Fall, 1330

General Anhake sat by the fire, pouring over the campaign map again with the unit markers and reconciling them with the continuous stream of new messages brought in by harried messengers. The battles along the Southern Ranges had all but dissolved into one continuous unceasing scrimmage stretching for twenty six miles as the Tassurians sought to find a weak spot in the Auxian mountain defenses.

Thus far the efforts had gained nothing but increasingly large cemeteries and hospital camps behind the Imperial lines.

Anhake read, responded to messages, moved the red-colored tokens depicting his units along the campaign map, and thought. A half-eaten meat-pottage trencher lay on the table, his dinner from an hour ago, now long since cold. The commanding general had been busy.

A figure entered his tent with a salute. Major Malkise, his adjutant, was not thrilled by the sight of his leftover food. Supplies were increasingly hard to come by, but there was always food for the commanding general, even if everyone else needed to starve. It was more what the meal represented that piqued the young Trasgu.

‘Sir, you will kill yourself from exhaustion if you don’t rest and eat.’ His aide stood with his arms folded in a voice that brooked no argument.

Anhake glanced up. There was a hint of temerity, but the major meant well so the general let it pass. ‘I mean to break through this Southern Ranges defensive line before I do that.’

The major shook his head. ‘With due respect, my lord, then you’ll die. And then the Emperor will need to replace you. I don’t think that will help this war.” Malkise picked up the half-eaten trencher with a serving board that suddenly appeared in his hands and handed it to Anhake.

“I can get you fresh hot food if this meal is no longer palatable.’

The temerity. After a second’s pause, the commanding general leaned over and picked up the meal with a slight smile.

‘Very well I will eat, my good major. And there’s no reason to go back- this serves me just fine.’

Malkise nodded. ‘I will get you some more wine.’

‘Spring water will do. I need my head to be clear.’

As the major turned away, General Anhake sighed. Malkise was a good aide, and that meant paying attention to things that his commander missed. Live having enough energy to live.

As he sat back down to finish his meal, Anhake noticed a portrait miniature lying off to one side of the campaign map. He startled. The artwork had been handed to him from Emperor Baldwin months ago. Anhake had barely looked at it before laying it aside. Malkise must have decided that his lord wanted it placed with the campaign map and so always left it on the map with the packets holding the writing utensils and unit markers.

Funny how one dismissive placement could be taken as an important decision.

Then again, they were Tassurians. They were Trasgu. They were picked for loyalty, and for obeying without question. As the commander of the Imperial Armies, all actions the commanding general took were of utmost importance and carefully conformed.

Anhake would have to be more careful about such things in the future.

Taking a bite of the trencher, he picked up the miniature and studied it in his hand. It had been one of several dozen, commissioned by Emperor Baldwin himself to commemorate the fall of Santium. For a brief period, the Tassurian Empire had thought that it had won the war: the Auxian capital had fallen, the Auxian armies in full retreat to the South, the great port of Alba besieged. King Owen Walker had only been on the throne for a year after the death of his brother at Hannah’s Field. The king would come to terms. Auxia would surrender. The humans would give in. The empire was on the cusp of victory, and Emperor wanted his successful generals known far and wide.

It was foolishness.

The humans were tenacious foes, and it never was a good thing to underestimate your enemy. Anhake had won great victories for the empire, but he had been stymied at the Pontine Swamps and his subordinates defeated at Camden. Multiple great victories compensated for that humiliation, culminating in the fall of the human capital, but it had still not been enough and now he was stalemated yet again before the powerful natural fortress of the Southern Ranges.

The strength and power of the Trasgu people had not been enough.

The training and discipline and steel of the Tassurian army had not been enough.

All of his brilliance in strategy and tactics were not enough.

Even with allies like the Sabines and dragons it had not been enough.

