“Earthen ramparts and wet ditches,” he continued. “The hardest things for artillery to break or assaulting infantry to cross. Especially when there’s no high ground anywhere in the area on which the Malwa could set up counterbatteries.”
He stroked his beard, frowning. “We can crisscross that whole area with ditches and fill them with water. Biggest problem we’ll have is keeping our own trenches dry. Raised ramparts—using the same dirt from the ditches—will do for that. The Dutch used ‘storm poles’—horizontal palisades, basically—to protect the ramparts from escalade. I doubt we’ll have enough good wood for that, but we can probably use shrubbery to make old-style Roman hedges.”
The mention of old methods seemed to bring a certain cheer to Sittas. He even went so far as to praise modern gadgetry. “The field guns and the sharpshooters will love it. A slow-moving, massed enemy, stumbling across ditches . . . What about cavalry?”
“Forget about cavalry altogether,” said Gregory, almost snapping the response. He gave Sittas a cold eye. “The truth is—like it or not—we’ll probably wind up eating our horses rather than riding them.”
Both Sittas and Abbu—especially the latter—looked pained. Maurice barked a laugh.
“And will you look at them?” he snorted. “A horse is a horse. More where they came from—if we survive.”
“A good warhorse—” began Sittas.
“Is worth its weight in silver,” completed Belisarius. “And how much is your life worth?”
He stared at Sittas, then Abbu. After a moment, they avoided his gaze.
“Right. If we have to, we’ll eat them. And there’s this much to be said for good warhorses—they’re big animals. Lots of meat on them.”
Sittas sighed. “Well. As you say, it’s better than dying.” He cast a glance to the south. “But I sure hope Menander gets here before we have to make that decision.”
* * *
The Justinian and the Victrix encountered the first Malwa opposition barely ten miles from Sukkur. Menander could hear, even if dimly, the guns firing in the north.
It was nothing more than a small cavalry force, however. A reconnaissance unit, clearly enough. The Malwa, perched on their horses by the riverbank, stared at the bizarre sight of steam-powered warships chugging upriver, towing four barges behind them. Menander, perched in the armored shell atop the bridge which held one of the Justinian’s anti-boarding Puckle guns, stared back.
For a moment, he was tempted to order a volley of cannon fire, loaded with canister. The Malwa were close enough that he could inflict some casualties on them. But—
He discarded the thought. The cavalry patrol was no danger to his flotilla, except insofar as they brought word of his approach back to the Malwa forces besieging Sukkur. And since there was no possibility of killing all of them, there was no point in wasting ammunition.
Quickly, Menander did some rough calculations in his head. The result cheered him up. By the time the cavalry patrol could return and make their report, Menander’s flotilla would already have reached Ashot’s positions. Thereafter, freed from towing all but one or two of the barges, Menander could make better time up the Indus. The Malwa would have a telegraph line connecting their army around Sukkur with their forces in the Punjab, of course. But—assuming that Belisarius had succeeded in his drive to reach the fork of the Chenab—the Malwa were probably too confused and disorganized, too preoccupied with crushing this unexpected thrust into their most vital region, to organize a really effective counter against Menander’s oncoming two-ship flotilla.
So, he simply watched as his ships steamed past the foe. A rare moment, in the midst of bitter war, when enemies met and did nothing about it. He even found himself, moved by some strange impulse, waving a cheerful hand at the Malwa cavalrymen. And three of them, moved by the same impulse, waved back.
Odd business, war.
* * *
The Malwa did make a feeble attempt to intercept his flotilla when he was less than a mile from Ashot’s fortifications. Two river boats, crammed with soldiers, came down the Indus toward him. Their movement was slow, however, because the wind was fitful at best. The Malwa boats were sailing ships, not galleys, so they were forced to rely mainly on the sluggish current.