The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5)

by William J. Benning

  “Weapons are activated,” Renthar announced into the Intercomm to his sharp-eyed Thexxian wingman.

  Harthus Sullianen was one of those quiet, yet tenaciously-professional fliers that Renthar liked having on his wing. There was no extravagance or showmanship with Sullianen, which contrasted to the outgoing and brash Suppac. Yet, despite being almost polar opposites in terms of personality, the two pilots seemed to have an almost psychic understanding of each other’s thoughts and intentions.

  “Acknowledged.”

  With the acknowledgement, Renthar knew that the six low-yield pulsar-cannon that were housed three on each side of the Eagles bubble canopy would be fully primed and ready for action. Similarly, the six pulsar-cannon on Renthar’s craft were also ready for action. Firing five low-yield pulsar-bolts per second, the wedge-shaped Eagle, with the huge twin tail fins, could deliver a devastating blanket of weapons fire against both in-flight and ground-based targets.

  “Commencing strike.”

  Smoothly, with the gentlest of touches on the Guidance Control, Renthar banked the clumsy and ungainly-looking Eagle craft to his left, and began the steep dive of his attack run. The single Thrust Engine of the pale-blue Alliance Eagle roared throatily as Renthar ran the middle and fourth fingers of his left hand to the right on the circular Acceleration Plate that stood on his Control Panel.

  The coloured lights shifting from blues to reds as his fingers moved indicated that the Eagle fighter was placing a greater demand for speed on the Thrust Engine. With his gloved right hand, Renthar gently pressed forward on the tilting-table domed Guidance Control. The forward and downward pressure on the Guidance Control instructed the on-board Guidance Computers to regulate the flow of power to the Thrust Engine and the orientation of the huge twin tail fins that made the Eagle so wonderfully manoeuvrable.

  Glancing to his right, Renthar saw that Sullianen’s Eagle was holding his tight formation pattern with his leader as they both hurtled at breakneck speed towards the ground. With a vicious smile behind his mirrored visor, Renthar knew that this would be a perfect attack. Ground Support pilots dreamed of such an opportunity to lay down fire on a defenceless enemy where no fighters or ground defence fire could impede or distract the pilot. And, as the Eagle picked up more speed for the attack, Renthar saw his enemy for the first time.

  The Templar formation was arranged on the crest of the rise around one hundred and fifty metres from the northern wall of the Muscigny estate. Like any good, well-trained Ground Support pilot, Renthar was able to take in the enemy’s dispositions rapidly; to be able to evaluate where his weapons strike would do the most harm to the opposition. In the heat of high-speed battle, Alliance Flight Commanders had a degree of autonomy as to where their attacks should go in. This mission was, however, very different. The First Admiral had given clear and strict instructions to be followed to the absolute letter. And, Renthar Suppac had no intention of disobeying an order from so high up the chain of command.

  Catching sight of the situation on the ground, Suppac’s attention swept from left to right across the terrain. On the extreme left, the wall of the Muscigny estate was split by the main road to Jerusalem. The flimsy looking barricade of Personnel Carriers that fronted the wall seemed so inadequate in Suppac’s mind. The black clad figures scampering over the vehicles like tiny insects reinforced the pilot’s opinion. About fifty metres from the Landing trooper position, Suppac saw the cluster of horsemen around the single Personnel Carrier where the First Admiral would be negotiating. And, judging by the distance between the First Admiral’s group and the enemy front line, Suppac knew that he would have to be careful where he laid down his weapons fire. Killing the First Admiral was not going to enhance his promotion prospects. The group of horsemen around the First Admiral’s Carrier looked to be about twenty men strong. Fortunately, they were in a tight formation close to what appeared to be their leader.

  On the rise behind the negotiating group, Suppac saw the full array of the Templar forces set out in their battle positions. The long row of archers and their strange shields waited in front of the expendables. Meanwhile, on the reverse side of the slope, large block formations of infantry waited behind three lines of heavy cavalry. It was a big, fat juicy target that Suppac knew that he simply could not miss.

