Pistoleer: HellBurner

by Smith, Skye

  When you pulled the trigger, the spring swung the dog and flint down along a bolt of steel which dropped sparks into the flash pan. The pistol load would thus fire almost immediately after you pulled the trigger, and better still, you could keep it loaded and ready to fire. When you needed to fire it, all you had to remember was to pivot the pan cover out of the way and cock the dog.

  He had seen the English equivalent of them before, but these Dutch ones were better thought out and had a simpler mechanism, especially the spring. The advantage was not just the built-in flint and steel to replace the match cord, but the cover for the flash pan to keep the powder in place, and the damp out of it. The lock was the clockmakers' gift to modern times.

  Slowly he moved between all of the weapons and compared them. The two carbines and the four pistols all had the same Dog-lock fling ignition. They could unscrew and remove a lock from one and fit it to any of the others. This was typical of Dutch attention to detail. Interchangeable parts. The pistols were not just abnormally long due to the barrel. To better balance the weight of the longer barrel in your hand, the length of the handle had been exaggerated.

  The barrel of the carbine was not quite twice as long as the barrels of the pistols. The longer barrel gave it an extended aimed range, as did the rifling. Those twisting grooves down the inside of the barrel set the ball to spinning, and a spinning ball was less likely to go off course due to an imperfection in the rounding of the lead. He put the carbine up to his shoulder and it felt snug and solid there, though the shoulder stock seemed long and the trigger far away. After aiming it by looking along the top of the barrel, he realized that the long stock was to keep your eyes and face as far away from the powder flash as possible.

  Rifling tugged at his mind, so he put the carbine down and picked up Daniel's two pistols. One was rifled and straight bored, while the other was not rifled and the barrel flared slightly at the end. He turned to Daniel with a quizzical look on his face, but did not have to ask the question.

  "They are different for a reason,” was Daniel's answer to the look. "We load our right hand gun with a single ball, a killing round, and use it to take down our primary target from a safe distance beyond the reach of swords, lances, and long pikes. If you use a good ball, then the slight rifling gives the ball a longer true flight. It takes the same balls as the carbine.

  We call our left hand gun our dragons, because they breathe fire. One of Rob's tactics. We load it with bird shot, or sand, or lye or anything else that will sting the eyes. We use it for covering shots, you know, so we can get away. We've filed a flare into each side of the muzzle to make the shot spread wider and blind a group rather than just one man. Doesn't matter if they are pikemen or swordsmen or musketeers, they are not so dangerous when they have both hands over their eyes." At Oliver's nod of understanding, Daniel turned back to the map spread out on the table.

  Oliver lifted a stool and stacked it onto another, so that it was high enough to drape the long saddle holster down over both sides. Once both sides were hanging free from the stool, the stitching caused the sides to twist outwards. When hung in front of a saddle, the twist would allow a rider's leg to snug in behind the leather. Legs were therefore shielded from being hit by branches, or by weapons.

  Each of the weapons had a loop of cord attached to the handle, and when you holstered the weapons, those loops hung down in a circle around the mouth of the holster. Thus when you grabbed the handle of your weapon, your hand went through the loose loop. When you lifted the weapon free of the holster, the cord fell down to circle your wrist. The loop of chord was a safe guard so that if you lost your grip on the handle, your weapon did not fall to the ground.

  He was in wonder at the well-thought out simplicity of these weapons and the way they were carried, but it also made him shudder. Well-thought-out out simplicity designed for more efficient killing. Were these pistols a marvel of science, or the invention of the devil? He pulled at the axe, but did not unsheathe it. It was a tool more than a weapon and only noteworthy because the bottom of the blade curled to form a hook.

  He fingered a line of small lacquered pipes that were held in leather loops along the top of the leathers, the part that would lie in front of the saddle.. "What are these?" he asked as he pulled one out and carefully twisted the lid that kept the pipe closed tight.

