Day 439 10:15 AM
“But you, Roman, must remember that you have to guide the nations by your authority, for this is to be your skill, to graft tradition onto peace, to show mercy to the conquered, and to wage war until the haughty are brought low.”
― Virgil
Solgord is a city best known for its surrounding farms, focused on raising and breeding solsus, as well as for its solsus related products. The city is in the middle of an evacuation, but its refineries are full of highly flammable, highly volatile, highly delicious solsus lard.
My plan hinges on this secret ingredient for Garacia’s flambe delicacies.
“Come on, pack them up,” I shout at the boys to hurry.
Half my trusted infantry soldiers are packing fifty-pound kegs of solsus lard, while I’m carrying a two hundred pound one on my back. The two hundred pounds will make little difference compared to the five thousand the men are carrying, but a burden four times their own should do a great job of increasing their morale.
The other half of the company carries food for us in their backpacks. My plan is simple. We sneak close to the enemy camp, soldiers leave their kegs and retreat. Then, at night, I infiltrate the encampment under the cover of darkness, drench the Dolacians’ supplies in solsus oil, light a match and have a good time getting away with it while the world burns. Classic king mentality, but it will solve our problem.
Horses and cattle can graze after we burn their feed, but thousands of soldiers and camp followers cannot reproduce the feat. They will grow hungry in a matter of days unless they get new supplies. Unfortunately for them, the Dolacians had not established a supply line, instead carrying all their food with themselves, and the wise local lords of my kingdom have brought their people, food, and wealth along with them as they abandoned their holds.
Even the season favors us, it’s too early for any fruits or vegetables. The only problem is that a quarter of our kingdom had to interrupt their growing season. Food might be an issue come winter, but I trust Manny will think of something.
“Are you certain you do not mind me and Victory staying here?” Manny asks. She isn’t worried, half the capital’s garrison and half our army is with her, and even if they rush, the enemy will take some ten days of starvation to reach her even if something happens to me.
“I am certain. We have scouts and reports on the enemy position. I don’t trust them fully, but even if it’s a trap, Dolacians have no quicker path to take to reach Solgord. If anything happens, I will reach you before they do.”
Manny gives me a peck on the lips, and Victory coos, all snuggled up in warm blankets, secure in her mother’s embrace. I’m returning to them, no matter what.
Manny returns my smile, and with an oorah I lead two hundred soldiers on a march to meet the enemy one hundred times our number.
We trek through the forest for a week, keeping about a mile away from the road. While the soldiers struggle with their load, I hardly notice the two hundred pounds. I’m focused on running various scenarios about how to deprive my enemy of food. After seven days, I think I’ve got it. Unless Dolacians resort to cannibalism.
The scouts reported carts of grain, herds of sheep and cows, and they are also slaughtering the oxen pulling the carts as they empty them. So, I have to get rid of the animals, preferably scare them into a stampede, which will trample the sleeping soldiers.
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There’s also the horses to worry about. A competent general might allow his soldiers to eat the horses, in which case they might reach us well fed.
Life is complicated. Thousands of tiny details can change my plan. How many horses? Where are they? Will they panic once a stampede starts and tear off their reins to escape?
I hope the answer is yes to the last question. The absence of horses would deny our enemy a strategic resource in every sense of the word. Currently, the optimized schedule starts with waiting two hours for the enemy to go to sleep. Then I sneak around for five hours to sabotage the supplies and set a trail of solsus lard on fire from a different side of the road than the one we took. Hopefully, that will keep Dolacians off our backs in the case of a search.
The trail of lard will act like a fuse, and the sudden conflagration should terrify the animals. Depending on the camp setup, they will trample the soldiers, the followers, or nobody as they flee from the burning wagons. Luck is a big factor when it comes to immediate damage, but there is little I can do about that.
I considered releasing the horses several times, but even if I can sever two to three tethers a minute, I would free a hundred-odd horses an hour, and that’s not worth the risk. Hopefully, they will tear off their reins, and all will be well.
I can’t believe I’m doubting my plan now!
The enemy camp is three hundred yards away, they are settling in for the night while I lug barrels of solsus lard closer to their wagons. I can hear Dolacian soldiers chop wood, felling trees by the dozen to make a clearing for tents and soldiers sleeping on the ground.
Fires spring to life as cattle die to feed the army of thousands. The organized chaos is impressive and well rehearsed over the past weeks. I kind of admire it as I carry the kegs, preparing for my humble contribution.
I’m ready half an hour before dark. Hopefully, the boys are miles away, making yet another night camp under the trees, without a fire, just in case. All I can do now is wait, so I close my eyes and nap.
I’m nowhere close to sleeping, but I relax and unwind. Two hours pass, and I’m refreshed. I reach the roadside clearing with a keg tucked beneath my arm. The night is bright enough, which is good and bad.
The Dolacians have soldiers patrolling around the camp, and the fires still burn, but there’s no noise, most of the army is asleep.
I wait for the guards to walk past and sneak into the camp. I head to the furthest wagon and drench it with solsus lard, spilling the leftovers on the wagon’s side to slide down. Someone is snoring from beneath the wagon, and I look down.
A poor sod is asleep, and I realize the followers are probably using the wagons to sleep under them. Fifteen minutes later, I have confirmed my guess, roughly a third of the wagons have people sleeping under them.
If I pour extra on the ones without sleepers beneath them, the fire will last longer, and the wagons are wooden, the commoners will almost certainly wake up before they burn to death. At least I hope so. I cannot risk the lives of my family, subjects, and soldiers for the sake of two dozen camp followers who sought shelter beneath the wagons.
The thought is pure hypocrisy. Based on where the cattle are, they will trample more than two dozen civilians, fleeing from the fire through their handlers and towards the soldiers. And even killing the soldiers will harm their innocent children back home. They will be orphans, without fathers to protect and feed them.
I drive away the ugly thoughts and focus on my task. To and fro, I carry the lard, soak food with it and return to the forest for more. Sometimes I have to lie low, and my estimate proves wrong, the sabotage takes six and a half hours, and soon the soldiers will start stirring.
I lit the fuse, and in less than a minute, the flames burst into life, the dark night shines almost as bright as day. A part of me wants to see what is happening, whether I have succeeded in my plan or not, but the risk is too great.
I disappear into the forest as sheep bleat and cows moo. Solsus lard is terrifying. The fire spreads so fast, I know no sleeper made it out alive, and the ground beneath my feet rumbles. Even if the cattle stampedes the wrong way, I have stolen the enemy supplies.
Without food, humans turn stupid and irritable quite quickly. I know I had trouble focusing and snapping at everyone when I forgot to eat for a day, and I can imagine how bad it will get as those days of hunger stretch with an army of strangers to snap at.
Humans take a while before they starve to death. I can’t recall the exact number, I remember someone mentioning the law of threes, three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food, but I think humans are tougher than that. Still, ten days of marching with full equipment without food is certain to destroy the army, both physically and their morale.
All we have to do now is leave a message and greet the Dolacians in Solgord, promising food and wealth for their surrender and servitude.