978: The Chance to Break Through – Part 3 978: The Chance to Break Through – Part 3 He turned his horse for sothing to do.
Blackthorn ca with him, and Verdant began down the other side.
“Tell your n as well, Blackthorn,” Oliver said to her.
“You will need to stay close with them, when the battle cos.
We can not afford to lose communications mid-combat.
It will be your role to ensure they do not beco isolated.” “I know that…” Blackthorn said carefully.
She, finally, was growing tense herself.
She was very much a creature of the battlefield.
Over the years, she’d grown to find herself even more comfortable on it than Oliver was, but now her nerves were showing.
She pulled her reins to overtake him, and do her duty, but before she could leave, Oliver snatched her arm back.
“Blackthorn,” he said, holding her gaze, knowing that this was likely her last chance to speak to her properly before the battle.
“Trust in our strength.
When the opportunity cos, we will do what we always do.
We’ll target sothing important, and hit it with everything that we have.” The woman’s lips twitched into the smallest smile.
She was far, far too comfortable with the battlefield, Oliver thought.
She nodded at him.
“Yes,” she said, seeming almost excited by the prospect.
“We will crush them as we always do.” She plodded on ahead to tell her n the sa.
“Grasping for sothing, my Lord?” Verdant said.
It would have sounded like a jab coming from soone else, but Oliver had learned to discern Verdant’s aning from his occasional bouts of strangeness.
“We were at least told what n have worth amongst the Verna,” Oliver said.
“The plus of their helts and the colour of them.
The closer they are to gold, the more valuable they are.
We can use that, at least.” “Very good, my Lord,” Verdant said approvingly.
With a single fact, they were able to take control back.
When working with the likes of a new General, or a new Colonel, it was near impossible to guess what they wished for an army to do, unless the n themselves were given the order.
In the place of an order, Oliver snatched at a solid truth that could almost never be disadvantageous – that of simply targeting high-ranked n, whenever they were lost enough to need to do so.
It was a subtle thing, but it made all the difference.
Verdant recognized that imdiately.
For an army that had been raised as independently as the Patrick forces, it was a lifeline that kept their confidence high.
As Oliver went to speak to Jorah, he said much the sa thing.
“Keep an eye for the plud helts, Jorah.
If it cos to it, those will be our targets.
We will do what we always do, and smash straight through them.” “Very well, my Lord,” Jorah said, with a hint of relief.
“It will be business as usual.
I will inform the n.” “Kaya, Karesh, you heard the sa,” Oliver said.
“If you can bring a Sergeant’s head, or even a Commander, there will be reward for the both of you.
In fact, that goes for all troops,” he continued, raising his voice, so that more could hear.
“Spread the word down the line of that as well, Jorah.
I’ll send good coin for every high-ranking man that they manage to slay.” With talk of such things, Oliver took note of the reactions of the n.
They were nervous, but not as nervous as so of the other armies.
When they heard of the competition, with more coin up for grabs, that nervousness dampened even further.
It really would be the sa as usual for them – it was sothing that Oliver often did, in particularly arduous missions.
He offered coin for the number of n slain, to the best that his purse would allow it.
“I hope you’ve brought a chest with you then, Captain!” Firyr shouted over, overhearing the discussion.
One of his Sergeants imdiately thumped him on the shoulder, urging him to be quiet.
But it was too late, by now, they were already earning a harsh glare from Colonel Gordry.
If he hadn’t been in the midst of speaking to other n, he would not doubt have co over to scold them.
Oliver went over to Firyr in his place.
“Steady yourself, Firyr,” Oliver told him.
“There’s glory, and we’ve the might to seize it, but you need to steady yourself.
Don’t forget we’re bound by a different command structure now.” “But it’s the sa as always, ain’t it, Captain?” Firyr said, hefting his spear on his shoulder, wearing an impetuous grin.
“We just smash what’s important, and we make a na for ourselves.
Kill a dozen Commanders, and it doesn’t matter who the enemy is, their army will fall apart.” It was the simplest of strategies, but the sort that resonated with n like Firyr, and even the likes of the slaves.
It gave them a feeling of their own importance.
It allowed a single man the power to change the course of the battlefield, and they all aid for it.
They weren’t just soldiers whipped into place in a line, like most Stormfront armies were.
The Patrick forces were instead barely controlled ferocity.
They were as bestial as the sigil that they wore.
“Even if we think that, we can’t say it aloud,” Oliver told him, dropping his voice an octave.
“This is rely an insurance asure, Firyr.
Don’t get carried away.
We follow the plans of our General until we’re lost enough that we need to rely on our own.” “You’re our General, Captain,” Firyr said, not getting the ssage.
“We follow your plans – your plans bring victory, and that’s what we’re after.” “Then do that,” Oliver replied, giving up.
“If Karstly’s plan aligns with my own plan, we’ll call it mine, and you’ll follow it.” That made Firyr scratch his head, but soon he was grunting in agreent.
“Aye, that makes sense.
So we just follow your orders anyway.
Sa as always.
Nothing to worry about, fellas.”
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