Queenmaker 18-19
Sorry about the long delay.
Chapter Eighteen
I would have sold my soul for satellite reconnaissance.
Or orbiting drones. Or modern communications. Or any one of a hundred technological miracles I’d taken for granted until I’d wound up in a world that didn’t have any of them. The closest thing I had to radio was magic parchments, the closest thing I had to air power was a single hot air balloon and orbital reconnaissance … forget it. It simply didn’t exist. There were spells that allowed magicians to spy on their enemies, but … they weren’t as effective as the movies suggested. It was incredibly frustrating. I knew the enemy army was on the way, but where was it? How long did I have to prepare?
I didn’t let the grass grow under my feet – and neither did Alonzo. We both knew – we all knew – that Houdon would be sacked, if Cuthbert retook the city. There was no way in hell the warlord would let the city maintain the sack. I feared it would be devastated, perhaps even burnt to the ground and the ashes strewn with salt. The warlord’s army would know it was in deep shit, would know what we’d done to them. I doubted Cuthbert would be able to keep them under control when they stormed the city, not when their blood was up and any officers trying to keep order would be put to the sword. They’d kill the men, rape the women and children, loot everything they could and leave a ruined city behind. Cuthbert might even benefit from the massacre. If the atrocity convinced the rest of the cities to bend the knee to him, it would be worth losing control for a few days.
As long as he manages to secure the supply dumps, I thought. It would be ironic if the sack destroyed the supplies Cuthbert needed to maintain his army, although once Houdon was out of the way he could fall back on his core lands and dare my successor to come after him. He’ll send parties to grab the supplies, then let the men work out their rage on the city folk.
We worked hard. Half the male population were hastily armed and trained – not for the first time, I gave thanks it was so easy to teach a man to use a firearm – while the other half, and many of the women, dug trenches, piled up earthworks and prepared for the coming onslaught. Homes were prepped for an urban defence, roof tiles were stockpiled, simple – very basic – grenades were mass-produced from the warlord’s stockpile of gunpowder … he’d prepared so much, we discovered, that his storage protocols left a great deal to be desired. A spark in the wrong place would have blown a large chunk of the city to kingdom come. I’d made sure the office and bedroom of the safety officer, back in Roxana, had been carefully sited on top of the stockpile, to keep his mind on the job. Cuthbert, it seemed, hadn’t bothered to install a safety officer, let alone keep his nose to the grindstone. I supposed it had worked in my favour. If someone had blown up the stockpile when we liberated the city, we’d have inherited a giant smoking crater and little else.
“They’re working hard,” Alonzo said. He’d proven himself an effective organiser over the last few days. “But won’t they try to lay siege to us?”
I shook my head. Cuthbert needed those supplies. Worse, because we held the supplies, we could hold out for quite some time until they finally ran out. My calculations were pessimistic – I’d erred on the side of extreme caution – but even in the worst-case scenario we should be able to hold out for at least a month, maybe two. The rationing system was crude and barely functional, and we’d already hanged a couple of people for trying to game the system, yet it would work as long as morale held out. Cuthbert simply couldn’t tie his army down long enough for a proper siege. My army was right behind him.
I lifted my gaze and let it wander across the defences. Hundreds of older men and women were working on the lines, their younger male counterparts drilling mercilessly behind them. Young girls ran back and forth, carrying messages from the lines to the city and my makeshift HQ … my lips twitched. There’d been some resistance to letting women join the militia, even as messengers, but what choice did they have? The girls would be at risk if they were carrying messages or hiding in the bunkers, praying to be delivered from evil. I suspected the city elders were going to find it harder to put that particular genie back in the bottle, after the battle was fought and won. Houdon might find itself having to give women the vote.
Moscow might have looked like this, back when the Germans were nearing the lines, I thought, as I turned away. The entire city preparing itself for a fight to the death.
