by J A Deriu
“Captain,” she said to Marco, “prepare to sound the –” Before she could finish, she was flung to the ground as if a great gust had hit her. A rocket had landed nearby. The fragments had sped past, but none had hit her. She coughed and rubbed her eyes as bitter smoke whipped through the post and dirt spewed over her. She could hear the hoarse voice of Fulke cursing. She stood. Most of the captains were staggering. Marco was on his back. His arms were spread at his sides. She bent over him and reached to check his breathing. She completed a sign of the cross over his face. A red slash was deep across it. “May the Blessed Virgin Mary greet you, brother.”
She moved quickly to be out of the smoke. Fulke joined at her side, coughing and retching. He had his binoculars. “They are coming, Lord Commander.” She did not need the binoculars to see that the center of the Persian Army was thrusting into the battle. The shah had seen his opportunity. Every other flank was busy. The Bedouin camels were stampeding through the ranks, the elephants were looming over the carnage, and the battlefield was covered in red.
Fulke twitched as a bullet landed nearby. Persians were coming up the rise and firing into the command. She reached for her pistol and moved toward the tables, which had been denuded of their maps and papers. The timber roof was hanging down. Her bow and quiver full of arrows were stashed where she had left them. She secured them, strapped the quiver to her back tightly, and lifted the bow over her head so that the string was hard against her chest.
Fulke looked at her quizzingly.
“How many runners do we have, Captain? And do we have the bugler?”
“He is here, and we have a dozen runners I can see.”
“Ready the order for a total offensive,” she commanded and ducked to avoid a bullet.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“They have opened themselves. This is our chance.”
“May the Blessed Virgin Mary be with us,” Fulke said and turned to follow her order.
“Captain!” Clavdia called him back. “All of the Volunteers are to charge.”
“Yes, Lord Commander.”
“I pray Miles has quelled those damn beasts.”
Templars aimed their rifles from behind a defensive sandbagged wall. The captains and sergeants organized the soldiers. The banner was planted firmly into the ground. It flapped as Persian bullets grazed past. The soldiers formed around Clavdia. She picked up a rifle and weighed it in her hands to make sure that it was loaded. “Who will be the gonfalonier?” she called.
“I will be, Lord Commander.” It was Greta.
“No one better for this task than you, Captain.” Clavdia touched her fist on Greta’s shoulder. “Hold it high, Greta. Our brothers and sisters must be drawn to it.”
Greta gripped the pole and pulled the gray banner out of the ground. She lifted it so that the black Templar cross could be seen. She secured it in one arm and held a rifle in the other.
“Look, there.” Pedro had run toward Clavdia. He pointed to the sky. The balloon of the Persians was aflame and falling.
“The reinforcements shot it down.” It was Frank Paulus. He had crossed from the ranks of the Volunteers. “They used a rocket. Very accurate.”
“What reinforcements?”
“There. The mercenaries.”
Hurrying toward the position in well-organized formations were hundreds of black-clad men. They had their rifles ready and samurai swords strapped to their backs. One of them ran in front of the rest and headed for the command. She knew who he was before he had arrived. “The Two-Headed Wolves are here – one head distracts, one bites.” Kani Minamoto called as soon as he was within voice range. He stopped when he was in front of Clavdia and bowed. “Lord Commander, I am pleased to see you. We were worried that we would miss the battle.”
“You almost have, Kani.”
“Ah, we were lost, but look at all I have brought with me. Many more than last time. You will certainly have value for your fee.”
“Welcome, then. There is not time for chatting. Are your men ready to join the charge?”“We are already charging. We were not planning on stopping.”
She pointed to the ranks of the Persians and the huge banner of the shah. “The shah is across that field. His protective forces are reduced. The enemy have committed to a multipronged attack. There are gaps. We need to find them and cut the head. If the head is down, the enemy army can be annihilated.”
He looked to where she pointed, and his eyes calculated. He wore a hunting cap headgear with flaps covering his ears. “The shah. What a prize.” He reached a hand over his shoulder and unsheathed his samurai sword. The mercenaries gathered in the defensive positions. “Are we going now?”
“Yes, I am about to give the order. Speed will be important. May your God be with you.” Kani bowed and went to talk to his men. She turned. Numerous soldiers watched her while crouching to avoid the shooting. She spoke to Frank Paulus. “I have ordered a total offensive. Get back to the Volunteer ranks, and advise them that they are to come down this channel. Nothing is to be held back.” He nodded. His eyes were questioning her. She tugged at his shirt collar. “This is what we planned for. It is the only way we are going to win. There are too many of them.”
“I know. I know. It is very bold.” She pulled at his shirt for him to go.
“I will see you again, Lord Commander.” He ran up the rise, looking back at her for moments.
She addressed the Templars. “Order the attack,” she said firmly to Fulke. He signaled to the bugler. They moved to stand behind the farthest Templars in the defensive edge. “Templars. For the Blessed Virgin Mary!” She checked that all her weapons were secure, lowered her goggles to cover her eyes, and pulled her peaked cap low. She raised her gloved hand, made a fist, and held it. She fully stretched her arm.
