Drive into combat, not—not—
“Glorified tug boats!” barked Maurice, grinning. “Justinian will have apoplexy, if he finds out. Probably demand that Theodora have Menander flayed alive.”
Menander did not seem to find that last particularly amusing. Neither Justinian nor Theodora was famous for their sweet temper.
“Have to keep it a secret . . .” he muttered, grimacing with anxiety.
“Don’t worry about it!” boomed Sittas, taking two steps and buffeting Menander with a hearty backslap. The young officer staggered a bit under the blow. Sittas was built like a boar; his idea of a “hearty backslap” was on the excessive side. “You won’t even have to lie about it. If those supply ships being towed upstream by your fancy new boats aren’t forced to fight their way through every time, it’ll be a miracle. Guns blazing the whole way. According to our spies, there’s even a big new Malwa fortress in the Sukkur gorge they’ll have to run if they try to get into the Punjab.”
The fact that Menander so obviously found the prospect of desperate river battles a great relief brought another round of laughter to the tent.
Maurice, still smiling faintly, went back on the offensive. “All right, but that still leaves the critical moment up in the air.” His stubby finger jabbed at the map. “You know as well as I do, General, that this ‘lightning strike’ of yours is most likely to come apart at the seams right at the start. In order for it to work, we’ve got to get the expedition through open terrain. Six thousand Arab and Syrian light cavalry can probably do it easily enough. But fifteen thousand cataphracts and two thousand artillerymen and combat engineers? And don’t forget we’ll be crossing rivers and canals, not using them for supply routes.”
Scowling again, all trace of humor gone: “That’s a recipe for disaster, young man. They always said Julian was a military genius too, when he was hacking his way into Persia. Until the damn fool burnt his ships and tried to march overland through Mesopotamia.”
Belisarius shrugged. “Julian had four or five times as many soldiers as I’m taking. And—if I say so myself—my logistical methods are better than his were.”
He paused for an instant, giving Maurice a level gaze. The chiliarch tightened his lips and looked away. Years earlier, when Maurice had been training a brilliant but inexperienced Thracian officer, he had convinced the youth to adopt the logistical methods of the great Philip of Macedon. Use mules as much as possible for his supply train, instead of the cumbersome wagons preferred by other Roman armies. The methods had proved themselves in action since, over the course of many campaigns.
“Still . . .” he grumbled, staring at that portion of the map which showed the terrain in question. “We don’t know how good the foraging will be. Mules can only carry so much, and you have to use some wagons for the artillery supplies. And if that territory is all that fertile, you can be sure the Malwa will have plenty of troops stationed there.”
Belisarius scratched his chin. “I doubt it, Maurice. Not now. The Malwa commanders have probably pulled most of their soldiers back to the river. They’ll be expecting us to use the Indus as our marching route, not the Nara. The more so since—”
He fell silent, groping for a way to explain. Over the years, fighting Link, Belisarius had come to have a certain sense for how the monster’s mind worked. The same superhuman intelligence imparted to Link by those “new gods” of the future was also, often enough, a gap in its armor.
Aide understood. It always knows so much, but the knowing comes from recorded history. Not experience. And it doesn’t listen, really. It hears, but it does not pay attention. Because it “knows” already. History—the records Link will have, which are the same as I do—will tell it that the Indus valley is largely arid. But that’s because of the environmental degradation caused by the later centuries of human habitation. Its subordinates may have told it otherwise, but . . .
The thought trailed off for a moment, then came back as firm as ever. It will not really think about it. I have been surprised myself, many times, by how much more life there is in lands which my “knowledge” told me was half-barren. But I am not Link. I do not think the way it does. So I have learned to listen, not just hear.