A series of bangs shook the air as the men practiced with their grenades. I tried not to wince. Any halfway competent Range Safety Officer would have gone ballistic, if he’d seen the grenades or the way they were handled; he’d have been court-martialled for dereliction of duty and sheer bloody stupidity if he hadn’t. The grenades were dangerous to their users as well as their targets, but … what choice did we have? I gritted my teeth and turned away, heading back into the camp. Captain Eddo was waiting for me.
“We harassed the army here, sir,” he said, pointing to the map. I hoped the pinpointed location was close to wherever it had actually been, although there was no way to be sure. The map had everything in the right place, more or less, which made it one of the more accurate maps we had, but … “And we dropped off the prisoners as per instructions.”
I ignored the disapproval in his voice. Letting some of the POWs go to the army – with messages from me to the warlord’s allies – was a calculated risk. Cuthbert had fucked up and his allies, if I was any judge, were already considering how to jump ship. Richard III had been betrayed at Bosworth Field, or so the story ran, and I had no qualms about trying to undermine Cuthbert in the same way. If one of his clients switched sides … my lips quirked at the thought. Some of the messengers would fall into his hands and be interrogated, fuelling his paranoia. Who knew? He might launch a purge, triggering a civil war. We might win without firing a shot.
Don’t get too hopeful, I told myself. You don’t know the messengers even passed on their messages.
They weren’t the only messengers. A handful of volunteers – I’d dubbed them influencers – had slipped into the enemy camp, telling the conscripted soldiers they could surrender rather than fight to the death. Others had gone to the mercenaries, telling them they’d be executed if they were captured in battle. It was another calculated risk, but I thought the gamble was worth taking. Mercenaries didn’t want to fight to the death. They wanted to live long enough to spend their money, perhaps even to switch sides. If the coming battle went badly, the mercenaries might abandon their master and run before it was too late.
The days wore on. I cursed the lack of actionable intelligence and waited, encouraging the men and laying traps for the enemy army. Doubts assailed me, every night, as I lay with Fallon, barely able to sleep despite knowing the enemy army was very near. What if I’d misjudged the warlord? His title wasn’t an empty one. What if he’d skirted the city and headed back to his core lands, abandoning his army to its fate? Or … what if his army was already breaking up? It would save the city, but not us. I wanted to smash that army so completely the warlord, and his subordinates, would never recover.
I was half-asleep when there was a knock on the door. I reached under my pillow for the flintlock, just in case, and sat upright. “Come!”
A young servant girl entered, averting her eyes. “My Lord, the pickets have galloped back to the city,” she said. I glanced at the clock. It was an hour before dawn. “The enemy army is approaching.”
“Good,” I said. The waiting was over, at least. Sort of. If the army had been spotted by the outer pickets, it would be at least two hours before it got into attack position and challenged the defences. “Please bring us some breakfast” – I needed to make a show of calm, even though my insides were churning – “and inform the war council I want to see them in my tent, one hour from now.”
The girl bobbed a curtsey, then hurried away. I smiled after her. She would carry out my orders, then tell everyone – I hoped – that I was calmly ordering breakfast rather than an immediate attack. Or something. Right now, we’d have to wait to be attacked. It wouldn’t be long. The basic equations hadn’t changed. No matter how badly we’d harassed the warlord’s army, it was still intact and dangerous.
Score one for Cuthbert, I suppose, I thought coldly. He kept his army together.
The girl returned with a very basic breakfast, looking as if she was trying desperately not to flinch as she presented it to me. I felt a moment’s pity for the serving girl. Any normal aristocrat would have thrown a fit at being offered such fare, although it was what the common soldiers were eating in the trenches, and he’d either take it out on the girl himself or ensure her boss did it instead. She’d probably get the blame … I thanked her politely, then dismissed her. It was just another reminder of how screwed up this society actually was. She wasn’t the cook, but she’d still be blamed …
And now she’s going to tell everyone I eat army fare, I reminded myself. A year ago, the officers had eaten fine foods, while their men had struggled to survive on hardtack. Who could blame them for resentment? I’d changed that as soon as I’d assumed command, making sure everyone ate the same basic rations. It will do wonders for my reputation amongst the troops.
