Stuck In Magic

by Christopher Nuttall

  Rupert gave me a doubtful look. “What if you’re wrong?”

  “We’ve been training for this,” I countered. “And they don’t expect a real fight or they would have made a few more preparations. We can give them a nasty fright, at the very least.”

  I kept my face under tight control as I talked him through the plan. I didn’t mean to slap the invaders and send them running back home with a bloody nose. I meant to smash them utterly. It was the only way to convince the warlords to back off before they managed to blockade or starve the city – or worse. As long as they controlled the countryside, they could harry us relentlessly until we

  ran out of food. Damansara’s population was just too large to be kept fed for long. It was just a matter of time before a siege started to bite. We had to make sure they never had the chance to envelop and starve us.

  “I hope you’re right,” Rupert said, when I’d finished. “We’ll certainly give them a fright.”

  I grinned. Rupert’s best hope – his only hope – was winning a battle everyone expected him to lose. If he did … his prestige would soar. He’d be able to recruit and train more men, then take them into battle for his city. And I would have a great deal of power too. I could finally start getting things done.

  Don’t put the cart before the horse, I reminded myself. There was no point in dreaming about the future, not when I had too many other things to do. You have to win the battle first.

  “I have to speak to my father,” Rupert said. “You go back to the camp and get ready for departure.”

  “Let them sleep,” I said. It was only one in the morning. “The battle won’t be fought until the afternoon, at the very earliest. They’ll need their beauty sleep. I’ll have them woken at the usual time and prepared for combat.”

  Rupert nodded to the door. I took the hint and headed outside, passing several uniformed guards as I made my way outside. It wasn’t a long walk back to the Garrison and I needed time to think. Rupert could take the coach, when he’d finished with his father. It struck me – too late – that I should have warned him not to tell his father about our plans. The aristocracy was given to boasting and, if I were in command of the enemy force, I would have inserted spies into the city. A single moment of bragging might ruin everything, for everyone.

  A man blocked my way as I left the palace. “Sergeant Eliot?”

  I tensed, one hand dropping to the dagger on my belt. It wasn’t my preferred weapon, but it had its uses. For one thing, the locals would recognise it as a weapon. They still didn’t quite comprehend guns. “Yes?”

  “I’m Seles,” the man said. He stood in the light, something I found oddly reassuring. A footpad would have clung to the shadows. “I’m a broadsheet writer. I was wondering if I could ask you a favour.”

  “You can ask,” I said, warily. The local broadsheets – newspapers – were no better than the rags back home. They didn’t even have the decency to print their lies on toilet paper. Half of them were controlled by the aristocracy and their stories covered little else, the remainder were regularly shut down or harassed by private armies or street thugs. Telling the truth was a crime, if someone powerful objected. “What do you want?”

  “I want to accompany the army,” Seles said. “It would be my big break.”

  “It would?” I wasn’t so sure. The local rags might not have anything to say about the battle, win or lose. “Why do you think it would help?”

  “The broadsheet writers who went into the Blighted Lands became famous,” Seles said. “This is my chance to do the same.”

  I said nothing for a long moment. I’d heard the stories, but they’d grown and grown in the telling until it was impossible, at least for me, to draw truth from the bodyguard of wild exaggerations and outright lies. They couldn’t all be true, could they? And yet, I could see his point. A chance to become the local counterpart of Woodward and Bernstein was hardly to be sniffed at, despite the danger. I didn’t know if he thought he’d be reporting on a victory or a defeat,

  or if he’d realised he might wind up dead with the rest of us, but … I shrugged.

  I’d just had an idea.

  “I think we can help each other,” I told him, as I started to walk. He fell into step beside me, a sign he considered me an equal. I decided to roll with it. “Here is what I want you to do …”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I won’t waste your time with pretty speeches,” I said, once the soldiers had been roused from their beds and mustered onto the training ground. I could recite Henry V’s famous speech – or at least the one Shakespeare put in his mouth – from memory, but I doubted they were ready to appreciate it. “We are going to war.”

