“Yes, sir.” The cook’s voice was less than enthusiastic.
“Chyndylt, have the men roll these out to the west gate— carefully. Just the full ones. Put one barrel at the top of each guard tower—inside—and leave the others beside the steps on each side. I don’t want a drop spilled.”
Chyndylt gestured. “Rykyt… you four… you heard the captain.”
Once he saw that Rykyt and the four rankers with him had that task in hand, Mykel led Chyndylt and the remaining four rankers to the armory.
The senior squad leader who served as armorer was not there, his place taken by a local Cadmian squad leader Mykel did not know.
“I need to inspect the armory and draw ammunition.”
“But… sir… you need a requisition.”
“I tell you what, squad leader. If… if we all survive the bluecoats’ attacks later today, I’ll be happy to provide that requisition. In the meantime, we’ll need the ammunition.”
The dark-haired squad leader looked from Mykel to Chyndylt and to the four rankers behind the captain. “Ah… I suppose… you will put a requisition in, sir?”
“If it’s necessary, and when we have time, I’d be more than happy to. Now… if you’d care to show us what we have?”
“Yes, sir.” The armory squad leader kept looking back as he unlocked both doors.
“Jonasyr,” Mykel ordered. “You guard the entrance here.”
“Yes, sir.”
The storage areas of the armory were down a long ramp, within solid stone walls set into the ground on which the compound was built. The ceiling consisted of solid stone beams, each a good third of a yard thick. Mykel had no idea how thick the side walls were, but the combination of stone and earth behind it was strong enough to keep any inadvertent explosions confined.
“Here is the main section, sir.”
In the dim illumination of but two light-torches, one on the east wall and one on the west, both set almost up to the filing, Mykel slowly inspected the armory. On the west ‘all were four locked racks filled with rifles. Across from le rack, stacked out from the east wall, were cases of mmunition—almost floor to ceiling in a space three yards igh and ten yards long. Mykel walked to the north end joking for what else might be there. In the northwest corner were four kegs. All looked old, ut they were sealed, and “gunpowder” was stenciled across tie staves in white. Mykel hid a smile. “Chyndylt… we’ll teed at least three cases on each wall of the compound. We von’t have the time or the men to lug up ammunition if they ush the compound.”
“Sir? That much?” asked the armory squad leader. “There are at least ten companies of bluecoats. How nany cases would you suggest?” The squad leader did not reply.
“Do you have dollies or something for carting the ;ases?”
“Just that flat truck there, sir.”
“That will do. Why don’t you station yourself at the top of the ramp there. You can count the cases as we bring them up.” Mykel turned to Chyndylt. “We’ll start at that end.” He gestured toward the north end.
The armory squad leader looked at Mykel uneasily before retreating up the ramp, not quite to the top.
‘The truck can handle four cases easily,“ Chyndylt suggested.
“I want those four kegs there, as well.” Mykel kept his voice low and pointed. Stack them between the cases.“
“Sir?”
“I need to make sure that the oil will ignite. They’re old. Don’t drop them, but they should help with the task.” Chyndylt nodded.
Mykel could tell the senior squad leader didn’t quite believe him, but he knew Chyndylt wasn’t about to say any-thing. That was one of the reasons Mykel had picked third squad.
“If you’d handle this… I need to organize a few other items for our defense.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mykel walked back up the ramp. He stopped beside Jonasyr. “See anyone, or hear any alerts?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Mykel’s next stop was the carpentry shop, set in the southwest corner of the compound, beyond the last of the stables.
“What might you be looking for, sir?” asked the gray-haired man in a leather apron even before Mykel had a chance to announce himself.
“An old barrel of some sort, one that will roll downhill on its side.”
The carpenter frowned. “I’m not a cooper…”
Mykel waited.
“There might be one in the back, sir.”
Mykel kept looking at the carpenter.
“One moment, sir.” The carpenter moved slowly through the open door into the storeroom behind the workroom.
Mykel studied the supplies stacked in various places, and without much regard for order, from what he could tell. Some time passed before the carpenter returned.
“There is one, sir.”
“Thank you. What about big nails, or spikes? Do you have any of those?”
The carpenter looked at Mykel. “Maybe half a keg here… Might I ask why, sir?”
“We don’t have any caltrops here. Large nails or spikes would be better than nothing.”
The crafter’s dubious expression turned to puzzlement. ; “Caltrops are special four-pointed spikes that disable horses. We’re very likely to have a thousand or more blue-coats charging the compound. I’m looking for something that can act like caltrops.”
“They’re just heavy nails, sir.”
“They’ll do. I’ll be sending some men for the nails and the barrel. If we don’t need them, I’ll return them.” Mykel smiled. “You do understand that the bluecoats slaughtered Seventeenth Company almost to the last man?”
“They did, sir?”
“The rebels did the same to Thirteenth Company. We do need those nails and spikes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thank you.” Mykel nodded and walked back across the courtyard.
He was passing the headquarters building when Dohark appeared. “Mykel—I’d like a word with you.” He motioned for Mykel to join him outside the south entrance to headquarters.
“Yes sir?” Mykel inclined his head.
“There’s dust on the roads to the north. Three vingts or so north.”
