Worse Trash Than I'd Imagined
"In short, the enemy is presently encamped to the west of this position, and they will almost certainly march to retake it before long. Their numbers stand at roughly thirteen thousand, and among them, we believe, is John Burgoyne — one of the Imperial 3 Great Generals of the Britain Empire."
With that, Franklin finished her report on everything that had happened and on the enemy's present circumstances, and took her seat. General Gates regarded her with a listless air, boredom saturating every word as he spoke.
"So the enemy outnumbers us by a little less than two to one, is that it? Well, nothing much to worry about, then. Defense always holds the advantage in battle. We sit tight here, fend off whoever comes knocking, and victory will come easy enough."
From the very first words, General Gates seemed determined to grind every last hope of a productive discussion into dust. Franklin let out a silent sigh, then looked at the commander-in-chief who was already filling her with a sense of dread.
"General, it is true that the defending side enjoys a number of advantages in battle. But our present circumstances cannot be interpreted so simply."
"What's that supposed to mean? Don't tell me you've lost your nerve before the fighting has even begun? You of all people should know the first principle of military science — a defender enjoys a fourfold advantage in force."
"That is so, but…"
General Gates rattled on with textbook theory, without the slightest regard for the actual situation. Franklin, growing more frustrated by the second, was about to explain in greater detail when someone else beat her to it. Unable to stand it any longer, Gates's Vice-Commander spoke up in her place.
"But General, it is unreasonable to view the present situation so simplistically. The bulk of our forces are militia, whereas the enemy is a well-trained elite army with a high proportion of mages and warriors. We cannot simply compare our strength one-to-one."
"Elite troops or not, aside from those who wield mana, a musket ball kills them just the same! And unlike those Imperial dogs, our rebels are bound together by the cause of liberty. Our combat prowess may be a touch inferior, but our valor will surpass theirs. There is no reason whatsoever for us to fall behind in fighting strength."
"But…"
"Enough. Praising the enemy before the battle has even begun? That's not like you. Don't tell me my own Vice-Commander is a coward?"
At Gates's irritated words, the Vice-Commander fell silent. Watching this, Franklin opened her mouth once more.
"The troops are one issue, but the greater problem is the terrain. Fort Stanwix's defenses are not poor, I'll grant you. But it is far too cramped to receive a large army. If we do not seek out more suitable ground, the fortress itself may become a hindrance."
A fortress could be a great asset in a clash of several thousand. But now, with not only the enemy but their own forces approaching ten thousand, fighting here was far from a sound choice. Troop movements would be hampered, and beyond the walls the land was open plain — in a situation like this, it would be far better to meet the enemy on more favorable ground.
And yet, at Franklin's words, General Gates looked at her as if she had gone mad.
"What on earth are you talking about? Are you saying we should abandon this fortress we've gone to such lengths to hold?"
"I am not saying we abandon it. I am saying we should focus on annihilating the enemy. Rather than straining to hold this place, we cede it to them on our terms and use that to land a decisive blow—"
"And if we lose, the entire region falls into their hands! You want me to give up a safe defensive battle and take that kind of risk? I will do no such thing! Rather than gamble like that, I will dig in right here and take a safe, certain victory!"
This from the same General Gates who had so cheerfully belittled Franklin's achievement in holding this very fortress — and who now, chained to the place, could not bring himself to make a strategic decision. Watching him, Franklin felt her breath catch with incredulity, and pressed her case once more.
"General! If we do that, we risk being surrounded by the enemy and destroyed without ever having a chance to act!"
"She's right! Militias are joining us from all around even now. Rather than hole up here and let the enemy run rampant, we would be far better off confronting them on the open plain!"
Gates meant to cram a force of nearly ten thousand into this cramped fortress and do absolutely nothing. A man who pursued safety and nothing else — whose conclusion rested on the narrow-minded assumption that the enemy would kindly come here to fight them. Franklin and Gates's Vice-Commander continued to push back with fierce opposition.
But—
"Silence! I am the commander-in-chief of this place! I have made my decision, and you will follow it — that is all!"
