by N. C. Reed
“And they have thousands more behind!” Parno argued. “We don’t!”
“Patience, young Prince,” Cho Feng’s voice was almost melodious. Parno whirled to see Feng standing beside him, face serene.
“Men are lost in battle, Prince,” Feng said calmly. “It is a fact of war and nothing you can do will change it. You must lead. There will be time for worry after the battle is won.”
“And if we lose?” Parno challenged.
“Then there will be no need for worry,” Cho replied philosophically. Before Parno could fire a rejoinder at that the battlefield exploded again, albeit less forcefully. Parno looked on as the first flight of Hubbel arrows landed amongst the Nor. Oddly, the smaller projectiles seemed to have more of an effect upon the enemy troopers than had the mines. Confusion reigned within their ranks as the Nor soldiers looked around them in panic at fallen comrades and shredded lines. It was too much. As regular arrows continued to rain down upon them, their ranks broke and the survivors began moving to the rear.
The fifth and final rank tried to stop them, but the men in front had faced too much horror in the dawn’s early light. They were shot. Terrified beyond reason, they ran for the rear as fast as their legs could take them, ignoring orders from their superiors. When the fifth rank moved to stop them, the survivors ran them over, or ran them through, if that’s what it took to escape the carnage of their failed attack.
The Soulan troops added to the rout with flight after flight of arrows, ballista bolts, and artillery fire. Parno finally recovered and ordered a cease fire.
“CEASE FIRE!” Darvo bellowed down to the runners and the cry was relayed down the line. A ragged cheer went up from the front line as Soulan troopers watched their enemy flee in disorder.
“How about that?” Darvo grinned. “Roda’s gadgets worked, after all.”
“Indeed,” Feng nodded.
“So they did,” Parno observed, calming visibly. He looked at Darvo and Cho, a bit shame faced.
“Sorry about that,” he murmured. “I sort of panicked, I think.”
“No,” Darvo. “You didn’t panic. You did allow the fact that things didn’t go as you planned to rattle you, but that’s not the same thing.” Ever the teacher, Darvo was almost lecturing.
“I shouldn’t be in command,” Parno whispered. Darvo and Cho shared a look.
“You think anyone else could lead this lot?” Darvo demanded. “These men are fighting because you’re in command, lad, and you’re doin’ well. Cho?”
“I agree,” Cho nodded. “This is your first battle, Parno. No amount of training can prepare you for the real thing. You handled yourself well. Forget your doubts and concentrate on the task before you.”
Parno considered that for a moment. His confidence slowly returned as the words of his advisers sank in. True, he had been thrown out of sorts by the Nor’s determination in the face of a spirited defense, but, he reasoned, he had a good battle plan and it had worked. He knew now how hard it would be to stop them. Next time, he’d be ready.
Darvo and Cho Feng exchanged a grin as they watched their young leader work through all this in his mind. They saw him slowly regain his confidence, his trust in himself and his ability.
“Okay, then,” Parno finally said. “Let’s find out how badly we’re hurt, and see if there’s any damage to the fortifications.” He turned to the artillery runner.
“Tell Captain Lars I want one salvo of the special ballista rounds ready for the next attack. On my order only,” he added. The runner bowed quickly and went on his way.
Parno turned to the next runner. “Inform Captain Moore we’ll use the next wave of mines during the next attack. I’ll let him know when to fire once I see the Nor formation.”
“Milord,” the runner saluted, and took off for the front. Parno looked around.
“Have I overlooked anything?” Parno asked.
“Not that I can see,” Darvo smiled. Cho merely shook his head.
“Well, then. I guess we wait and see.”
*****
Across the way, Major General William Brasher, 3rd Norland Field Army, Commanding, seethed with fury as his best division was routed by the rabble behind the breastworks to his front.
Nothing had gone according to plan so far. First his men had been hounded and shadowed by Soulan cavalry. Every attempt to break contact with them had failed. When he increased the strength of his patrols and screens, the enemy had simply vanished then attacked his sentry posts again at night. His men had walked headlong into ambush, after booby trap, after stake pit. His force had bled all the way to the Gap.
Only to arrive and find row after row of barricades, earthworks, and spiked trenches manned by more Soulan troops than should have been in the entire area. The Commander of his vanguard division had launched an attack late in the evening only to be repulsed with heavy loss. His artillery chief had brought his weapons forward, intending to deploy them and batter the enemy fortifications down, only to be hit with a vicious counter-battery fire that had wrecked almost a third of his artillery train.
Now his best infantry division, screened by one of his better cavalry brigades, had just been decimated with what he could only describe as witchcraft! He viewed the battlefield through his glass, seeing the bodies of his men lying crumpled in heaps. He had lost more men in this one engagement than General Wilson had lost in the entire battle of Loville…and Loville had been a great victory!
“We have to hit them again,” he said to no one in particular. “Order the Second and Third Divisions to prepare at once. Second to lead, Third to follow right behind.” Aides ran to deliver the necessary orders, leaving their General to his foul mood.
