“Maybe they never had a commander like Don Frutos,” Leonor growled. “Think about it. He tried to trick us to death last night, then had to run for his miserable life. Now, not only did we stop the Doms cold on their own chosen ground; we surprised ’em an’ made ’em retreat.” She narrowed her eyes at the one-sided “battle,” perhaps most bewildering because it had nothing to do with the greater issue at all. “After all his boastin’ about puttin’ us all on sticks, we humiliated him. He’s takin’ it out on those poor fellas.”
Lewis thought she might be right.
“We could attack, distract them from their murderous—” Major Reed began, but Anson interrupted. “Are you insane? We should die defendin’ men who were tryin’ to wipe us out half an hour ago? Men who’d probably turn an’ fight us while the rest keep shootin’ ’em? They’re winnin’ the battle for us right now, cuttin’ their own damn throats!”
“Not quite,” Lewis ground out. “Even if they kill them all, which it looks like they mean to do—my God—there’ll still be more than we can attack in the shape we’re in. Even if we ‘won,’ if that word could even apply, where would we be? Half our army gone and starting from scratch. . . .” He fumed as the atrocity continued. “No,” he finally said, “we are going to win the day—would’ve done it without . . . what they’re doing.” He looked around at their surprised expressions. “Most important, they’re going to know it. Stand fast, Major Reed, whatever occurs. Captain Olayne? Finish assembling your grand battery and continue firing as long as you have ammunition and targets present themselves. The rest of you”—he swept his gaze past Anson, Varaa, Meder, and Burton, as well as the tired but willing troopers they’d brought, then rested it on Leonor—“come with me.”
CHAPTER 37
Jesu Christo!” Sal Hernandez cried out as the last volley flashed out, striking down several hundred more men. Horns blared again, and the three “reserve” regiments stepped forward, bayonets flashing in the sun. “They’re really gonna kill ’em all.” His voice was full of horror mixed with wonder.
“Well, I guess that’s up to them,” Boogerbear said philosophically, “an’ they are mighty preoccupied at the moment. Where’s Koaar’s signal? No sign he’s riled anybody, an’ he should’a been ready by now.”
Beginning before daylight and then all through the battle, Consul Koaar’s 1st Ocelomeh—eleven hundred men—had been creeping down through the dense forest upon the increasingly preoccupied and sparsely populated enemy camp. Boogerbear and his Rangers were ready, all two hundred, but couldn’t make a move until they knew Koaar was ready as well. Everything depended on it. After the madness they’d just seen displayed, they realized more depended on it than they ever even imagined.
“We ain’t just waitin’ on Koaar,” Sal reminded, still shaken. They’d seen the small mounted force detach itself from behind the defiant, stiffening crescent, riding hard to get around the “Grand Battery” of fifteen operational guns—they’d even pulled the two 12pdrs up to join Dukane—and disappear from view in one of the washed-out features of the convoluted terrain. It was clear they were coming to join Boogerbear’s little force, probably led by Captain Anson or even Major Cayce himself.
“Yeah, we are, but the Cap’n wouldn’t want us waitin’ on him if the time was right. We’ll go when it is, if he’s here or not.” He nodded back down at the massacre, morbidly fascinated. “Hard to see how fellas who ran from gettin’ licked could just stand there an’ get shot—an’ now poked,” Boogerbear finally conceded, revealing it bothered him too.
“They’re Doms,” Ixtla said, offhand, as if that explained everything.
“Doms or not, they’re not men,” Sal urgently insisted. “They truly are demons. I thought the savages—Holcanos and lizard men—were bad, but once we fought the Doms, a ‘modern army,’ we’d find honor and glory in this war.” He spat. “It seems the more ‘civilized’ our enemies are on this world, the more savage and barbarous they are as well.”
“I don’t care about ‘honor’ an’ ‘glory,’ amigo,” Boogerbear said slowly, “I just kill who the Cap’n says. Comanches, Mex-kins, the weird Injins here, lizard fellas, now these damn Doms.” He paused. “But I reckon you’re right.”
