by N. C. Reed
“We’re making good time on the repairs, milord,” Strong informed him. “I’d estimate we’ll be finished in another half hour, if the heathens give us that long.”
“Don’t count on it, Major,” Parno warned. “They may well give us half the day, for all I know, but hurry the work as much as possible. I don’t want our men exposed any more than necessary should another attack come.”
“We’ll get it done, milord,” Strong promised, “and if I may? I saw your action earlier, milord. I just wanted to say, that was the finest bit of soldiering I’ve ever been privileged to see. It’s an honor to fight with you, sir.”
“Thank you, Major,” Parno managed not to murmur. “I appreciate that. Colonel Landers will still be in command of this section of line and he may want to realign everyone once the work is done. Take your cues from him. If I have direct orders for you they’ll arrive by runner. Please send two men to the tower for that purpose. I prefer to use men from the units, as they’ll be more familiar with the area and the command structure.”
“I’ll see to it at once, sir,” Strong replied.
“Very well, then, Major. I leave you to it.” Parno continued on his way, slowly making his way to where his own regiment was entrenched. When he arrived his men cheered, rushing out to meet him. Parno grinned at their enthusiasm, shaking out thrust hands and enduring many claps to the back.
“Here now!” Brenack Wysin waded through the group. “You’ll break the man’s spine, carryin’ on so!” Everyone laughed at that, but ceased the informal contact.
“I’m very proud of you, men!” Parno called out. “You fought well! Kept your discipline and took the fight to the Nor! I couldn’t be more proud.” Cheers erupted again at that and Parno had to smile. He was proud of them. All of them.
“All right!” Karls Willard boomed. “We’ve got work still to do, lads. Back at it now, before the bloody Nor come looking for more pain and suffering at the hands of Parno’s Black Sheep!” With one last cheer at the regiment’s new name, the men drifted back to their posts. A beaming Willard closed with Parno and gripped his hand tightly.
“How are you, milord?” he asked. “I heard you were in the thick of things for a while, earlier.”
“I was at that,” Parno agreed, clasping Willard’s hand equally firm. “Berry and his men did most of the work, mind you, but I was there to cheer them on.” Willard cast a glance at Sprigs, who rolled his eyes. Willard grinned and turned back to his liege.
“We’ve done well so far, milord,” he turned serious, “but I expect we’ll see a much stronger attack this time.”
“Darvo says the same,” Parno told him, “and so do I. I think the Nor General over there is between a rock and a hard place, Karls. He has to carry this place. He’ll keep throwing men at us until he does.”
“And we’ll keep throwing them back!” a voice yelled out of the crowd, renewing the cheers from Parno’s men.
“You do that!” Parno laughed. “That’s what I want to hear!”
“We’ll hold them, milord,” Karls added. “For a while, at least.”
“I know,” Parno assured him. “You’ve done well, Karls. In a better world you’d be a General after this.”
“I’m happy where I am, milord,” Karls smiled. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else, even if the opportunity was available. This will be a fight long remembered by our people and they will sing songs, write poems, and retell this story for so long as memory holds it. I’m proud to be here with you.”
Parno looked at the other man for a long time, seeing in Karls eyes the truth of what he said. Parno suddenly embraced him fiercely. An embrace which Karls returned.
“You’re more of a brother to me than my own blood, Karls,” Parno told him quietly. “I couldn’t ask for a better man to stand with me.”
“I feel the same way, Parno,” Karls replied, using the Prince’s first name, something he very rarely did. The two men parted then, with nods of respect for each other. Karls returned to supervising the work of the regiment and Parno started back to the tower. Sprigs followed at a respectful distance, instinctively knowing that his commander would want some time to himself.
When Parno arrived at the tower he climbed slowly to the top, reflecting on what he had seen along the line. All of the men were in good spirits and determined to fight to the finish. He couldn’t ask for better. If only. . . .
“Lad, I think the Nor are about ready for another try,” Darvo’s words broke Parno out of his thoughts. He took up his glass and looked across the field to the woods. Sure enough, there were signs of activity within the trees.
“Send word to all units that the Nor are marshaling for another attack,” Parno ordered Sprigs, “and have Captain Lars report all available ammunition, please.” Sprigs nodded and hurried down the tower to the waiting runners.
Parno turned to Darvo. “What do you think?”
“The first attack was by a division of infantry supported by a brigade of cavalry,” the older man rubbed his chin in thought. “The second was two infantry divisions, at least. I doubt they’ll send anymore horsemen at us in this terrain. I’d look for at least three divisions this go round, likely stacked one atop the other.”
“I don’t know that we can hold them again, lad,” he admitted.
“We’ll try, at any rate,” Parno replied. “I’ll have Lars open up with the exploding rounds as soon as the Nor are in range this time. That should disrupt their order, at least.”