Fallon sat upright. “It’s time?”
“They’re coming,” I confirmed. I gave her a quick kiss, feeling a pang of guilt as I looked at her chest. She was starting to show. “We have to move.”
I ate quickly, donned my tunic and walked to the command tent. It was important not to show any hint of panic, not when the entire city was watching me. The streets were already alive with troops rushing to their positions and civilians, those who had no military duties, making their way to the bunkers. I hoped the safety they promised wasn’t an illusion … it would be, if the city was stormed. The civilians would be dragged out of hiding and put to the sword.
“We all know what we have to do,” I said, as I stepped into the tent and checked the updated map. “There’s no need to go over it again.”
The war council looked relieved. I hit my amusement with an effort. Repeating the same thing over and over again could be calming, but not here. I smiled coldly as I let my eyes wander from face to face. I didn’t have to fear betrayal, not from my council. No one believed the city could surrender, and no one believed Cuthbert could control his men even if he accepted our offer to bend the knee. Hell, he might not even try. Houdon had risen against his men and letting the city get away with it would set a terrible precedent.
“We’re going to kick his ass,” I told them. It wasn’t as dramatic as some pre-battle speeches I’d heard, but … frankly, I’d never liked senior officers trying to sound like movie stars. We were soldiers, not football stars or cheerleaders … I tried not to smile at the thought. The men would probably have appreciated a few cheerleaders. Were they a thing here? I didn’t know. “To your stations.”
Alonzo joined me as I made my way to the ramparts. It had been rebuilt extensively to give me a view of the coming battlefield, although I was painfully aware I couldn’t see everything. My officers and men knew what to do, if the enemy swept around the city and tried to take us in the rear, but … I looked up as the hot air balloon rose into the sky, two observers already scanning the ground for enemy threats and a magician standing ready to transmit their findings to the HQ. It wasn’t much, but it was all we had.
“Shit,” Alonzo muttered.
I put a pair of charmed spectacles on my eyes and followed his gaze. The enemy army was flying a bright red flag, promising no quarter. Back home, it was a black flag, but the intent was the same. No surrenders would be accepted, no mercy would be shown … oddly, I felt a twinge of relief. The warlord had ensured my troops – and the city – would fight to the death.
“No messenger,” a councillor muttered.
“There wouldn’t be,” I told him. “It’s a fight to the death.”
I kept my voice even. Cuthbert didn’t need to send a herald to tell us anything. The red flag was all the message he needed. His army taken down the pennants and flags they’d normally fly, just to make sure the defenders got the message. I smiled in cold amusement. The aristocrats had to have realised, by now, that wearing fancy uniforms and flying their banners made them targets, but they couldn’t take them down without appearing cowardly. They had to be pleased to have orders to take them down. They could make a show of moaning and groaning about following their master’s commands, all the while being secretly relieved …
Just like a gang of street toughs, I thought, wryly. I’d known too many to have any illusions about their lack of maturity, or about how easy it was to goad them into making a fatal mistake. The fear of being thought a coward is worse than the fear of death or imprisonment.
The enemy army deployed in a ragged formation; cavalry sweeping around the city defences in hopes of finding an easy way into the city itself; infantry and artillery preparing themselves for the coming assault. Cuthbert had fewer pieces of artillery than I’d expected, from the reports … I hoped that meant he’d had to abandon his guns when he’d lifted the siege of Damansara and raced to Houdon. If he had … had he spiked them? My officers knew to sweep the battlefield for anything the enemy had left behind, even ruined guns. They could always be melted down and recycled if they couldn’t be repaired.
I tried not to roll my eyes as the cavalry returned. If Cuthbert genuinely thought I’d only fortified one side of the city, he was a bigger fool than I’d thought. Houdon’s walls would be worse than useless if they didn’t run around the entire city and my defences were no better, although they were a little thicker around the gates. I suspected he was buying time, time to get his men organised before the charge. His guns were swinging into position …
They opened fire.