  Turning the middle and fourth finger of his left hand through the full circle on the Acceleration Plate, Suppac demanded full speed from the Thrust Engine. The dull roar of the engine sharpened to a shrill whine as the Eagle fighter plummeted towards the ground. There was no turning back now Suppac knew, and readied his finger on the yellow and black weapons firing button that stood on the left side of the tilting-table Guidance Control.

  On the ground, beneath the two diving Eagles, Billy Caudwell lowered his hand and smiled softly at the increasingly confused Templar Grand Commander. The shrill whine of the Eagles was just becoming audible to Arnold of Torroja, who stared in sheer consternation at the two dark shapes that seemed to be falling very rapidly from the sky.

  “What is the meaning…” Arnold of Torroja began to question as his horse wickered and shuffled anxiously beneath him.

  Arnold of Torroja was never able to complete the question as Renthar Suppac pushed the heel of his right hand down onto the tilting-table Guidance Control. At the same instant, he jabbed his thumb onto the black and yellow trigger mechanism and let fly with the full potential of the six pulsar-cannon lodged on either side of his bubble canopy. A heartbeat later, all six pulsar-cannon blasted five low-yield pulsar-bolts every second at the target outlined to Suppac. The Eagle, speeding towards the ground, reared up into level flight just an instant before it crashed, and began to lay down fire on the target.

  With a loud triumphant yell, Renthar Suppac let fly with thirty pulsar-bolts per second at the front slope of the rise between First Admiral Caudwell’s negotiating group and the Templar front line. The white-hot, speeding pulsar-bolts seared into the dusty and dry ground, tearing the gentle slope of the rise to an exploding, convulsing and burning maelstrom of destruction. Flames and great spumes of dirt and debris were thrown metres into the air, cascading down onto the terrified Templar archers and expendables who ran and dived for cover from the nightmare that struck from the sky.

  And, as Renthar Supac yelled with triumph, the calmer and more restrained Sullianen followed his leader and opened fire. With the additional fire support, the rapidly advancing cascade of destruction that tore across the front of the rise was magnified. The weapons fire from the two Eagles tore great gouges and craters from the ground on the gentle slope, which disappeared in a great seething cauldron of fire and destruction.

  Up on the rise, terrified Templars scattered like chaff in the wind as they tried to escape the savage exploding horror from the skies. Some archers tried to hide behind the large wooden shields, many of which were blown over by the concussion from the pulsar-bolt strikes, or were dashed aside by the great cascades of falling dirt and debris. The rest tried to run over the crest of the rise and down the back slope to safety. The waiting horsemen, many trying to calm their alarmed animals, began to beat the fleeing archers and expendables back into line with the flat of their swords. Despite the initial shock, the Templars were able to restore a brutal form of discipline to their ranks very quickly.

  With the two Eagles still tearing up the terrain, Billy watched calmly as the Templar commander’s bodyguard scattered in panic, trying to control their frightened horses. The rearing, bucking animals screamed in terror as the landscape behind them disappeared in a huge boiling eruption of flames and deafening explosions. Even the most experienced of horsemen found staying in their saddles to be a monumental challenge, with several of the knights thrown to the ground.

  Panic-stricken, loose horses fled in every direction with the single objective of getting as far away from the place as possible. Those knights flung to the ground quickly found themselves dodging the flailing hooves of terrified animals in a melee of terror.

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p; However, as quickly as the two Eagles appeared and tore up the ground, the two fighters were gone. Having delivered sixty pulsar-bolts per second across the entire slope of the rise in front of the Templar positions, Suppac and Sullianen pulled their fighter craft into a steep climb as they soared back up into the heavens, their job completed. And, as the two Eagles soared away, Billy Caudwell calmly watched as the Templar bodyguards struggled with their horses, and the great burning plumes of dirt and debris seemed to drift slowly back down, like a fine drizzle, to land amongst the smouldering fissures and burning craters of what had been the gentle slope of the rise.

