The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5)

by William J. Benning

  How men could possibly survive such a holocaust astonished Billy. But, yet, the mud-streaked and scorched survivors now pressed on through the seething hail of pulsar-pellets and into the mud of the Muscigny estate. Behind him, Billy could see the first of the Personnel Carriers landing to pick up the Troopers injured in the fighting so far. There were only a handful of wounded Troopers, however, each one of them would be sorely missed in the forthcoming battle.

  Trotting over to one of the Personnel Carriers, Billy liberated a pulsar-rifle from a Trooper with an arrow embedded in his left shoulder. Despite the weapon having little or no recoil, Billy knew that the injured Trooper could never handle the weapon. Checking the weapon over quickly, Billy adjusted the output to the highest setting and wrapped the sling around his left wrist and forearm for greater purchase and stability. The power pack was fully-charged and the weapon set for rapid-fire. The laser targeting sight produced a very thin purple beam which Billy could not discern. Garmaurian physiology was very subtly different from that of humans, and not even the Landing Troopers had been given enough time to adjust all of their pulsar-rifles.

  Setting his right thumb on the trigger mechanism high on the pistol-grip, Billy had no concern of targeting mechanisms. On full rapid-fire, the pulsar-rifle was very much a case of fire and then correct your aim according to the fall of your shot. Raising the spindly stock of the weapon to his shoulder, Billy pressed the trigger mechanism with his thumb and loosed a long rapid-fire burst towards the advancing Templars. And, being slightly out of practice, the initial burst tore through a line of Templars, killing the six unfortunate men.

  “Troopers! Rifles!” Garn ordered as the Personnel Carrier sped away with the injured. “Disengage Battle Shields!”

  The remaining Troopers immediately holstered their pulsar-pistols and unslung the seven-barrelled pulsar-rifles. With the rifles now deployed, the Troopers would find it difficult to fire with the Battle Shield deployed out in the open. The increased risk to the Troopers was outweighed, in Garn’s mind, by the greater firepower of the pulsar-rifles. The Templars had to be stopped before they got onto the southern plain, so greater risks had to be taken now.

  “Rapid-fire, commence!” Garn ordered.

  Once again, the pulsar-rifles set to rapid-fire sent another cascade of deadly, white-hot pulsar-bolts downrange to smash into the advancing ranks of Templar infantry. And, once more, the advancing Templars ran into the storm of destruction. Those hit directly simply vapourised in burning, screaming agony, whilst those too close to where a bolt struck the ground were injured by heat, blast and flying debris. All along the front of the Templar attack, men were being savagely mown down by the deadly accurate fire.

  “Come on, lads, keep it up!” Billy ordered as another smattering of white-crested arrows began to fall from the sky and bury themselves into the ground close to the Trooper line.

  The archers stunned in the earlier attack were sufficiently recovered to return to battle.

  From behind him, Billy heard the twin barrelled pulsar turrets of the Personnel Carriers starting to add their own contributions to the proceedings. The heavier pulsar-bolts from the turrets scything through rows of Templars and tearing gaping furrows in the ground.

  “There are still too many of them sir!” Garn called out.

  Scanning the advancing Templar line, Billy knew that Garn was right. Despite horrendous losses, the Templar infantry was still doggedly advancing towards the Troopers. The ruined fields were strewn with hundreds of dead, wounded and dying white-coated soldiers, and their surviving comrades were still pushing on in large numbers. With a very rough and ready calculation, Billy speculated that there were still well over six thousand Templars advancing against less than three hundred Landing Troopers. And, for the briefest of moments, Billy Caudwell simply had to admire the courage of these men who just kept on going in the face of fearful pulsar-bolt fire. Already, over one-third of their numbers were gone.

  Admiring your enemies, however, was not the way to win a battle, Billy understood.

  “Right, come on, up the slope!” Billy ordered as the Templar advance crept steadily closer.

  “Skirmish pairs!” Garn added.

  The Troopers, well-established in their skirmish pairs, reacted immediately with one of each pair racing off to the rear to establish himself in a firing position whilst his comrade kept firing. With their comrades in place, some ten to fifteen metres behind them, the second Trooper was then able to retreat under covering fire.

