Chapter CLI – Whosoever shall compel thee to go a defense, go with her in twain.

54th of Spring 5860
Karabush, State of Karabush

The morning, for the defenders of Karabush.

The old barracks stirs into life again, or it would if it was not awfully quiet. Outside of a few lost to attrition, the thousand or so men were still all there, waking up. A lack of people, the reason for the quiet was not. They lined up in the dining hall of the barracks, with General Tubman entering the queue just like anyone else with Kyauta following behind her.

“General, if you’d like-” A soldier stepped aside, intending to give his position in the queue. He was immediately stopped by Tubman, who pushed him back to his position on the queue.

“You must be new here, young man. If my legs work well enough to lead troops, they work more than well enough to stand in this queue for a few minutes.” Tubman had been used to this treatment by now, being an old lady of her position. All the men had learnt their lesson in not stepping aside for Tubman already.

So Tubman waited, until the cook in charge of their meal dumped her meal: gruel, for the fourth time this week. Not particularly good gruel either. It was basically water with a small spoonful of grain added into it. A very thin meal for people who are meant to go into combat and fight. Still, Tubman gives a thankful nod towards the cook “Lord bless you.” The general and Kyauta try to find a seat in the cramped room, only to give up and sit on the ground.

Leaning on the wall, Kyauta idly takes a sip of the gruel. “Things are dire, aren’t they general?”

Tubman has to take a sip first too. Her throat is so dry that she can’t comfortably talk. “Not much direr than when I was under chains. Nobody to give us a beating, or force us to work. The food’s the same, however. Slightly better, for now.”

“For now…” Forget food, there wasn’t even much water left in these bowls. Even drinkable water was slowly becoming a valuable, something to be rationed. Kyauta had quickly downed the gruel, and she didn’t feel any fuller for it. Not fuller, not any less thirsty. A perpetual state of hunger for everyone in the city.

“Yes, for now. I imagine we won’t be in a shape to fight either by tomorrow or the next day. If the people in the city don’t riot and open the gates first, that is” stated Tubman calmly, taking a last sip out of her swift and meager meal. The calmness that one can only find in a person who has accepted death. “If Mister Brown does not relieve the siege by tonight, we’re charging out tomorrow.”

“We shall have to pray for a miracle.”

For now, with their food finished, the pair headed out to do their business. Out of the barracks, into the streets, where the people eyed them suspiciously. Unlike Casamonu, there hadn’t yet been time yet for fraternization before the siege started. Now the citizens were starving, and unsurprisingly, they blamed their occupiers. Nobody was desperate enough to attack them though… not yet. Not yet.

They reached a tower attached to the walls, where they began the long climb up. These towers were always cramped, winding, to give any potential besiegers coming down a hellish time. To deter them. Unfortunately, they did nothing to protect the greatest weapon of a besieger: starvation. Such walls, so many men, but simply waiting the men inside was unbeatable.

At the top of the walls, it was back to riling the men back up and making sure they were at their position. With starvation kicking in, the movement of the men were sluggish and unwilling. Some of them had even passed out on the embrasures.

Tubman couldn’t help but admit, while shaking the shoulders of an unconscious soldier “It’s dire.”

“So it is” replied Kyauta, shaking awake another. Trying to, anyways. The man had collapsed. No visible wounds, nothing except the face of a man who had become weak from starvation. “He’s dead.” She summoned a nearby soldier to carry the corpse away to be buried.

“How is the situation on the ground?” Tubman approached a sentry, who didn’t look to be too alert.

“Nothing, general.”

Tubman had to agree as she took a look herself. The besiegers were still down there, their camps set up where they had always been. The same banners, the same tents, the same people. Waiting for the defenders to finally go mad from starvation and swing open the gates to surrender. Cannibalism and such were options but… Tubman would rather surrender disgracefully before she made her men resort to that. Perhaps the general had finally gone mad, thinking that she could defend against such a great force. Would Brown’s men even be enough to defeat them, when they were so outnumbered?

“Perhaps this is it.” Tubman idly mumbled. She didn’t sound hopeless. On the contrary, her voice was at its most lively and hopeful. “Providence wishes me to go only so far.”

“What do you mean, Miss Tubman?” Kyauta had joined Tubman on the ground-gazing.

“Captain Brown didn’t ‘succeed’ in his mission either, back home. His death was his achievement, it’s what the Lord had meant for him. Perhaps that too is our fate. To be sacrificed at the altar.”

Kyauta took a deep breath. Grandiose as the speech was, she honestly wasn’t that eager to die. Especially when she had barely been given time to enjoy her newfound freedom. “I… hope not.” When it came down to it, martyrdom wasn’t an enticing option for many.

“You hope not.” Tubman could only nod. A simple nod, while she looked back down. “Are they moving?”

“They…” Kyauta couldn’t believe her eyes.

“A general retreat? No, it’s… the men with the white-green striped banners. Those are the only ones making a leave. About… a thousand. Only a thousand.” For a moment, Tubman had spotted a miracle. Then it had been gone out of sight once reality stepped forward to block the view.

For an hour, they continued watching the men below, hoping and praying for anything to happen. Even an assault, an attack, would be better than the slow and inevitable death they were heading towards. All General Tubman could do was look at the sky. At her Heavenly Father above, surely watching over them.

What was His plan?

54th of Spring 5860
Nondescript hills, State of Karabush

One more day.

The sun has set on Gemeinplatz once more, and the hills have not been kind to Brown and co. They have been marching since the first sunlight hit the hills, to now with torches held up high for light. Even then, the road forward is barely visible.

Brown had left Bolipoli in a rush, letting Yenisey and her rebels hold control of the town while they continued on their campaign to rescue General Tubman and co. The troops were eerily silent, all of them equally too dedicated and tired on their march to say a word. Nobody knew what they’d find once they reached Karabush. Would they find their allies in those walls, or overwhelming enemy forces ready to attack and destroy them? Corpses of their beloved comrades, or the living bodies of their detested enemies? Or both. Both seemed more and more likely with each passing hour, minute, second. More and more desperate, more and more tired…

Hooves. Cavalrymen. Panic.

John Brown, an old man entering his sixties, wakes up from his half-sleep induced by hours or fervent and manic prayer. Everyone is suddenly shouting around him. He cannot reason why. Ayomide isn’t around, she has already bolted off to action. The Commander-in-Chief grabs the shoulder of whoever is closest to him. “What’s going on?!”

“The cavalry has spotted an enemy army, Mister Brown!”