"I think we can make it to this point by nightfall, and link up with the light cavalry scouting ahead."
"What about the infantry coming behind us?" asked the sergeant major. "I thought we were supposed to provide cover for them against the enemy."
"Fourth regiment can handle that chore," said the colonel. "We have been tasked with joining our cavalry forces and hitting the barbarians who have been sighted on these grasslands, here."
"How do we know they're going to still be there?" asked Lt. Steiner, the adjutant.
"Well, our dragons spotted them there today, and they had set up horse paddocks while wagons came in with supplies from the evil Ellala bastard. We're pretty sure they're still going to be there tomorrow, but the next day? By then they'll probably be scattered to hell and gone. Which means we have to strike them by tomorrow, and no later. We'll have two other heavy cavalry regiments, along with two of light, which will give us over twelve thousand men and horses. The dragon riders thought there were about twenty thousand of them, so we'll be outnumbered. But we'll have the advantage in quality of arms and armor. We'll hit them hard from three axes, while the light horse cuts off their retreat. If any do get out, they'll be running for a week."
The other staff members were all smiling now. They all knew about the raids that had been launched along the logistics trail of the army. A few times the combat brigades had been hit, but the enemy soon learned that was not the way to success, only to hard knocks. They were still hitting wagons that were coming up from the rear. There were also dragon strikes, not many, but very destructive when they did come. There was nothing the cavalry could do about them, and the alliance dragon corps had made them pay for those hits. Still, every wagon lost was dragging on the army that needed those supplies, and they would do what they could.
"Okay," said McGurk, looking up as troopers brought their horses back from their drinks and distributed water bags. They were soon back on their mounts and headed toward their night camp, where they would prepare for the next day's battle.
* * *
"We're ready, sir," said Major Jackson Taylor, the exec of the regiment. "Colonels Patrick and Tonoshi report their regiments are ready to move out on your orders."
McGurk nodded, hanging his water bag back on its hook. He would be the overall leader of this attack. There were some brigadiers of cavalry, one with the rearmost legion, the other in the Refuge valley as the inspector of horse. That left him the ranking cavalry officer on the spot.
"Are the two light regiments ready?"
"Ready, bows notched."
The plan had been changed somewhat during the night. A couple of squadrons worth of horse archers would ride in with the heavy cavalry, which had its own bowmen, just not in the proportions of the scout units. The heavy cavalry was not what someone from Earth would have thought of when they heard the term. They did not wear heavy plate all over their bodies, but rather a combination of chain and plate. They had chain from head to foot, with greaves and boots on their legs, a leather skirt much like that worn by the infantry, and breast and back plates on the body. Their shoulder armor and helmets were very similar as those of the infantry, and there were bands of metal covering the upper arms and wrists. The horses were also armored, with plates on their foreheads and a small target on the chest, and light chain barding over the body. They were still more exposed than their riders, but much more armor would slow them to a walk. They were as protected as they could practically be.
Most of the troopers had heavy lances, about four fifths of them, while officers and standard-bearers did not. And a fifth of the troopers had heavy recurve horsebows that took a strong man or elf to draw, and two quivers of thirty long shafts each.
"Colonel," one of the NCOs called out in a voice that carried, but not too far. "We have visitors."
McGurk turned, wondering what fools he had to put up with now. Someone higher ranking, who would take command and change the plan. Never a good thing this close to an attack. He had learned in the past from his studies how that almost never worked out. In fact, it often resulted in disaster. The Battle of the Crater in the civil war came to mind, when a racist general with doubts that black soldiers could fight switched them out with white units that hadn't been trained for the fight until the last minute. The attack had failed and the attacking forces, black and white, had been slaughtered.
"I would like to know if we can join your attack, Colonel McGurk," said a deep voice in German accented English.
"General," said McGurk in a choked voice as the large blond man on a huge warhorse rode through the brush and into sight. "You are welcome to accompany us."
What else could you say, when the Immortal Lord who was the prophesied savior of the world rode up, his immortal consort with him.
"Would the General like to assume command?"
"No, McGurk. I see no need for that. I trust you have set your forces well. What else would I expect from the man who killed a great wyrm and gained the treasure to finance our kingdom."
The colonel blushed slightly at the praise. He had indeed killed a great wyrm red dragon, the largest anyone in this region had ever seen. His armored cavalry company had been scouting a small valley when a monster the size of Godzilla had crawled out of a cave and killed some of his vehicles. It had armor so thick that no native weapon could even scratch it. However, even those thick scales hadn't been proof against the one hundred twenty millimeter silver bullet penetrators of the Abrams tanks. Three rounds through the head and the dragon had died, and a legendary hoard of treasure, gold, gems and artifacts, had been found. Because of that, the German and American nation in the Refuge valley had been able to buy everything they needed, including mercenary soldiers and dwarven craftsmen. McGurk had been awarded a Silver Star, the highest medal that Taylor was authorized to give, and immediate promotion to major, soon followed by elevation to light colonel.
"Thank you, sir. Will you join my command group for the charge?"