  It didn’t take long for the Troopers to make steady progress towards, and then up the western slope despite the harassing arrows that plopped into the muddy ground. However, about half way up the slope, the line of Troopers were just pulling out when one of the black clad figures close to Billy was struck in the back by an arrow. The Trooper fell, face down in the mud, dropping his pulsar-rifle, and, it took several seconds for anyone to notice his demise. The first inkling Billy had of any trouble was the Trooper’s partner racing past his position. Startled for a moment, Billy watched the Trooper sprint down the slope towards the black-clad shape in the mud. Then, having gathered his wits, Billy reacted.

  “The rifle,” Billy hissed as he began to chase after the running Trooper.

  Billy knew that he could not allow a pulsar-rifle to fall into Templar hands. It might take them only a few minutes to work out how it operated, and the Trooper line would be vulnerable to their own weapon.

  “Garn! Covering fire!” Billy ordered as he pounded down the slope.

  It took Garn several seconds to realise what was happening before a volley of pulsar-bolts seethed past Billy and the scampering Trooper to strike the Templars closest to their fallen comrade.

  The leading Templars, however, were very close to the fallen Trooper. And, as the fallen man’s comrade arrived at the sprint, the first Templar was already set to give the killing stroke. The running Trooper barrelled into the Templar, both of them tumbling down the gentle slope. The Templar was the quickest to recover and stood up, his dagger drawn for the kill. However, even on his back, the Trooper knew how to fight and lashed out with his booted foot. The boot connected perfectly with the Templars right knee, knocking him to the ground with a severe fracture and a loud scream.

  As the Trooper regained his feet, Billy Caudwell arrived on the scene. Two more Templars were moving towards the fallen Trooper. One carried a spear, the other a sword and shield. Too late, they spotted Billy’s break-neck approach and turned to defend against him. Billy, however, dropped onto his posterior for the last few metres and scythed both of the Templars down with his legs. The tangled melee then slid down the slope a few painful metres. Springing to his feet, Billy found that the sword man had sustained two broken lower legs and was lying screaming next to his shield. The spearman, however, was unscathed apart from a few cuts and bruises.

  Rising to his feet, the small, wiry spearman lunged viciously at Billy. Billy, however, dodged the spear point and grabbed the wooden shaft, trying to wrest it from its owner’s grasp. The spearman, however, wasn’t going to give up without a fight and tried to pull the weapon back. Billy, pulled by the spear, now found himself in a struggle for the weapon. Stepping towards the spearman, Billy bunched his right fist and delivered a vicious upper cut to the Templar’s abdomen. The Templar doubled over with a loud grunt as the wind was knocked out of him. And, as he doubled over, Billy raised his right knee which connected with the spearman’s nose and mouth. In a spray of blood, the spearman toppled over onto his back, gasping for breath and bleeding profusely.

  “I’ll bet your mother never taught you that one?” Billy hissed triumphantly as he broke the spear shaft and threw it at the gasping and writhing fallen Templar.

  Turning quickly from his hand-to-hand combat, Billy found the Trooper lifting his comrade onto his back in a Fireman’s lift. Trotting over to give a hand, Billy lifted the fallen pulsar-rifle.

  “Go on, get back!” Billy ordered the Trooper who set off slo
wly up the slope. “I’ll cover your back!”

  Turning to face the Templars, Billy started to give covering fire, cutting down the handful of Templars who were getting too close. And, as he let rip with bursts of rapid-fire, Billy caught sight of movement from the west. For a moment, he struggled to focus, then realised that these white-coated soldiers were horsemen. The elusive Templar cavalry had finally arrived. They would now be thrown into the attack on the slope, Billy knew instinctively, and cursed softly as he fired the pulsar-rifle and retreated after the Landing Trooper and his injured comrade.

  It just keeps getting better, he thought ironically, and turned to fire again.

