Our Land (Queen's Own Book 1)

by James Tallett

  However, unless something turned the battle about shortly, he was going to have to report to Colonel Sherman that the Lifeguards had taken a thrashing at the hands of some uncivilized natives with bows and arrows. The thought of what that would do to his career sent Jacob into a cold sweat. He absolutely mustn’t let that happen.

  A sweeping wave of shots rolled around the camp, the deeper bellows and shouts of the volley guns and blunderbusses chief amongst them. In fact... he paused and listened. Indeed, that many was all of the short ranged weaponry that he had brought. And how in the blazes had they all been issued to the men, while Umholi hadn't returned with a single musket?

  Cursing out the Umkhovu's cowardice, Jacob ran forwards, towards the nearest cries of pain. If he wasn't going to be delivered a musket, he would use one that a soldier had dropped when wounded.

  Unfortunately, finding a wounded soldier was little more than a trivial task, and he did so with ease, a mere two tents over from where he had been encamped. This poor fellow had had an arrow punch through the canvas of the tent and straight into his arm, bringing some of the cloth with it, leaving the soldier fairly pinned.

  “Sir.”

  “Don't worry lad, we're giving them a licking.” Jacob picked up the musket from where it had been dropped. “Loaded?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Perfect.”

  The regimental commander stood, sighting down the barrel, his thumb drawing back the flint. There was one of those tree loving bastards. A smooth pull on the trigger was followed by a small puff of smoke, and then a large one. The recoil slammed the musket back into his shoulder, and without even looking at the enemy he had shot, Jacob pulled out the cleaning rod and began the reloading process.

  The soldier he had taken the musket from watched as Jacob went through the motions, taking only a little over ten seconds to reload the weapon before bringing it to his shoulder to fire again. Another barbarian found its way into his sights, and another cloud of smoke obscured the intended recipient of a leaden present.

  Jacob repeated his actions, and looked for a third target, only to see a musket barrel poking from behind a tent at a very low angle. The soldier in question must have been practically prone to fire it like that. How strange. The momentary distraction cost him his next target, when after sighting onto it, the shrapnel round from a blunderbuss shredded the leaves, branches, and native in question.

  The natives appeared to be fewer in number, which likely meant that the cowards amongst them were beginning to slip from the field of battle. Good riddance. Let those cowards flee, and be damned for it.

  Another bellow rolled over the camp, but... this one came from outside of the camp, and hardly sounded like a volley gun. Jacob swung his head in that direction, only to see a massive creature charging from the woods. It was dappled grey and brown, ran on all fours, and had hulking shoulders that ended in impressive claws. It appeared to be the cousin of a bear, except several times too large. The blasted thing must have been alerted by the noise and the smell of carrion, and was coming in search of a meal.

  Since he still had a shot in the barrel, Jacob swung his musket towards the creature, taking aim as it charged into the camp, only to see Umholi step from behind a supply cache with a volley gun, raise it in one smooth motion, and unleash all seven barrels into the creature at a range of less than five yards. The impact of all those lead balls tore the animal's face apart, leaving little more than a bloody ruin on the end of the neck, and it tumbled forwards, momentum lost as the creature's limbs flailed and stopped working. Still, the great mass nearly barrelled over Umholi, until the Umkhovu dove aside in a rather undignified sprawl.

  Jacob sighed. He was going to have to have a word with his butler after all this was over. Manservants did not commit greater acts of bravery than their employing nobles. It was just not done. And then for the first time in a while, the regimental commander took a proper look about the camp at the soldiers employing the volley guns and blunderbusses. With a few exceptions, such as Upton, most of those weapons were in the hands of Umkhovu, who were employing them, if not with the greatest of skill, certainly with enthusiasm and bravery.

  This was going to be quite a mess to untangle, but one he would deal with later. For now, there were still arboreals to deal with. He waved at the nearest unwounded soldier. “Get me a report on the situation from the battalion commanders.”

  The soldier nodded and ran off. The blasted surprise of this assault meant Jacob didn't have his messengers near him like he normally would. It was quite a nuisance not having men quickly available. Still, this was war, and in war nothing was ever according to plan.

  While waiting for a report, he sighted down the barrel of his musket, looking for another barbarian. There had to be more of them...

  More roars split the air. Blast.

  “Focus fire on the animals. Volley guns to the fore!”

  Echoes of his orders sped around the camp, as a thundering herd burst from the trees. There were five of the large bear-like animals, while interspersed amongst them were a number of other predators, all charging too quickly for him to do more than barely take in the scene. His musket barked, and one of them tumbled, shot through the chest. Around him came the rippling discharge of a whole line of muskets and blunderbusses, punctuated by the outright bellow of two volley guns.

  Most of the creatures fell to that barrage, but another wave of arrows forced the men to duck their heads while reloading, fouling their motions and allowing the animals still standing to smash into the ranks. There they were met with bayonet and sword, the bayonets doing the better part of the work, the swords not achieving the room necessary for a good swing.

