickler poked me sharply at my elbow, interrupting me and making the shot fire a little to the right from where I was aiming.
"Look at where you're firing," she hissed at me pointing at the enemy's line peppered with pieces of earth flying at them from twenty feet over. They would have been fine. Until you fired an artillery shell yourself, you wouldn't figure just how close to an explosion someone needed to be to die or even get seriously injured.
"I think that's enough," Killian said, sounding a little exhausted, to the relief of every mage around us.
Including mine, yes. This was our — eighteenth? nineteenth?— consecutive ritual and even I was starting to feel the strain, despite my prolonged experience with more efficiently shaping the mana needed for the spells. Really, Trismegistian mages just seemed to waste quite a lot, though whether because they were still in training or just had trouble with that in general, I couldn't say.
Good thing I had nine other test subject- subordinates to test it out.
"Besides," Killian went on cheerfully, looking past Juniper's company rushing at our fortified position on the ridge, the front elements of it already clashing and winning against our two infantry lines, and pointing her hand at the fort. "Looks like we won."
I glanced at the central tower with the standard of the First Company floating above it, now joined together with our own.
Catherine did her own part successfully, then. I felt a smile tugging at my lips. A well-executed plan was one of the rare, one of the only pleasures I could afford for a long, long time.
"Looks like it," I said.