Alonzo gasped as the cannons rained shells on our trenches. I wasn’t so impressed. The guns might be far superior to anything the locals had possessed, a few years ago, but compared to modern artillery they were crap. An MLRS could do more damage to the city in one shot than the primitive guns could do in days … probably. I frowned as I saw the cannonballs strike down, some exploding and others producing dense black smoke. Explosive shells … I had teams working on putting them into production, but there’d been too many problems unsolved when my army had set out. I kicked myself, mentally. I’d fallen into the habit of assuming the warlords couldn’t innovate, not really. But I’d been wrong.
The Nazis were monsters and the Communists were no better, but they still made a hell of a lot of technological innovations, I reminded myself grimly. And they had no qualms about stealing ideas from us and putting them into practice.
“The smoke has to be magic,” Alonzo said. He sounded a little unnerved. I shot him a sidelong look. Magic was part of this world. He should be more used to it than me. “What is it doing?”
“Obscuring our vision,” I said. The black smoke – I had feared it might be Black Smoke – didn’t seem to be poisonous, thankfully, but it was making it harder to see. The land around the city had been relatively clear, even before the war, and I’d cleared what remained to ensure my men had clear fields of fire in all directions. Cuthbert had clearly given the assault more thought than I’d expected. “You” – I waved to a messenger girl – “tell the magicians to get rid of that shit.”
The girl nodded – I’d threatened beatings to anyone who showed any overt respect to an officer in the middle of a fight – and hurried off. I cursed under my breath as the bombardment grew louder. We didn’t have many guns and what few we had were being held in reserve. I would have killed for a sniper with a modern rifle … hell, I would have settled for a modern rifle. If there was a magician on the far side, directing the smoke …
Another messenger ran into the room. “Sir, signal from the balloon,” she said. “They’re coming!”
Chapter Nineteen
The first time the cavalry had met modern firearms, or what passed for modern firearms in this world, they’d come off worst.
I’d been there. I’d commanded the defence and I had laid a trap and I had known what was going to happen … and I had still been astonished, when Clarence Aldred had led his men straight into the guns. It had been the most one-sided battle I’d ever fought and I’d served in Iraq and Afghanistan in the early years, when our enemies had yet to learn how to fight us effectively. Warlord Cuthbert, I had to admit, had learnt a few things from the early disasters too. His cavalry were using the smoke for cover, jinking back and forth as they neared the outer trenches; his gunners were laying down covering fire, forcing my men to keep their heads down. It was pretty much the first combined-arms operation I’d seen since finding myself in a whole new world.
“Launch the flare,” I ordered. “And signal the catapults to open fire.”
Cuthbert had done a good job, I admitted sourly. My trenches offered excellent protection against cannonballs – his accuracy was as shitty as ours – but the combination of explosive shells and charging cavalry made it harder for my men to get up and open fire. Their accuracy wasn’t great at the best of times and it was going to be worse, now they couldn’t even see their targets. I lifted my gaze and saw dust rising from the enemy lines. Diggers? They couldn’t charge our lines without getting mown down, but they could easily dig their own trenches and tunnel towards our lines. The only upside was that it would be very difficult for them to get into – or under – the city itself.
I cursed under my breath as the cavalry charged out of the smoke and into the trenches. They had never seemed very effective to me, but I’d never seen them at their best. They were practically tanks, crashing through defensive lines and plunging on rather than staying to stand and fight. I saw one of my men beheaded by a passing cavalryman – using swords wasn’t as stupid as it looked, I conceded; the cavalrymen certainly had no time to reload as they charged onwards – and another trampled into the ground by a passing horse. The enemy didn’t have it all their own way – I saw a number of cavalry gunned down, their bodies falling from the saddle even as their beasts panicked and ran – but they were alarmingly effective. I had never expected to hold the outer trench – I’d assumed it would fall sooner or later – yet it was going to fall quicker than I had thought. Too many of my troops were untried. I could tell panic was already starting to settle in. The cavalry was taking full advantage.
