Clan and Crown j-2

by Jerry Pournelle

  "Murph!" Hell, I'm screaming, Mason thought. Scared spitless. Well, maybe I got a right to be. Wonder, if we buy it, will we go to Vothan's Hall? Or Heaven? Or someplace else, and would someplace else be better'n nowhere at all? "Murph! Put a couple rounds in the river!"

  "Roger!"

  The recoilless spewed flame. The first round was white phosphorus. Steam puffed up where the burning bits hit the water. Then a high explosive round took out nearly a score of Westmen. That slowed them enough to let some of the calivermen reload, and when the Westmen came on they were hit by a rolling volley, each man firing as soon as he heard the gun of the man next to him, fire rippling down the line with the one remaining four-pounder to punctuate the end of the volley…

  It wasn't enough. There were too many Westmen trying to cross that river, and they could shoot even with the water up to the bellies of their horses. The arrow-hail came down again, and suddenly there weren't enough Mounted Archers to stop them. For the tenth time that morning Art wished the other four-pounder hadn't been abandoned with a broken carriage axle.

  "Hey, Art!" Murphy called.

  "Yeah?"

  "Hell, I know we were supposed to make 'em mad enough to fight, but goddam, this is ridiculous!"

  Three of the troopers laughed, but it sounded a little hollow. Down below, the Westmen came on. A lot of the calivermen were down, and the rest were shaky. One platoon broke and ran. Caradoc, his red Roman cloak streaming out behind him, rode in to rally them. Some of his personal Guards leaned from their saddles to collect guns. Then the whole crowd began to pull back, with the Westmen's arrows following them. Three men and a horse went down around the four-pounder, and the remaining gunners abandoned it to scramble higher up the hill.

  By now the Mounted Archers had retreated far enough that the Guards and mercs would pretty soon have a clear field of fire. Mason sidestepped his horse and unlimbered his own H amp;K before ho thought better and slung it again. Thinking like a corporal again, Art, he told himself, he rode around to check the position of the other mercs.

  They were set up about as well as they could be. On the left flank, Walbrook had the mortar, with Bilofsky nearby with the light machine gun. "Take care of that thing," Mason shouted. "That LMG may be all that's 'tween us and Vothan's Hall!"

  "Right-o!" Bilofsky answered. He grinned cheerfully. "Don't worry about a thing, Major."

  Murphy and the 106 were in the center of the line. There was a problem about the mortar and the 106. They'd used most of the ammo in the bombardment of the camp. Now there wasn't enough left to defend themselves. Maybe that's justice, Mason thought. Frig that. He used his binoculars to watch the situation develop. Now they had a clear shot.

  "First Guards. On my command, IN VOLLEY- FIRE! Fire at will!" The platoon of Guards let fly with their calivers. Meanwhile the other mercs blazed away with rifles. Most fired single shot. Somewhere a trooper had switched to rock and roll. He'd be out of ammo pretty soon.

  They all fired low, as they'd been taught, and the volley emptied few saddles, but it did dismount a lot of Westmen. They leaped from their falling horses- and kept coming. Soon they were in among the dismounted archers, using spears and knives and a few swords, and small axes like tomahawks.

  "God Almighty!" Pfc. Roscoe yelled. "Those are mean little mothers!"

  "Kinda my sentiments too," Murphy said. "Art, we going to get out of this?"

  "We can sure as hell try."

  The LMG got in the act, bringing down nearly a hundred Westmen, and Art began to breathe a little easier. The mortar chugged away, lobbing WP and HE into the advance, and suddenly the Westmen didn't look so confident-but they were still coming. It wasn't going to be enough.

  "Stand by to pull out!" Mason shouted in English, then switched to Tran dialect. "The First Guards will withdraw! Trumpeter, sound 'Boots and Saddles.' Rendezvous at Point Blue One." That was the mouth of the valley where Beazeley's squad was guarding the balloon and the reserve ammo. A strong place. Maybe not so easy to get out of, but easy to hold. Mason shook his head. Wish the captain was here. What would he do? Don't matter. What I'm going to do is get my shit together. Then we can make a stand or run like hell, depending. That's what the Drantos troops have done. Got a strong place across the valley where they can think things over. Wonder what they intend doing?

