Chapter 220: The Road Tax (Part Two)
The supply convoy went back threatening to report the 109th to the military directorate. The 109th was not especially concerned.
Kian was managing the farming operation from the rear — organising the civilians, overseeing planting schedules — while keeping a vox operator monitoring the wider front constantly. The picture being assembled from the traffic was instructive.
The PDF advance had pushed over five hundred kilometres in two months. The rebel main forces were being beaten badly. On the map, it looked like the kind of momentum that could end a war.
But the map was lying, because the internal situation had become completely unmanageable.
High command had lost effective control of most of the PDF regiments. The units didn't coordinate. They competed. When the order came down to assign one regiment to the main assault on a rebel city with two others in support, the result was all three regiments attacking simultaneously in a disorganised rush, each trying to reach the food stores first.
Firefights between PDF units over target access were now routine. Two regiments had opened fire on each other in front of a defended rebel position — hundreds dead on both sides before anyone engaged the actual enemy. The military directorate had sent disciplinary teams to the front. The disciplinary teams had suffered inexplicable mass casualty events.
High command had attempted three major discipline enforcement operations. All three had failed. They had stopped trying.
The PDF was winning battles and losing coherence simultaneously. An army that could no longer be commanded was not an army — it was a weather event.
Kian had read this clearly, which was why he felt comfortable running the road tax operation. Three bags per vehicle was not a provocative demand. He knew what chaos looked like, and he knew that chaos meant no one was coordinating a response to him.
That said, he kept pushing Rudolphson and Hans to reinforce their positions continuously. Trenches, bunkers, overlapping fields of fire. If a regiment in a bad mood decided to solve the road tax problem with firepower, he wanted the defensive network to make that a costly calculation.
His other assessment: the PDF offensive would stall.
War at this pace wasn't sustainable. The units burning through their aggression and energy in the first months were consuming something they couldn't replace quickly. As the front expanded and regiments dispersed across hundreds of kilometres of occupied territory, the rebels' numerical advantage — they outnumbered the PDF several times over, operated in familiar ground, had genuine popular support — would start asserting itself.
When the exhaustion came, so would the reversal.
His farm compound had taken shape around the central garrison. Each morning the battalion commanders reported to him.
"My lord — First Battalion's fifty thousand acres of potato cultivation is developing well. Harvest in approximately twenty days."
"My lord — Tenth Battalion has completed seeding on the newly broken ground. We're short four hundred workers for the management workload. Additional personnel would be very welcome."
Kian worked through the reports methodically, issuing decisions on each.
At the end of the meeting, he addressed the assembled farm leaders:
"You understand the situation outside our perimeter. What we have here is unusual and it requires everyone's cooperation to maintain.
If anyone in your group is connected to rebel networks planning operations — tell them to leave. I'm sheltering over ten thousand people here. If something happens that gives my superiors a reason to dissolve this arrangement, that's on you. I can't protect people who give me problems I can't manage."
The farm leaders fell over each other with reassurances. All farmers. All law-abiding. Anyone suspicious would be identified and removed immediately.
Kian waved a hand.
"Don't arrest them — I have nowhere to put them and nothing to gain from the paperwork. Just get them out. Quietly."
He dismissed the group and sat with his plans.
The farmland was nearly fully broken and seeded. The management structure was functional. Another month or two and the first harvest would come in — after which the system could run itself.
He was thinking about using that window to take his household soldiers forward and see what the front looked like from the ground. Abandoned weapons and equipment were scattered across the contested territory. Bringing some of it back would be considerably more efficient than buying through official channels.
A soldier appeared at the tent entrance.
"Sir — message from Battalion Commander Hans. A five-vehicle supply convoy declined to pay the road rate and is taking a detour."
Kian's eyes narrowed.
Three bags per vehicle. A hundred-plus bags per vehicle capacity. The math on this was not complicated, and anyone who looked at it honestly would conclude that three bags was a reasonable service charge.
The PDF had stopped functioning as a unified force. Every unit operated independently. Fine. But independent operation came with expectations — you supported the people doing the unglamorous work, or the unglamorous work stopped getting done.
Three bags was respect. It was also food. Declining to pay it was a statement about what you thought of the people holding the road you were using.
Statements had consequences.
"Where are they detouring?"
"West. And sir — it's the 81st again."
Of course it is.
"Get me both the Kae company commanders. Six cargo haulers, and bring the command Chimera."
[End of Chapter 220]
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you