Purgatory's Shore

by Taylor Anderson

  “Your first real action too, I reckon,” Boogerbear observed evenly, noting Reed’s contained anxiety.

  Reed took a deep breath and sighed. “Well, yes. I was at the beach, of course”—he half raised the arm that would never recover completely—“and I’m not concerned I’ll prove shy—some never know until they’re in it—but I’ve never had this much responsibility. Even at the beach, with Colonel De Russy . . . indisposed, I had Captain Anson.” He patted his pockets and then dropped his hand. “Oh, I do wish I could risk a cigar! It might even be worth returning to that reeking tent!”

  Boogerbear withdrew a tobacco pouch from his haversack. “Have a chaw. I mixed some honey-like stuff—might be real honey; the bees look honest enough—with some local tobaccy. Chews pretty sweet an’ mild.”

  Reed took the pouch and fished out a wad of sticky leaves, pushing them into his mouth. “Thank God,” he murmured. “Thank you, Lieutenant Beeryman.” He chewed a moment before saying, “Very good. Listen,” he added awkwardly, “I didn’t mean to sound so nervy. I’m really not, you know.” He chuckled again. “And even if I was, I’m sure Major Cayce’s plan has taken that into account as well. He’s an extraordinary man and will make this as easy as possible on all of us. We’ll know what to do when the time comes—if everything goes as he expects.”

  “Not easy on him, though,” Boogerbear observed.

  Reed frowned. “No. He seems to love this and hate it all at once, but he clearly has a talent. He also seems to put himself too much to the front for my liking. I’m glad we have him. I just hope we can keep him.” He suddenly held up his hand. “What’s that?”

  Something like distant thunder rolled in through the trees from the northeast, but there was no lightning and the stars and moon still washed the glade in their silvery light.

  “Cannon,” Boogerbear declared. “Deep in the woods, about three miles?” He seemed uncertain. “Hard to tell in all these damn trees.”

  “He’s coming, then,” Reed said.

  “Sure he’s comin’,” Boogerbear assured. “The questions are, will he make it, when’ll he get here, an’ what’ll he have left when he does? Finally, even then, will the Doms do what he thinks?” He wadded some of the sticky leaves into his own cheek and nodded at his horse. “Reckon it’s time for me an’ ol’ Dodger to get back where we belong. It’ll take a while, an’ with such a heavy day comin’, I don’t want him tired.”

  “God be with you, Lieutenant Beeryman.”

  “You too, Major Reed.”

  * * *

  —

  BY THE TIME Boogerbear was back with his Rangers on the far left, the sky was beginning to turn a hazy gray over the tall trees to the northeast. There hadn’t been any more cannon fire for some time, but now he heard it again, actually seeing a brief pulse of light in the damp sky and a sharp flash in the trees beyond where the road pushed into them. Oddly, there were just a few Doms gathered on the road, just milling about and talking, apparently discussing what was coming. Surely whoever was defending the road, attempting to slow Lewis’s deliberate advance, had sent messengers back. Still, there’d been no evident alarm in the great camp—though quite a few men had come out of tents as the fighting came closer. Finally, as the gray sky started turning gold, horns sounded and the rest of the men began to stir, rushing from their tents to fall into company formations.

  Boogerbear laughed and, reaching over, thumped Teniente Lara on the shoulder. “Look at that. I told you Major Cayce’d time his arrival to suck them devils into ranks before they got fed! Up an’ about or not, I doubt many got any sleep, an’ now they’ll fight on empty bellies.”

  Lara yawned hugely. “I didn’t sleep either,” he reminded.

  “So? You ate somethin’, even if it was cold. An’ you knew what was comin’ today. None o’ those poor bastards did.” He sobered. “Good thing they didn’t send reinforcements up the road. Might’ve stopped him, then.”

  Ixtla had joined them and shook his head. “Then they couldn’t have their battle. And they desperately want a proper battle!”

  Boogerbear looked at him in surprise. “Major Cayce knows this? An’ what the hell’s the rest o’ that mean?”

  Ixtla laughed. “Of course he knows. I’m sure a large percentage of his plan relies on it. As for why, well, as numerous and powerful as they are, the Doms have never fought a ‘proper’ battle any more than our troops have! They yearn to do so and will be quite certain our whole army has come up to join Major Cayce on that road. Why else would he keep pushing? If they stopped it up entirely, it couldn’t come out and deploy where they can destroy it. And they must destroy it or its survivors can slow their advance on Uxmal to a crawl! The table is turned, as you say. See those officers down where the road runs into the forest?” He practically giggled. “They’re planning how much room to give us as we so conveniently appear.”

  “Mighty considerate,” Boogerbear groused, annoyed he hadn’t been given Ixtli’s little tidbit until now. “Is Major Reed in on it?”