“I’ve gotten the oil, and I have my men setting cases of ammunition on the walls.”
Dohark looked steadily at Mykel for a moment. “There are enough able men left from Fourteenth and Sixteenth Companies to man one wall and part of another. The locals are down to half a company. What do you suggest?”
“The south wall for the others in Third Battalion, the east wall on each side of the gates for the locals. Fifteenth Company will handle the rest. I’ll be keeping a squad back until we see where they attack. If there’s enough for a reserve squad from the others, that would be good.”
Dohark nodded. “There should be. I’ll be at the west gate’s north tower. That offers the best vantage point.”
“How is Rhystan doing?” Mykel asked.
“He’s too weak to stand, but he seems to be getting better. Sixteenth Company took the worst of the poison.”
“Good that the survivors will be all right.”
Dohark raised his eyebrows.
Mykel grinned. “After this attack, we’ll need everyone to clean up the mess.”
Dohark shook his head. “And maybe the colonel will promote you to majer, too.”
Mykel offered an exaggerated shrug. “I can always hope.”
“Best you get on with your preparations, Captain Mykel.”
“Yes, sir.”
Before he returned to his special preparations, Mykel gathered the squad leaders again, with Bhoral, making sure that all the mounts would be saddled and ready to ride out, if necessary. Then he went back to doing what could get him into great difficulties—if he survived.
By the time another glass had passed, the ammunition and casks of oil were in place, and Mykel had the older barrel, the half keg of heavy nails, and the gunpowder kegs in a shaded place just be
hind and north of the west gate. He also had a number of other items, including lengths of old, near-rotten canvas and a small bucket of glue.
One cask of oil would fit inside the larger carpenter’s barrel, as would a cask of the gunpowder. Mykel set to work with the glue, canvas and nails, until the inside of the barrel was lined with two layers of canvas with the nails glued inside. The glue wouldn’t harden before Mykel would probably have to use the device, but all he cared about was something to keep the nails from clumping together too much.
By the time he had finished and replaced the head of the barrel, he was soaked with sweat, and another glass had passed. With a sardonic smile that he quickly erased, Mykel noted that he had not seen Dohark. The overcaptain had lost conspicuously avoided him while he had been working, and that was probably for the best—for both of them.
Another glass and a half passed. The men had eaten noon ations. The breeze had died off, and the sun beat down on the compound.
Vhanyr came sprinting across the courtyard. “Captain Mykel. Bluecoats are coming! Some greencoats, too. Hundreds of ‘em!”
“Fifteenth Company! Squad leaders! Forward!”
Mykel barely waited before he began issuing his orders, orders that the squad leaders already knew. “Fifteenth Company to the walls! Squad one to the main gate, two to the rest of the west wall, three to the north wall, and four to last gate. Squad five, stand by.”
“Fifteenth Company to the walls!” snapped Bhoral, “Squad one…” He echoed Mykel’s orders.
Once he was satisfied that all his men were in place, Mykel climbed the steps beside the west gate, where he stood on the walls below the south tower. He looked westward under the noon sun. The seltyrs’ forces had halted a good half vingt to the west, and were stretched out in front of the end of the casaran orchards, forming a line of riders a good five hundred yards across and at least three ranks deep. Most of the riders had dismounted.
That bothered Mykel, although it was what he would have done.
He turned and walked along the top of the wall to the southwest corner, then most of the way toward the east wall of the compound. A half vingt to the east was another formation, considerably smaller, with more clad in green than in blue.
After studying the second formation and confirming that they were also dismounted, Mykel returned to his former position on the wall beneath the south guard tower.
“Sir?” Bhoral appeared.
“Have the men stand down in position. There won’t be an attack for a little while at least. But check on the mounts. We still might need them—one way or another.”
The squad leader nodded and slipped away.
“You don’t think we’ll see an attack right now?” asked Dohark, who had appeared at the top of the steps.
“Not for a while. Do you?”
“No. They’re not mounted. They’re resting their horses.”
“They’ve got something else in mind, I’d wager,” suggested Mykel.
“Siege ladders?”
“Could be.”
“They wouldn’t try blasting powder,” said Dohark.
“They probably would if they could get any.” As Mykel said that, he wondered if that happened to be the reason why whichever alectors had provided the rifles had done so—so that the seltyrs wouldn’t develop something worse?
“You’re cheerful.”
“I expect the strongest aspects of human nature to surface—greed, destructiveness, shortsightedness—all the good things.” Mykel’s tone was more sardonic than he’d meant it to be.
“I’m headed over to the north tower to see if I can get a better view,” Dohark finally said.
“Yes, sir.” There was little that Mykel could do but wait.
Another half glass went by before Mykel heard a dull rumbling sound. He looked northward, thinking it might be a storm, but the sky remained clear. His eyes went to the west. Six wagons with angled timber barricades five yards wide reaching from knee height to almost two yards lumbered down the road toward the west gate, slowly, but seemingly by themselves. It took Mykel but a moment to realize that troopers behind the timbers were pushing me heavy wagons. He had no doubts that behind or in the wagons were long siege ladders that would be swung up to the walls, that or something else to allow them over the walls.