Brasher eyed the fortifications across the field, looking for some kind of weakness. He was still looking when his next two units began to form up inside the tree line.
“I will destroy this Fort and then move on to complete my mission,” Brasher promised himself. Failure carried a heavy penalty in the Norland military. He would not pay that price.
*****
“Milord,” a runner gasped, having made his way from the front lines in record time. “Colonel Landers’ compliments and the Nor are forming for another attack. Just inside the tree line.”
“Very well,” Parno nodded. He turned to the runners behind him.
“Advise all commanders. The Nor are preparing another attack. Expect a stronger rush this time. Archers to engage at maximum range. Artillery to engage as soon as the enemy emerge from the tree line.” The runners all hurried away, taking the warning to their respective commands. Parno sighed, bringing his gaze back to the front line and the field beyond it.
“They’ll hit us harder, this time,” he predicted. “We’ve lost some shock value, I guess, with the mines and the Hubbel’s. Regardless, the damage will still be there.”
“Maybe,” Darvo allowed. “But, as you say, the damage will still be there.”
“I hope it’s enough,” Parno observed. “We can’t just let them walk over us the first day. We have got to hold this place for as long as possible.”
“Everyone knows that, lad,” Darvo replied gently.
“I know,” Parno sighed. “I keep repeating it hoping to make it happen, I guess.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Darvo grinned.
Further conversation was cut off as bugles sounded from across the field and Nor infantry began emerging from the woods. Forming their lines as they came, row after row of Nor left the tree line, heading for the Soulan lines. Parno watched in dismay as the count climbed higher and higher.
“They’re going to try and carry our line by pure weight this time,” Parno decided. He turned to the artillery runner again.
“Tell Captain Lars to prepare a salvo of special rounds, catapults only, and stand by for my order before firing. After that, special rounds every third salvo until further orders, moving one rank to the rear with each salvo, when possible.”
“Aye, milord,” the r
unner acknowledged, heading for Lars’ command post.
“How many of those things have you got, lad?” Darvo frowned.
“Not near enough,” Parno admitted. “Roda is working to ready more of them, but it’s a time consuming effort and not a little dangerous,” he added.
“Bear in mind you don’t want to expend everything today if we can avoid it,” Darvo warned.
“We have to stop them or it won’t matter,” Parno shrugged helplessly. “I’m seeing at least two divisions in line against us this time. Five to one odds even if we had the entire force on the line, which we don’t. We’ve got to cut the odds.”
“I don’t disagree, lad,” Darvo assured him. “Just bear in mind, we’ll need these fire weapons of Finn’s tomorrow as well, in all likelihood.”
“We’ll worry about tomorrow when it gets here,” Parno said calmly. “Our goal for today is to get to tomorrow.”
“So it is, laddie,” Darvo chuckled.
The two of them watched in silence as the Nor’s second attack wave moved closer and closer. There was no cavalry screen this time. The Nor General was apparently smart enough to know that his horse mounted units were of little use in this terrain.
The first salvo of artillery rounds lofted over their heads, landing amid the leading ranks of Nor. Once again heavy stones rolled over the advancing legions, crushing men beneath their weight as they bounded along. The second salvo launched before the first stones had stopped rolling.
Archers from behind the line began once again to loft arrows, with every third salvo being the Hubbel arrows. Nor troopers fell in increasing numbers.
How many men have I killed so far? he wondered. The idea of killing so many men, even his sworn enemies, was a dirty feeling. One he doubted he’d ever be clean of again. The Nor, meanwhile, continued to advance. Parno turned to his artillery runner.
“Begin special rounds and fire the special rounds off the ballistae as well,” he ordered. The young man nodded his understanding and took off to the front. Parno turned his glass back to the advancing Nor. The leading ranks were now well within one hundred yards of the front line. He lifted his hand and caught Captain Moore’s eye. The Captain watched and when Parno dropped his hand he ordered his men to fire once more.
The explosions ripped through the Nor troops once again. Before the enemy could recover, Lars dropped the first round of exploding catapult rounds in their rear ranks. The result was mass confusion but it worked against Parno this time. The enemy, realizing that the fire was behind them, rushed the earthworks to their front.
“Have the 8th Mounted stand by to engage any breakthroughs,” he ordered a runner. The 8th Mounted Infantry was a Tinsee Militia Battalion. Parno had stationed them in reserve behind the front rank of barricades.
“Artillery is having a good effect,” Darvo noted. “They aren’t stopping, but their follow on units are taking a beating.” Parno eyed the Nor lines himself, nodding in agreement.
“We’ll see what effect. . . .” Parno’s words were cut off by a thundering explosion to his front. A billow of smoke was rising from one of his own ballistae, and men could be heard screaming in pain.
Parno knew at once what had happened. One of the ballista rounds had detonated on the carriage. Looking at the scene, Parno was shocked to see an area some fifty feet long that was now unmanned. Worse, the fortifications were damaged.