  “Of course. But other than him . . .” Ixtli counted on his fingers, then laughed at Boogerbear’s expression. “Most of the Ocelomeh will have figured it out, I expect, but few will have been told. I doubt even Alcalde Periz was informed.”

  “I can believe that.” Boogerbear nodded. “Damn spies creepin’ all over Uxmal. Best to keep things to yourself.”

  It was brightening very quickly, and Boogerbear saw the officers Ixtli pointed out now mounting and galloping back to the camp where companies were forming into regimental columns five hundred long and four abreast. The huge siege guns were still where they’d been parked, but smaller guns with split trails were being hitched to clumsy-looking low-lying limbers already harnessed to big, brutish armabueys. These were being led forward or off to the sides in pairs, or sections.

  “Twenty field guns,” Lara counted.

  “Slow, though,” Boogerbear observed. “Damn slow-moving.” He glanced at Lara. “You’ll remember Arista’s guns an’ limbers weren’t all that different, but he deployed ’em faster. Still, once they were set for the fight at Palo Alto, I don’t believe they moved again until they got pulled out.”

  “I do remember,” Lara sadly confirmed, then compressed his lips, “and I remember very well how devastating the mobility of your artillery proved that day.”

  “Made the difference.” Boogerbear nodded.

  “I hope it will again,” Lara said softly.

  * * *

  —

  LEWIS HAD BEEN reinforced shortly before dawn by almost a thousand Home Guard troops and Hudgens’s section of heavy 12pdrs. De Russy—somewhat impulsively joined by Dr. Newlin—brought them up from Uxmal on a grueling forced march at Sira’s insistence after her wounded husband was delivered. Lewis had been surprised and gratified to see them. Pulling the city’s defenders hadn’t been part of the plan. But tired as they were, Lewis was impressed by their determination, and he really did need them. The fighting on the track hadn’t been fierce, the resistance fairly sparse and isolated, but they’d suffered some casualties, and his force had to look as impressive as possible when it emerged in the washboard glade just a couple hundred yards ahead. Few of the guards had firearms of any kind, and most carried only pikes, but they were good with those pikes and wore the same uniform as American infantry. Their footsore but well-drilled ranks would make Lewis’s demonstration more convincing.

  “How was Periz? And how did Sira behave?” he asked De Russy and Newlin, now riding with him, Varaa, Leonor, Barca, and Willis, just in front of Hudgens’s fully reconstituted battery. Only the Rangers remained between them and the glade.

  “Periz was dying. Nothing I could do for him, at any rate,” Newlin reported gravely. After a short pause, he snorted angrily. “I’ve taught the Ocelomeh and Uxmalo healers all I know about battlefield medicine—something they were already acquainted with, of cour
se, if not on the scale they’ll face—but with a few exceptions, their fundamental medical skills are better than mine. Sometimes I’m the teacher but more often the student. I’ve actually been more focused on chemistry of late, experimenting with fulminate of mercury to supply your weapons that require percussion caps. Tricky, dangerous stuff,” he murmured, then shook his head. “But today I’m just a surgeon again, and at least here with you I might be of use.”

  “Major Reed will have established the primary field hospital,” Varaa said. “Perhaps after we deploy and things . . . begin in earnest, you can move to join him.”

  “Perhaps.” Newlin looked at Lewis. “Sira behaved admirably under the circumstances, by the way.” He waved behind, where the Home Guards were marching. “And quite decisively. Mistress Samantha has become her chief advisor in this crisis, and it was actually her idea to reinforce you. Sira Periz agreed at once. In spite of her understandable grief and worry, she’s fully aware that if you lose, Uxmal cannot stand.”

  Captain Anson pounded back down the track and pulled back on his reins. Colonel Fannin danced to an agitated stop. Like Arete, Anson’s horse could sense a battle brewing. “I had a look ahead,” Anson informed them, “an’ it’s just like we predicted.”

  “I predicted.” Varaa huffed slightly.

  Anson rolled his eyes to the heavens. “Who cares, you self-absorbed ’possum? They’re formin’ up right in the center of the glade, about nine hundred yards, leavin’ us plenty of room to place ourselves and clearly invitin’ us to their battle.”

  Lewis nodded acceptance—and amusement at the Ranger’s familiar jest at Varaa. Then again . . . There was no doubting Anson’s steadiness in battle, but he had to wonder if the uncharacteristic remark was due to camaraderie and confidence or uneasy concern. “Very well, Captain Anson. Take the lancers and Rangers out as skirmishers, dragoons on the flanks. Lieutenant Hudgens,” he called when Anson whirled his horse around and galloped out of the trees, “you’ll unlimber your battery in three widely spaced sections, leaving room between them for Lieutenant Meder’s riflemen, as well as the Rangers and dragoons when they fall back.” He looked almost apologetically at De Russy. “I’ll go out with them. You’ll have to lead the Uxmalo Infantry.”