The small reinforcements coming to join them were visible again, cantering up the dry wash behind the two hundred Rangers, and Boogerbear saw he’d been right. The riflemen and dragoons were indeed led by Major Cayce, Anson, Varaa, and Leonor. He also recognized Coryon Burton and Felix Meder, whom he considered pretty solid soldiers, for young “professional” officers. Course, Meder started out a private, an’ I was a “volunteer”corporal. I ain’t as young as them, but I guess we’re all “professional” officers now, he mulled.
“Well, Lieutenant Beeryman,” Lewis said, stopping beside him, “are you ready for this?”
Boogerbear nodded. “Just waitin’ on Koaar. Takin’ his damn time.” He looked meaningfully at the slaughter. “Sure you don’t want us jumpin’ on them instead?” The first two ranks of the reserve regiments were in complete disarray, now actually having to fight to finish the troops who’d embarrassed Don Frutos. (Lewis was sure Leonor was right about that.)
Anson rolled his eyes. “Temptin’ as it is, I recommend we don’t.”
Leonor snorted. “They’re half a mile away. Even if they only got their rear ranks sorted before we hit ’em, they’d smash our charge with one volley.”
Boogerbear chuckled and half smiled at Lewis. “Just makin’ sure I ain’t fightin’ with idiots, an’ only poor Sal’s brains has been rattled by all this craziness.”
“Tú eres el loco, hombre grande!” Sal retorted.
“The signal!” Ixtla pointed. Reflected sunlight flashed rapidly from a polished silver disk high in the trees almost bordering the road on the west side of the washboard, right behind the enemy camp. Quick flashes instead of long, slow ones indicated the 1st Ocelomeh was in position but the signaler, at least, had been discovered. A smattering of musketry came from the trees, the only musket fire on the battlefield at the moment since the Doms killing their own were using bayonets, but the grand battery was now hurling exploding case in earnest at the remaining Dom guns and the reports of bursting shells ensured no one in the camp even noticed.
Lewis turned to Captain Anson. “You command the mounted troops.”
Anson nodded and straightened in his saddle, shouting, “Rangers! Riflemen! Third Dragoons! Destroy that camp!”
* * *
—
LEONOR RACED FORWARD with the others, forming a loose knot in the center of the charging line as it vomited out of the wash and extended out to the sides, Burton and Meder near the flanks leading their own men. For the very first time going into a fight, she was torn. She’d always stuck close to her father, and they made a formidable team with their revolvers, firing forward or on opposite sides as necessary, watching out for each other while punishing the enemy. But her father had privately asked her to stay with Lewis today, either to spare her from his own deep involvement at the beginning, or, as he said, to protect the man commanding them. If the first was truly his intent, she doubted he’d been in more danger than she, sitting on a horse next to Lewis while they drew disproportionate fire. If the latter . . . she’d learned that Lewis was a fighter, and a pretty good one. She doubted he’d reloaded his pistols after he used them the first time, but he seemed better with his saber than any of the dragoons and, with his broad shoulders and strong arms, put terrible force behind his blows. Still, a saber is a very short-range weapon for an artilleryman used to fighting at a distance. He hadn’t had much to do with the big guns today, but except for when he was right amongst the enemy, he’d still acted like he was far away, oblivious to the greedy musket balls. She’d decided he needed protecting and was surprised by how strongly she wanted to do it. But what about her father? Giles Anson got just as wrapped up in a fight as Lewis apparently did, in similar an
d different ways. She couldn’t count how many times in the past she’d shot somebody drawing a bead on him. Just have to look out for ’em both, I guess, she told herself. I hope they stay close together.
She needn’t have worried. Her father and Lewis Cayce once viewed each other as somewhat incompatible colleagues: very good in their respective fields, but not someone they’d choose as a friend. In spite of that—perhaps even because of it—they’d not only become close friends after all; they’d unconsciously developed their own complementary fighting styles practically on the fly when they slammed into the Doms in front of the 3rd Pennsylvania. It was ironic, of course, that in a melee, the artilleryman preferred to get closer than the Ranger who used his powerful revolvers to kill beyond the range of most other pistols. Mainly, however, both were naturally drawn where they were needed and intuitively steered the thundering line toward Doms that were running to assemble a defense on the south side of the camp. An officer quicker than most they’d seen even called for his men to load before they all gathered. He managed a rushed volley that emptied a few saddles and tumbled several horses before, shouting and shooting, Anson, with Lewis beside him, drove his charge home and crashed the brittle line. All Leonor had to do was keep up.