  There were more arrows, and suddenly Bilofsky rolled over, staring at an arrow sticking out of his chest. The damned fool wasn't wearing armor! His number two, Pfc. Arkos Passavopolous, took over, but the belt ran out a long time before the Westmen did. Mason rode over. "Hey Ark! Get Bilof sky onto a horse!"

  "No hurry about that, Major. Best I save the gun first."

  "Shitfire. Okay, do it, fast!" Then his horse spooked, and while it was bucking another flight of arrows came in. The horse screamed and reared, and Art threw himself out of the saddle before it could fall on him. He went one way and the H amp;K went another, and now there was nothing left but the Colt. Mason held it in both hands and squeezed off rounds. One Westman down. Another, and another, but more were coming up, trampling over the dead and dying, lots more than he had rounds for the Colt, and Mason decided he hadn't really wanted to live forever.

  A great black horse loomed up behind the advancing Westmen, and a sword whirled and came down. A Westman tried to keep going with one arm off, and didn't make it. Another fell headless. The horse trampled two more, and then calivermen and Tamaerthan troopers were among the Westmen. The calivermen used bayonets with effect, and a few had reloaded and were able to fire. More of the Tamaerthans charged in, and the Westmen began to thin out. Then there weren't any at all.

  Mason stood up as Caradoc rode up the hill. "Thanks."

  Caradoc grinned and pointed with his bloody saber. Squads of troops moved off to deal with dismounted Westmen. The archer captain waved again, and another trooper brought Mason a fresh mount, and now they had a few minutes breathing spell, but it was still going to be close.

  Then he looked up and saw a new army of Westmen come over the ridge, and Art Mason wondered how many would make it to Point Blue One.

  There was no water on the hill where the fighting men of Drantos were gathered. Wanax Ganton had been about to drink when a young staff officer brought the news from Camithon. "The spring was filled with dirt and dung, Majesty. It will be long before it flows again."

  Ganfon thrust the plug into the mouth of the Waterskin and handed it back to Morrone. So be it. "From this moment, the water is for the horses," he said. "Tell the captains."

  "Aye, Majesty." The young officer hesitated, then set his lips. "Lord Camithon bids me say we have lost above two hundred men at arms killed, and another five hundred have been given to the care of the priests of Yatar."

  "That many," Ganton mused. He straightened. "Tell Lord Camithon I will join him soon, and meantime he is to do as he thinks best. And tell all about the water."

  "Aye, Majesty."

  When the messenger had gone, Morrone whistled through pursed lips. "An eighth, more than an eighth of our strength lost, and now we are at bay, trapped upon a hill without water. What will we do?"

  "I do not yet know," Ganton said.. "First we will show ourselves to the soldiers. As we do, we will discover how it fares with them, and whether they will fight. And then we will take counsel of Lord Camithon. He has seen more battles than I have of years. Doubtless his advice will be good." And if not, I must yet listen. The Lord Rick has often told me that battles wander far from what we plan, and by Yatar this one has done so. Now we need harmony among the captains, and they must not believe I quarrel with Camithon.

  He rode along the ridge with only his banner bearer and Morrone. Sometimes he stopped to hear a wounded man's message, or to praise a deed he had seen or been told of; and always he listened as he rode past. They cheered him yet, and he felt glad. They would follow him.

  Across the valley the thunder of star weapons grew, then died. He climbed higher on the ridge and used the binoculars. There was no
doubt of it. The Lord Mason was retreating, taking with him all the mounted archers and other Tamaerthan warriors as well as the starmen. Ganton was shocked at how few Tamaerthans remained.

  Yet there were no instructions from the balloon. It floated high above the battle, but Ganton could not see the men within it. Had they been killed? Despite all his warnings, the forces of the Alliance had become separated, and the balloon left guarded only by a few. No one had desired it, but the Westmen had poured from behind every hill, across every ridge and through every valley, more Westmen than anyone believed possible, and bands of them had got between the host and the balloon.

  Perhaps there would be no messages from the balloon.

  He recognized Caradoc's scarlet Roman cloak, and saw figures in starman uniforms. Some lay still, lashed across saddles. The towering soldier they called "the Great Ark" rode a captured pony so small that his legs nearly touched the ground. Others had rigged poles out behind their horses and had lashed equipment onto them. They retreated in good order, fighting their way toward the balloon.

