Reborn as a Fantasy General (Army-Building Isekai)

Chapter 4

"You can't win a war lying down"

- George S. Patton


Marcus looked up at the faces of the two ratlings in the aftermath of his revelation.

They looked like he'd just slapped them both with a wet fish.

"Don't mistake me for ordering a withdrawal," he said. "This is more of a feigned retreat than anything else."

"Shai-Alud?" the hulking rat commander asked. "How are we to run when their arrows don't stop flying?"

"Call me Marcus," Marcus replied. "If we're going to fight together, we might as well know each other's names."

The great rat stiffened, clamping his chest again in what might be some kind of salute. "I am Skeever-Steelclaw, fourth Talon-Commander of the Crimson-Eye Clan."

Marcus nodded. He had some pride about him, for a creature that smelled of fly-covered faeces.

Then again, that might be Marcus' own scent.

"You know my name, Sire," Deekius said. "But to the question of our running, this is not how we ratlings under the watchful eyes of He-Who-Festers make war."

"You wanted the wisdom of your great summoned hero," Marcus said with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "There it is. We're going to run."

As both creatures seemed to sink further into despair, Marcus explained further.

"But like I say, 'feigned retreat' would be a better way of putting it. We break through the enemy's hold and reposition ourselves so that we can make one decisive strike at the enemy. Right now, we're trapped, but we have something the enemy doesn't."

Both ratling's ears perked up.

"You said it yourself, Skeever," Marcus went on. "Your soldiers are tough, and they're armored. They've clearly got some discipline about them, probably owing to your bassy voice. I'd reckon you could tell them to jump into that evil looking gulch and they'd probably do it."

Skeever coughed. "He-Who-Festers would not be looking favorably on that, Sire."

"I'm sure," Marcus chuckled. "But I'm also sure your God wants his followers to live, right? So, here's what we're going to do."

Marcus sat down and began drawing in the wet, mud-caked ground of the cave, aware that the shield wall could buckle at any moment, and that lives were on the line. But he had to go through his plan. In cases like these, total understanding was needed by all military leaders, and he got the impression these two were often at eachothers throats even though they clearly served the historically synergistic roles of battlefield commander and priest. If he could get them both to understand what their troops had to do, and back him up completely, then these rats would have both martial prowess and the fanatical fervor religious zealots were often able to inspire in their troops. You didn't have to be a man of faith to see that. Such unity of purpose was one of the best force multipliers an army could maintain – it could double the worth of every man in a single unit.

"Alright," he said. "By my count we have 30 spearmen to work with. That's good enough for us to split them into two units of 15 and form each into a Testudo Formation.*"

"Testudo?" Skeever inquired.

"A tight, mobile, and defensive column," Marcus explained, drawing a crude diagram in the sand of stick-figure soldiers with their shields held high over each others' heads. "At the vanguard, the shields are kept at arm level, and every other rank within the formation keeps their shield raised over their heads to grant protection to the group from aerial attacks. Used correctly, this will minimize our casualties as each unit moves down the gulch."

Skeever rubbed his hairy chin. "By He-Who-Festers..." he said. "I am never having heard of this."

"As to our plan of attack – we're facing a force made up entirely of archers that far outnumbers ours. The best way to strike at them would be with a pincer move, after we've disrupted their visibility."

Marcus reconfigured his crude diagram, pointing out the stages of the plan that was slowly forming in his head.

"We each lead one force towards both bridges, cross them, and then attack the enemy force from their flanks."

"Such is the knowledge of the Shai-Alud," Deekius said excitedly as he followed Marcus' sketching fingers. "The teachings of Greyrax himself could not even compare. But it is remaining to be said: what is this you say about disrupting their visibility?"

Marcus looked up at the wondering priest.

"A bowman that can't see can't fire reliably. And, luckily for us, we've got a nice body of water between us and them."

Both rats blinked at the human again.

"So?" they chimed.

"So?" Marcus said with a smirk. "You've already got the answer, Deekius. You showed me it when you boiled me my drink."

Both rats watched as he raised his putrid water cup and took a hearty swill of the vile liquid again. It went down with a vile aftertaste, but then what did he expect of dung eating rats? Magic milkshakes?

Eventually, both talking vermin realized what he meant.

"By Greyrax," Skeever whispered. "It – it just might be working!"

Deekius raised his staff and bowed his head.

"Such is the knowledge of the Shai-Alud. He knows us better than we are knowing ourselves..."

The ratmen stared in wonder at their pondering God, until the cries of Redwhiskers could no longer be ignored.

"TALON-COMMANDER!" he bellowed. "WHAT IS YOUR ORDER!?"

Skeever stood to attention. "We will be executing the first part of your plan, Shai-Alud. I will lead the left flank, Deekius, you go with Marcus to lead the right."

Putting me under the protection of your priest, huh? Marcus moaned within his mind as Skeever turned and belted out a shrill order to his troops.