"G-General!"
"If we do this, we won't just fail to win — we could lose every surrounding region except this fortress! Please, I beg you to reconsider!"
They tried everything they could to stop this worst of all possible decisions. But General Gates laid down the law in a voice of ice.
"Hold your tongues! No matter how much nonsense you spout, my mind will not change! From this moment on, anyone who dares defy my orders or act rashly will be punished to the fullest for insubordination!"
Wielding the authority of commander-in-chief, General Gates sealed their mouths shut. Franklin and the Vice-Commander had no choice but to fall silent, their faces twisting with deep fury.
This son of a bitch…
I expected as much, but I never thought he'd be this hopeless…
Faced with a superior whose decision was already rotting her insides before the battle had even begun, Franklin felt a deep disappointment… no, considering what was yet to come, something closer to despair. She could not help but rain silent curses down upon that piece of trash.
If this is how it's going to be, it would have been better if that man had never come at all… If I could have relied on Commander Cromwell and freely operated even a small force, we might still have had a chance…
Choking on that helpless frustration, Franklin looked toward Cromwell's face. He had remained quietly silent from the start, merely watching the situation unfold. There was no agitation in him — if anything, his demeanor seemed almost serene. Franklin found herself thinking that perhaps he had simply given up on the present situation.
Well… even he wouldn't have a way out of a situation like this… Damn it. If Commander Cromwell could just take overall command of these forces, he could chew up the Imperial army without breaking a sweat…
Franklin bit her lip, thick with regret.
Meanwhile, quite apart from the thoughts occupying her in that moment, Cromwell watched General Gates threaten his own subordinates right in front of him — and quietly began to smile to himself.
Perfect. If he's this far gone, he'll actually be easier to work.
Late at night, darkness having settled over the fortress. While his men, exhausted from the long march, took their rest, General Gates sat alone in the command room, turning the same thoughts over and over.
Pathetic. Young people these days have no caution whatsoever. What? Abandon the fortress and go somewhere else? Don't they realize who would bear the blame if we happened to lose?
A man who, on the strength of long years of military service, had risen to become the rebels' second-in-command. To him, the two great mottos of life were self-preservation and advancement. Avoid perilous action at all costs, and take only the fruits of victory. It was by living this way that he had, irrespective of his personal ability, safely climbed to the rebels' number-two seat — and he had come to believe, with unshakable conviction, that this way of life was the only truth.
To such a man, the reckless plan Franklin and his Vice-Commander had proposed was not even worth considering. And so General Gates hardened his conviction that holding the fortress and facing the enemy as safely as possible was the right choice, and in that moment he was doing his best to ignore the minor losses already taking shape in his mind.
Just then—
"General. Someone requests an audience with you."
"…At this hour? If it's Franklin or that Vice-Commander of mine…"
"No, sir. The visitor is a gentleman by the name of Edward Cromwell."
"What?"
At the unexpected name, a look of mild surprise crossed General Gates's face. A legendary commander who, with near-miraculous ability, had turned supposedly impossible battles into victories — a man whose formidable reputation even General Gates had heard of many times over. That such a man had come to see him personally filled Gates with wariness, and, alongside it, a touch of curiosity.
Why would he come here? …Well. Most likely Franklin, his superior, sent him. But there might be something else to it.
Throughout the earlier meeting Cromwell had said nothing at all, remaining silent — and from that, Gates had received the impression that the man was not necessarily in Franklin's camp. Thinking it might be worth meeting him at least once, he spoke to his subordinate.
"Show him in. Let's hear what business brought him here."
No sooner had permission been given than the door opened with care. And there before General Gates stood a young man of composed bearing. Edward Cromwell.
"Forgive the intrusion, General. I am truly grateful that you would make time to see me—"
"Spare me the pleasantries and get to the point."
Cutting Cromwell's greeting short with a firm wave of his hand, General Gates dismissed the courtesy outright. Cromwell quietly took the seat before him and began to speak, his voice small but clear.