by Candy Rae
CHAPTER 25 (Northern Continent)
At the settlement, Stuart MacIntosh made it back to the second line of defence, but only just. He thought, as he scrambled over, that this barricade was much less defensible when compared to the main walls they had evacuated and they hadn’t stopped the self-appointed General Murdoch for more than a few hours.
Scar-faced Baker’s regiment, having led the charge through the gates, made short work of the formed echelon of defenders who fought a brief yet bloody delaying action in the courtyard. This leading regiment, closely followed by those of Smith and Cracov, having overcome this resistance, pressed on, leaving the mopping up operation to the regiment to their rear. Duchesne, in command, was not happy about this but orders were orders and he valued his own skin too much to disobey the General. He began to organise the round up of any of the defeated still hale enough to stand and be counted.
Jean Farquharson watched with growing horror as his men began to prowl the courtyard and surrounding buildings. Any men too badly hurt to stand, they at once despatched, ignoring pleas for mercy. Badly injured women they left where they lay. Long afterwards Jean found out that the men had left them because they had not been told what to do with any injured females. Although these women were not killed, neither were they helped in any way. Jean heard their moans as she lay still and as quiet as she could on the dirty ground, pretending to be unconscious. A stray arrow had lightly wounded her arm.
One man approached her and kicked her hard in the ribs.
“Get up,” he shouted.
Jean did not move.
He kicked her again.
“Get up,” he repeated.
When she still lay there, his narrow sweaty face began to redden with anger.
Jean thought for a second and then began, slowly, to raise herself up into a sitting position and staggered to her feet.
“That’s better,” the original man said and began to push her towards a small crowd of women, now separated from the male prisoners and being herded towards the gates. “Perhaps I’ll be nice to you later,” he leered.
Murdoch had made plans about what was to happen when the walls were breached. He had not believed Aoalvaldr when the Larg Commander said he could easily defeat the Lind. The General had watched the first abortive Larg attack and then the next. He knew that he would take the settlement but if, in the end, the Larg were to be defeated was aware that his army would likewise have to retreat back to the beach. Without Larg support their position would be untenable.
Accordingly, the colonels had their orders; to grab what women and female youngsters they could and send them at once and under escort to the beachhead. When Duchesne managed to gather up some one hundred and fifty from the occupied area, he lost no time in detailing two squads to take them there.
Jean Farquharson and the others went stumbling on their way. Holding her injured arm tightly, it was still seeping blood, she brought up the rear. Those in the group were all fighters; Stuart had ordered the evacuation of the south area nearest the gates the moment the beacons had been lit. The women walked silently for the most part, only a few were crying, mostly those, Jean surmised, who had lost friends and colleagues during the fight. Like her, none were badly wounded.
The captured males watched them being taken away. They knew that there was no hope of rescue. From the noise coming from behind the second defence line, their would-be rescuers were in the midst of a savage fight of their own. The men waited for what would be.
Duchesne took a deep breath. He knew what was expected of him. Murdoch was in no mind to leave these men alive, as a threat to his rear. His orders were clear but first he beckoned over his senior sergeant.
“I’m not happy with the directive that only boys under sixteen should be spared,” he said. He looked round carefully, making sure that no one could overhear his next words. “For my peace of mind and yours, include all those who are aged up to around twenty with the boys. We can at least try to save them.”
The non-commissioned officer nodded his agreement and started to walk towards the prisoners. He picked out an older, dependable looking man at the front.
In an almost-whisper, Sergeant Wallace said, “Tell those up to the age of twenty to say they are sixteen. I can save them, but only if you do what I say with no fuss.”
“And us?”
The reply was a sombre shake of the head.
The man gulped but a practical man, he got the point at once. His life and that of the others would be forfeit but here was a chance to save some of the younger men at least.
“I’ll get them to step forward. Tell your men to stand back. I’ve got a bit of explaining to do,” he said to the sergeant.
“Be quick about it.”
The man turned to face his fellow prisoners and began to talk urgently.
“Guards step back two paces,” Sergeant Wallace ordered. “Give them some room. This man is sending out the youngsters.” His men obeyed. They were the sergeant’s own squad, carefully selected and trusted.
He looked around and spied a storage cabin not far away.
Pointing, he added, “Take the boys in there. Leave a guard on the doors but take no further action.”
If the sergeant’s squad were surprised at the numbers and obvious maturity of those that stepped forward, they said not a thing. These were not sadistic men and understood what Duchesne was trying to do. Duchesne commanded a lot of loyalty and respect. Of all the regular colonels he had a conscience and men were drawn to his command. They would not report their colonel. They agreed with what he was doing.
The ‘boys’ were led away.
Duchesne nodded towards his chief lieutenant who began shouting orders to move the adult prisoners towards two empty cabins nestled against the outer walls. The prisoners moved slowly. Fathers looked around to see where their sons were being taken; others looked up at the clear blue sky. Most believed that they would eventually be taken outside the walls to a place of execution. That was, in fact, Duchesne’s intent.
The lieutenant was an impatient man. Why execute these men one by one – why not do the lot at once? Individual executions, or even of groups, took a lot of time and was not good for morale.
“Get them inside,” he ordered, flushing with excitement about what he was going to do.