Horns blew panicky, strident notes while the Rangers and dragoons went among the enemy, shooting and slashing and sleeting big arrows about. The riflemen, also armed with sabers, slashed through as well, but dashed on toward the artillery park, where the great siege guns remained unused. Lieutenant Meder and his men had volunteered to secure them and defend them with their rifles. Not only might the things still crush the assault on the camp if brought to bear, spewing monstrous loads of canister or grape; Lewis wanted them intact. Just as important, it was believed Don Frutos must keep his headquarters there. The clearing around the guns held the biggest marquee in the camp.
Anson blasted men down with his big revolvers, and Lewis hacked them with his saber. Leonor caught herself watching for threats to them instead of herself when Boogerbear dashed past and shot a man in the face who’d been running at her with a fixed bayonet. Glad somebody’s lookin’ out for me, she thought glumly, before returning the favor and shooting a Dom aiming his musket at Boogerbear. The man fell, writhing and screaming, but his musket went off under his chin and blew off the front of his head.
There might’ve still been as many as two thousand Doms in the sprawling camp, but they were slow to respond. Scattered all over, they couldn’t see what was happening or where to go because of the virtual sea of marquees and white canvas tents. Besides, many were support troops, even slaves, not real soldiers. Still, there were more than the three hundred–odd attackers, and the fighting got sharper and fiercer as even the slaves and cooks streamed to the sound of battle.
“I think we got their attention,” Anson rasped, holstering his second Walker and drawing a Paterson from under his left arm. Lewis spurred Arete and let the big horse bash a man preparing to leap on the Ranger with a blade bayonet in his hand. His face looked positively rabid. Arete took it upon herself to stomp the man on the ground, just like she would a snake. Lewis heard his back snap. “Lieutenant Joffrion!” he shouted. “Your bugler!”
“Sir!” Joffrion yelled back from within a hastily drawn-up circle of dragoons shooting carbines in all directions. His bugler heard and didn’t wait, nor was the call he sounded really necessary. Lewis himself saw the tents on the west side of camp erupt into flames, sparkling black fragments of scorched canvas rising in the terrible heat plume and smoke.
“Koaar and Ixtla are here already!” called Sal Hernandez triumphantly, whipping a shot off at a Dom officer trying to direct some men around him, mostly slaves dressed only in dingy yellow smocks who’d armed themselves with whatever they could grab. To Leonor’s amazement, Sal seemed to miss—Sal never missed at this range—and she started to shoot the man herself. He suddenly seemed aware of a .36 caliber hole in his chest and clutched weakly at it as he fell on his face. “Kill the others!” Sal roared at the slaves. “Matar a los demás! We’ll free you!”
They stared at him blankly for a moment but then saw Varaa bounding forward, sweeping around her with her sword. They ran. Nearly everyone started running then, from the advancing wall of flames if not the “demon” Varaa, and the fighting abruptly waned.
“Sal almost had ’em,” Leonor scolded the Mi-Anakka warmaster, “until you scared ’em off.”
“Best that I did,” Varaa stated simply, taking a gulp from an army canteen. “ ‘Had them’ indeed. What possible use would they be? Even Dom slaves are steeped in their depravity, and those influenced by Blood Priests—as these have certainly been—are even worse. Barred from the ‘traditional’ Dom priesthood, Blood Priests will occasionally accept them in their order. Pray you’re never taken prisoner and given to them so they can prove the fire of their faith!” She shook her head. “Pray you’re never taken at all!”
A great thump! came from an exploding ammunition store as the leading edge of the fire the 1st Ocelomeh was spreading curved around on the seaward side of the camp and the wind began blowing it toward them.
“Onward or back?” Anson shouted.
“On to the artillery park to relieve Lieutenant Meder,” Lewis said. “And the headquarters tent. I want Don Frutos!”