“Just so,” Darvo agreed, “so long as they last.”
“We have enough to last the day,” Parno assured him, “after that it will depend on what Roda’s managed to accomplish and how much we use today, of course.”
“Well, as you said, if we don’t survive the day it won’t matter what’s left.”
*****
Across the field General Brasher was seething. He had already ordered the two generals who had led their divisions in the last attack executed for incompetence. That should, he reasoned, be an incentive to the generals leading this next attack.
This time three divisions would attack in echelon. Wave after wave of soldiers, shoulder to shoulder. Their casualties would be heavy, thanks to the Soulan devil weapons, but they should carry the position and he would still have sufficient strength to threaten the Soulan capital city of Nasil.
He had to break this defense. His orders were very strict on timing and Brasher was already behind schedule. Every minute of delay here was another minute that Soulan would have to react to his presence in their heartland and that meant that the odds against him were growing by the minute.
He cursed his failure to anticipate this suicidal stand in the Gap. Had he been more careful in his strategic thinking, he could have sent his two best mounted divisions ahead at a gallop, with orders to seize and hold this Gap until the rest of his army could arrive.
Lost opportunities, he shook his head, nothing for it now but to press ahead. If he failed the Emperor would have his head and likely those of his family.
“I will not fail!” He mused.
“Sir,” his second in command approached carefully. “We’re ready for the next attack.”
“Have you expressed my displeasure with the former attack to the division commanders?” Brasher asked coldly.
“I have, sir,” his second nodded. “They are well aware of the price for failure.”
“Good,” Brasher nodded in satisfaction. “Sound the advance.”
*****
Parno frowned as he heard the sound of bugles echoing across the field. The Nor General was through playing around, judging from the number of calls.
“Looks like you were right, Darvo,” he said tonelessly. The older man snorted.
“Of course I was!” Darvo sounded mildly offended, but grinned as he said it. His grin faded soon, however.
Line after line of Nor soldiers emerged from the woods, reforming their lines on the move, headed straight across the field. Parno turned to his art
illery runner.
“My compliments to Captain Lars and he may open fire. Special rounds to start, and then every third salvo until further orders.” The runner took off.
“Order Captain Moore to engage the third line of mines at his discretion, but not before the third rank approaches, and not until there’s a solid line around them,” he told another runner who headed for the sharpshooter company.
“How many more of those mines have you out there lad?” Darvo asked.
“After this round, three more,” Parno replied. “They’re set in groups of fifty.”
“They’ve worked well,” Darvo admitted. “I’m glad we had them.”
“We should have another round, or maybe two, to leave in the Gap when we finally have to withdraw to the second line.”
The two watched as the Nor came, doggedly working their way across the rough terrain, now strewn with the bodies of their fellow soldiers and horses that had fallen in the first attack. The going was rough, but the penalty for stopping was rougher.
“I think they’re having to force their soldiers to fight, Darvo,” Parno commented, noting how the officers were close behind each rank.
“I’d thought that myself,” Darvo agreed. “That could work for or against us, depending on how hard we make it on them.”
“I’d opt for it being harder,” Parno decided. “They might be killed in the attack, true, but if they withdraw they will be killed by their own. Not much of a choice, really.”
“True enough.”
Silence reigned then as the two concentrated on the approaching Nor. Parno heard the catapults and trebuchets engage, heard the deep rumbling of the gears working, and heard the now familiar “thunk” of released pressure as the mighty weapons fired. Lars first salvo landed staggered among the first three lines of infantry, wreaking havoc among the enemy, yet the Nor seemed to shrug it off and continued their advance.
Archers on the front line began to loft arrows at the approaching lines, once again seeding them with the exploding Hubbel arrows. Cross bowmen readied their weapons, taking their places on the platforms behind the berm. Suddenly they fired, nearly in unison, and a ripple seemed to work its way through the first rank of Nor.
The leading line of the attack staggered this time and almost halted. Only the pressure of their officers and the following line of troops kept them moving. Parno smiled grimly at that.
Lars’ second salvo, this time of stones and boulders, tumbled through the follow on ranks, crushing dozens of soldiers at the time. Parno grimaced at the images the action conjured into his mind, but he shook it off. There was no place in this business for sentiment where the enemy was concerned.
The remaining eleven ballistae were firing, their wickedly hooked large bolts tearing great holes in the first and second ranks. Archers continued to loft their arrows and Nor troops continued to fall. Lars’ third salvo sailed overhead, once more tumbling among the leading ranks of the Nor.
“Next salvo will be exploding rounds,” Parno said to no one in particular.
“He’s cutting it close, lad,” Darvo warned. “We can’t afford to have one of those things land among the line. It would be worse than the ballista and this time they’ll have the numbers to press the attack.” Parno considered that for a second, then turned to the second artillery runner.