Very shortly, he had to wonder, because the wagons swung wide of the road and stopped short of the walls, a good sixty yards back, three on each side, lined up barricade to barricade.
A long single note on a horn sounded.
Crack! Crack!
Mykel ducked as he heard the first shots. Staying low behind the stone parapets, he studied the barricades, realizing that the regularly placed narrow slits in the heavy timbers were for rifles.
A long wagon moved slowly down the road toward the rebels’ movable barricades, drawn by eight riders, four on each side of what looked to be an enormous wagon shaft. As it neared the barricades, Mykel looked more closely. A tree trunk almost a yard across had been fastened to an eight-wheeled wagon, and the forward end of the trunk had been covered in iron. As Mykel watched and waited for the riders to get closer to the walls, they began to urge the horses into a fast trot, then even faster.
The firing from behind the timbered wagons intensified.
“First squad! Aim for the riders!” He raised his rifle and began to aim.
Just as he squeezed the trigger, with the wagon-ram less than thirty yards from the west gate, the riders swerved away and let the wagon rumble toward the heavy oak gates alone.
Thuddd! The impact of the heavy tree trunk ram, with its iron cap, shook the walls, but the gate held.
“Gates held!” called a ranker from somewhere.
Peering from beside one of the merlons, Mykel watched as the wagon began to roll backward. How could that be? Then he saw the long cable attached to the rear of the wagon-ram. While the road from Dramuria rose most of the way from the town to the compound, the last eighty yards before the gates were flat, and the smooth and level stone road leading across that stretch to the west gate made the scheme possible—and all too likely to succeed. The riders didn’t have to get that close, and they could try until the ram failed or the gates collapsed.
Almost half a glass passed before the wagon-ram had been drawn back past the barricade wagons. The riders—or another group—re-formed on each side of the front part of the wagon-ram. Several moments passed before the device began to move along the road toward the west gate.
“Aim for the riders on the north—just on the north!” Mykel ordered.
“Aim for the riders! North side!” echoed Gendsyr.
Mykel sighted on the lead rider, squeezing the trigger, and willing his shot home.
The rider crumpled in the saddle, but dropped the lead or whatever linked him to the ram, and his mount carried him off the road. The ram continued to rumble toward the gates.
Mykel shifted his aim to the second rider, aiming and firing.
Just as he squeezed the trigger, the riders broke away from the ram, earlier than they had before, and the heavy contraption rumbled inexorably toward the gates.
Thudddl Once more, the gates and walls shook.
Mykel looked down. The gates were definitely bowed, and at least one of the heavy timbers was splintered in one place.
“Aim for the horses!” ordered Dohark from the north tower. “Drop the horses!”
The Cadmians waited, and Mykel wondered if they would not have done better if all the Third Battalion companies had followed his example and tried to whittle away the seltyrs’ forces in the field. Then, Heransyr had tried that, and Seventeenth Company had been wiped out.
Once more the wagon-ram began to move forward, but this time, the horses only started it, well behind the barricades, and moved away, while a good score of bluecoats used leads attached to the rear of the ram and others just pushed it from behind.
“Fire!” ordered Mykel and Dohark near-simultaneously.
Mykel broug
ht down three of those pushing the ram, and another half score fell to other fire, but other bluecoats took their places and the ram rumbled toward the west gate.
The thudding impact was accompanied not only by the shaking of the walls, but by the sound of splintering timbers.
Mykel looked down to see the north side of the gate ripped open wide enough for a man to enter. Outside the walls, the rebels were dragging back their ram once more.
“One more time, sir, and the gates’ll go,” Gendsyr said. “Two at most, and we’re not stopping ‘em with rifles.”
Mykel could see that. So far there were perhaps twoscore bodies strewn on the flat east of the gates—if that. There were a good thousand bluecoats waiting back out of easy rifle range.
After a quick glance back outside, Mykel scurried down the steps to where one of the kegs of gunpowder had been placed at the base of the stone wall. There were also several casks of oil. The gate was bowed enough that he could i squeeze both through—he thought.
Overhead he could hear Dohark barking out orders about timbers and wagons, but Mykel would leave that to the overcaptain. If the ram weren’t stopped before it did more damage, Dohark’s timbers would do little good.
“Fifth squad! To me!” Mykel ordered.
Vhanyr appeared instantly. “Sir.”
“We need to get that keg and two of those casks out through that gap. I need someone to go out there with me.”
Vhanyr turned. “Lortyr! Fonyt!”
Mykel looked up. “Gendsyr! We’re headed out in front of the gates! Open fire at those barricades and anyone who even looks up!
“Yes, sir. First squad! Stand by to fire!”
Mykel waited until the two rankers stood beside him. “You’re going to set those casks of oil out in front of the gates—a good five yards. Put them so close together that they touch—right in the middle of the road. I’ll be right behind you with this keg of powder.”
The two rankers looked at Mykel and the keg of gunpowder.
“You don’t mind if we hurry, sir?” asked Lortyr.
Mykel grinned. “The faster, the better.” Behind him, he could see rankers pushing two wagons toward the gate, probably to overturn and block the entry as well as they could.
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