Once the men were inside the cabins, the doors were slammed shut and the bolts shot home.
At this point Duchesne heard his name being called from the other side of the courtyard and left the lieutenant to it as he went to deal with the problem.
Back at the cabins, a squad appeared, each man carrying some of the unused catapult ammunition. These were set against the cabin walls and doors. Seeped in oil, they would burn well. The lighted fire starters were set against the faggots and they began to burn, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity. The men incarcerated inside began to shout; many tried to get out, battering against the roofs and walls. Some managed it, only to be killed by arrow snipers from amongst the guards.
Duchesne became aware of both the shouting and the smell of burning simultaneously. He realised what the lieutenant had done and felt sickened to the pit of his stomach. He had not ordered this abomination. There was no way he could possibly stop what was happening; the fires had taken hold and were burning fiercely. If Murdoch found out that he had tried to stop it his own life might well be forfeit. Someone might also think to investigate the boys in the cabin too. However, a mercy killing was one thing, burning people alive quite another.
The lieutenant enjoyed the spectacle as he waited for the anguished screams to cease. A few of the guards laughed with him but most felt much as their colonel did and wished they were anywhere else but beside the execution site. Duchesne made a mental note to arrange the transfer of the lieutenant to another regiment more suited to his sadistic nature as soon as he could. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. The shouts and screams of the dying men grew in intensity for a few minutes then ceased as smoke and flames overpowered
and engulfed them. There was no one left alive when the roofs fell in.
It was at that point that General Murdoch, Andrew Snodgrass by his side, entered the settlement and looked at the burning pyres with satisfaction.
Duchesne hastened towards him.
“This area secure?” barked Murdoch.
“Yes General,” answered Duchesne, tight-faced. He felt sick. “Boys captured as ordered. They shouldn’t give us any trouble and the women are already on their way to the beachhead.”
“Saw them when I came in. That all you could find?”
“Most of this area has been evacuated and any other females are too badly wounded to be moved.”
Murdoch looked around.
“I see that some of your men are attending to them,” he noted, censure in his voice.
“Can’t leave them there bleeding to death. Bad for morale,” Duchesne temporised.
“You’re too soft by half but at least you got rid of the men,” Murdoch grunted, but said nothing more on the subject. Thankfully, as far as Duchesne was concerned, he did not ask to see the imprisoned ‘boys’. “Baker, Smith and Cracov?”
A relieved Duchesne knew how to answer this. He watched as more troops progressed through the courtyard on their way to the secondary defences. “The colonists have erected another barrier on the far side of the river. Baker requested reinforcements and intends to assault in force in a few minutes, I believe. The support regiments should be in place by now. These passing through are the last. What news of the Larg?”
Murdoch frowned blackly. “They haven’t been able to break through the Lind centre but are attacking to the south. I am assured that it is only a matter of time.”
Andrew Snodgrass nodded painfully. Aoalvaldr was forcing regular information into his mind. He now had the grandfather of headaches and there was no sign of any respite.
“Ground’s more level there,” Andrew added. “Aoalvaldr says he should outflank the Lind before the sun sets.”
“Good,” said Duchesne.
“The Lind are, by all accounts, doing well enough in the centre,” warned Murdoch. “Our Larg ‘friends’ haven’t won yet. Until they do, keep to the original plan.”
“Yes, General,” answered Duchesne.
They could both hear the sounds of the battle beginning for the barricades.
“I’d best get up there,” said Murdoch, glancing in that direction. “Encourage the men, give them a bit of support. Once more into the breach and all that rubbish. A good commander should be seen after all. It says so in all the best history books.”
With that parting riposte he strode away, Andrew Snodgrass in tow, his bodyguard forming up around them. It was a large bodyguard. Duchesne did not think anyone could possibly get close enough to the General to do him any harm.
More’s the pity, the devil within him thought.
With Murdoch gone the courtyard became quiet. The stench from the burning men was overpowering.
“Put that pyre out,” he shouted at the lieutenant who was still ostentatiously warming his hands at the dying embers. He stood, hand on hips and waited until he did so. He stopped himself from retching with difficulty.
I’m going to get out of this army, become a farmer or something that doesn’t involve any killing of my fellow man.
Sergeant Wallace joined him as they waited to receive the next batch of prisoners.
Duchesne would not leave the lieutenant to his own devices this time.
Michael Wallace looked at Duchesne. “Not a nice man that,” he said eventually, with a twitch of his head in the lieutenant’s direction.
“Mmmm,” said his colonel. He still looked disturbed.
“Watch your back with that one, Colonel,” Michael cautioned. “He’s a murderer and he’s ambitious, means to go far and doesn’t much care how he goes about it. If he were colonel here I wouldn’t much like to serve under him.”
“What were you in for?” asked Duchesne.
“Murder. Didn’t torture anyone though, nor burn them alive. Merely rid the world of the man who killed my daughter. Always thought of it as justice.”
Duchesne considered this. “After all this is over, I’m thinking of taking up farming as a career. Care to join me?”
The sergeant’s face split into a grin. “I most definitely would. Consider me your man. I’m city bred though. Don’t know much about farming and the like.”
“Neither do I, Sergeant, neither do I. We will learn together.”
* * * * *