“Incompetent commanders. The worst curse any military could suffer from.” - Saying attributed to Xaliburnus the Conqueror, First Emperor of the Elmaiya Empire.
“Which bloody absolute idiot ordered our men to chase the enemy into the forest!? The enemy who has already shown themselves to be well-prepared for our arrival and have a penchant for traps at that. Tell me! Which moron was it!?” Yelled Marquis Viktor Esvant of Podovniy after he heard the report from the messenger about the situation at the vanguard.
In a rare exchange of roles, it was the Marquis himself who was spewing insults at the top of his voice and his usually foul-mouthed general who remained calm that day.
“I told you shit like this would happen when you made the noble families ‘donate’ one of their spawn each to command the forces from their place,” calmly said Simeon with a knowing smirk that pretty much screamed ‘I told you so’ out loud plastered on his face. “Those spoiled brats rarely if ever are prepared for the sort of things we see out in a battlefield. I don’t even know how you could expect them not to make stupid calls when left on their own.”
“Fine…” sighed the Marquis as he admitted defeat to his long-time friend and general. “I’ll do something to change it after this, but right now I doubt a large shake-up of leadership would do us any good,” he added. “Anyway, I don’t think anyone answered my previous question yet? So, tell me, which absolute moron sent his men into the most definitely trapped and ambush-riddled woods?”
“That’d be Tribune Josef Bourgnoin, milord,” replied Simeon after a quick check at the note that the messenger passed to him earlier. Since the assault had happened quite late in the day, he and the Marquis who were positioned around the back end of the army column only received the news after they had set up tents for the night. “That’s the third son of Count Bourgnoin of Desavo, by the way.”
“Remind me to bust the Count to Baron once we return… no wait… does any of his spawn actually have any worth?” said the Marquis in obvious anger at the noble for sending such an incompetent to be the commander of his forces. “If any of them have a brain we’ll replace him with them too, while we’re at it. The old Count can retire and go die of illness.”
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“None of his sons are any good, all wastrels, the lot of them,” noted Simeon with a frown as he recalled what he knew about the Count. “If I remember right, his second daughter shows some promise, though. She was married off young but her husband died a few months after the marriage in a hunting accident. She had since returned to her home and lived there once more.”
“She’ll do,” said the Marquis curtly, once again cursing himself in his heart about the necessity of appeasing the local rulers for easier assimilation. He knew he should have just hanged the lot of them, but all his advisors were always so vehemently against that idea whenever he proposed it. “Oh, right, who was the one in charge of the troops sent to the forest back there?”
“That’d be Senior Commander Raoul Zebediah, milord,” replied Simeon quickly. “Seniormost regiment commander of the brigade. For what it’s worth, the man made the right call to retreat promptly once he realized just how prepared our enemies were.”
“I know that. Have the man promoted to Tribune to replace that incompetent son of a whore,” stated the Marquis decisively. The promotion was against the rules his advisors had made to appease the nobles under his charge by allowing their descendants to hold high positions in the military, but battlefield necessities and all that. Surely they would understand. “Tell him that he may have his choice for his replacement as regiment commander.”
“Got it, milord. And what shall we do with the former Tribune Bourgnoin?” asked Simeon nonchalantly with another smirk on his face. The long-time career military man had always been against having such unproven nobles as commanders in his army. Unfortunately, those nobles and their supporters had far more voice in the March’s councils than his like, and even his position as the Marquis’ confidant was an often questioned one as it was.
“Twenty lashes in public with a reading of his folly before we march tomorrow morning,” replied the Marquis. Lashings like what he ordered were by no means light punishment, as the whips used were ones meant for draft animals. When used against people, they’d scour the flesh off their bodies with ease. Even strong men tend to faint after ten lashes. Twenty was as good as a death penalty. “Then have what’s left of him hanged as an example. I will not tolerate more of this sort of stupidity and I hope his corpse will make my point clear to the rest.”
“It will be done, sir,” noted the veteran general with an understanding nod.
“I really wish I could do some things differently at times, Simeon, old friend, but even I chafe against the trappings of nobility,” admitted the Marquis, looking rather deflated after he vented his bellyful of anger at last. “Now, don’t bother to spare me the truth. How does it look with Janos and his engineers? How badly were they hit by this attack?”
“Afraid I got no good news there, milord. We got seven survivors out of the whole lot. Afraid old Janos bought the mines like most of the rest, and out of the survivors only two got off lightly enough to be able to work again within three days,” reported Simeon with a frown on his face. “Also, the stench is causing issues, many of the medics had trouble concentrating while healing them, and a few even fainted.”
“Bloody cowardly cretins!” cursed the Marquis once more. “I know it’s too much to ask them to fight with honor on the battlefield, but this sort of shit is really getting on my nerves.”
“I’m afraid these ones know that we’d break them with ease in an open battle, sire,” commented Simeon somewhat pointedly. “And they’re clever enough to seek out other paths. They’re neither knights nor nobles anyway, so it was your fault for expecting honor and decorum from them to begin with. Especially after they roasted silly Dukoz to death months ago.”
“I know, Simeon, I know.”