  On the crest of the rise, men were still pushing at each other and scrambling to get away from the nightmare that had just burst over them. Billy was delighted to see weapons being thrown away in the panic to escape the devastation. Really frightened men threw away anything that they thought would weigh them down as they tried to flee. And, with the harsh discipline of the Templar Order, a soldier throwing away a spear or a sword told Billy that he had really frightened them. Looking carefully along the Templar line on the crest, Billy was pleased to note no lifeless forms sprawled upon the ground in a pool of blood and gore. The two Eagle pilots had made his point to Arnold of Torroja perfectly. And, as he surveyed the scene of bloodless destruction and confusion, Billy crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Arnold to bring his horse under control.

  Now, the real negotiation could begin.

  Chapter 38

  The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny

  “What devilry is this!?” Arnold of Torroja bellowed in shock and horror as he struggled with the reins of his startled charger.

  All around the Alliance Personnel Carrier, panic-stricken horses were desperately trying to escape the nightmare that had torn the ground open behind them in a huge cataclysm of noise, fire and falling debris. Horses bucked and reared, attempting to unseat their riders and flee from this place of noise and terror. Lances and shields lay scattered over the ground where they had been discarded in the frantic scrabble to assert some control over the terrified animals. Unseated horsemen were trying to rise to their feet again, clutching the reins of their frightened beasts, having avoided the dust-swirling nightmare of flailing legs and trampling hooves. Many reluctant animals were still trying to pull away from their riders as stiff-legged, they dug into the dusty ground and pulled away with their terrified strength.

  The grunts, screams and snorts of frightened animals were challenged by the massive sonic boom of the two Eagles as they climbed almost vertically upwards into the pale light of the morning sky. The terrified animals, startled for a second time, re-doubled their efforts to unseat their riders. Those who still held their seats had kept their advantage over the animals and hauled on reins to control their beasts. Those already unseated were once again thrown into the battle with frightened animals and wounded pride.

  “This is no devilry, Brother Arnold,” Billy Caudwell replied to the question. “It is simply a demonstration of the forces that I command should you try to force a passage through the estate.”

  “Witchcraft and sorcery!” Arnold bellowed as his horse spun around with its rider trying to exert greater control.

  “Believe what you wish, Brother Arnold, but, having renounced God’s Grace and your oath to the Order, I would suggest that your immortal soul may be in greater danger than you imagine.”

  “Leave me to worry about my immortal soul, Outlander! Here are my terms: Clear your pathetic rabble from the road and none of your people will be harmed.”

  “And what of the people of Jerusalem, will none of them be harmed, Brother Arnold?”

  “Jerusalem is no concern of yours!” Arnold snapped, now brutally aware that he would have to force a passage through the Muscigny estate, with huge casualties, or lose his dream of becoming Grand Master.

  “Oh, but Brother Arnold, the slaughter of thousands of innocent people is very much my concern.”

  “Then as you have such concern for them, you will be allowed to die before them.”

  “I think not Brother Arnold. Here are my terms: You pack up your baggage, you turn your army around, and march back to Acre, or my flying ships will come back and send you all to Satan.”

  “Brave words, Admiral, but the Templars do not run from the barking of an ill-bred mongrel.”

  “Then as you have chosen your fate Brother Arnold, beware; the ill-bred mongrel has far sharper teeth than the pampered lapdog.”

  “We shall see, Admiral, we shall see,” Arnold hissed viciously as he wrenched on the reins to pull his horse around and away from the negotiation.

  Digging his spurs into the horse’s flanks, Arnold of Torroja galloped away angrily, followed by the remaining horsemen of his bodyguard.

  “Well, that could have gone better, sir,” Officer Garn, standing next to Billy, said philosophically.

  “Actually, you’re quite wrong,” Billy replied as he watched Arnold and his bodyguards trot their horses carefully through the moonscape of flame-licked craters and smouldering fissures.

  “How so, sir, they’re almost certain to attack?”

  “Maybe they will.” Billy smiled and nudged the Personnel Carrier pilot to return them to the Landing Trooper positions. “But we’ve shown them just how powerful our weapons are, we’ve frightened a good few of them, and fear spreads like influenza through an army. Plus, they won’t be charging their heavy cavalry over that little lot.” Billy nodded to the horsemen who were still picking their way through the devastation of the slope.

  “Not anytime soon,” he added.

  Chapter 39

  The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny.