“Signal Trench One, order them to fall back to Trench Two,” I said. Events were moving faster than I had expected, but we were far from beaten. “Trench Two is to provide covering fire, as planned.”
“Yes, sir.”
I nodded, curtly, and resumed my watch. A retreat could easily become a rout if the enemy gave chase, and the cavalry were trained to do just that. My men had been carefully briefed – they needed to crawl from trench to trench, as bullets zipped over their heads – but I was afraid they were panicking too much to remember what they had to do. The smoke was starting to clear, thankfully, yet … I saw a man running from the trench, stumbling and then falling to the ashy ground. Poor bastard. I feared he’d been killed by one of my men.
The shooting grew louder. The enemy cavalry staggered and started to fall back, a handful tossing grenades of their own as they retreated. A line of enemy infantry ran forward, trying to get into the outer trench; they hit the ground as my men targeted them, crawling onwards with surprising speed. I wondered, numbly, if they were the warlord’s best men, or – more likely – if they were more scared of their superiors than the men in front of them. It was quite possible. Russian troops, back in the Second World War, had kept mounting futile attacks even when it was clear they were pointless, driven on by officers too scared of their superiors to say no. It was horrible, and yet it had worked for them. I told myself it wouldn’t work for my enemies.
“There’re digging their own trenches,” Alonzo said. “Why …?”
I nodded. I’d already seen it. “They’re taking cover,” I said, repeating my earlier thoughts. “And digging their way towards us.”
The fighting raged on. The enemy cavalry swept around the city, shooting towards our trenches … seemingly at random. Our men held their fire. The cavalry were keeping their distance, to the point we’d be lucky if we hit one of them. Their guns just didn’t have the power to strike the trenches, let alone the city itself. I wondered if they were looking for weak spots, although there were none. It might make sense later, when I had to move men to replace the dead, but not now. Perhaps Cuthbert was just trying to keep them busy. The cavalrymen were almost all aristocrats, the fools. They’d be the most likely to challenge their master openly if they thought he was fucking up.
My lips twisted in disgust. It made a certain kind of sense – horses were expensive, and having officers who could feed the beasts themselves was economical – but it was stupid. The care and feeding of horses was bad enough … the social life was worse. What sort of idiot designed a system in which cavalry officers had to be rich, just to meet their social obligations? I’d thought military wives were bad – I’d met a general’s wife who thought she shared his rank – but this was absurd …
That will change, as they become more and more vulnerable, I thought. The Brits had lost the flower of their aristocracy in the First World War. It won’t be long before the locals have the same problem.
“Make sure you get relief forces out to the trenches,” I said, quietly. It wasn’t wise to leave men fighting indefinitely – and, for once, I had the reinforcements to ensure they didn’t have to. “And make sure they get something to eat too.”
“Yes, sir.”
I nodded, accepted a flask of water for myself and kept my eye on the battleground. The enemy trenches were getting closer, despite our best efforts. I’d run a pair of makeshift mortars into the trenches, in a bid to shell their diggers, but it hadn’t been enough to slow them down. Cuthbert was already funnelling more men forward, trying to feed men into the attacking trenches and flank the city. I frowned as I noticed his cavalry massing on our flank. There was no smoke this time, but …
That’s one of the weaker points, I thought. The trench network was still formidable, but … from the outside, that point might look vulnerable. Does he think he can get in?
My mind raced. He was bringing his trenches closer and closer to the front lines. If he launched a flanking attack at the same time … it might not work, if I had troops in place to meet it, but it might be worth the risk. If it worked, he could roll up a lot of my trenches, perhaps even get to the wall and start knocking it down. Or …
Or maybe he’s trying to distract me from the main attack, I noted. It might work.
“Get the caltrops into place,” I ordered, tapping the map. “And then order the men to retreat as soon as the cavalry get into range.”
“Yes, sir.”
