Dawn Delivery (1)
“I never thought I’d put my old profession to use here.”
Strictly speaking, it wasn’t fieldwork but an office job, so I wasn’t handling it directly myself. Still, working at Amazonas, the largest delivery company in America, meant it wasn’t entirely unrelated.
“The word ‘logistics’ comes from supply in the first place. It’s hard to separate it from the military.”
After graduating from West Point with a degree in business administration, I’d earned my CPIM certification and landed a job in smart logistics and supply chain management. Thanks to my engineering management minor. Who could’ve guessed I’d apply those logistics lessons here in a supply system?
“We can’t import the full modern setup, but it should still beat the old supply timelines.”
I’d merged Amazonas’s delivery methods with Korea’s dawn delivery system.
“Set up regional hubs and deploy hordes of delivery riders to handle shipments by area.”
Amazonas’s system relied on fulfillment. Sellers paid a fee, and Amazonas handled procurement, storage, sorting, packaging, and delivery—all post-production steps. That naturally enabled lightning-fast shipping. Korea took it further with hubs everywhere for same-day ordering and delivery.
“No internet here, so same-day everything’s off the table. But with cavalry as riders, we can cover a decent range.”
Military history classes had drilled it into me: slow army advances were mostly due to supply trains lagging behind. That’s why I’d detached the supply unit from the main force at Ae, sending them ahead to deliver on demand.
The catch with a massive, ravenous beast like an army was ensuring instant delivery whenever they needed it. So I’d deliberately recruited veteran cavalrymen—the finest nomadic horsemen from old Tagma.
Set up hubs along the river. Use cavalry as couriers to predict and rush supplies based on demand. Even so, in this medieval era, gaps in the chain were inevitable.
“That’s why the Emperor put the battle-hardened Lord Ouranos at the vanguard.”
Nikephoros Ouranos. In real history, he’d effectively commanded Europe’s field armies, luring and annihilating the enemy. History repeating itself here—with a twist. This time, Lord Nikephoros planned offensive tactics, not defensive ones.
“If we plug supply gaps with local foraging, we can piggyback on Angelos’s left flank for extras.”
Unlike us, who handled all cavalry mobility via our supplies, Angelos’s infantry-heavy wing trailed its own train. They were foot soldiers, slow-moving, no need for breakneck resupply. So I’d treat the left flank as a bonus depot—requisition from them in a pinch.
If this panned out, it’d be a revolutionary leap in logistics.
“To make it work…”
Wails rose from the ships commanded by Viking officers.
“Keep rowing!”
“Push forward!”
Vikings knew their seafaring. But crammed inside were all horsemen—hence the groans.
“Ughhh.”
“The ground… the ground’s shaking.”
“Seasick from a river barge? Pathetic.”
“Weaklings.”
At least rivers beat oceans for motion sickness. Upon reaching the river’s bend, the Vikings disembarked first, weapons in hand.
“Per Lord Robert’s orders—fortify the riverbanks!”
“Secure the area!”
This supply op hinged on the river. Lose Hebros control, and the vanguard trusting us would be annihilated.
We had to seize it fully and fortify fast.
“Tagma Ton Barangia has secured the river basin.”
At my aide’s report, I issued follow-ups.
“Land the nauseous troops first. Have them drink vinegar-laced water to stabilize quickly.”
Vinegar didn’t cure seasickness. But mixing it sterilized and soothed—grape vinegar from over-fermented wine carried trace alcohol for mild calming.
Vikings held the beachhead as Pecheneg and Alan cavalry settled in for rest.
“When do the trailing cavalry wagons arrive?”
“Within two days, sir.”
Loading everything risked disaster, so heavies went by boat; lights trailed behind.
“Scout fodder sites before the horses arrive.”
“One Pecheneg’s local to here.”
“Good. Once wagons hit, feed and rest the mounts. No water.”
Hauling loads left them parched. But drinking now would bloat them, risking injury. Grass instead—tons of it—for hydration.
“Understood. Dry fodder and water at evening, then.”
“Max recovery before Lord Ouranos’s cavalry arrives.”
Normal fights: vanguard clears, supplies follow. I’d flipped it—supplies seize and secure the line first, then vanguard strikes.
Insane to most. But it hid our cavalry’s scale from the enemy. Not a blind gamble, though.
“If horses aren’t recovered pre-arrival, requisition hay locally.”
River valleys teemed with settlements for foraging—and river haulage for speed. As Stratopeadarches, I could levy in the Emperor’s name for crises.
“Yes, Lord Rogerius.”
Orders done, I grabbed shield and axe from the rail, donned the Barangian helm, and advanced.
Now: defend against unknown foes.
“Brothers! Till dusk, we hold this ground with our lives!”
“Waaah!”
“Blood and honor!”
Viking cheers. I raised my axe.
“Warriors! Etch our names in this soil!”
Merchant-raiders. Warriors. Tagma Ton Barangia’s Varangians roared back at Robert’s cry.
A white-haired elder on horseback. The famed veteran Nikephoros Ouranos mulled the young Varangian’s tactics.
Vanguard packs minimal rations—jerky, hardtack. Basics only. Rest from supplies and left flank.
Supplies seize Hebros first. Unload heavies riverside, build depots.
Vanguard calls: elite supply cavalry rushes delivery.
“Even telling us to ride day and night but sleep plenty…”
Outrageous gall. Yet Nikephoros saw the logic.
“Swap horses on arrival. Clever foreigner.”
Supply-train mounts recover half a day, swap with vanguard’s exhausted ones. Standard: rest post-march till recovered.
Rogerius rejected it. Simple reason: Bulgaria hits river the instant cavalry arrives—full assault.
Vanguard goal: shatter lines, sow rear chaos. Surprise and speed key.
Repel counter, press on? Enemy spots scale—tactics ruined.
So Rogerius petitioned for new Tagma Ton Logistikoi, Varangian Guard attached.
Emperor approved; Nikephoros followed.
“Defense: Varangians, Pechenegs, Alans—guerrilla aces.”
Nikephoros knew battlefields. Spotted pros, cons.
Crush supplies first? War decided. Foes no fools—harass from depot build onward.
No phalanx assaults; guerrillas inevitable. Rogerius planned for it: improv masters, skirmishers for the Tagma.
“Breakthrough or youthful hubris—time will tell.”
Rome’s banners fall? Five-year slog. Varangian lives? Bulgaria crumbles this year.
“Assembly point soon, Excellency!”
Aide’s shout. Nikephoros gazed ahead.
Silent riverbank. Varangians cleaned bloodied axes. Rogerius stood, holding what looked like an enemy commander’s head.