  Chapter 44

  The Templar Cavalry, west of Muscigny

  Arnold of Torroja screamed in pure delight as he raised his sword and dug his heels into the flank of his charger. The powerful animal immediately responded to the sharp sting of his spurs by racing onwards to the low wall that protected the northern boundary of the Muscigny estate. And, in a single majestic bound the charger cleared the metre high wall, landing comfortably in the muddy fields of the estate. To his left, Arnold caught sight of the surviving Templar infantry as they scrambled and swarmed over the same wall. Behind the infantrymen, the savagely torn ground was strewn with corpses and body parts from the relentless slaughter of the Outlanders’ flying ships. The fallen pennants and white coats of the dead and injured fluttered and flickered amidst the ground that seemed to boil, steam and flame with satanic ferocity.

  However, the devastation and hideous slaughter barely impinged on Arnold’s mind. The Outlanders were regrouping at the top of the slope close to the Citadel. One last position Arnold thought, and the road to Jerusalem would be open. Just brush away this upstart line and victory would be his. Racing over the muddy ground from the well irrigated and newly-planted fields, Arnold saw that the deadly flying ships were congregating above the Outlanders’ puny defensive line. Arnold was wary of the flying ships, but knew that he had no alternative other than to take the fight to them, whatever losses he had to sustain.

  “Come on, Brothers!” Arnold called out to the infantrymen who slipped and slogged across the muddy fields to his left. “One more effort!” he demanded and pointed his sword up the slope towards the Outlander position.

  Turning in his saddle, Arnold watched as the following knights’ chargers easily cleared the low wall and splashed into the mud. His plan had worked to perfection. The infantry had distracted the Outlanders sufficiently for him to get into the estate with his precious cavalry units intact. The infantry had been badly mauled, but infantry were expendable and could easily be replaced. Now, both his cavalry and infantry had gotten through the Outlanders first defensive line and had only to sweep away the last remnants from the crest of this rolling, gentle slope. The victory was so close that the excited Arnold could almost taste it.

  “Follow me, Brothers!” Arnold shouted.

  And, spurred his warhorse on once more.

  Chapter 45

  The Army of Jerusalem Cavalry, west of Muscigny.

  Joscelin of Edessa could hardly believe his eyes as he drew his charger to a halt on the crest of the rise, west of the Muscigny estate. The ground in front of the estate wall at Muscigny looked like a scene from some infernal nightmare. The craters and deep furrows in the ground smouldered and in many places had caught fire amongst the huge strew of white-coated human bodies that stretched down the slope and across the boundary wall. Raising his helmet visor, Joscelin tried to take in the enormity of the carnage when his aid-de-camp drew up beside him.

  “My Lord Joscelin, there!” the chain mail clad knight indicated movement down by the northern wall of the Muscigny estate.

  Clearing his thoughts of the horror he had just witnessed, Joscelin focussed on the movement of two thousand white-coated horsemen who were just clearing the wall and heading towards the gently rising western slope of the estate. Scanning to the right of the horsemen, and in front of the horrifying carnage, Joscelin saw the surviving Templar infantry, estimating around five thousand of them, begin their slow approach to the western slope. The Admiral and his black-clad Outlanders were lined up across the Jerusalem road with their strange flying craft floating above them.

  “De Creville!” Joscelin called out excitedly. “We’ve got them!” he added and snapped down his visor before eagerly pushing his charger towards the slope.

  Joscelin had managed to bring his knights around the flank of the Templar force. He was now positioned to their flank and rear, and the Templars had no idea that he was there. He had outflanked them, and knew that he had to drive the Templars towards Baldwin’s forces who were heading along the road from Jerusalem. The trap had been set and Joscelin now knew that he had to snap it shut.

  “My Lord Joscelin!?” De Creville called out after the commander of the detachment.

  But it was already too late, Joscelin of Edessa had put his spurs to his charger and was waving his sword above his head indicating the rest of the knights to follow him. The Seneschal of Jerusalem, the level-headed and steady man with the tidy mind and an eye for detail also had the ability to spot an opportunity and not hesitate when action was needed.

  “May the Lord and Saints preserve us,” De Creville muttered resignedly, before crossing himself, and then urged his own charger down the slope.