"Thank you, colonel, but myself and Colonel Smith would do better riding in the front ranks. Don't worry about our safety. We're very hard to kill."
But not impossible, was his thought. He considered the hell that would come his way if these two died in an operation he commanded, but he really had no choice. They could join whatever attack they wanted. They could have taken command if they wanted, and considering that Kurt had been fighting wars before Antwoine’s father had been born, he probably would have done at least as good a job.
"The attack is scheduled for nine minutes," said McGurk, looking at the mechanical watch he wore. Several thousand had made it across and were now distributed to those who could use them the most. The battery-powered versions had died within a year, most of them. There was talk about more wind-up watches and clocks, something not beyond the skill of some of the humans. And one being taught to some of the elves, dwarves, and gnomes who would soon be turning out those implements as well. "Do you need a moment to relieve yourselves?"
"I think we're fine," said Kurt, looking over at his consort, who nodded in return.
"Then you can choose your place in the line, and we'll go ahead and get ready."
At three minutes before the attack all of the heavy cavalry were lined up, just inside the forest that bounded the grasslands. McGurk closed his eyes and linked with the mind of a hawk rider, cruising at high altitude. The rider was looking down over the grasslands, at the camp of the nomads. There were horse-lines around the camp, yurt-like tents covering the area within. Hundreds of wagons, driven by Ellala, were at the outside of the camp, and the nomads were unloading food and weapons given them by their employers. The colonel thought they must have believed that they were getting a good deal here, well supplied and with the promise of a lot of loot. They were about to find out that the deal was not as good as they thought.
* * *
Captain Ellisara Kellisa, a Conyastoya elf and battlehawk rider, drifted over the grassland, her bird riding the updrafts. She was high en
ough up that it was unlikely she would be spotted. The cold, high winds blew into her heavy coat, tossing her long braided hair around her head. She shivered from the cold, wishing she could get lower and warmer. But this was her job, and she needed to be on station until the task was through.
Her sharp eyes couldn't make out much detail on the ground. What she could see was the immense camp of the nomads, and the line of another train of wagons coming from the Ellala Empire. The people down there seemed unaware that they were about to come under attack, and Kellisa shook her head at the thought of the lack of discipline among the barbarians. They obviously had riders scattered around the grassland, but had just as obviously ignored the forests around them. To a wood dwelling elf's way of thinking, it was not a smart move.
[What's it look like?] came the mindspeak of the human commanding the cavalry. She enjoyed the mental contact with the intelligent young man, who had done well as a warrior in a strange land.
[They're there, and not ready to repel an attack. Look.] She opened her mind so the human could look through her eyes. It was a very personal process, since it also exposed her surface thoughts to the man, and not everyone could bring themselves to do it. Which made one like her valuable to the army.
[Looks good. We're currently moving out of the forest. Let me know if there's any reaction.]
Kellisa acknowledged as she set her bird into a circling path that took her closer to the forest, then back over the camp. She saw the lines of cavalry come out of the forest, straggling out at first, then lining up into straight lines that would be beyond the abilities of the cavalry of the barbarians to copy. Lined up, the cavalry started off at a walk. They would continue that walk, getting closer to the enemy, until she sent the signal to the commander that the nomads were reacting to them. There was no point in letting the horses run and make the ground rumble, allowing the enemy to detect them well before they came into sight.
Despite their deficits, the people from Earth were much more intelligent in so many subjects than were the natives: farming, building, technology, and, of course, warfare. They were not unbeatable, but they were unlikely to lose to the same tactics twice. One of them had told her about their Romans, who were famous for adapting to the tactics of their enemies. The modern ones seemed just as adaptable to her.
The heavy cavalry advanced like a tide rolling over a beach, something she had never seen, but had heard enough tales of from the newcomers. They rode across kilometers of grassland. The grazing animals that had called it home had been killed or driven off by the nomads, so there were no panicked herds to reveal their presence. She hoped after people were gone from this prairie that the beasts would return. To her people, land was worth nothing without plants and animals.
When the heavy cavalry was within three kilometers, easily visible across the flat land even with their camouflage spell in place, they were spotted. The enemy started to move: grabbing saddles for the horses and getting weapons ready. In such a large camp that took time, and from what she could see it was a race they would not win.
[They see you,] she sent.
[We're moving,] sent back the colonel, and the lines of cavalry increased their advance as they went into a trot.
The hawk rider continued to circle and observe, ready to provide aerial intelligence to the advancing force as needed.
* * *
"They've seen us," called out McGurk, still in contact with the hawk rider. "Sound trot."
They were still three kilometers from the edge of the camp, much too far for the heavy horses to run flat out. A trot would move them at fifteen kilometers an hour, and cover the distance in twelve minutes. They would not trot that far, perhaps four minutes to cover a kilometer. The enemy would still be panicking and confused, most yet to have saddled their horses by that time. At two kilometers, the horses went into a canter, twenty kilometers per hour, covering that kilometer in three minutes. By that time, a good number of the enemy would be in their saddles, but still not ready to accept a charge. The camp would get in the way, and many would take quite a few more minutes to get into a line, or try to ride away across the grasslands. As they hit the last kilometer the bugles sounded the charge, and the horses went into a gallop. Rushing in at forty kilometers an hour, they were now less than two minutes from a strike.