As far as she could see on both sides, Templars were readying. Crucifixes were kissed and holy relics touched. They had trained for this endlessly, rigidly, and without fear. Smoke came from the battlefield. The defenders were not slowing. The thick marching ranks of the Persian did not stop, even for those of them falling. She glanced to the side for the elephants to see the fate of that aspect of the battle and with short-lived thoughts for Captain Knight Miles. The side was covered by black smoke.
Kani the mercenary was ordering his men into position. They were all unsheathing their samurais. They would run, shoot, and slash. She wondered how useful they would be and whether they had exhausted themselves by running to the battle. The Volunteers came down the slope with anxiety showing on their faces caused by what they were seeing. The last of the cannonballs exploded among the advancing Persians. Richord had cut his cannons.
She held her arm high. There was a moment of silence. She opened her hand and dropped her arm. There were thousands of shouts, and it felt as if the earth moved with the thousands of boots that pushed off it. They had the advantage of the slope. It was why the field had been selected. The first of the Persians looked confused with the rush of bodies toward them. The commanders behind called for them to be brave. She stopped with the others, steadied, aimed, and shot into the red-and-black coats. Then they ran again, at a steady pace to keep their footing and arms ready to attack. The Templars moved as a mass, but within this they were trained to move as teams. One covering for the other. One shooting as the other reloaded so to the enemy it was one constant wave of attack.
They passed the remnants of the ark. The cart had been toppled, and the slabs of the crate were in pieces. She looked momentarily to see if anything was inside. A bullet landed near, and she could not linger. She glanced ahead to see that the banner of the shah was a dauntingly long way to go. “Attack, Templars, attack!” She checked that the formation of the charge was holding with the arrowhead aimed for the banner.
Her field of vision quickly diminished, and she turned to focus on the fighting. Her strategic job as field commander was finished, and now
all that she could control was the fight of her own body and those around her. She attached the bayonet to her rifle and leaped over the bodies of fallen Persians. There were clashes on both sides of her. Persians were positioning to force back the attack. They could see each other’s faces. A Persian aimed his rifle at her. His leg was taken by a Templar bayonet, and the bullet went into the sky. She pushed down on her bayonet, felt the bones break and his breath on her face from the scream.
An explosion landed close. It was a Persian cannon. There was screaming in her ears for a moment. It knocked over mostly Persians. They looked over their shoulders and stared curses at their own ranks. She reloaded her gun. The Templars ran ahead of her. Greta had the banner angled like a lance. In the rear the Volunteers were coming strongly onto the battlefield. The black of the Nippon mercenaries had scattered large parts of the red.
Ahead was a solid line of Persians. Behind them the banner of the shah loomed. She caught up to the lead soldiers. Persians broke loose from the pack and charged. They were huge men with chest armor and face shields that showed a snarling warrior with oval holes for the eyes. They had a long and thick ornamental purple ribbon streaming from their helmets. They shot and then bayoneted with brute force. Fulke yelled instructions to combat the elite force. He was trying to concentrate firing. The Persians crashed through the Templar front. Clavdia kept running forward and shouted for the soldiers to keep charging. Bullets landed near her feet, and others screamed past her ears.
Three took shape in front of her. They had emptied their guns and were unsheathing their curved swords. They practiced their slashes. She steadied and fired her rifle. They had chest and head armor. She aimed for the midriff and legs. Two of the big men crumpled to the ground. The third stalked toward her. She was out of bullets. Her gun dropped. As it hit the ground, she had her bow aimed and an arrow notched. The arrow bounced off his chest piece. The mask fiercely looked at her. He took a confident step. She notched another arrow. The head of the Persian was pushed back. He dropped his sword and reached for the arrow that stuck from his neck.
A Persian was coming at her from behind. He was an infantryman who had only his bayonet. She ducked his thrust and kicked him at the knee. The sword of the arrow-lanced Persian was nearest. She picked it up and slashed it against his falling body. There were more Persians coming. They ran past without looking at her. Chasing them were Templars. Pedro was with them. He saw her and picked up her rifle. “We saw. The arrow. That will be in the chronicles.” She pulled the bolt to open the rifle and reloaded bullets from her belt. The Templars were screaming, ecstatic. They could see the backs of the Persians. The defense was from random fighters.
The sky was cleared of smoke. She looked across the battlefield. The elephants were on their knees burning. They had been pushed to the dry riverbed, where they would have moved as though handicapped and been easy targets for the Black Swans. One had been turned and was firing into the Persian ranks. A Templar banner hung from its head.
Kani Minamoto ran toward her. He was breathless. His reddened blade twirled in his hands. “What a splendid battle. Their ranks are broken. We can outflank them. I will lead my men to corner them. We will not stop until we are done.” He looked over the carnage. “Have in your mind that you are weakest at your moment of victory.” He dashed away to rejoin the fighting.