  One of the bears found itself impaled on bayonet after bayonet, its head and neck festooned with cuts as the Lifeguards thrust and thrust again until, mad with pain and anguish, it turned and broke for the forest. The animals' assault faltered, and whatever had overcome their natural instincts lost its grip. The creatures fled for the trees, Jacob and his men watching them go with relief. And when they turned their eyes upwards, to the branches and the canopy, they saw only the broken bodies of their enemies. Whatever living creatures had once been there had retreated with their ground dwelling cousins.

  Jacob went amongst his men, congratulating them on holding their ground, even against such unusual enemies. As he did so, he found the battalion commanders coming towards him. Upton and Alastair were first, with Bricthon and Theodore following after.

  “Casualties?”

  “Only three dead. The rest are all wounded.”

  Similar reports from the other commanders.

  “Reasons?”

  Alastair responded. “The arrows they used are wood-tipped. Fire blackened to harden them, but hardly a patch on even a good hunting barb. We have antiques with more killing power than these creatures.”

  “Now that is good news. Unfortunately, their tactics and stealth are much more advanced than we had hoped, as we found out this morning. I want each of you to make your wounded comfortable, and make them whatever type of sledges are necessary, but we are returning to the temporary fortification. This just escalated well beyond the level of a punitive raid.”

  “I agree entirely sir. This was the opening act in a war. No action will they ever regret more.”

  “When the surgeon has had a chance to treat the wounded, I want a full report on the casualties. We'll need to request reserves from the capital, as I'm sure many of the wounded won't be fit for active duty for some months yet.”

  “Understood sir. We'll prepare the usual after encounter reports.”

  “See to the men first. They've earned it. Now, I believe I have to have a stern word with my butler.”

  Alastair chuckled at that. “If I may be so bold, I would treat him kindly. His people's actions today were most certainly of aid.”

  “Do you mean to suggest you would want to see these blasted creatures as soldiers in the Queen's Army?” Upton rounded o
n Alastair.

  “Did I say anything of the sort? I merely pointed out that they conducted themselves in a brave and noble manner. Even the basest of creatures can rise above their appropriate station given the right moment. I would hardly want to give them access to our weaponry though. After all, imagine what would happen if they were able to hand a few examples to those native metalworkers they traded with. We'd be facing copies of our own weapons. Shoddy copies, for sure, but actual gunpowder weapons. So no, I have no thought of employing them in the regiment. Merely that they behaved courageously on this day. Or would you deny that?”

  The challenge backed Upton down. To say the Umkhovu had acted without courage would be to deny his men the same honour, for they had fought the same battle, and Upton, irascible aristocrat that he was, would not make such a claim.

  “If we can put this foolishness to bed, I believe we all have tasks upon which we should be engaged.”

  A chorus of “Yes, sir.” answered Jacob, leaving him free to depart in search of Umholi. About the camp there were numerous Umkhovu, clearing away debris, putting all manner of things back to rights, but not one of them appeared to be Umholi. In exasperation, he was finally forced to ask one of the men where his butler was, upon which he was directed to the surgery tent.

  There he found the Uhlobo chieftain hovering over a bed stained red by the slow trickle of blood. A glance at the man lying there showed it to be Joyce, who had apparently taken an arrow to the ribs.

  “And how are you today, Joyce?”

  A wan smile answered first. “I'm doing all right, sir. Surgeon tells me I'm lucky, that the arrow chipped a rib and got stuck, rather than pushing past. I shouldn't even be out of action that long.”

  “That is gratifying to hear. There were too many injuries today. Far too many.”

  “It's war, sir. That's all.”

  “Quite. I don't know if you heard, Joyce, but our mutual butler here decided to stop one of those charging bear-like animals by standing his ground and shooting it with a volley gun. After he convinced the quartermaster to arm all of the Uhlobo. So if you don't mind, he and I need to have a conversation.”

  “Oh, no sir, that'll be quite all right by me. I'll take a nap, with your permission.”

  “In this tent, Joyce, you need permission from the surgeon, not from me. Good day.”

  A curt gesture called Umholi after him. The chieftain left his friend's bedside only with reluctance, and followed Jacob across the clearing to the officer's private quarters.

  “Umholi, you are not a member of the Royal Army, but you are in service to an officer of that army, and so let me make one thing perfectly clear to you. If you ever disobey a direct order again, I will have you flogged in front of your entire clan. Flogged until your knees collapse beneath you. Especially should you ever disobey me during a battle.”

  The Uhlobo chieftain glanced down. “I thought...”

  “That is not your prerogative. Only officers are allowed to think. Soldiers and servants do. If you have a suggestion, bring it up in an appropriate time and place, such as a quiet moment over tea. Battle is most certainly not an appropriate place for new ideas. People have tried out new ideas on the battlefield for centuries. Most of them die. The reason we train our soldiers so much is so that they do not think, so that the right action, the courage to stand firm under assault from all manner of creatures, becomes instinct. Do you think a civilian willing charges towards the howling monster to stab it with his bayonet? A civilian flees. A soldier does his duty, placing it above and beyond his own life, his own thoughts, his own ideals. A good butler should do the same, except without the need to charge courageously into battle. Which you took on of your own accord.”

