by Candy Rae
At the settlement, Baker and Smith had taken joint command and were in the process of organising their final attack. They were confident that before long the settlement and all those inside would be theirs. Baker was shouting out his orders when he heard his name being called.
“Colonel Baker, COLONEL BAKER, STOP!”
Baker and Smith turned.
Andrew Snodgrass was running towards him, a panic-stricken expression on his face.
“The Larg lines have broken,” the man babbled. “They’re in full retreat. The rearguard isn’t expected to hold out for long. Aoalvaldr says that he can’t guarantee your safety unless you leave at once. He’s still holding the beachhead and will continue to do so for as long as he can.”
“Can Aoalvaldr’s kohorts escort us to the beachhead?”
“No.”
Baker and Smith looked at each other. Never in their wildest dreams had they imagined this. Without Larg support there was no way that they could consolidate, in fact there was no way they could hold on to what they had.
Through gritted teeth, temper barely held in check, Smith sent runners to all the colonels ordering a withdrawal. Orders to form up in rank began to reverberate in the air, both at the forefront and to the rear of the occupied areas. Few disobeyed. Grabbing whatever loot they could get their hands on, they took their positions.
Their only chance of survival was to keep together. The Lind, it was hoped, would think twice about attacking the ranks if they kept in formation. Two regiments were awarded the dangerous honour of rearguard.
The settlers watched them leave, too tired to even consider following them. Let them go, they thought, and good riddance. They had no wish to prolong the bloodshed.
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