“But . . .”
“Do it, Captain Karki! And bring us alongside those bloody Doms, hull to hull. Our guns must hurt them at that range.” He paused, looking aft. Mithra had lost her mizzen; Hermes was a flaming wreck. He couldn’t tell much about the rest, but all were closing with the Doms independently, their captains already realizing what must be done. “But the bitter truth is simply this,” he continued. “We may lose our entire battle line today. We’ll take as many of the enemy with us as we can, if we have to board them and fight them with our teeth. But when all is done, El Corazon is the key to controlling this side of the pass—and taking it is more important than you, I, or our entire outmoded fleet. Am I clear?” He looked away. “It’ll require newer ships and aircraft, God help us,” he added a little bitterly, “to hold this pass forever, but they can only do it with El Corazon in their grasp.” He looked back at Karki. “These old ships of ours will make that possible.”
With the foremast and attendant debris cut away and paddle wheels churning again, Mars pounded in, wreathed in smoke beneath swirling monsters and a hail of fire, to strike a last defiant blow for her kind.
CHAPTER 19
////// El Corazon
General Anselmo Mayta and General Allegria stood impassively on the parapet facing south, near the bastion on the corner of the eastern wall extending to the sea. A stunning number of exploding shells were bursting nearby, but they seemed chiefly focused on the ramparts over the two eastern and two southern gates. Solid shot was pounding the gates themselves.
“Their artillery practice is disconcertingly professional,” General Mayta observed loudly, but his manner made it seem as if he’d mentioned it only in passing.
“Perhaps,” General Allegria grudgingly agreed, pulling the red facings on his coat closer together. “But at least the long wait is over and they’re coming at last.” His tone mixed nervousness and eagerness in equal measure.
“Nonsense,” General Mayta countered, waving a recently arrived messenger away to rest. “Just as their fleet attempted to bombard us from the sea”—he nodded toward the runner looking for a place to shelter from the hail of iron in the air—“and has been stalled by our gallant navy, the heretics will bombard us here and to the east for some considerable time. Perhaps days.” A shell burst high above in a ragged puff of gray smoke, and several men fell screaming from the parapet nearby, savaged by chunks of case or iron balls. Mayta continued blithely. “I’ve studied these people and their campaigns, you know. Almost invariably, they’ve established strong defenses on our holy soil and waited for us to attack. Here, the circumstances are reversed. And though they have generally better weapons, ours are improved. And we have other advantages they can’t yet imagine.” He flicked his eyes toward the sky. “We won’t have to endure their bothersome flying machines much longer, for example.” He looked back at Allegria. “And as for their army, it simply hasn’t the will to openly assault so strong a place as this in daylight.”
“But they have attacked strongpoints to the south. Dulce, for one,” Allegria argued, “then Nicoya quickly afterward.”
Mayta dismissed that with a smirk. “I’d hardly call either place strong.” His expression hardened with bitterness. “And treacherous Nicoya fell with hardly a whimper. Yet Dulce—which did resist—proves my point. The heretic infantry only struck after a lengthy bombardment, and even then they came with the dawn.” He pointed out at the distant ranks of men and ’Cats impressively arrayed to the east and south. “That is but a show designed to intimidate us and bolster the courage of their own troops while we endure their battering.”
Several more shells exploded behind them in the narrow streets, right amidst a company of regulars rushing to stiffen the southwest gate. Whitewashed stone walls reflected the lethal shell fragments down the alley, mulching men in smoky sprays of blood. Mayta continued without pause. “I do wonder where their Major Blas might be,” he confessed. “I know she’s but an animal, but she clearly has talent of a sort and is most tenacious. Perhaps the latter is inspired by her animalistic characteristics? A fascinating notion, worthy of study.” Solid shot drummed against the wall around the closest gate, jolting the parapet beneath their feet. Mayta leaned casually out to gaze at the damage and saw great splinters whirling away.
“The gates will fail,” Allegria noted, then squinted through the blowing smoke to the south and saw sudden movement. “Ah, General . . .” he said, voice rising.