  “Were my actions not right? Did I and my people not help win the battle for you?”

  “Your actions were wrong. Successful. But wrong. We were in loose skirmish formation, our soldiers taking cover behind various camp objects. But if we had been standing in line abreast, would you have understood where to go? The power of volley fire? How to rotate through the four lines of soldiers smoothly? You and you are people were brave. There is no doubting that. But you are civilians, lacking the years of training that it takes to make one a soldier. Your heart might be in the right place, but your instincts are wrong.”

  “Then make us soldiers. If this is to be a war between you and the others, then let us at least defend ourselves. If your men had been overwhelmed today, do you think the arboreals would have left us alive afterwards? Or would we have been put down?”

  Jacob paused. “I don't think they had any intention of leaving any of us alive, given the choice. But I cannot make you soldiers. The only entrance into the Queen's Army is the Royal Military Academy, and that is across the Rocky Sea. And as for giving you a field commission as auxiliaries in service to the Crown... I would be breaking with every tradition that has made the Royal Army. I am most apologetic, but you must remain as you are.”

  “But what are we? Umkhovu, certainly. But to you I think that word means 'less than human', 'stupid', 'barbaric'. And yet you trust us with your food, your weapons, your clothing. How are we good enough to nourish you, yet still less than you?”

  “Umholi, are you Joyce's servant, or his friend?”

  “Both, I think. But one man does not change your human outlook. What is it that makes you so superior?”

  “Our civilization. Our technology. Our culture. When we found you, you were living in skin tents, hunting plains animals, and trading with others for metal tools. Do you know when humans were doing the same thing? Eight thousand years ago. Eight thousand times the sun has passed into the depths of winter and out again since we lived in tents and hunted for our food. You had no written word, no way to create something that could be picked up and understood by someone ten years, twenty years, a century hence. We have writings from those eight thousand years ago. We humans look back and see every single step our culture, our race, has taken since it first learned what history meant. We look back and see challenges overcome, see a world that will bend itself to our will should we have the courage, the fortitude, to impress ourselves upon it. We don't believe we are superior, we have eight thousand years of proof.”

  “And your family, how old is that?”

  “Two thousand years. Two thousand years ago the first of my forefathers claimed the land that became our home. The lord of the household has lived in the same spot ever since. We are no young upstarts, like so many of the aristocracy these days.”

  “So it is being old that makes you superior. And yet I thought with age came wisdom.”

  Jacob laughed, surprising Umholi. “We are wise, Umholi. We have philosophers aplenty. And not one has yet been able to overcome the very basics of life. The strong survive, the weak perish. Now tell me, why are you the chieftain? If it was handed down to you from your father, it was because at some point along that line, one of them took it with strength. If you won it for yourself, that is strength too. So tell me.”

  “I was given it. Picked by the council of elders.”

  “And you were picked because?”

  “Because I was brave and strong, but wise enough to understand diplomacy and trade.”

  “Because you were the strongest and smartest. That is why you hold the sway you do over the Umkhovu, and yet you struggle to understand how we humans feel as we do. We rule because we are the strongest, the macrocosm to your microcosm. Ever has that been the way of the world.”

  “If that is the way of the world, why do you not crush us beneath your heel?”

  “Ruling does not mean cruelty to those below the ruler. It means responsibility. My father is the lord of our lands, and I shall inherit the title when he passes. If a peasant starves on our land, it is our fault. We have the means to provide for them, to ensure their safety. If we do not, we fail as lords. If a farmer's tool breaks, and his fields will lie fallow, do we ignore him? No, we provide him with a new tool, so his family may eat, and ours may pro
sper. If a peasant's daughter can find no work, we employ her as a scullery maid. To rule is to be responsible for those over whom you rule. To do anything but improve their station beggars one’s own character.”

  “So you see a responsibility to us, to improve us. But what if we do not wish for these new ways?”

  “Umholi, it has been more than a year since we plucked you from the plains to the west of here. How many of your people have fled, even in those early days that were not so kind?”

  The Uhlobo chieftain sighed. “None. The entire tribe is here, in your service, wearing your clothes and learning your tongue. And today we rushed to your aid, despite it never being asked of us.”

  “Yes, you did. And you wonder why we of the Lifeguards, at least, see potential in you. You are loyal, courageous, and worryingly fast learners. Should we damn you for those traits, or reward you?”

  “Of those two options, I'll take the rewards, if it's all the same to you, sir.”

  “Yes, I rather thought you might. And that is a good thing, that you are willing to be taught, to learn, rather than holding up tradition as a shield against knowledge. There are far too many, even in our own society, who would do such a thing, who would make of their old ways a defence against insight and learning and all manner of advancements.”

  “Sir... Jacob, how do we defend ourselves if we cannot become soldiers? We are on campaign, and clearly going to be attacked. Uhlobo were injured today, both before and after they picked up weapons. Some might not survive the night. We have the courage to fight for you, but not the training. Is there no way you can give us that training?”