Anson and Joffrion quickly gathered their men. There’d been amazingly few casualties—only six dead and nine wounded too badly to go on. These were sent back the way they came. The rest pushed into the growing inferno, coughing on smoke and actually glad for the protection their wool uniforms gave them from the heat. Almost everyone else must’ve already abandoned the camp, fleeing back down the road past the 1st Ocelomeh, or streaming out to join the three regiments on the field. Lewis wondered what their commander thought of all this. He’d just murdered half his force and now had an army in front of him and a conflagration—consuming all his shelter and supplies—behind.
Cattle, goats, sheep, pigs—and piglike things with teeth and clawed feet—were running everywhere, as were the curious reptilian local chickens, but the dozens—scores—of massive armabueys rampaging through the camp draped in burning tents and spreading fire as they went were the greatest hazard by far. There was even a monster like the one that got poor Swain that first night. It must’ve been lurking at the edge of the trees hoping to pick off some Dom livestock when the Ocelomeh charge pushed it into the camp as well. It screeched frantically and raced away when it saw them. Nor did a single man remain willing to fight, and they finally emerged in the smoke-fogged clearing where the artillery park and command marquee stood.
All had been preserved from the flames by distance and a number of providentially placed water butts that Felix Meder’s men were using to fill buckets to throw on the tents and guns. A couple hundred Ocelomeh arsonists had made it this far as well and were helping. Everyone was wearing dark red bandannas, wetted and tied around their faces, and Lewis supposed they’d cut them from the piles of Dom flags scattered on the ground.
Ixtla awkwardly saluted Lewis, and Consul Koaar rode over beside Varaa and embraced her.
“Well done, Lieutenant Meder,” Lewis said, then raised his voice. “Well done, the First Ocelomeh!” Cheers were muted by soggy cloth. Everyone dismounted to get out of the thickest smoke. Hundreds of tents were burning directly upwind, and it was still very bad, but the wind was falling a little as it tended to in the late afternoon, and bandannas were sufficient to let them breathe. “Can we save this area or should we get out?” Lewis asked Felix, frowning at the great guns. They were utterly immense, probably 36pdrs, cast from good bronze with intricate geometric designs in relief. Their limbers were at hand, but without armabueys it would take all their horses to move them.
“I think we can keep it, sir,” Felix replied hoarsely. “The fire’s intense, and we’re getting the worst of it now,” he conceded, “but it’s only tents. It can’t last long.” Another ammunitio
n dump exploded loudly nearby, and the smoke now smelled of powder too, and other things. “We moved as much ammunition as we could find nearby into that tent”—he nodded at the marquee—“but couldn’t get it all, of course. I think most has been cleared from around us.”
“Did you have to fight hard for it?” Anson asked, looking around. Several men were covered with blankets, and quite a few Doms were scattered around, including some Blood Priests.
Felix looked at him. “Why, yes, at first. They seemed most determined to keep us back while they loaded an ornate coach. After it sped away, the fight just went out of them.” He kicked a dead Blood Priest Lewis thought he recognized from the night before. “These devils all stabbed each other. The last one did for himself.”
“But the coach?” Lewis pressed.
Felix looked down. “Some of the priests got in. One was taller, dressed better than the rest. I fear Don Frutos escaped. There’s no one left alive in the tent.”
“He escaped us as well,” Koaar fumed, blinking rapidly, tail rigid. “The fiend couldn’t have timed it better. We only sent a single company of fire-starters to the sea side of the camp. There were fewer Doms there. Shortly after they started their work—we’d already advanced from the rear—about two hundred lancers bashed through the small force we left on the road, and that same coach burst through.” Koaar gave a very human shrug. “We had no mounted men to chase it.”
Leonor had been watching, growing impatient. “What does it really matter? Sure, it would’ve been nice to hang him, but he ain’t a military genius, that’s sure. Besides, if they shoot whole regiments for retreatin’ in battle, what’ll they do to his cowardly ass for leavin’ a whole army behind?”
“What indeed?” murmured Varaa, then cleared her throat before putting on a damp bandanna Ixtla handed her. “And we still have that army to deal with,” she reminded Lewis, who was staring at the leaping flames all around, but couldn’t see what that army was doing now.
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