“Compliments to Captain Lars and he is to raise his fire to no less than one hundred yards distant from the line, unless ordered otherwise.” The runner bowed slightly and flew down the stairs. Parno turned to look at his mentor.
“That will let them keep hammering the follow on ranks fairly heavily.”
“Good deal, lad,” Darvo nodded, never taking his eyes from the field.
The battle waged on. Most of the Nor first rank was gone, now, either lying on the field, or absorbed by the second. The second rank was clearly wavering but were now within fifty yards of the first line of defense. Their own bowmen were now firing and Soulan troopers began falling. Not nearly as quickly as their adversaries, but there were far fewer of them.
“You will be forced to defend the wall, my Prince,” Cho said quietly, having observed in silence until now. “Their numbers will allow them to reach you, eventually.”
“I know,” Parno nodded. “I strengthened the line with another battalion. I think…I hope…that will make the difference.” Cho nodded, his eyes also not leaving the field of battle. Parno wondered for a second what Cho was seeing. What he was thinking.
“War is as terrible as it is exciting,” Cho almost whispered, as if he could hear Parno’s thoughts. The young Prince was inclined to agree.
As the next salvo of exploding artillery rounds fell among the advancing enemy, Captain Moore’s sharpshooters engaged the next line of mines, hidden among the third and fourth ranks of the enemy. This time all but four of the clay mines exploded, hurling bits and balls of iron throughout the lines.
For a second the entire Nor advance staggered to a halt, the men dazed by the round of explosions. Then the threats of their officers pressed them forward once again, though the front ranks were noticeably more reluctant. Several shirkers were cut down by their own officers, an example to the rest.
The advance began again, though it’s momentum was lost at least temporarily. Parno tensed in anticipation, knowing that the line would soon be under direct attack.
For the next several minutes the fighting was close in, and desperate. Nor troops began to reach the line and assault it. Pikes found their way over the barricades and pry poles hooked to the stakes along the berms and trenches of the fortifications. The sheer muscle of the Nor numbers began to tell as several of the wooden obstacles began to fall.
Yet the Soulan troopers were fighting hard as well. Soulan pike-men lunged over the berm, sinking their long spears into enemy flesh. Crossbow bolts shot through men at close range, often continuing out their backs and hitting the man behind.
Meanwhile, Soulan archers continued to loft flight after flight of arrows over the berms, into the following ranks of the Nor attack. Soulan troopers began to mount the wall, swords in hand, to repel those Nor fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to make it to the top. In several spots Nor troops actually managed to cross over the line only to be fell upon by Soulan troopers with swords.
But this time the weight of numbers was on the side of the Nor. For every enemy soldier Parno’s men killed or maimed, there were two more to take his place—and Parno’s own men were falling now at an alarming rate.
“Lad, we may need to think about falling back to the second line,” Darvo said at last, watching the desperate battle unfold.
“I know,” the Prince agreed. He was reluctant to abandon the forward line, but could see the strain that holding it was placing on his men. He turned to the rank of runners behind him.
“Order all commanders to prepare to fall back,” he told them. “Have Captain Moore hit the fourth rank of mines, then fall back to the second line at once to help cover our withdrawal. Order the ballista teams to fall back now and have Captain Lars lift his fire to within fifty yards of the line and be prepared to loft three solid salvos of exploding rounds, staggered all along our line to help cover our withdrawal. He is to await my command before commencing his fire. Archery Company ‘B’ is to loft one, and one only, volley of the Hubbel arrows just before withdrawing.” Runners departed in a flurry as Parno continued issuing orders.
“Have the 8th Mounted gather all wounded at once and get them behind the lines. I want no one left behind if we can help it. Order Colonel Chad to have his men prepared to leave the line in order to cover the withdrawal if needed.” He turned back to Darvo.
“Have I missed anything?” He asked.
“Not that I can see, lad,” the old soldier shook his head. “Not that I can see.”
“We’ll have to abandon this tower once we give the order to fall back,” Parno mused. “I hate to lose this observation post.”
“Can’t be helped,” Darvo shrugged. “We
can’t remain here. We’ll be targets for every Nor with a bow at this range.”
Parno watched as his orders began to take hold. The ballistae were already pulling out of the line, their men working to get them behind the second line of entrenchments. As he looked on Captain Moore’s sharpshooters stood and delivered a volley into the next rank of mines. Despite the press of bodies in the field, they managed to strike thirty-eight of the clay jars, sending another ripple through the Nor lines. Immediately the crossbow men turned to head for the second line of defense, reloading their bows as they moved.
Men from the reserve moved in to gather the wounded, hurrying to clear the field before the line broke. Parno was pleased to see that they weren’t in a panic, despite the nearing collapse of the front line. Instead they worked quickly and efficiently. He glanced over to where Colonel Chad’s men stood waiting, ready to defend the second line or to move forward to support the others, whichever was needed.