  The valley below was a cauldron. Ganton swept his binoculars across the land again. The Westmen seemed divided in counsel. Some rode after Mason. Others milled about, shouting at each other.

  And meantime there was nothing to do but wait, while the day grew warmer. Ganton cursed softly and once again looked toward the futile balloon. Where were the Romans? Were they gone as well?

  Mad Bear was trying to keep his horse from drinking the foul waters of the river when Hinuta rode up. He had a score of Silver Wolves-and as well a hundred Two Rivers, and dozens more from other clans.

  "Rejoice, Mad Bear, your deeds have been told throughout the Horse People, and many clans would follow you."

  "Ah." Mad Bear looked again. There was one missing. "Where is Tenado, my son?"

  "He turned his back on a dead Ironshirt," Hinuta said simply.

  "Aiiiy." But this was no time for lament.

  "I have brought the Ironshirt's hair. You may offer it to the gods," Hinuta said. He handed over a bloody bundle.

  "You have my thanks," Mad Bear said. He looked around the valley. "The Ironshirts are worthy fighters. They die well."

  "Many of them have not died at all," Hinuta said. "And many of the Red Cloaks have gone off down the river, where they hold the small hills near the trees."

  "Ah."

  "Let us gather our people and go join the battle against them. Tens of tens of tens would follow Mad Bear-"

  "Nay." Mad Bear shook his head and pointed to the southern ridge covered with the horses and banners of Ironshirts. They had dismounted, and hid their horses behind their great shields. There were many of their archers as well. Ironshirt archers from the stone houses used a strange bow with metal parts to do the work of a man's strength. The bows would not shoot so often, but they ranged nearly as far as those of the Horse People below them.

  "Those have not died either, and their chief of the golden hat rides among them. Kill him and the others will flee," Mad Bear said. He rode over to be near Hinuta. The loss of Tenado ate at his heart, but he could never show that. Instead he clapped Hinuta on the shoulder. "It is a great day!"

  "A great day for the Warrior," Hinuta agreed. He eyed the encamped Ironshirts and grinned. "It was well that we stopped the spring on that hill. And if the Ironshirts will stay long-"

  "Their horses will go mad. If the Horse People can fight as one, then we will send them all to the Warrior," Mad Bear completed. "Despite their wizard-fire." They both had seen the Mountain Walkers struck down by the wizards' thunder. "Go among the Horse People, and say that Mad Bear will lead them against the Ironshirts, as many as will follow."

  Only the oath-bound warriors of his band had to obey; but many had heard of the deeds of Mad Bear, and many would come, would follow him. Soon there would be tens of tens of tens. Mad Bear would lead them toward the Ironshirts, then pretend to retreat. The Ironshirts would charge as they always did, and this battle would end.

  And that would be well.

  They had to fight their way into Point Blue One. It took four rounds from the 106 and a full belt from the LMG before the last of the Westmen were driven out. Mason shouted orders and the troops began setting up a perimeter, leaving Art to deal with what had been the headquarters area.

  The balloon crew was dead. Flyboys and ground crew, all bristled with arrows, the airmen lying huddled in the bottom of their wicker basket. Near the wagon was Ski, big scar and all, with a dozen arrows just for him, and his scalp and ears cut away as well. The Tamaerthan and Drantos riggers had been hacked with swords, and the acolytes of Yatar literally dismembered. Art looked at the bloody scene and grimaced.

  Just like the king said, Mason thought. A roving band. Something. Christ, who'd have thought they could get past all of us? Or that there'd be so many of the little mothers- One of the piles of dead began to move. Mason had the safety off the.45 when Beazeley's bloody face popped out of the heap of bodies.

  "I'll be dipped in shit! Welcome back, buddy," Mason said.

  "Feel more welcome if you'd point a different way," Beazeley said.

  "Guess you would." Mason didn't holster the weapon. "Know.where the Romans went?"

  "Last report they were over that way." He pointed off to the north.."But about then we had other things to worry about."

  "When'd you duck?"

  "I was about the last one," Beazeley said. "Figured there was no point in standing up, so I dove in, with my friend here in my mouth just in case…" He showed his pistol, then looked at the hacked and mutilated bodies of Ski and the priests and shuddered.