“I’m sure they already have,” Mayta agreed, oblivious, “but don’t concern yourself. Naturally, they’ll focus their assault on the damaged gates, but we’ll have already created impenetrable barriers behind them.” His lips formed a smile of self-satisfaction. “All part of my plan. Besides, I doubt they’ll ever get past our massed infantry on the parapets or the great guns mounted in the walls.” He sighed. “These tiresome festivities will bore us for some time, I suspect. I may even retire to my forward quarters until nightfall.” He grimaced. “The accommodations aren’t what I’m used to but they’re in a durable structure, secure from this irksome shelling.”
“General Mayta,” Allegria insisted, pointing south. “You might want to remain a little longer.”
* * *
* * *
Horns sounded and the Pegadores lurched forward uncertainly, their four-hundred-yard front bowing slightly at once. They were joined on the right by Dao Iverson’s far more disciplined 6th Imperial Marine Division, however, advancing under an Imperial flag edged in green. Most of the 6th hailed from New Ireland and Iverson had requested the “privilege” of participating in the first assault (and bolstering the Pegadores) on their behalf. Like the Vengadores, New Irelanders thought they had something to prove, and 6th Division hadn’t had as many opportunities.
So it was that seven thousand men, nearly a quarter of Blair’s corps, set out at the quick time across the scorched and barren killing ground the Doms had prepared, headed toward the easternmost gate still receiving the most attention from the artillery. A couple of guns on the high walls finally fired, their big roundshot blasting through the volunteers, spattering whole files of men before bounding on through the Vengadores. Screams clawed at Blas’s heart. More enemy fire came, and though the relentless Allied bombardment was helping keep the enemy down, increasing numbers of mulched and steaming gaps ripped through the Pegadores and the 6th. By the time they’d made two hundred long paces, some locals were already trying to bolt to the rear. They were met by file closers supplied by Iverson. Just as fearsome and more certain than the enemy, they roughly shoved reluctant Pegadores back in the ranks.
Sister Audry gently stroked Blas’s arm and nodded at her. “I told the others about General Shinya’s . . . revisions.” She paused. “It’s time, I’m afraid.” Blas nodded back, blinking affection. As Sister Audry and Arano Garcia both knew, it was also time for Blas to take charge again. “Cap-i-taan Ixtli, Cap-i-taan Bustos,” she shouted at hers and Garcia’s XOs, “the Sister’s Own will prepare to advance.” The two men repeated her command, and bugles and whistles replied. The same sounds rose from other regiments and divisions nearby, along with a few screeching bagpipes. Sergeant Major Koratin’s and First Sergeant Spook’s loud Lemurian voices thundered over all, shouting, “Lose your bedrolls! Toss everything but waater an’ aammo! Two more aammo haulers to each mortar team! Laadder bearers, take your places!” Hopefully, they wouldn’t need ladders, but they had to bring them. It would’ve been nice to have some of the new portable LMGs, like the First Fleet AEF, but the few .30 cals they’d received were either in planes or on frigates and transports, to defend against Grikbirds or suppress enemy fire from shore. There were a lot of Blitzerbug SMGs now, though, and they’d be handy in the tight confines of the city—if they made it past the wall.
Blas took a last look around as she unslung her Allin-Silva and checked the breech. “Fix bayonets!” she cried. She was answered by a defiant roar and the r
ippling, clattering click-clack of socket bayonets locking on rifle muzzles. She looked to the rear of the initial advance, now halfway to the wall. It was taking a terrible beating as it moved in range of Dom canister. Only the looser formations they’d adopted prevented twice the casualties.
“Sister’s Own!” she roared. “At the double time . . . Maarch!” Her division and three more falling in behind immediately set out at a lope, covering ground fast, Arano Garcia’s Captain Jasso—and his bugle—close by her side. The smoke and fiery fury consuming the Pegadores and the 6th must’ve hidden them for a time, because they got nearly halfway across themselves, to where the dead and wounded really started piling up, before facing much more than bounding roundshot aimed at their predecessors. That didn’t last. Case shot—that they’d known the Doms must have by now—started bursting overhead, flailing them with smoking shards of hot iron. Men and ’Cats screamed and fell, their places taken by those behind—who fell in turn beneath the rousing storm.