  "They are pre-measured powder and shot. The ones with the black lids are for the dragon,” Robert replied. "To a mounted Pistoleer there is a constant danger of having your own gun blow up in your face because you overloaded it with powder. On horseback and in a hurry you can never get the amount of powder right, so instead we pre-select the shot and then pre-measure the powder into one of those pipes. By opening it and tapping the open end hard down onto the muzzle, the powder and then the shot fall down the barrel. Without those cylinders, loading a pistol while mounted would be clumsy and slow."

  With all the weapons once again holstered, Oliver lifted the leathers off the stool and instead hung them around his neck. The same stitching that created the angle to shield the rider's legs, also allowed the sides to hang comfortably over each of his shoulders and down the sides of his chest. Because his neck was not the girth of a horse's back, the handles of the weapons did not sit up near his neck as he had first expected, but down nearer to his waist. When a Pistoleer was not mounted, hanging the holster over his own shoulders would protect a lot of his body from slashes while keeping the weapons close to hand. It was heavy though,-what with the weight of the leather and four weapons. Heavier than a saddle but not so cumbersome to carry.

  By this time Daniel was putting on his boots and his cloak. Robert folded up the map and then stood to help Daniel on with his cloak. Seeing the two men shoulder to shoulder brought the difference in their heights to Oliver's notice. Daniel had said he was thirty, while Robert was Oliver's age, almost forty. Both were fit and sturdy men, but Daniel stood a full head higher.

  "Are we going somewhere?" Oliver asked, wondering if he would be treated to some Cambridge-style mischief, the likes of which he hadn't known since he had attended college here. His question was left hanging in the room as Daniel grabbed his left-hand pistol, pushed it into his belt, and went through the door and was gone.

  Robert turned to look at Oliver. "He has gone to offer our services as outriders to any coach traveling west. There is supposedly one leaving in the morning for Oxford via Bedford. That would serve us nicely and would serve the coachmen nicely, too. We have been warned that there are highwaymen in Bedfordshire."

  Robert turned away and opened both sea chests. He removed a helmet and a set of breast and back plate armour from each chest and then repacked the rest of the contents into just one chest. Oliver picked up one of the breast plates. It was surprisingly light, and then he realized why. Instead of being made from cast iron, it was made from rolled steel.

  "It is the cuirasses style chest armour that is standard issue to Dutch Pistoleers,” Robert told him, "and it costs four times as much as the iron equivalent. It's well worth the price, though."

  "But musket balls pierce armour, especially armour as light weight as that."

  "They can, but it would take a perfect shot. See how the steel is continuously curved as if to fit the body better? The true purpose of the curve is not for the fit, but to deflect a ball. The helmet is curved for the same reason."

  Over the next hour the two men, one educated in Cambridge and the other in Oxford, spoke continuously about politics and Parliament, or rather the lack of Parliament as King Charles had not convened one in nine years. Oliver had once been sent to Parliament representing Huntingdon. For the last three hours and for the first time in a decade, he had been thinking of standing for Parliament again. Not from Huntingdon, of course, because the Heaths would veto that. This time perhaps from Cambridge. He would make inquiries tomorrow before returning to Ely. He was frustrated that Robert seemed to have little interest or knowledge of English politics, which was unusual for an Oxford educated
gentleman, and he said so to him.

  Roberts explanation of his lack of interest was brief, almost as if he were hiding something. "I read History at Oxford, not Law. I have spent most of the last dozen years away from England, not just in Holland which is close in distance and culture, but once as far as the Moroccos of the Berbers, which is far in distance and in culture. I suppose I should take more of an interest now that I am back in England. Are you a lawyer, Oliver?"

  "I read Law at Cambridge but I was never called to the Bar although my father and my uncles were,” Oliver went silent for a moment. "Perhaps I should send a letter to Lincoln's Inn and ask them to start the paper work. What were you doing in Morocco?"

  "Trade. Trade in saltpeter and sugar. I'd rather not talk about it."