I gritted my teeth and waited. Was I outthinking him? Or was he outthinking me? It was hard to tell. The lack of smoke shells bothered me. Sending his cavalry into the teeth of my guns was certain death, unless he had something up his sleeve. The bombardment was growing stronger … I cursed as an explosive shell, by sheer bad luck, came down in a trench and exploded. The men had no chance to escape. Two had survived, but not for long. We didn’t have enough medics to save their lives.
The cavalry charged. I blinked in surprise. Was he mad? Or was it an illusion …? The gunners opened fire and the cavalry kept coming, seemingly untouched? Perhaps it was an illusion … but it looked so real. I could see the ground shaking under their hooves … I bit my lip, recalling my earlier thoughts about Alonzo and magic. Magic was dangerously unpredictable. For all I knew, my mind was filling in the blanks, ensuring I saw what I expected to see. My men retreated, abandoning the outer trench. The cavalry kept coming …
… And ran straight into the caltrops.
I heard a horse neighing in pain and felt a stab of guilt as the poor beast crashed into the ground. Caltrops were almost fiendishly simple, pieces of twisted metal scattered on the ground to await a horse’s hooves. Horses were surprisingly good at avoiding danger on the ground, but there was no way they could avoid all the caltrops. The cavalry charge came to an abrupt halt as the horses threw their riders and fled, or fell to the ground. I doubted they’d ever recover. The local vets were better than the local doctors, but they couldn’t work miracles. If the riders didn’t hire a magical healer to save their beasts …
“Get a team out there,” I ordered, quietly. Some of the cavalrymen were lying on the ground, clearly wounded. The unwounded were crawling away as fast as they could. “I want prisoners.”
Alonzo gave me a sharp look. “Sir?”
“They’re aristos,” I pointed out. There was no point in appealing to the laws of war. The red flag had made it clear the enemy wasn’t going to follow them – and most of the defenders would happily return the favour, no matter what I ordered. I appealed to his head instead. “They know things we need to know.”
He nodded and hurried off. I hoped his men would follow orders. I hadn’t lied – I did want to find out what they knew – but I didn’t want to preside over an atrocity either. It wasn’t going to be easy to prevent one, not here. My soldiers had been lectured, time and time again, on following the rules, but they were grossly outnumbered by the city militia. And it was the militia who wanted to avenge their city’s treatment …
An explosion shook the air. I turned to see the enemy’s trenches intersecting with ours, their infantry hurling makeshift grenades ahead of them as they charged. My men returned the favour, throwing grenades of their own as the organised struggle broke down into confused hand-to-hand fighting. I gritted my teeth as the fighting grew worse, reminding myself I’d chosen to focus on firearms and semi-modern military hardware rather than swords, shields and other medieval weapons. In hindsight, perhaps that had been a mistake. Cuthbert’s troops had more training in close-quarter combat than mine.
Something to fix later, I told myself. The militia knew how to fire their muskets, but it took longer to learn how to fight with a sword. If we survive …
Alonzo returned, looking grim. “They know nothing,” he said, curtly. “The army has orders to press the attack until we fall.”
“Or they do,” I added, dryly.
I wasn’t too surprised. There was little else the warlord could do, certainly nothing that would keep his army together. I wondered, darkly, if he were actually counting on us wiping out hundreds of his men. I couldn’t recall any general ever sacrificing his men so ruthlessly – Bonnie Prince Charlie had been accused of leaving men to die, although I thought that was a smear rather than literal truth – but few generals had ever been caught in such a trap. Even Hitler, when he’d issued stand-and-fight orders …
He did tell Rommel to stand and fight, staking his men out for the kill, I reminded myself. But he didn’t order the troops to charge head long into enemy defences.
“Tell them we’re sending them back to their lines,” I said. The longer we kept the aristocrats prisoner, the greater the chance someone would kill them. “Give them their parole, and caution them of what will happen if we catch them again. And tell them that if they bring anyone over to our side, they will be richly rewarded.”
“They’ll be killed on sight,” Alonzo predicted.
I shrugged. “Keep two back and pump them for info,” I added. “Troop numbers, morale, weapons and supplies … political disputes, everything we need to know. Tell the ones you send back that we’re keeping them for ransom, and as guarantees the others keep their parole.”