  I pushed on before the muttering got too loud. “We have trained for this day.

  We know what we can do – and they don’t. They think they can just push us over.

  They are going to ride straight into a brick wall and get smashed.”

  The troops looked slightly more confident. Only slightly. I grimaced inwardly.

  A few weeks of training had hammered some discipline into them, but they were hardly combat-ready by army standards. I’d cut so many corners that, if I’d done it back home, my court-martial would be the shortest formality on record.

  I wished, again, for more experienced soldiers or even mercenaries, men who could provide stiffening to newbies stepping onto the battlefield for the first time. The troops looked so ragged I was sure the warlords were laughing at them. I hoped so. It would keep the bastards overconfident long enough for me to give them a nasty surprise.

  “Follow me,” I ordered. I’d considered finding a horse for myself, but it would send entirely the wrong message. If they thought I had a way out, they’d assume I was planning to desert them. I would stand and fall with my men. “Forward march!”

  I turned and marched through the gates, onto the road. The soldiers followed me. I was sure some of them had their doubts, some of them wanted to turn and run, but their comrades would kill them. I’d done everything in my power to build a sense of camaraderie amongst the men, an awareness we were all in it together. I hoped it would last long enough for us to meet the enemy on even –

  or superior – terms. Nothing succeeded quite like success. I allowed the sergeants to take the lead as I walked up and down the line, checking the troops and offering words of encouragement when necessary. They were about to see the elephant for the very first time.

  A thrill shot through me, despite the grim certainty I wouldn’t last the day if my men broke. I loved going to war. I loved the thrill of testing myself, and my men, against the best the enemy could offer. And I loved teaching bullies they weren’t the biggest baddest bastards on the planet. The warlords were no different to the terrorists and insurgents back home. They were tough and fearsome, as long as they didn’t run into someone tougher and more fearsome than themselves. I had no doubt that, if we managed to give the warlord’s troops a bloody nose, he’d fold faster than a poker player with a very poor hand.

  The air tasted faintly of sand as we marched towards Pennell. It was smaller than I recalled, the kind of place that could easily be bypassed or smashed in a modern war. The townspeople were hastily evacuating, packing up their worldly goods – such as they were – and making their way towards the city. I couldn’t help noticing the girls and women were staying well clear of my men. I understood, better than I cared to admit. I’d told the troops there would be draconic penalties for rape, and I meant it, but it was unlikely the commoners believed me. What warlord would punish the men he depended upon to maintain his power?

  I snapped out orders as we took possession of the town, detailing a handful of

  men to take up positions further down the road and setting the remainder to digging trenches and checking the houses for unpleasant surprises. There was no sign of Rupert, or Harbin and his men. It was almost a relief, although I knew I needed the cavalry to scout and bring warning of advancing trouble. The enemy might eas
ily decide to approach the city from an entirely different direction.

  You’re thinking like a practical military officer, I told myself. Try thinking like a bullying asshole instead.

  I smirked at the thought, then resumed my walk through the town as the sun steadily rose overhead. The air grew warmer, my men muttering curses to themselves as they dug trenches right across the road – there were going to be complaints about that, I was sure – and checked and rechecked their weapons. I made mental notes of the way out of the town, allowing me to steer men back to safety if something really did go wrong. I wasn’t too proud to back off if it was clear I was losing. I was just all too aware that a retreat would rapidly become a rout.

  Seles stood by the side of a slightly-bigger house and watched me. I kept a wary eye on him too. I knew better than to trust reporters, even reporters who couldn’t provide helpful real-time data to the bastards trying to kill me. He wanted a scoop … I laid plans for the aftermath, then put them aside. I had to win the battle before I declared myself the winner. I’d known too many officers who forgot the importance of winning and wound up putting their men through hell, because the enemy didn’t think they’d been beaten.

