Rise of the Horde - Chapter 685 - 684

Khao’khen gave the order on the morning after the council, and the order was different from every order he had given in the campaign.

He gave it at the formation assembly, which he called at first light on the open ground south of Millbridge where eight thousand warriors could stand together. He walked to the center of the assembled formation without a map or a plan or a scroll.

He stood where every warrior could see him, and he spoke in the language of the Horde, which was Orcish stripped of the formal register that councils used, the direct language of warriors.

“The pinkskins sent their best general and he could not beat us. They sent fifteen thousand soldiers and they could not beat us. They sent a diplomat and the diplomat could not give us what we came for. Now they are sending twenty-five thousand soldiers, and they have sent them because they believe that the number is large enough to do what the others could not.”

He paused and let the silence hold for a moment.

“They are wrong about the number. But they are right about something. They are right that the Horde they have been fighting so far is not the Horde they are going to face now. Every engagement of this campaign, every move we have made, has been shaped by the requirement to prove to the kingdom that we are not what their histories say. We have proved it. We have proven it in every town we occupied without burning and every sword we returned and every civilian we protected. The kingdom’s council sat with all of that proof and sent twenty-five thousand soldiers.”

He let that land.

“So we are done proving. What we do now, we do for ourselves. We fight to go home with the acknowledgment our people are owed or we fight until the kingdom understands that the cost of refusing us that acknowledgment is higher than the cost of granting it. Either way, we fight. And we fight as what we are.”

He drew his sword and held it level, the blade catching the morning light.

“From this moment, every warrior in this Horde fights with everything they have. Formation discipline is not abandoned, it is the foundation, but the foundation is underneath the full weight of what an orc brings to battle. You have been controlled. You will remain controlled. But control does not mean holding back. Control means choosing exactly when to hit, exactly where to hit, and exactly how hard. And the how hard has no ceiling anymore.”

The silence after he finished was three heartbeats long. Then the sound that eight thousand orcish warriors made when they were given permission to be entirely themselves filled the Meren valley from wall to wall, and the birds along the river rose from the willows in a cloud, and two miles north, Snowe’s morning pickets heard it and sent urgent reports to the general’s command post.

* * * * *

That day Khao’khen gave his warband masters specific orders that no warband master had received in the campaign.

He met with Arka’garr alone first. “The 1st and 2nd Warbands lead every assault from this point forward. They are the most disciplined formations in the Horde, which means they are the formations whose warriors can use what I am about to authorize without losing the formation integrity that makes the authorization worth anything. Controlled ferocity requires control. The control is yours. The ferocity is theirs. Let them have it.”

Arka’garr absorbed this with the particular stillness of a warband master processing a shift in doctrine that he had anticipated and for which he had been quietly preparing the formations since the diplomatic sessions began to show their likely outcome.

“The warriors know. They have known since Greywater that the restraint was strategic rather than permanent. They will perform.”

“They will. Tell them specifically. They do not need permission to be what they are in the formation. What they need is the formation. The formation is what makes the ferocity into a weapon rather than a hazard.”

He met with Dhug’mhar next, which was a shorter meeting because Dhug’mhar had understood the order the moment it was given and required only the specific tactical application.

“The Rumbling Clan covers the right flank in every engagement. You do not screen. You do not demonstrate. You hit. When the right moment is present, you hit with everything. I will not be calling you back to a screening position after contact. Your riders are the hammer and the right flank of every Threian formation we face is the nail.”

“Perfection accepts this assignment with the enthusiasm appropriate to it.”

He met with Haguk and gave the Warg Cavalry its new parameters: not screening, not ambush, but the running engagement that wargs were built for, the pursuit and harassment that prevented a broken Threian unit from reforming in good order.

“When a unit breaks, it breaks because it has reached its limit. Your job is to ensure it does not find a second limit. You run them past their ability to reconstitute and you do it with everything the wargs can produce.”

He met with Trot’thar and restructured the holding force doctrine. “You no longer hold positions. You hold the enemy. There is a difference. A position is geography. The enemy is a formation. You hold the formation in place so that the formations it is supporting cannot reach the engagement that needs them. You do this by being more dangerous than anything the force you are holding wants to face in order to move.”

The warband masters departed to brief their warriors. Khao’khen sat with Sakh’arran and the map and the operational plan that was already forming from the terrain and the timeline and the fundamental tactical reality that twenty-five thousand soldiers, however capable individually, were twenty-five thousand soldiers who had never fought an orcish Horde that combined the two things that the Horde was about to combine.

“Where do we want them?” Sakh’arran asked.

Khao’khen studied the terrain north of the valley. Three days before the Reserve Corps’ vanguard could reasonably arrive. Three days to select the ground, prepare it, and be standing on it when twenty-five thousand soldiers came to find out what the Horde had become.

“Here,” he said, touching a point on the map where the provincial road passed through a broad depression flanked by two low ridgelines. The depression was perhaps a mile wide, the ridgelines gentle enough that they did not block movement but enough to define the sides of an engagement space.

“The ground channels them. Their numbers are greatest advantage in open terrain where they can spread their front and bring the full weight to bear. This ground does not let them spread. It presents them to us in the depth that we can exploit.”

“The ridgelines are not fortifiable against a force this size.”

“We do not fortify. We occupy. There is a difference. A fortified position is a position that an army sits inside and waits for the attack. What we are going to do in that depression is not sit.”