  Try as he would, Oliver could get nothing more out of Robert about Morocco, so he went back to asking about Holland, and the weapons used by the Dutch. "Daniel said that pistols replace crossbows, but not archers and bows. What replaces them?"

  "Nothing yet,” Robert replied. "There is no weapon that is so easy to make, with such range, and with such a rapid rate of fire. In the time it takes me to reload my pistol, a good archer will have shot ten aimed arrows at me. Not only that, but arrows are silent, and you can arch them over walls, or use them to start fires in roofs. Arrows may be expensive, but they can be reused. Better still, the aristocracy refuse to serve as lowly archers in a battle, whereas every lad on every farm and in every market is eager to get his hands on a good bow."

  "Yew bows, longbows?"

  "Not so much anymore. It's not just that you need a strong man to draw one, but nowadays seasoned yew staves are in short supply. You can blame that on Queen Elizabeth and her father Henry. They stripped Europe of yew trees to arm every Englishman with a bow in case of a Spanish invasion. The Dutch bows look like toys when compared to the old longbows that you are speaking off."

  "So, nothing yet to replace bows. That is interesting." Oliver thought, but it wasn't just interesting, it was vital. English peasant archers had slaughtered the French aristocracy on the battlefields of Agincourt. "So even big guns firing grape do not replace arrows?"

  Robert shuddered. He had seen the results of using canon grape against infantry. That had been just last year when he had been riding as a skirmisher during the Siege of Breda. It was a sight he hoped to never ever see again. Even the professional soldiers in the battle had been deeply disturbed by the horrific carnage caused by the grape.

  * * * * *

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  THE PISTOLEER - HellBurner by Skye Smith Copyright 2013-14

  Chapter 4 - Footpads on the road to Oxford in November 1638

  Robert watched the coachmen load his long-suffering, well-traveled trunk onto the back of the Bedford coach. His gold coins, years of savings, were not in the trunk but hidden within the hollow frame of the farmer's saddle that Daniel had supplied with this mare, one of his clan's horses. She was spirited but ugly and bony-looking. When he had mentioned the horse's looks, Daniel had laughed and told him that beautiful horses were as hard to keep safe as beautiful women.

  While Robert helped the coachmen position his tightly-packed trunk, he noticed fair Daniel helping two women into the coach. They were dressed for traveling and thus were covered head to foot to keep away the stares of men. He had never met a man so successful with women as Daniel. Even these women, having known him for at most a few words, were allowing him to touch them quite intimately as he helped them to board.

  As Daniel had expected, the coachmen had eagerly agreed to the escort of two Dutch trained Pistoleers. The heavy trunk was being carried free of charge, and food would be provided for men and horses. It was a balanced arrangement, although Robert still wondered if they wouldn't be safer without the coach. The weight of the trunk was the deciding factor. This coach would travel faster than any freight cart.

  Though it was November, the rains had been light so far. Just enough to dampen the worst of the summer dust, and certainly not enough to rut the roads. The coach made good time, and the two pistoleers rode just far enough back to stay out of the dust it raised. They used the time to refresh the training of their horses, as they had not been ridden by anyone for over a month. The one command a pistoleer's horse needed to pay attention to, was the command to be still, and this they were practicing.

  "What do you think of Oliver?" asked Daniel as they rode along.

  "You mean other than he needs to invest in a new pistol? I think he is a formidable man who has been in hiding while he raises his children. It's time to stop hiding, and meeting us has made up his mind. Why? What do you think of him?"

  "I think he is dangerously naive,” Daniel replied. "He is well-spoken and looks and acts like a leader, but he is not a leader. He is too .... er ... uh .... indecisive. Typical Puritan. Always looking for a consensus. No offense meant."

  "None taken,” Robert said. "Neither he nor I are good Puritans. We are too forgiving of non-Puritans, even heathens like yourself." He shifted his bum in the saddle. "How much longer before the coach stops for a rest?"

