If Jessep had noticed the subtle transformation in Adrian’s voice, he was ignoring it. Helga suspected the former First Spear of her father’s First Regiment just plain didn’t care whose voice was speaking from Adrian’s mouth—as long as the voice knew what it was talking about.
The veteran was running fingers through his gray stubble. “You designed this formation for this, didn’t you? These wagons, I mean, and this ‘laager’ business of yours. Designed it for one purpose, really, and one only. Destroy the largest Confederate army you could.”
He left off the stubble-rubbing and pointed a finger that was almost—not quite—accusatory. “You knew what they’d do. Like . . . like . . . like inviting a man to attack a hot iron by spreading more of his body over it.”
Whitehall’s aura was back in the voice, but the words themselves were mild. Those of a man deflecting an accusation, as it were.
“I thought of it more as creating a shredder against which Tomsien would shred his own army. The biggest problem any laager has is that you can’t bring all your forces to bear unless the enemy surrounds you. A problem which Tomsien will solve for me. But, yes—your analogy’s very apt, Special Attendant Yunkers.”
Special Attendant. The use of the title seemed to jar Jessep just a bit. Reminding him, as it were, of his new loyalties and obligations. Helga didn’t doubt for a moment that Whitehall had used the title deliberately. Although, she admitted to herself, Adrian probably would have done the same. Her lover was by no means unperceptive and unsubtle, however distracted he might sometimes seem.
A sardonic little grin came to Yunker’s face. “The gods save the world, what with you and Verice Demansk ganging up on it. He counted on this too, didn’t he?”
Adrian shrugged. “Counted on it? Oh, I really doubt that, Jessep. Helga’s father is far too shrewd and experienced to count on something. But I’m quite sure he . . . how can I put it? ‘Included the likelihood in his calculations,’ how’s that? At the very least, I’m sure he figured I could cripple Tomsien, even if not destroy him.”
Gods, have I ever heard such a cold voice? Not even cold so much as . . . empty.
But, again, she felt a little squeeze on her shoulder. And remembered something Adrian had told her once.
Center’s empty, yes. Or, at any rate, filled with something which amounts to the same thing, from a human viewpoint. But Raj? He’s just . . . oh, let’s call it serene, why don’t we? He was a man himself, once, don’t forget. It’s just that between his own life and everything Center’s shown him, he’s seen it all happen so many times before. So he looks on carnage the same way you or I might look on the ocean pounding against cliffs. That’s frightening, to a child. An adult just contemplates the workings of nature.
Jessep grunted. For a time, said nothing; just watched as the grisly business unfolded. The last two brigades were starting to come into position, rolling past the third and fourth—already starting to get shredded against the farther reaches of the laager—ready to assault the Reedbottoms from the south. Bringing ever more of their men into range of those terrible guns, against which their shields provided no protection at all—and their disciplined formations provided the best possible target.
The din was almost deafening, by now. No one had ever accused Vanberts of cowardice, not once in many centuries. The battalions and the companies—the brigade structure had already collapsed, even Helga could see that, and the regiments were close to it—kept hammering themselves against the wooden walls. And were hammered back, by a much heavier hammer. Javelins and assegais against thick planks; heavy lead bullets against thin shields and armor, and softer flesh.
Never cowards. Helga could not see so much as a single squad breaking away. All the regulars were bellowing their ancient battle cries and hurling themselves into the fray. Between their own shouts—and screams—and the constant gunfire, she thought she might go deaf.
Even Jessep winced a little, now and then. That was the gunfire, to which he was not accustomed. Not, at least, in such volume. Helga didn’t think the battle cries bothered him much, and he seemed completely indifferent to the screams of pain and agony.