Alonso nodded and hurried off. I doubted either gamble would work, but … it would cost us nothing and possibly give us a decisive edge. The aristocrats would pay no need to grumbling amongst the rank and file, yet I’d bet half my estates the aristos were grumbling too. Their willingness to serve their master, and follow his orders without question, had to be falling with their morale.
The battle raged on and on. If the enemy had low morale, it was impossible to tell. They pressed their attack savagely, throwing more and more men into the line as my trenches started to break. My men counterattacked with equal savagery, tossing the invaders back out again … I thought a patch of ground little bigger than my old house had changed hands a dozen times in less than an hour. It reminded me of Fallujah, only worse. And we were getting slowly pushed back to the walls.
“Order the guns to open fire,” I said, reluctantly. Cuthbert had moved the red flag closer to the lines. I hoped he was standing near the flagpole, although I doubted it. “Try and slow them down …”
The ground heaved, violently. I found myself on the floor with no clear memory of how I’d gotten there. I grabbed for my pistol, half-convinced the post was under attack, then scrambled to my feet. An enormous cloud of smoke was rising from the nearest trenchline, billowing into the air. They’d dug a mine … I swore, savagely, as I realised the warlord had blown away a number of his own men, as well as mine. It was not going to end well.
I glanced at the map, then cursed. Time was running out.
“Pull the troops back to the wall,” I ordered. Cuthbert, damn the man, had prepared for the moment carefully. His troops were already charging into the crater … I recalled the Battle of the Crater and changed my mind. The men should have circumvented the crater, not tried to run through it. “Belay that. Get the gunners to pour fire into the crater.”
“Yes, sir.”
I snapped further orders as the gunners opened fire, shooting the enemy troops like fish in a barrel. I had no idea if the enemy CO was drunk – General Ledlie should have been shot, not dismissed – but it didn’t matter. The enemy artillery returned fire, targeting my men as the enemy infantry resumed the offensive. I had to admire their spirit, or their desperation. If their leader hadn’t flown the red flag, they might have been able to break off or even surrender. As it was …
We’ll hang Cuthbert, if we take him alive, I thought. I could see a wounded man waving for help, as he bled to death. There was no hope of rescue, not now. It won’t make up for everything, but at least he’ll pay for his crimes.
“Get the forward elements back to the wall,” I ordered. The enemy guns had done too much damage to my guns. “We may have to fall back into the city itself.”
Alonzo nodded, curtly. The trenches were collapsing now. There was no point in trying to hold the rest of the line, now the enemy had made a breach. Technically, we were supposed to offer to surrender at this point, but … the fight wasn’t over yet. We could still hold out long enough for my plan to work. And besides, there was the bright red flag, still flapping in the air. Cuthbert had to be kicking himself, I hoped. If there had been a hope of a peaceful surrender without a sack, the defenders might have taken it.
The shelling tapered off, somewhat to my surprise. Cuthbert shouldn’t have had any qualms about bombarding the city, unless he was worried about setting off the gunpowder … perhaps he was. Did he even know how it had been stored? Or perhaps … I shook my head and watched as he recognised his lines, funnelling more and more men into the breach. It was just a matter of time before he punched a hole in the wall and …
“Sir,” a messenger called. He was so frantic he had to gasp for breath before speaking again. “The balloon signalled. They’re here!”
I sucked in my breath. The plan had worked! And that meant …
“Draw in the rest of the lines, into the gates,” I ordered. Opening the gatehouse was another calculated risk, but … the enemy shouldn’t have time to capitalise on their victory, if they captured the gate, before the other shoe dropped. If I was lucky, the mere prospect of capturing a gate would hypnotise them. I couldn’t blame them, either. Taking a gate would let them send troops right into the city itself. “And hurry!”
Trumpets blared. Cuthbert had seen the trap. Finally.
But it was too late, now, for him to escape.
I smirked. Got you, you bastard!
