by N. C. Reed
“Which is exactly what we're going to do,” Chad finished. “Good day, Colonel,” he nodded politely even as Hildebrand led their men toward the gate. Without waiting to see if Stang had anything else to say Chad followed.
His work inside these walls was finished so far as he was concerned. Outside the walls was where he needed to be.
~*~
Baxter's decision to have scouts out and watching was about to pay off. Two of them, watching from a tower that collected both rain water and well water that was pumped from the ground, had considered themselves fortunate to have such easy duty. Right up until the gate to that palace place opened and began disgorging troops. Hundreds of them, all carrying lances, the favored weapon of Soulan cavalry.
“Well that's the blasted banshee wailing for sure!” one grabbed the other by the shoulder to get his attention. “Look!”
“At least a battalion,” his calmer partner nodded after taking a look. “And they're still coming. C'mon,” he said, heading for the ladder down. “We gotta get this to the General and fast!”
“Should one of us stay here?” the other asked.
“If you want to get cut off in this town after we burned down most of it, be my guest,” his partner replied. “No way in hell am I going to place myself at their mercy.” With that he was taking the ladder steps as quickly as he could. His partner waited perhaps ten seconds, weighing what he'd been told, before taking hold of the ladder himself.
“Makes sense.”
~*~
“How many?” Baxter asked, heart racing.
“Looked to be near a regiment already and still coming sir,” the lead scout reported, deciding that 'battalion' wouldn't sound good enough to leave his post. “Straight down the main roadway there,” he pointed.
“Take that to General Stone at once,” he ordered them and both raced away. He turned to his aide.
“Have assembly sounded, and keep it going so they can form on us here,” he ordered. “We need to have at least a brigade formed to meet them or their archers will chop us to pieces. And send me a runner! Stone has got to get out of here and quickly. If they empty that place we'll never stand against them alone. Damn that idiot,” he continued to himself. “I told him burning this city was a stupid idea.”
~*~
“Companies A through E will engage with lances and then draw swords!” Chad called out, waiting for the word to be passed. “Companies F, G, and H will engage the enemy with bows until we mix it up, and then may also draw swords if targets are not available. Stay together and remember your training!”
They could do this. They had the tactics and the training to do this. They had done it before. His men were well rested after their brief battle the morning before and their horses had enjoyed a full day of rest and good eating. The Imperials were sick, at least some of them were, and their horses had to be tired.
Plus, Wilbanks and Pierce should be close by. If Chad and his men could hold this bunch in place, then those two might just finish them off.
~*~
“Scouts report city in sight, sir,” Pierce's aide turned his horse in beside the Brigadier. “Several fires are burning, some appear to be out of control,” he added, his voice subdued.
“Very well,” Pierce sighed. “Time to the city?”
“No more than twenty minutes at this speed I estimate,” the aide informed him.
“Pass the word to ready bows,” Pierce ordered. “We'll use archery as much as possible to offset their numbers. Cavalry battalions may engage with swords instead,” he added. There were three independent cavalry battalions in his command. No sense in hobbling them with the necessity of a bow. Many likely didn't have one in any case.
“Yes sir,” the aide dropped back to pass the orders.
~*~
“City is in sight, General,” a scout told Wilbanks. “Fires in numerous places and a few are spreading pretty quickly. Some Nor visible through the glass, and at least one Soulan cavalry unit has left the palace barricades to engage the enemy sir.”
“Has to be Chad and his men,” Wilbanks decided. “We're what? Ten minutes away?”
“About that sir,” the scout agreed. “Have to bend on the horses a bit to make the battle. Won't be able to pursue if the enemy runs.”
“We can't abandon a burning city anyway,” Wilbanks shook his head. “Pass the word,” he told his aide. “Battalions to divide companies evenly between bow and sword. Swords to point and flanks to protect the archers while they whittle down the opposition for us. Two minutes and then expect forward at gallop!”
Runner were dispatched to Brigade and Regimental commanders with his orders and Wilbanks forced himself to wait until he received word that all was in readiness. No sense barreling in unprepared.
“We're ready, sir,” his aide reported after five minutes.
“Bugler, sound gallop,” Wilbanks ordered at once and spurred his horse. His escort and staff followed suit, and soon the entire division was increasing speed as regiments fell into stride.
~*~
Chad held a hand up, head cocked to one side. Chatter and talk fell away as their commander strained to hear.
“I hear a bugle call,” he said finally. “A Soulan bugle call,” he grinned. “Has to be Wilbanks. If he's close enough we can hear his bugles, he's close enough to support us soon.”
“Enemy may hear it too,” Hildebrand mentioned.
“Just make them think we're a part of a larger attack,” Chad declared. “Which technically we are, I suppose. Are our men ready?” he asked.
“Lancers front, archers behind, lines dressed, though we're awful cramped here,” Hildebrand complained. “We can't get more than thirty men across in this boulevard, sir. Lances may not be the best choice here.”