  "Okay," Mason said. "Back to the line. Wait." He took out a flask. "Have a belt."

  "Thanks. Ah, McCleve's finest. Must be a month old. Good stuff." He drank again.

  Mason scanned the area with his binoculars. Over to his far right there was a lot of dust, and a sound that might have been Roman trumpets. Between them and the Drantos ironhats a band of Westmen was crossing the low ridge, headed north and east. It looked as if they were trying to get behind the Romans.

  "Holy shit!" Beazeley yelled.

  Mason looked around. Another band of Westmen were coming across the ridge to his left.

  Dien Bien Phu, hell, Mason thought. It looks more like Little Big Horn.

  31

  Ganton felt reassured when he had completed his inspection of the army. Camithon had arrayed the host well. The men were dismounted to rest the horses. Above every approach to the hill stood a band of cross-bowmen protected by the shields of men at arms. Behind them were walking wounded to reload, and dismounted knights taking their ease. From this height a bolt could slay a Westman's horse before his own arrow could pierce armor, and a Westman on foot was no fair match for a Drantos warrior.

  Ganton wasn't worried about a fair match. He wanted the Westmen dead, or at least driven from his land. If he could have slain them all with his Browning, he would have done so.

  "Hah. And what of your love of battle?" Morrone said. "Glory for your bheromen. What of that?"

  "I had not realized I was speaking aloud," Ganton said. "And there is precious little glory here…" He used his binoculars to look across the valley. Mason had retreated to where the balloon had been tethered and hauled it down. There was still no sign of the Romans. Had they taken a defensive position somewhere out of sight, or had they left the battle entirely?

  If they had run away, then Ganton's army would never leave this valley.

  He moved on toward the end of the ridge, and now arrows fell more thickly around him. As he drew near to Camithon's banner, he saw why. The end of the ridge rose higher than any other part, but also jutted out toward the river like the prow of a ship. It was too steep to allow crossbowmen to perch on it, and the Westmen could ride in close enough to fire their arrows and receive only a few crossbow bolts in return.

  Ganton dismounted. He had to scramble along the ridge to reach Camithon, who stood partially protected by Guardsmen's shield
s.

  "Majesty, this is no safe place for you!"

  "It is no more dangerous for me than for you, my lord general. Now-what is your counsel?" When the Westmen first struck and the Drantos horses began to tire, Ganton had not objected when Camithon brought the troops to this hill and set them in a defensive perimeter. Doubtless the general had a plan in mind. Now, though, it was time to learn it. "We are safe and in good order for the moment, but we are not eagles to make our homes here."

  Camithon grinned and waved the ancient battle-ax he'had carried into every battle since his youth. "First, Majesty, let us get off this knife-edge." He led the way back along the ridge. "As to counsel, I would know better if I could see what you see."

  "Ah." Ganton lifted his binoculars to hand them to Camithon. "First, though-" he said. He swept them along the riverbank, then up to where Mason's banner stood with Caradoc's. A waving orange flag, invisible without the binoculars, caught his eye. "Ho! A signal! Fetch the scribes!"

  A runner dashed down the ridge and returned with three young acolytes.

  "I am Panilos, senior acolyte, Majesty," one said. He couldn't have been more than fourteen years old; the others were even younger.

  "Take these, lad," Ganton said. He handed over his binoculars, noting that Panilos had no difficulty in using them. "Read me that signal from the Lord Mason."

  "Aye, Majesty," the boy said. "Laran, make the signals. Wannilos, are you ready?"

  One of the scribes held wax board and stylus. "Aye," he said. The other waved his flags while Panilos peered through the dust.

  "R-O-M-A-N-S D-U-E N-O-R-T-H O-F H-E-R-E STOP," he called.

  Panilos called off the message and Wannilos wrote it on the board, while the third acolyte acknowledged each word. They worked quickly, too fast for Ganton to follow. When they were done, Wannilos read it off.

  "ROMANS DUE NORTH OF HERE. THE ROMANS HAVE TAKEN HEAVY LOSSES BUT ARE IN GOOD ORDER. WE HAVE LOST MORE THAN HALF THE ARCHERS. BALLOON DISABLED. STAR WEAPONS LOW ON MISSILES. SUGGEST WE WITHDRAW."