  Having withdrawn from the fruitless negotiation, the Personnel Carrier dropped off Billy Caudwell and Senior Landing Trooper Garn before returning Grand Master Odo to the Citadel.

  “Well, sir, what next?” Officer Garn asked.

  “Oh, I think we leave our friend Arnold to make the next move,” Billy replied, sitting down between the body of the Personnel Carrier and the wall next to the gap that allowed the road to run into the estate.

  “And, what do you think that will be, sir?”

  “Well, he’s got no artillery,” Billy said calmly as he peered over the edge of the Carrier to view the line of archers and expendables on the still smouldering and pulsar-bolt torn rise for the appearance of catapults and other war machines, “and I don’t think he brought his archers out for display purposes.”

  “So, you think he’ll probably try to soften us up a bit?”

  “I’d say so. So, I’d advise Battle Shields and pulsar-rifles at rapid-fire, but remember, no killing unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Yes, sir,”

  Sitting down again, back to the Carrier, Billy made contact with the WATO in the War Room of the Aquarius.

  “WATO?” Billy asked through the Comms Net. “How many Eagles can we launch?”

  “The full complement of fifteen are available, sir.”

  “Very good, launch them all immediately, and have them keep station above the estate.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Projectiles!” a loud voice challenged as Billy’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud swishing sound and then followed by the rattling of what sounded like rain on a tin roof.

  “Incoming!” another voice called out in alarm as Billy looked up to see the black shadowy trail of arrows dropping from the sky.

  Landing Troopers were already activating their Battle Shields as Billy activated the force-shielding on his own PES, just as a sheaf of arrows impacted on the Personnel Carrier behind him and the wall in front of him.

  “That was close,” Billy mumbled to himself as he lifted one of the white feathered arrows and noticed the savagely sharpened barb at its tip.

  “Commence rapid-fire!” the voice of Garn broke into the Comms Net.

  Almost immediately, Billy heard the sound of three hundred pulsar-rifles on rapid-fire tear the air like a tornado. The s
ound of the seven-barrelled pulsar-rifle, discharging one pulsar-bolt every third of a second, was more like the sound of cloth ripping. However, when in chorus with hundreds of other pulsar-rifles, the effect was similar to that of the blast of a high wind.

  Raising his head from behind the Personnel Carrier once again, Billy saw that the pulsar-rifles were wreaking havoc on the line of Templar archers. A continuous sheet of pulsar-bolt fire seethed from the Landing Trooper line and tore into the serried ranks of archers. Looking down the Landing Trooper line, Billy was pleased to see that each Landing Trooper had activated his Battle Shield and was firing his seven-barrelled pulsar-rifle into the mass of archers.

  Those Landing Troopers stationed behind the Personnel Carriers were able to hold the Shield over their heads whilst resting the pulsar-rifle on the side of the vehicle. Those in the spaces between Carriers worked in kneeling groups of three. The first Trooper, on the left, was able to manipulate his Shield to protect the lower bodies of himself and the other two comrades. The second Trooper, in the centre, held his Shield up over the heads of himself and the others in the trio. The third Trooper on the far right used his Shield to protect the upper bodies of himself and the other two in the group. This left a gap, just wide enough for a pulsar-rifle barrel between the upper and lower body Shields. Resting the barrels on the Shield edges, the Troopers were able to pour rapid-fire pulsar-bolts into the huge target that presented itself on the top of the rise.

  All along the Templar lines, dozens of archers were struck down by the white-hot pulsar-bolts. Some were knocked from their feet as if by some invisible fist, whilst others spun around like children’s toys before either falling back into the line or toppling over the edge of the rise. The great wooden shields were quickly reduced to matchwood under the sheer incessant volume of pulsar-rifle fire. Their leaders, shouting commands and pushing wavering men back into line, tried to maintain discipline in the ranks. However, the tidal wave of pulsar-bolts soon sought them out and stunned them to silence. The bolts that failed to connect with a target zipped harmlessly into the air with the loud sizzling sound that meant the bolt was cooling. It would continue into the air until it had cooled to the point where its energy was spent, causing the bolt to dissipate in the atmosphere.