  "At least an hour. We haven't even crossed Ermine Street yet. Why, are you thighs giving out?"

  "A bit. I suppose I should shorten the stirrups. I didn't expect to be doing this much trotting. That coach is setting a good pace."

  * * * * *

  Once across Ermine Street there were no villages for a few miles, and there were small copses of woods between the highway and the River Cam, which the road ran along. Robert was looking for an excuse to get off the mare and stretch his legs, and was just about to complain again to Daniel when there was a crack of a musket ahead and then the coach came to a stop.

  "Heads up,” Robert, the tactician, called softly as he pulled his horse back to a crawl. "My guess is that a gang of footpads just fired a warning shot to stop the coach. You ride up the right side, while I ride up the left. If my guess is good, then give their faces a blast from your dragon, then circle around the smoke and use your killing pistol on anyone who seems to be giving orders."

  With that he flipped open the flaps over the handles of his weapons, and then grabbed up both of his pistols and cocked each of them. "Leave your carbine in reserve in case there are more of them hiding in the bushes." Daniel nodded his understanding of the plan and he too cocked both of his pistols.

  As one they kicked their horses and then ran them forward one on each side of the coach. There were four men standing on Daniel's side of the coach. He had just enough time to count two pistols and some kind of blunderbuss before he was onto them.

  Just as one of the pistols was swung up to aim at him, he pulled the trigger of his dragon. By the time it actually fired, he was only four or perhaps three yards from the four men and it went off right into their faces. It was then that he felt something hit his cuirasses chest armour with enough force to swing his chest sideways.

  The foul grey smoke from the dragon now hid the men from sight but not their howls. As he holstered the spent dragon, he wheeled the mare away from the coach and away from the stinging noxious smoke to keep her face well clear of it. It was just as he turned to come at the men from the other way that he heard the cracks of other guns being fired.

  This time he raised the killing pistol in his right hand. The footpads were still coughing and gasping and crying and wiping their eyes, but one of them, the tallest one, was yelling orders to the others. Daniel tapped the mare's head with the pistol , and commanded her to 'still', which she did well enough for him to aim the pistol at the tall man and squeeze the trigger.

  The tall man wasn't wearing armour, so he had aimed at the man's chest in hopes of a fast kill. It had to be a kill because the bugger was carrying the blunderbuss, and that weapon could be very bad news for him, or for Robert, or for the coachmen. The ball hit the man, and he dropped to the ground like a stone. Mindful that the blunderbuss now on the ground was still loaded, he had the mare dance in tight circle while he holstered the pistol and then pulle
d out his axe. With axe in hand he waited to charge at any of the footpads who stooped down to snatch up the blunderbuss, or to run towards him.

  They didn't. Well, they did run, but not towards him. They ran for the woods, and through the thickest thickets where he couldn't follow them on horseback. The tall man was still on the ground where his men had abandoned him, but he was not stirring. His mates were in such a hurry to be gone that they didn't even try to snatch up the all-important blunderbuss.

  With these men taken care of, he swung his horse to ride around the front of the coach horses to the other side to see if Rob needed help. There were cut bushes on the roadway blocking the coach horses, but he would worry about them once he was sure that Rob was safe. He reached the other side just in time to see three men leap the hedgerow that ran alongside the road. He could smell the grey smoke from Rob's dragon, so he pulled the mare up before she reached the stinging cloud. There were no other men around Rob, and no bodies on the ground.

  The coachman sitting high up must have told Rob what Daniel had achieved, because Rob was ordering some of the students from inside the coach to run forward and clear the cut bushes from the road. While two brave lads did that, they were covered by the two carbines of the Pistoleers. On his way back from clearing brush, one of the students picked up the blunderbuss from the ground and passed it up to one of the coachmen.

  With the road now clear, Robert told the driver to whip his horses and race the coach to get far away from this place in case the footpads came back. The coachmen didn't need to be urged twice, and the coach lurched and rocked and then was away.