  The sound of hooves echoed through the air. I turned, just in time to see Rupert and Harbin galloping into Pennell. Rupert looked pale, Harbin looked unhelpfully confident. I could see a handful of his men, holding position between Pennell and Damansara. I gritted my teeth as I marched over to Rupert and saluted. The cavalry wouldn’t be much good on the wrong side of the town.

  I needed them scouting the approaches for incoming threats.

  “You’ve dug up the road,” Harbin protested. I bit down the urge to make a snide remark about people who pointed out the obvious. “That’s … fix it! Now!”

  “We’ll fill in the holes after the battle,” I assured him. It wasn’t as if we’d dug up the interstate between New York and Washington. The road was nowhere near as good as a simple roman road, barely superior to the tracks I’d seen in Afghanistan. I had the feeling the locals didn’t care enough to keep it maintained, probably seeing it as a decidedly mixed blessing. It would bring them guests and trade, but it would also being taxmen and raiders. “Right now, we have more important concerns. Are your men watching the roads?”

  Harbin puffed up with self-importance. “I have ten men on patrol, and I’m keeping the remaining fifty troopers in reserve. We’ll hit the enemy in the rear if they retreat.”

  A smashing frontal attack on the enemy rear, I thought, sourly. Did you ever hear the joke about the deserter who ran the wrong way and got the Medal of Honour?

  It was hard to keep my disdain off my face. Harbin and his men looked like …

  peacocks, standing out a mile against the drab town and surrounding landscape.

  A pair of trained snipers would slaughter them. I hoped they’d have the sense to stay back until the enemy started to run, then refrain from chasing the retreating men too far. It was quite easy to turn a victory into a defeat by overplaying one’s hand.

  But if Harbin himself gets killed in the process, I told myself, we might be worth it.

  Rupert looked pale. “What should I do?”

  I swallowed a suggestion he should take his horse back to the city and hide until the fighting was over. “Stay with me,” I said. “I’ll show you what we’re doing.”

  Seles joined us as we walked around the town. I pointed out the defence lines –

  fragile by my standards, rock-solid by theirs – and how my men would conduct the fight. I explained my thinking, hoping Rupert was smart enough to understand or

  – at least – let me command the battle without interference. God alone knew what would happen, if he started issuing orders in the middle of a fight. It would certainly cause a great deal of confusion at the worst possible time.

  “They’re coming,” someone shouted. “They’re coming!”

  I led Rupert and Seles to the first trench, silently giving the reporter credit for not turning and running for his life. A man on horseback, wearing Harbin’s colours, was galloping towards us. I snapped orders, reminding the troops the newcomer was on our side. The antagonism between soldiers and marines, back home, was nothing compared to the naked hatred between the infantry and the cavalry here. I was glad my men hadn’t spent most of their lives in the military. Given time, I could convince them the horsemen weren’t bad guys. But given they were aristos …

  The horseman nearly crashed into the trench, before pulling on the reins and practically skidding to a stop. I heard titters from within the lines. I glared them into silence, then clambered out of the trench as the rider dropped to the ground and saluted. Rupert stepped up beside me.

  “Report,” he said.

  “The enemy force is on the move,” the rider said. “They’ll be here within twenty minutes.”

  “Details?” I leaned forward. “How many men?”

  The rider looked blank. I gritted my teeth to keep from clobbering him – I needed details, damn it – and snapped out a handful of questions. Infantry?

  Cavalry? Was it just a raiding party or was it something bigger? The rider glowered at me, his hand twitching as if he intended to lift his riding crop and strike me, but Rupert’s presence forced him to try to answer. It wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped. An unknown number of horsemen, backed up by a unknown number of infantry, were closing on our position. I told myself, firmly, that the rider had managed to tell me one useful thing. The enemy were on their way.

  “Take up position at the far edge of the town,” I ordered. “When I give the signal, alert the cavalry to go on the offensive.”

