In the Heart of Darkness by Eric Flint & David Drake

“Maurice has an idea,” announced Sittas. The general beamed. “Marvelous idea, I think! And you know me—I generally look on new ideas about the same way I look on cow dung.”

“What is it?” asked Antonina.

Maurice rubbed his scalp. The gesture was one of his few affectations. The hair on that scalp was iron grey, but it was still as full as it had been when he was a boy.

“I got to thinking. The problem with grenades is that you want to be able to heave them a fair distance before they blow up. Then, you face a tradeoff ­between distance and effectiveness. A man with a good arm can toss a grenade fairly far—but only if it’s so small it doesn’t do much good when it lands. If he tries to throw a big grenade, he has to get well within bow range to do it.” The veteran shrugged. “Under most battle conditions, my cataphracts would turn him into a pincushion before he got off more than one. I have to assume that the enemy could do as well. Persians could, for sure.”

“So what’s your solution?” asked John. “Scorpions?”

Maurice shook his head. “No. Mind you, I’m all for developing grenade artillery. Wouldn’t be hard at all to adapt a stone-throwing scorpion for that purpose. But that’s artillery. Fine in its place, but it’s no substitute for infantry.”

Hermogenes smiled. He was one of the few modern Roman generals who specialized in infantry warfare. Belisarius himself had groomed the young officer, and urged him in that direction.

“Or cavalry,” grumbled Sittas. This general, on the other hand, was passionately devoted to the cataphract traditions.

“Forget cavalry,” said Maurice. “These lads are peasants pure and simple, Sittas. Syrian peasants, to boot. Thracian and Illyrian peasants have some familiarity with horses, but these boys have none at all. You know as well as I do they’d never make decent horsemen. Not in the time we’ve got.”

Sittas nodded, quite magnanimously. The honor of the cavalry having been sustained, he would not argue the point further.

“And that’s the key,” stated Maurice. “I tried to figure out the best way to combine Syrian peasants and grenades, starting with the strengths and limitations of both. The answer was obvious.”

Silence. John exploded.

“Well—out with it, then!”

“Slings. And slingstaffs.”

John frowned. “Slings?” He started to argue—more out of ingrained habit than anything else—but fell ­silent.

“Hmm.” He quaffed his wine. “Hmm.”

Antonina grinned. “What’s the matter, John? Don’t tell me you haven’t got an instant opinion?”

The naval officer grimaced.

“Alas—no. Truth is, much as I hate to admit it, I don’t know anything about slings. Never use the silly things in naval combat.”

“You wouldn’t call them silly things if you’d ever faced Balearic slingers on a battlefield,” growled Maurice. Hermogenes and Sittas nodded vigorously.

“But these aren’t Balearic slingers, Maurice,” ­demurred Antonina. “The islanders are famous—have been for centuries. These are just farm boys.”

Maurice shrugged. “So what? Every one of those peasants—especially the shepherds—has been using a sling since he was a boy. Sure, they’re not professionals like the Balearic islanders, but that doesn’t matter for our needs. The only real difference between a Balearic mercenary slinger and a peasant lad is accuracy. That matters when you’re slinging iron bullets. It doesn’t—not much, anyway—when you’re hurling grenades.”

John started to get excited, then. “You know—you’re right! How far could one of these Syrian boys toss a grenade?”

Maurice fluttered the stubby fingers of one thick hand.

“Depends. Show me the grenade you’re talking about, and I’ll give you a close answer. Roughly? As far as an average archer, with a sling. With a slingstaff, as far as a cataphract or a Persian.”

“Cavalry’d make mincemeat out of them,” stated Sittas.

Maurice nodded. “Alone, yes. Good cavalry, anyway, that didn’t panic at the first barrage. They’d rout the grenade slingers—”

“Call them grenadiers,” interjected John. “Got more dignity.”

“Grenadiers, then.” He paused, ruminated; then: “Grenadiers. I like that!”

Hermogenes nodded vigorously.

“A special name’ll give the men morale,” the young general stated. “I like it too. In fact, I think it’s essential.”

Sittas mused: “So we’ll need cavalry on the flanks—”

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