In the world Mike had come from, Long's behavior would have bordered on treason. But nationalism and twentieth-century notions of patriotism were just beginning to emerge from dynasticism, in the seventeenth century. Long's pragmatic attitude was the norm for professional soldiers in this day and age, not the exception. The only thing that made Long unusual was that, unlike most mercenary officers, he was quite willing to accept the rambunctious behavior of the CoC-influenced enlisted soldiers in the USE army, as the price for gaining the experience he wanted.
After handing over the dispatches, Long studied Mike for a moment and then said: "Your horsemanship is very good, General Stearns. I'm surprised. I'd have thought you'd ride like the average American."
Mike smiled. "Badly, you mean."
The tall blond officer shook his head. "That would be unfair. I've found that most Americans—assuming they ride horses at all, that is—are reasonably competent at the business. No worse than most farmers and townsmen. But that's a long way short of the sort of horsemanship you need to be a cavalryman."
Mike's eyes widened with alarm. "Cavalryman? I thought I was a general. Sit on a horse—way back, you understand—and give orders."
"Alas, no. Even with the radios we have, I'm afraid command methods haven't changed all that much and probably won't for some time." Long's grin seemed a bit on the evil side. "The casualty rate among officers in this day and age—oh, yes, generals too—is usually no better than it is for infantrymen and artillerymen and considerably worse than it is for cavalrymen."
That was definitely an evil smile. "The cavalry can run away, you see. Except the generals, who have to stand their ground and set a good example."
Mike had already discovered that Long's casual joking with his commanding officer was normal in the army. Whether that was due to seventeenth-century custom or the egalitarian influence of the rank and file soldiers, he didn't know. Some of both, he expected.
He wasn't going to inquire, though, because whatever the source the attitude suited him just fine. Mike had every intention of succeeding—excelling, actually—at his new occupation. He'd done well at everything he'd turned his hand to in his life, and saw no reason to do otherwise here. But he was not a cocksure fool, either. There was no way a man in his late thirties with no training as an officer and whose only military experience had been a three-year term as an enlisted man in the peacetime U.S. army—twenty years back, to boot—was going to transform himself overnight into what Mike thought of as "a regular general."
Instead, he'd do it his way, by leaning heavily on those traits he already had which he thought would serve him in good stead as a military commander.
First, he was courageous. That wasn't conceit on his part, it was simply a matter-of-fact assessment. He'd faced enough physical threats in his life to know that his immediate reaction to danger was coolheadedness, not panic. He didn't think he was probably Medal-of-Honor material, but he didn't need that sort of superlative bravery. Just enough to keep calm in the middle of a battlefield and think clearly.
Second, he was a very capable leader—and leadership, he thought, probably translated well into any field of endeavor.
Third, he was an experienced organizer. That was, in fact, the channel through which his leadership abilities normally ran. He know how to command outright, and would do so when needed. But his preference and natural inclination was to assemble a capable team and work with them and through them. He saw no reason to think he couldn't do the same with the staff of an army.
One of the things that would require was a certain relaxation in his dealings with his subordinates. And if that sort of casualness would have appalled most of the officers Mike had known in his stint in the up-time army, so be it. He simply wasn't worried that familiarity would lead to contempt. Why should it? Nobody who'd ever gotten to know Mike Stearns in his first almost four decades of life had been contemptuous of him, not even his enemies. The only reason anyone would start now would be if Mike fumbled his new job.
Which, he had no intention of doing. It would be better to say, didn't even consider.
And that, of course, was Mike's fourth relevant trait. His wife Becky had once said—not entirely admiringly—"Michael, you have the self-confidence of a bull."
Well . . . Yes. He did.
"And yourself, Christopher? I wouldn't have imagined an Englishman would ride all that well, either. Your island being so small and all."
Long chuckled. "We're lazy. Why walk when you can make a dumb beast do most of the work? And then, of course, I was in Spanish service for a time. Your proper hidalgo considers it a point of honor to spend most of his life in a saddle. It's an infectious attitude, I found."