  Rupert nodded, curtly. The rider remounted and galloped away, leaping over the trenches and cantering through the empty town. I made a mental note to look into caltrops. They would make life interesting, if not impossible, for mounted men. Rupert shuddered beside me, clearly scared and trying to hide it. I reminded myself that he was young and ignorant and lacked even a basic military education, before being tapped for command. A cadet who’d been booted out of West Point would be far better, at least on paper, to hold the post.

  “We’ll be fine,” I promised, quietly. The air shifted again. “As long as we don’t panic, we’ll be fine.”

  The seconds ticked away. I kept moving between trenches, speaking to my men.

  They were ready, as ready as they’d ever be. I found myself hoping the enemy would show up before my men started to lose their edge, before the waiting ground them down. Sweat prickled down my back as the sun rose higher – I glanced back to see the cavalry sitting on the ground, looking as though they were having a picnic. I ground my teeth in frustration. Harbin couldn’t have been more dismissive if he’d tried. I had no doubt he intended to take his men

  back to the city, if we lost the fight, and claim it was all Rupert’s fault.

  Bastard.

  “Here they come,” someone shouted.

  I breathed a sigh of relief as the enemy troops came into view, then put my telescope to my eye and studied them. They looked like something right out of the SCA, horses and men draped in truly absurd liveries, although there was something faded about them that added a degree of authenticity one rarely saw in re-enactment events. I counted around fifty men on horseback, backed up by thirty or so infantry. The latter carried bows slung over their shoulders – I guessed they were primarily archers, rather than groundpounders. Their coordination was rubbish. Despite the relatively small scale of the battlefield, the cavalry were dangerously ahead of the archers.

  Rupert muttered an oath under his breath. I shot him a reassuring look, then returned my attention to the enemy. Their leader was mustering his men – the nasty part of my mind insisted he actually had a pretty good disguise, as his outfit wasn’t any more colourful or impractical as the rest of his men – and directing them towards us. I was fairly sure they’d known, right from the start, where we intended to make our stand. They wanted to give us a thrashing to teach
the city a lesson, not actually fight and win a war. My lips twisted in grim amusement. It took one side to start a war, but two to end it.

  “Squads One and Two, take aim,” I ordered. Accuracy would be shitty, but as long as a hail of musket balls were hurtling towards the enemy it probably didn’t matter. “Squads Three and Four, prepare yourselves. Squads Five and Six, take up reserve position.”

  I braced myself as trumpets blared, the enemy starting to canter towards us.

  Timing was everything. We had to hit them, repeatedly, when they were trapped in the sweet spot between being able to retreat and being able to get to us before we blew them away. I wished, once again, for machine guns and mortars.

  I could have blasted them all from a safe distance with a handful of modern weapons. I could have … I pushed the thought out of my head as I counted down the seconds. It was better to err on the side of caution. If they thought they couldn’t run, they might just continue the charge anyway.

  “On my command.” I raised my voice. “FIRE!”

  Squads One and Two fired, the sound of muskets firing blurring together into a single terrifying note. I cursed under my breath as smoke started to shroud the trenches, then snapped orders to the next two squads. Squads One and Two knew what to do. They ducked into the trench, then hastily started to reload as Three and Four took up firing position and took aim. I didn’t hesitate.

  “Squads Three and Four, FIRE!”

  They fired, as one. I stared at the enemy force. It wavered, horses stumbling to a halt or crashing to the ground as musket balls slammed into them. I saw their riders falling over backwards or being thrown by their maddened steeds, the injured and dying men crashing into the survivors and sending them flying in all directions too. Their commander was trying to scream orders – or simply screaming, my thoughts whispered nastily – but it was too late. The orderly formation had devolved into a nightmarish mass of dying men and horses.

  “Squads Five and Six,” I ordered. The smoke was getting worse. Visibility was dropping rapidly. “Fire!”