The shamans of the nomads, at least the few that had a clear line of sight at the charging cavalry, starting sending their bolts of magic out into the charge. The priests and mages of the cavalry erected magical shields right after the first bolt of lightning struck down half a dozen horses and riders. They then struck back, looping fireballs and lightning bolts into the ranks of the still confused enemy cavalry. Over a hundred dropped to their assault, including some of the dangerous shamans, but they accomplished more by sowing confusion among the panicked nomads.
At four hundred meters the shafts of the nomads started arcing out, while those of the bowman of the heavy horse arced in. There was not much time for an arrow duel, and the heavy horse and riders were the best-protected soldiers on the planet. Some fell from their mounts, some few more horses went down, pulling their riders to the ground with them. They tripped up a few more horses and riders, and two injured men were trampled along the way. Lances lowered, men looked from close behind their shields through visored helmets. Then, with a thunderous crash, the heavy cavalry struck.
The horses of the nomads were out massed by more than double by the heavy beasts. Those struck chest to chest were bowled over. The men sitting in their heavy war kaks had support behind them. The nomads, sometimes taking an attack while they were still sideways on their beasts, did not, and were almost always cleared by the first strike. Metal lance heads penetrated hide-covered small shields, and then into lamellar armor. Not even full plate could stop a lance, and many a barbarian was pierced and killed with massive damage to their torsos.
About half the lance shafts broke at first strike. McGurk took a quick moment to wish that they had something better. Soon they might, but what they had now were wooden shafts, and those kind of poles shattered as often as not. Men that still had a lance after the first strike were now only able to poke them like spears. Sometimes that ended with another kill by way of a spearpoint through throat or face, or into the side of a horse. Often it did not, and frustrated horsemen dropped still intact lances to draw their melee weapons.
The heavy cavalrymen were allowed to select their own favorite weapon for this part of the fight. Most favored bastard swords that could be swung onehanded on horseback, or with two hands on foot. Some used single-bladed heavy axes, others maces, a few the ball and chain known as morning stars. The nomads were limited to short lances that were no match for heavy armor, especially when standing still. Afterward they had bows, not very useful in the developing press, or lighter longswords. Some even carried cavalry sabers that were useful against lightly armored men, but took exceptional skill to strike a heavily armored man.
The battle had turned into a smashing match of men trying to break through the defenses of the enemy. Not every strike by the heavy cavalrymen cut through the armor of the enemy. They had swords to intercept, and the lamellar armor was tough. Still, enemies were falling at an alarming rate, while only a score or less of the heavy soldiers fell for every hundred enemy. Even then, most of the alliance troops were still alive when they fell, and would eventually rejoin the ranks after some healing and rest.
McGurk parried a slender blade with his bastard sword, pushing the other blade away and returning a strike that punched through shoulder armor into the flesh below. The nomad cried out as blood spurted, and his nerveless fingers dropped his blade. The colonel struck again, this time into the neck of the man, cutting deep in and leaving a flopping body on the back of the bucking mount.
Something slammed hard into the back of the colonel, pushing him forward on his saddle. It hit him again and again as he tried to turn in his saddle, but the nomad was dancing his own mount around him. Then the attack ended, an
d McGurk turned to see a dead nomad raised into the air on the sword-blade of Kurt von Mannerheim.
"Are you okay, Colonel?"
"I'll make it, sir. Thank you."
The immortal gave him a quick salute and spurred back into action, his two-handed sword slicing through the helmet and skull of another nomad with one blow. The female immortal rode up to his side and took out another one, her flaming blade burning as well as cutting through the armor.
McGurk cleared his head and launched back into the fight. It seemed like they would never run out of barbarians. It didn't look like he had lost all that many men, and they were still pushing into the enemy ranks. But many of the nomads were trying to back out so they could run, their nerve gone.
Antwoine let his guard down for a moment as he surveyed the battle, ready to make the decisions needed to complete the rout of this enemy. That was when death came at him for the second time that day in the form of a huge nomad on a larger than normal horse, swinging a massive tulwar into the colonel. The strike dented armor and tossed him from his horse to land hard on the ground. For some reason he retained his grip on his sword and rolled over to see the nomad ride toward him, obviously meaning to trample him under the hooves of the horse. McGurk struggled to get to his feet, his breath still gone, adrenaline fueling him despite the lack of air.
That was when his own warhorse struck, its steel shod hooves striking the ribs of the other mount while its strong teeth nipped into the other beast's neck. The nomad horse screamed in pain and fear, bucking up, its rider holding on for dear life. The warhorse struck again, hooves hard into the ribs of the smaller mount. The nomad couldn't get control of his mount, but he could get control of himself, and he raised his tulwar to strike at the warhorse. He eyed a section of the horse’s neck that was partially uncovered, and then swinging his sword. Only to meet the sword of Colonel Antwoine McGurk as he swung it up in a two-handed grip.
Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons Page 20