  Chapter 46

  The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny.

  Holding his right arm aloft, Billy Caudwell steadied himself and the Landing Troopers as they waited on the crest of the western slope. Below them, the Templar cavalry and infantry were linking up and advancing for the final assault on the road to Jerusalem. In front of him, arrows began to land, falling short, in the mud of the slope. The archers were still out of range, but that would very quickly change.

  Looking down the slope at the advancing Templars, Billy knew that this was where the Landing Troopers had to stand and die, if necessary, to protect the estate and its people. On the right, the mass of Templar infantry were still scrambling over the low boundary wall and through the ruined fields of the northern part of the estate. To the left, Arnold of Torroja had brought his two thousand knights, who were advancing towards the gentle slope. For Billy Caudwell and the part of his mind that was the dead Garmaurian First Admiral, it was now a question of cold hard mathematics. Could three hundred Landing Troopers with ten Personnel Carriers and fifteen Eagles cut down two thousand Templar knights and the thousands of surviving infantrymen before they reached the crest of the slope? Billy Caudwell knew that there was nowhere for the Landing Trooper to run and hide. So, the only alternative was to stand.

  “Troopers, rapid-fire…” Billy began to give the fateful order, when Garn interrupted him.

  “Look sir!” Garn pointed down the slope to his left, “To the west!”

  For a moment, Billy stared at an empty landscape until the movement caught his eye. Raising the field viewers to his eyes, Billy focussed on a huge contingent of horsemen galloping from the west who were heading in a direct path towards the flank and rear of the Templar cavalry.

  “They’re not wearing white coats, sir?”

  “No they’re not. They’re in Jerusalem livery.”

  All along line, the Landing Troopers began to cheer and shout at the realisation that the relief force had arrived.

  “Quiet!” Garn barked the instruction that brought the Troopers back to discipline.

  The effect was immediate as the Troopers returned to their readiness posture.

  “But, it’s not royal livery,” Billy said as he continued to scan the lengthening line of galloping knights. “It’s not the King.”

  “Then where is he?”

  “Most likely he’s still on the road behind us,” Billy replied, not taking his eyes off the relief force. “He’s divided his cavalry and sent them to catch the Templars in the rear. That’s one clever piece of tactical thinking.”

  “So, what do we do with this lot?” Garn asked, indicating the Temp
lar troops who were now clambering up the muddy slope unaware of the threat to their flank and rear.

  “We hold them in check until Baldwin arrives, he can’t be that far away.”

  “I hope he hurries himself up, they’re starting to take the slope.”

  “Strike Eagles?” Billy called into the Comms Net, hoping that it was still working.

  “Strike Eagle One.”

  “Keep their heads down, Strike Eagles, but be ready to cease fire the moment I order it.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  An instant later, the first Eagles opened fire, the white-hot pulsar-bolts smashing into the ground at the foot of the slope. Once again, the great spumes of dirt and debris were flung into the air in front of the advancing Templars. Like a great boiling and seething curtain of destruction, the ground seemed to rise up and then cascade down onto the Templars like a relentless torrent. The ground inside the northern boundary was already ruined by thousands of trampling hooves and feet, Billy considered. At least this time, he wouldn’t be ordering a mass slaughter as he had been forced to do previously.

  He just had to be careful that he didn’t start cutting down the men from Jerusalem.

  Chapter 47

  The Templar Cavalry, Muscigny

  Setting his charger to the slope, Arnold of Torroja eagerly focussed on the fragile looking line of black-clad Outlanders at the crest. Turning in the saddle to urge his men onwards, Arnold suddenly found his world overwhelmed by a loud explosion and a cascade of muddy dirt and debris. The explosion startled Arnold’s well-trained charger, causing the terrified animal to rear up violently whilst the brutal concussion from the blast knocked Arnold from his saddle. Tumbling over the rearing horse’s hindquarters, Arnold had no time to steady himself as his sword fell from his grasp. And, it was only by sheer instinct that he was able to kick his feet free from his stirrups, saving him from major injury as he tumbled heavily to the muddy ground.