The elite Persian guards fought gamely, but they were outnumbered by the surging Templars. The banner of the shah was close. She stepped over the bodies, some still moved. She looked back over the battlefield. The Templars moved like a single creature. The mercenaries and the Volunteers forked out on each side. The red of the Persians was scattered and disorganized. She stepped under the banner of the shah. Debris littered the ground. “The shah has fled,” Pedro said. His dirty face smiled. “Must not have liked what he saw.”
“Pull down his banner,” she ordered. “It is important for his soldiers to see that he has deserted them.” The shah’s position was on a mound where she could see the surrounds on all sides. The tents had been hurriedly pulled down with the stakes still buried. Fulke was sitting on the ground and drew in long breaths. “Captain, let’s set up our command here.”
“What do you think, Lord Commander? It was a hairy march, but we dominate the field now.”
She surveyed the scene. The frenetic action had settled into a static picture with the forces of the Templars and allies enveloping the Persians. Greta planted the Templar banner and pushed the pole hard into the dirt to make sure it was stuck firm. She lifted her rifle and bayonet high to salute. The support staff caught up. The area was secured. Firing was still heard coming from all sides. “Captain Marco was felled at his post.”
“I know. He died bravely. There are many others.”
“We have overrun their cannons. I like our position. Let’s stay focused. How many escaped? Will they rally?”
Clavdia sat on an ammunition box and began reading and listening to the reports. She had to feel a tainted sense of elation. The army had performed with the exactness of their plans, yet the casualties were high.
“The Bear-Hounds have routed their flank,” Fulke said. “It seems that General Deen was able to live up to his talk. They went straight through the enemy ranks and doubled back to provide support for the other advances. This must have totally unbalanced the Persians. Thought they had been surrounded. Well, I suppose, they had.”
“The Persians have run, Lord Commander,” a young captain announced. “They are not regrouping.”
Fulke slapped her on the back. “We thank the Blessed Virgin Mary for our victory.”
“The shah? Has he been seen?” Clavdia asked.
“His personal guard are lying dead around us. Look at all the purple. His banner was forgotten. I would reckon he wears the clothes of a common soldier and is running with the rest of them.”
She stood and placed her hands on the necks of Fulke and the captain. “We truly thank the Blessed Virgin Mary for our victory.”
Their heads turned as one of the giant mechanical elephants came clunking in their direction. It was cheered as it moved. A Templar flag was mounted at the top of its tower. Grappling lines still hung from it like severed cords. Black steam billowed from its chimney in a way that showed that the machine was under duress. It stopped with the sounds of grinding machinery, and the head bowed forward. Templars could be seen behind the rails of the tower. One of the Templars leaped out and athletically caught a line. He lowered himself to the ground as adept as any circus performer. It was Captain Miles. Templars crowded around him to congratulate. His face had marks of grease. His tunic torn. He pulled off his gloves and strode toward Clavdia. He completed a Templar salute. “Lord Commander, I can report that the elephants have been ruined or captured.”
“I can see.” She smiled. “You have trumped the past achievements of the Black Swans. There will be more songs written.”
“We dedicate our victories to the Blessed Virgin Mary,” he said with an austere face. “And to our Lord Commander. We could see your bravery from our heights. It inspired the Black Swans.”
She walked across the remnants of the Persian camp to where the Hospitallers had set up their command. Frank Paulus was at her side. He spoke quickly. “There is the potential there, no doubt. But also, without a doubt, a unified command is required. There were times when I thought they would clash among themselves. It was only individual, non scripted acts that kept order.”
“You will have time to think this over. We cannot let chance be a factor in the next battle, and in the one after that.”
“I must write up the acts of heroism first. These must be noted. I saw some breathtaking acts. Not sure if it was courage or stupidity. That huge man, who looks like a boy, he came from the Russian Volunteers … I have seen nothing like it. He charged at a dozen Persians. He didn’t have any weapons.”
“Him. I remember him. He was found in the
desert after a Volunteer landing went wrong. He was supposed to be in the support teams, not in combat. Did he survive?”
“It was confused. The support teams all ended up in combat. He survived all right. Took care of the Persians with his hands and is being hailed as a destroyer.”
“I will look forward to your reports. I will read them all. But we really need to sort out the Volunteers. Now excuse me. I have to talk to someone.”
Fulke was already outside the tent. He looked at her with a knowing face.
“Is he inside?”
“He is, Lord Commander. If I could say something, it would be wise to not be too harsh. The Hospitallers provide the bulk of medics and nurses to care for the wounded, and there are many of those.”
Clavdia entered the Hospitaller tent alone. Magnus was sitting. Other Hospitallers stood around him conferring. They looked across at her. He moved his chin upward, and it was enough of a signal for his men to hurry out. “You disobeyed an order,” she said.
“I don’t know … what are you …”
“This is a grave matter.” She glared at him.
“You will be careful. I am a Lord Commander. This conversation is Lord Commander to Lord Commander.”
“It isn’t really. I know you have been undermining me, and that means undermining the Templars. Your insubordination will be noted. However, be grateful that I am merciful in victory. Your men fought well and filled a breach. This aided the general engagement. I would hope that you will increase the decades in your rosary after the events of today.”