The humans were dogged like a badger that bit and hung on, not knowing any better to flee. They fought, they died, but more kept coming. The human army survived, soon to be joined by a coalition of other races, Sabines and Duregaren, who had turned against the Other Men. They destroyed the land itself to deprive it from the Tassurian Empire, and kept Alba from successfully falling to imperial control. The war dragged on, dozens of his soldiers dying every single day, with no end in sight.

As he took another bite of his meat-pottage trencher, the commander idly studied the image.

There were five officers depicted in the portraiture. In the middle was Anhake himself, Commanding General of the Tassurian Empire. He looked young, almost nervous in that picture, but clearly in charge. On either side were his two army commanders, General Nagat Ewerme on his right, commander of the First Army, and General Tung Gremenal on his left, the commander of the Second Army. Ironically, they were Anhake’s left and right arms, respectively. Ewerme was a good fighter and was calm, dependable, and had his solid and reliable-if unexceptional- grasp on his command. He took no risks, but threw everyone in once the odds of victory were high. On the other hand, Gremenal was a brave fighter and a aggressive commander and the master of unconventional warfare, relying on speed, surprise and power with his specialist forces including his Hunter-Killer assassination squads, his ogre and minotaur shock troopers, and his dragon aerial forces. Ewerme and Gremenal complemented each other tactically, the latter aggressively grasping the initiative, the former knowing when to throw in weight to exploit the advantage. Both commanders loyally complemented Anhake’s grand strategies.

Now however, this vaunted war machine was breaking apart.

Ewerme had just fallen days ago to a chance volley from a Auxian ballista as he began to deploy his army for an assault up King and Queen’s Mountains, throwing the attack into confusion. While the bolt did not kill the First Army Commander instantly, the wounds were likely mortal. Anhake would have to find a replacement. Perhaps the new general could replace Ewerme well and work effectively with Gremenal. Perhaps he could even surpass his former commander. That would rely on luck however, as it could never be clear whether a promising candidate promoted would actually fulfill the expectations placed before him. Things would change, and whether it would be better or worse up in the air.

General Anhake sighed. There was no use thinking about it more. He moved on.

With Anhake and his two army commanders were two of Gremenal subordinates: General Krame Pope, the one-eyed leader of the Tassurian guard troops that first breached the human capital, proudly leaning in the front of the group portrait with his tetsubo. Pope was arrogant, he was aggressive, but he got the job done. With a firm grasp on his ambitions and occasional lapses of insubordination, Pope could be called on to accomplish the most difficult of tasks.

That left the final officer depicted. Nervously off to one side was Colonel Montienu De Rosseu. The lowest ranking officer in the portrait, a mediocre commander, the colonel was there for one reason: he had the undying loyalty of the dragons so devastatingly effective in suppressing the defenses of the Auxian capital. The dragons were fickle and hard to control, and so was De Rosseu, and thus here he was, preserved for posterity.

The heroes of a half-completed war, one dying only a few months later.

There were other commanders of course. Breum, Caramel, Srean, Khran, Ferguson, Mishra, Izu, Keriw, Nina. All had their strengths and weaknesses and were generally effective in their tasks. Some had proven themselves in a brilliant campaign or two, others just respected for effectively commanding of their units up to this point. One would likely replace Ewerme. Ineffective commanders had been weeded out. Or they had died in the earlier fighting.

Anhake took another bite of his meal. There were many commanders who had already fallen.

Osthor died on the banks of the Dvina. Daneclaw had fallen at Hannah’s Field. Zeron, Cremwe, and Fultae at Satrinum. Lurv and Pemsne at Alba. The Black Prince died at Claudine Springs facing the minotaurs. Quant at a pointless skirmish in the Antium foothills. The toll increased with time. Already most of his senior officers had been replaced once over, one or two units twice.

Who would remain alive at the end of this, only the fates knew.

General Anhake mulled over that fact for a second.

Then he placed the miniature down and went over to scrutinize the campaign map again besides the newly accumulated pile of messages.

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Pink Floyd - Us and Them

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