“If not we'll drop them,” Chad promised, “but if we can employ them effectively it will give us an advantage at least initially. And we need all the help we can get wouldn't you say?”
“I would that,” Hildebrand sighed.
“Forward at a walk,” Chad ordered. “We'll move forward until contact before we charge. They know we're coming and we know where they are. Pass the word for the archers to watch the high points as we worry about what's down here.”
The entire battalion began moving in disciplined unison that only an elite outfit would demonstrate. Eager for enemy contact despite knowing how outnumbered they were.
They were the Marshal's Own, after all.
~*~
“Approaching enemy is wearing the Soulanie Royal Colors, sir,” an aide informed Stone.
“So?” he demanded, still surly and still suffering.
“Sir, survivors of Brasher's command reported that many of the men there wore these colors,” the aide supplied. “We may well be facing the same men who destroyed his force at the Gap.”
A sharp retort died on Stone's lips as he thought about that. If true, then they were about to face off against possibly one of the best units of the Soulan army. At a time when nearly half of his forces were sicker than dogs and couldn't fight a group of schoolgirls.
“Make sure that General Baxter is aware of this, since his men are assembling to face them,” he ordered finally. “Tell him our column will be moving back to the bridge in ten minutes or less. Advise him to give us fifteen total minutes and then follow. It will be up to him to buy us the time to get across.” And won't that smarmy little bastard just love that, Stone thought sourly.
“Will do, sir!” the runner took off to find Baxter.
“Stop stalling and get mounted!” Stone bellowed to those around him. “Ten minutes and we're moving! If you're not mounted by then you can catch up or be a guest of the southerners! Your call!”
~*~
“Canter!” Chad ordered and nodded to Hildebrand. His XO moved to the left of their unit to take command of the left wing. There was an open area around the bridge and Chad was hopeful that they were going to be able to catch the Imperials there rather than in the street
.
It looked as if the Imperial General was going to oblige him. His men were forming their lines well back into the open boulevard where the street would open into a plaza. While still not ideal for combat from horseback, it was far better than the narrow street they were on right now.
“Lances!” he called and heard that call relayed to his front ranks. As the last call echoed back, lances in the front ranks fell in unison. Behind those lancers, archers drew and nocked arrows and prepared for battle. Satisfied, Chad returned his attention to the enemy before him.
The Nor seemed to be in good order for all that they were harried and hurried. Their number was much lower than he had expected, even with the apparent illness running through the Norland camp. There was no way to know how many of them were sick, but he couldn't see how from such a large number this was all they could be facing.
The enemy had no lances, though he knew they used them. His own men had not brought lances with them because carrying them so far on horseback was a tough job and they were pressed for time. Soulan would not have left lances behind on a raid into enemy territory, but apparently the Nor had done so.
So much the better for us, he thought to himself. They don't have lances, they don't have archers, that leaves swords.
Swords could of course do a lot of damage, but it was hard to reach a lancer or an archer with a sword. They were outnumbered, but they were better armed, better rested, and likely better trained.
It would balance out.
~*~
Baxter watched his men form even as the harried aide informed him that his men were now all that stood between the Soulan troopers and the likely destruction of their entire force.
All he had to do as listen to me, Baxter thought savagely. It was obvious that beef was tainted, but no, we're going to eat this southern beef and laugh that they're feeding our men in their own back yard.
And now Baxter and his men were about to pay for that arrogance. He could count and knew that his men outnumbered the forces against him at the moment, but he had heard the bugle calls to the east as clearly as had his enemies. He knew that these forces fronting him were not the only he was about to face.
And to top it all off, the enemy not only had lances, they also had archers. Regardless of his temporary advantage if numbers, this was not going to go well.
“Draw swords!” he ordered, and heard the call repeated down the line. Sun flashed on steel as his men drew their weapons. He could tell they were worried. They could see those lances and bows just as well as he could. But they held their ground despite that fear. By now they knew they were being left holding the bag as the rest of Stone's men ran for it.
He promised himself right then that he would not simply stand here and allow his men to be wiped out to save Stone, Weir, Blake or their men.
~*~
“Ready left!” Hildebrand called to his commander.
“Ready right!” Chad replied. “Draw!” he ordered and archers drew their bows, raising them above the lancers heads as they guided their horses with their knees. Chad hesitated for a handful of seconds as he made sure all archers were ready, before he cried;
“LET FLY!”
Hundreds of arrows flew through the air, seeking enemy flesh.
~*~
“Ready!” Baxter called as he saw the archers draw back. There was nothing else he could do. He had no archers of his own and charging that wall of lances was a non-starter. His men would have to take the volley and hope they got a chance to strike back.
Hundreds of arrows flew toward them and they could do nothing but wait.
~*~
“Fire at will!” Chad ordered as the first volley left. His archers would now fire so long as they had arrows or targets. While they did it was time to get other things going.
