cabbagepreacher
patreon
Chapter CXLII – For these be the days of diplomacy.
🕑 Added 2025-07-02 08:33:47 +0000 UTC37th of Spring 5860 Karabush, State of Karabush “Ready!” Another morning, another round of drills for the 5th Infantry Regiment led by Gener
37th of Spring 5860
Karabush, State of Karabush
“Ready!”
Another morning, another round of drills for the 5th Infantry Regiment led by General Tubman. It had only been a week, but with their spiffing uniforms and shiny pikes, they were beginning to look quite like something. Their formation wasn’t perfect, the square they formed looked way off in particular with many men jutting out. Still, it was more bodies to throw at a problem, and most problems could be solved with enough bodies.
“You’re all dismissed for a break!” The drills were done… or so it seemed. The next part was the most crucial part of army life: setting up for lunch. From the horses and donkeys food was unloaded by the soldiery. It consisted mostly of hardtack and a new arrival: pemmican. A calorie-rich mix of dried meat, dried fruit, and fat that could last for years without need for refrigeration. On Earth it had been a staple of the natives of the Americas, and Brown had brought it over to Gemeinplatz. Outside of the food provided by the Republic, the soldiery were permitted to bring over and carry in their bags whatever they pleased, and they were encouraged to forage on the way for anything edible.
Some of the more tired soldiers went only for the hardtack-pemmican combo, eating pemmican between hardtack like a sandwich. Firewood was gathered, and fires set up by those who intended to cook their food. Wheat porridge, with pemmican plus wild onions and herbs, was one of the more popular dishes in the camp. Most had invested their foraging time into acquiring tilia flowers for tilia tea. The pots and cups were provided by the soldiers themselves of course, always carried ready-for-use in their bags. Their copper helmets functioned as bowls too. Tubman herself got a pemmican-hardtack sandwich snack. She sat on a tree stump, eating while getting a rare chance to rest.
Suddenly, there was commotion in the camp. Tubman reluctantly got off her comfy seat and headed to where the most noise was coming from. People were pointing at a trio of noble-looking men on horsemen plus their dozen retainers. They were carrying flags that were not of the Republic: one banner with a castle surrounded by wheat, another with a great big pine, and the last one had a great temple depicted on it. One of the men looked to be a priest, while the other two looked more like typical aristocrats. The priest at the front was shouting “Where is your leader?”
Tubman surfed through the crowd and shouted back “Here I am: General Harriet Tubman.”
The priest looked at Tubman with curiosity and confusion. “Take us to your master.”
“The only master I recognize is up above,” Tubman pointed up to the heavens where the Heavenly Father presumably resided “I will be glad to help you on your journey if you wish to be taken to Him posthaste.” She patted the flintlock pistol which was hanging by her waist. The diplomats couldn’t exactly decipher that the flintlock pistol was a firearm; they assumed that it must be a magic wand and that she must be threatening them nonetheless. Tubman continued “All the men you see here, including me, are free men as the Lord made them. You are to speak to me.”
“So it is true” mused one of the aristocrats. He looked at the men around him as if they were exotic animals on display “I can’t believe it. Darkskins ruling their own. How queer.”
Tubman was starting to consider whether to send these men on an express ticket to meeting Jesus Christ “Why are you here then, to gawk?”
“No, no.” The priest suddenly remembered he was on official business “We are here on the behalf of our lords: the Most Eminent High Priest of Ancoire, and the Mayors of Changra and Bolipoli. They extend to you an offer of amnesty as approved by the Chancellor. Slavery has been abolished in the Empire, so you have no more reason to rebel. If you lay down your weapons now, you’ll be given work and lodging in the work camps. Otherwise, we have forty thousand men at the ready to restore order in the provinces you have occupied.
Forty thousand. That number hit Tubman like a truck. She did for a second consider whether the men were bluffing, but then she remembered Vaiz talk about Ancoire. As a priest he had travelled there for his education, and it was said to be the largest city after the Imperial capital. Forty thousand men didn’t seem too far of a stretch for the seat of the Empire’s state religion. She didn’t know exactly how the Temple of the Divine worked, but if it was anything like the Catholic Church on Earth, they must have been loaded. Loaded with money and skeletons in their closet, that is. No matter how many men they faced however, Tubman had one answer: “I know the answer I’d give, I know the answer that Captain Brown would give, and that’d be a clear no.”
The priest was clearly shocked “N-no? I am talking about forty thousand men. Not four thousand. Forty thousand. Forty!”
“A hundred of your finest men would barely equal to one of our free men in spirit and courage. We have Providence with us, what do you have?”
“The Divine’s will? The approval of the Most Eminent?”
“Maybe ask yourself if this Divine of yours would approve of having your fellow man in chains.” Tubman had a cheeky grin on her old face as she said the next line “We are the Divine’s will, your due divine punishment for your sins.”
“Wha-” Telling that sort of disparaging truth to a priest was punishable with being burnt on a stake. Tubman had said it so calmly, a matter of fact, with a grin that made him frustrated. Not to mention that she was much darker than him! The priest drew his sword and intended to ride forward, before a line of pikes blocked his way to the General. His horse refused to ride further when it’d be skewered by sharp steel. All he could do was watch as this old woman taunted him with her demeanor.
“Now, return to where you came from and tell your lords that we are ready for a fight. Unless they sober up and surrender of course, but that’ll be when pigs fly.”
One of the soldiers next to her chimed in “General, pigs have wings. They can fly.” The rest of the crowd was equally puzzled by her expression.
Tubman suddenly realized that she had never seen a pig in Gemeinplatz. Nor had she had pork ever since she came here. She asked an honest question to the priest “Do you not eat pigs?”
“No, it’s not suitable food for people. It’s forbidden. I have seen pigs be cultivated and eaten by tribes outside of the empire’s borders, and they do have wings. I thought that was common knowledge?” For a second the confusion had made even him forget that he was about to declare war on all the people in front of him.
“Huh. They don’t have wings where I come from.” Everyone had gone silent. It was an awkward moment for all involved. “Ahem. What I meant is, we’ll never accept your terms.”
“Understood. It is a shame that we have to shed blood. Goodbye.” The diplomats turned their horses around, and left the scene. Now there truly was an uneasy quiet.
Forty thousand.
Tubman could only shout “Back to drilling!”
Comments
The Cabbage Preacher
They're pig-sized, and they can't fly too much. Basically like chickens.
Dinomannick
I know the far more important bit of information in this chapter is the 40 thousand strong enemy army... but the pigs can actually fly here? How small are they and how big are the wings? Is magic involved?