Blas lost track of Audry and Koratin—who’d be sticking to Audry like glue—and couldn’t locate Colonel Garcia anymore either. She did see Lieutenant Anaar-Taar of her own C Company killed while directing a mortar team, “Set up here, right here! Range, three hundreds. Drop ’em right over the waall!” They had to get the mortars in tight to drop their bombs so close, but that left them terribly exposed—and those were the last words Anaar ever said. An instant later a shard of iron the size of a jagged saucer tore into his chest beneath his throat. He went down without a sound. Blas saw so many fall like that, and to the canister sweeping away dozens at a time. More canister or musket balls tugged and slapped at her leather armor and smock, or kicked up stalks of dust all around. Jasso stumbled, but Blas and Spook carried him along while he kept protesting “Estoy bien.”
At two hundred tails the second wave started firing its rifles independently at the top of the wall. Blas could barely see anything through the smoke, and the world seemed carpeted with bodies. She did observe what remained of the Pegadores and 6th Marines huddled at the base of the wall, under the guns, but now being savaged by massed musket fire from above. And the top of the wall teemed with Doms, apparently drawn from everywhere to join the massacre. This was mostly evident by the sheer volume of muzzle flashes darting through the smoke, but also consistent with what Shinya predicted—and told her to do about it.
A few Pegadores and New Irelanders were doggedly shooting back, the latter doing the most good with their breechloaders, and Blas wondered if they’d actually breached the shattered gate. A few ladders had gone up against the wall but there wasn’t anyone on them so maybe they had. It didn’t matter. They were a broken force and would now only get in the way if the second wave joined them—as Shinya also foresaw—and this was confirmed by the tearful relief on their faces, gazing longingly at their “reinforcements.” That made what she was about to do feel like she herself was betraying them.
“Sound your bugle, Cap-i-taan Jasso,” she gasped. She was tired from helping carry him and could hardly breathe through the dense white smoke.
Jasso tried, but gasped. “Agua!” he pleaded.
“No time! Do it!”
The bugle brapped dryly, then sharp, clear notes rose above the tumult—and the shot-torn Sister’s Own, as well as the three divisions stacked up behind it, suddenly veered sharply left into an oblique charge aimed at the other, larger gate to the west.
* * *
* * *
General Mayta was badly rattled by how mistaken he’d been about the enemy’s intentions. He’d been so sure, and this was so uncharacteristic! He actually ducked down when the first volleys slashed against the top of the parapet, flinging tightly packed Dom troops back from their firing positions where they’d been enjoying a free-for-all—till now.
With great effort, he willed himself to regain his composure. Regardless of the error, no regular officer could openly concede it to someone like General Allegria—or any Blood Drinker—if he wished to retain command. And situations like this required professionals to deal with them. “Just as I told you to expect, General Allegria,” Mayta shouted over the firing, coughing dust and smoke and looking disappointedly at his damaged uniform; it cost more than most Dominion citizens made in a lifetime. “They’ve stopped to shoot. They always do that!”
“The first ones didn’t.”
Mayta waved it away. “Undisciplined rabble, seeking the safety of our walls under the guns. The infantry we summoned will destroy them—and the rest that so foolishly follow the first assault so closely.”
“The heretics still have significant reserves. Won’t they exploit the other gate? I fear we’ve drawn too many troops from there.”
“They were the closest. All they had to do was run here along the parapet. They can return quickly enough if something unforeseen develops. Certainly before another wave can sweep across such a distance,” Mayta replied confidently, pointing at the Allied divisions still arrayed to the right, their ranks rising on the lower flank of the dead volcano by the sea. Then he stared, stunned, as what seemed to be the entire follow-on force suddenly surged, en masse, to his right.
“You were saying, General Mayta?” Allegria demanded bitterly.