“Order the 8th Mounted to move in and seal that hole!” Parno yelled at the nearest runner. The startled trooper took off in a burst of speed, leaving Parno watching and hoping the message arrived in time. He turned to the near breathless artillery runner.
“Cease fire on all special ballista rounds!” he ordered. Again the runner took off, noticeably slower than earlier.
“Send up the replacement artillery runner,” Parno ordered Lieutenant Sprigs. Sprigs hurried to obey, while Parno turned to survey the ground before him.
The remainder of the ballista rounds had launched correctly, landing among the front and following ranks of the Nor advance. While not so strong as the catapult and trebuchet rounds, they were loud and caused some damage. Still, their effect wasn’t worth another episode with a bad round.
“Lad, they’re going to hit the wall this time,” Darvo told him.
Parno nodded. “I know. It’s up to the men, now.”
Parno could only watch as his men rose to battle Nor troops who had managed to make it through the hell Parno had created to attack the fortifications. Crossbow bolts, arrows, and pikes descended on the Nor who still came doggedly forward.
One smart Nor commander had seen the ballista incident and noted that the line in that area was quiet. He had led what was left of his regiment and the one behind him, now devoid of its commander, to that spot on the wall. The Nor reached the line just as the 8th Tinsee Infantry arrived.
The Nor were pouring over the wall as the 8th began to arrive and the front ranks immediately engaged, fighting to close the hole in the line. From the outside Nor troops worked to tear down that portion of the barricades, pulling with pikes, axes, and bare hands at the wood and earth structures. The fighting was close-in, desperate combat, with men on both sides fighting with strength born of desperation.
The 8th was slightly outnumbered, but the troops were fresh. The Nor, despite their numerical advantage, were on the edge of exhaustion and panic, having crossed the field under the hellish fire of Roda Finn’s wizardry. Their only hope of survival was to open a hole in the line and keep it open so that their comrades could exploit it.
Parno watched the Battle for the Hole, as it would become known, while Darvo concentrated on the rest of the battlefield. The older man frowned as several Nor regiments noticed the frantic battle for that area of line and headed for it.
“Lad, we need to get more men into that engagement,” Darvo told him. “More Nor are on the way.”
“Have Captain Moore’s company engage the follow on units,” Parno ordered a runner. “Have the 12th Tinsee move up to the reserve,” he ordered another. “Inform Colonel Chad to move his regiment into the second line, replacing the 12th,” Parno ordered a third runner. As the troopers raced off with their orders, Parno turned his attention back to the battle.
“Are we weak anywhere else?” he asked Darvo, having lost track of the overall battle while concentrating on the Hole.
“No, but we’re too hard pressed to send troops from along the line to help,” Darvo informed him. “It’s up to those Militia boys for now, lad.”
“I’m going down there,” Parno said suddenly, heading for the stairs and donning his helmet.
“Are you daft!?” Darvo nearly roared. “You’re needed here, boy!”
“I’m needed there,” Parno threw back over his shoulder. “You can handle this better than I can and you know it. Now tend to your knitting and leave me to mine.” With that, Parno was gone, racing down the steps, Sprigs and the men of Parno’s escort running behind.
*****
When Parno arrived at the Hole, the fighting was still desperate and the tide was starting to turn against the Soulan troopers. Parno spotted the 8th Mounted’s commander and headed for him.
“Hot day, aye Major?” Parno asked, grinning.
“Are you insane?” Major Dory Leman screeched. “What are you doing down here? Milord,” he managed to remember to add.
Parno’s grin broadened. “Looked like you could use a hand. Don’t worry, there’s help on the way.”
“I don’t know if any help will be enough, milord,” Leman admitted. “They’re pressing hard and there are more and more Nor troops behind them. If we could get the pressure off long enough, we might could restore the line, but as it is all we can do is try to hold them out.”
“I’ll see if I can get you some help with that,” Parno nodded, turning to Sprigs.
“Tell Lars I want a few special rounds laid into the Nor, about fifty yards of so over the line. I need to break the back of their attack so we can repair the line.”<
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“Milord, that’s very close to. . . .” Sprigs started to object, but Parno cut him off.
“I know how close it is! My men are dying to keep this hole from breaching! Now you have your orders!” Sprigs hurried away, objections gone.
Parno turned to his escort. “Follow me,” he said simply and turned toward the fighting without waiting to see if they followed. Running to where the fighting looked the hottest, Parno saw two Nor soldiers trying to overwhelm a single Soulan trooper. With sword and shield the Soulan infantryman was holding his own, but he was also tiring. Parno headed straight into the fight, clubbing one of the Nor with his shield and engaging the other with his sword.
The men of his escort fell in behind him, shoring up the weakest area of the 8th Mounted’s defense. The escort were all Black Sheep, hard men with little mercy. They fell onto the Nor with a vengeance, striking left, right and front without regard to their own safety. Fighting as a unit, the twenty men formed a phalanx, moving forward together, forcing the Nor to give ground under their assault.