“Lances! Cantor!” he ordered. His front ranks increased speed, careful to keep their lines tight even as following lines began to divide spreading to the flanks.
It was a battle now.
~*~
This battle wasn't the incredible cavalry battle that Stone had sought. It wasn't the nick of time, save the city battle that Pierce had wanted. It was not the first major test of his newly trained division that Wilbanks had driven so hard to get to.
It was instead a small battle, set in the smoke and destruction of a beautiful city that had been left ablaze by an angry general. It was a dirty and close fought action between two units that could not have been more different.
The Imperial Cavalry units were disjointed by the haste with which they had been assembled for this action. They were handicapped by a lack of lancers and archers in their ranks. They were a long way from home, in enemy territory, and they knew they were being left to fight a battle that rightly belonged to all three divisions and not just to themselves.
The Soulan Troopers were disciplined, well trained, and a bit angry. They were also motivated. Veteran troopers that had seen battle already and had no problem seeing more. They knew some of them would die, some would be wounded, some had already been wounded once in fact. They knew this could be their time, but that didn't matter.
What mattered was making sure that these Imperial invaders paid the price for being on southern soul.
And pay they did.
The first volley of arrows didn't have the punch that a larger unit might have had. Just over three hundred bows releasing against the enemy arrayed against them. A second volley was in the air before the first struck home, tearing gaps in the already ragged lines of the Imperial troopers.
As the third volley rained down, the Imperial commander knew he had to do something, and he only had two choices. He could either flee, or fight. If he fled, his men would be run down and killed. If he closed and fought they would take more losses but at least have the chance to hit back. If they could hit hard enough they might be able to escape, some of them.
And so, the northern horsemen jumped forward on their wiry horses, swords ready. They were met by a double rank of southern lances that tore through their ranks again, emptying saddles and in some cases killing horses. As lances shattered, men drew swords and arrows flew again over their heads.
But dropping a shattered lance and drawing a sword takes time, and that time gave the Imperial horsemen time to close and finally strike back. To draw blood themselves.
And they did so with a vengeance.
The battle lost any semblance of lines at that point as it devolved into individual battles between handfuls of men.
Green and black clad troopers began to fall, but be replaced by those behind them. Men who thrust their horses forward to block the smaller mounts of the northern cavalry and whose swordsmanship was among the best in a kingdom known for excellent swordsmen.
The Imperials' temporary surge was very temporary as the Black Sheep lived up to the name they had made famous at the Gap, slamming back against the enemy and maintaining their line even as they continued to force their way forward.
There was never a point where the outcome was seriously in doubt.
~*~
Baxter allowed the battle to run for only a few minutes. He wasn't sure how long but less than five. Already too many of his men were on the ground, victims of southern arrows or southern lances. It was enough.
“Fall Back!” he called. “Sound the Recall!” he ordered his own bugler. The orders he had given were to head for the bridge when the recall was sounded. If Stone and his bunch weren't across by now, that was too bad.
His bugler lifted his horn and began blowing the call that would pull what was left of Baxter's division from all over the city to the bridge, and whatever safety that might bring with it.
~*~
“They're running!” Hildebrand shouted ecstatically. “Do we pursue?”
“No!” Chad shouted, shaking his head. “See to our wounded and get men on these fires!” he ordered. “We 'll see that bunch again and when we do they'll remember this. For now we have to save what of the city we can!”
“Right!” Hildebrand nodded and began issuing orders. Chad did the same, ordering his bugler to sound the call for Reform, which would bring any of his men that were pursuing back to formation. As much as he might like to punish them, the Imperials were not nearly so important as the city.
~*~
Memmnon looked over the city from his private balcony, sadness on his face that he would allow no one else to see. He had projected calm and steadfastness through the entire emergency, but now that the enemy was being driven from the city he felt a bit of despair seeing his home, the seat of his government, left in such a state. He had been born here, had grown to manhood in this city. Loved every square inch of it, some more than others he would grant but all of it nonetheless was special to him. What he saw now hurt.
At least a dozen large fires burned out of control within sight of his balcony and he knew there were others not visible from where he stood at the moment. It wasn't just storehouses and armories, either, he thought sadly. The Nor had fired private businesses, homes and other buildings, and those fires had spread.
He had already ordered every available man out to battle the blazes, those orders making the libraries and hospitals the highest priorities. For some reason the thought of fire hadn't occurred to him before now and he'd take no special precautions for the libraries around the city. He had assumed that the Nor would limit their damage to militarily important targets and places like here, the palace, where they could strike directly at the Royal Family.
He couldn't remember just now why it was he had felt that. It wasn't as if the Nor had any real respect for anyone or anything.
“Memmnon?” he heard a soft feminine voice and turned to see Winifred Hubel behind him, bow in hand, looking at him.
“Winnie,” he nodded. “I'm glad to see you well,” he was almost stiff in his speech and wished he didn't sound that way. He didn't seem to be able to stop it.
“Are you all right?” she asked, moving out onto the balcony with him.