Mayta shook himself. “Go!” he cried. “But forget the wall. They’ll likely get through before you can take sufficient forces to stop them. You must meet them in the city itself!”
Allegria waited a heartbeat. “Have I your permission,” he asked, the word dripping sarcasm as all subordination fled, “to meet them with whatever I deem appropriate?”
“Yes! Yes, of course! Just go at once.”
Allegria saluted, a strange, almost joyful expression on his face, and trotted off, collecting messengers as he went.
* * *
* * *
Captain Jasso was dead. He’d probably been mostly dead when he sounded his last bugle call with a gaping hole in his chest. At least he made it inside, Blas told herself, watching a pair of Vengadores gently lay his corpse to the side of the shattered gate, out of the way of the troops surging in. She snorted. Like thaat makes any difference. She quickly reconsidered. Maybe it did, to him. It would to me.
Even with so many defenders drawn to counter the first push against the east gate, the Sister’s Own and the divisions behind had been savaged by the heavy guns on the walls. But these were all veterans who knew hesitation was death and they stormed forward relentlessly through the hail of iron and crashed through the shattered gate left practically undefended. A lot of debris had already been heaped behind the breach—heavy timbers, overturned carts and wagons, stony rubble, even horse carcasses—but these didn’t slow Blas’s Marines, who quickly spread out to cover the Vengadores and slaughtered the shell-shocked Dom brigade rushing to fill the gap. They all pushed deeper while the 4th, 9th, and 21st Imperial Marine Divisions crowded through to join them. The 9th would deploy here, to keep the back door open and stop the Doms from cutting in behind them.
“Gotta keep ’em off our flaanks too,” Blas murmured to herself and Captain Ixtli as they surveyed the respectably broad avenue ahead. Ixtli had spent his whole life in the forest and an occasional village. He was noticeably uncomfortable in these confines. Maps made from aerial photographs showed four main thoroughfares, two running north and south, two east and west. This one reached all the way past the main temple at the center of the city to the harbor, but was connected to every other by hundreds of side streets, all lined with two- and three-story stone buildings with flat roofs. Most had balconies and nearly every window was curtained by a red flag with a twisted gold cross that snipers could hide behind.
“What was that, Major Blas?” Sister Audry asked, Colonel Garcia and Sergeant Major Koratin at her side. Audry was still breathing hard from the final push, and from personally helping move debris from around the gate. Blas thought that was stupid until she saw the near-worshipful stares her Vengadores aimed at
her. Course, they already worship her. Why’s she gotta keep that silly shit up in the middle of a fight? she asked herself cynically. Then it dawned on her. It was because Audry couldn’t fight. She had to be “one of her men” in other ways.
“It’s obvious, Santa Madre,” Garcia answered for Blas. Audry only winced slightly at the term she’d forbidden. Now wasn’t the time to bring it up again. “This main road is intersected by countless narrower ones, each capable of sheltering packed ranks of men with the buildings themselves securing their flanks. We must spread out quickly, to get more depth to maneuver in.”
The brief lull in nearby firing was broken by shots down the street, and Blas was sure she saw movement on the rooftops inside the perimeter they’d already established.
“We’re gonna haave to move faast,” she confirmed, “spread out as quick an’ faar as we caan. But we also gotta clear these daamn buildings behind us.” A pair of paalkas strained past them, mooing discontentedly as they pulled a 12 pdr gun and limber. Another gun followed with men straining at a harness they’d probably cut off their dead animals. “Get those guns forwaard,” Blas called. She turned to Ixtli. “Signaal Gener-aal Shinyaa for more. We’ll advaance behind them at every street.”
More musket balls spalled the walls beside them, spattering them with stinging rock and lead fragments. “Goddaamn Doms’re gettin’ sorted out faaster thaan I hoped,” she observed, idly touching a broken musket at her feet with the toes protruding from her sandals. “Look at thaat too,” she said. “Idiots finaally caught on an’ made socket baay-o-nets instead of plug types. Spread the word: they caan shoot you and stick you at the same time now.”
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