  De Russy looked unhappy. “I . . . I’m not sure I can. We agreed it would be better . . .”

  “You can certainly deploy them as if on parade,” Lewis told him gently, forging ahead. “Bring them out when we’re in position and go from column into line. Two lines, not shoulder to shoulder, but at arm’s length, and leave five paces between the lines when you bring them forward. Hopefully, the second rank will seem to fill the spaces in the front from behind while giving an impression of depth.” He shrugged. “It’s all I can think of to make us look like twice our number. From ground level, and from the distance Captain Anson described, it should serve.”

  “What’s a ’possum?” Varaa asked.

  Lewis raised an eyebrow at her, then, turning to the front, gently applied his spurs. “Let’s go.”

  “But what’s a ’possum!” Varaa demanded, racing after him. “Is it a good thing?”

  The mounted men had already spilled out of the woods when Lewis and his companions trotted out under the rising morning sun. Anson was in the center, his Rangers, lancers, and dragoons still on their horses and presenting a sparse front about five hundred yards wide—roughly equal to the width of the two closest tightly packed Dom regiments so far away, the rising sun in their faces and yellow uniforms blazing gold. Ocelomeh observers in the tops of tall trees estimated each regiment was composed of around two thousand men and the enemy had stacked them two wide and three deep as they assembled, with more still falling in in the camp. Hudgens led his guns out next, spokes blurring as hooves rumbled and trace hooks jangled. He started placing them in pairs as Lewis told him—like Olayne, he was shaping into a fine artilleryman—with a hundred and fifty yards or so between each section. Men jumped down from horses and limbers, unhitching the guns, and the horses and limbers proceeded a short distance to the rear, where they turned to the front once more. Lieutenant Meder’s riflemen came out at the double, thinly filling the gaps between the sections. De Russy appeared more ponderously, peeling men off to either side of the road just outside the trees, cajoling them into the unfamiliar formation where the enemy might not see them before he marched them forward. The left side of the line carried the flag of Uxmal—the blue saltire on white—but Hudgens had entrusted his battery’s four-by-four-foot Stars and Stripes to the Uxmalos on the right to make it seem the American infantry was here as well. I should’ve thought of that, Lewis scolded himself. Hudgens will do very well indeed.

  English-speaking NCOs shouted at the Uxmalos to keep their alignment as De Russy gave the word and the Home Guards pushed forward to the deeper sound of their native drums, pikes on their shoulders and bayonet-like blades glittering in the sun. Flags flapped in the offshore morning breeze, and the tramp of feet in time with the drum was very loud.

  “We look fairly impressive, at least,” Newlin stated critically.

  “So do they,” Reverend Harkin said lowly, glowering across the field at the Doms. They carried many more of the twisted-cross flags than the number of regiments accounted for, streaming above yellow-clad troops like a kind of bloody smoke. “Damn them,” he muttered.

  Anson fell back and trotted past, heading toward Lewis. “If you ain’t gonna arm yourselves, I suggest you stay back behind the infantry, out of the way.”

  “And damn you, sir!” Harkin snapped. “Arm me and I’ll fight! I can use a musket!”

  Anson paused and gave him a curious look. “What can you do with a rifle, preacher? Felix Meder lost two men on the trail and has their weapons on one of the caissons.”

  “I’m better with a rifle than a musket. Why, I often shot squirrels for my dinner as a lad!”

  Anson tilted his head at the Doms. “They ain’t squirrels. But talk to Mr. Meder if you like.” He pushed on to where Lewis sat on his horse with his unlikely staff. “Well, here we are. They let us come out an’ everything. What’s next? You think they expect us to attack them?”

  “Someone will tell me what a ’possum is before this day is done,” Varaa grumped, “but the Doms may expect exactly that. Remember, as confident as they are in their numbers, they’re new at this too.”

  Lewis scratched the beard on his chin. “We have to make them attack us, and soon. The rest of our army can’t hide forever. We might ask for another parley, I suppose. Try to insult them into coming.” He frowned. “I don’t think so. I don’t want to talk to them anymore. But we need them closer, focused on us.” He looked at Anson. “We’ll give them a jab. Have your horsemen take their mounts to the rear—not too far, keep them handy—and rejoin the riflemen between the guns.”

  “Yes sir,” he said. “Bugler!”

  “Then?” Leonor asked, speaking for the first time in quite a while.

  Lewis grinned at her. “Then we open the ball. I hope you like this one as much as I enjoyed our dances at the last. Lieutenant Hudgens,” he shouted at the mounted officer behind the nearest section of guns. “Load and hold. Prepare to commence firing.”

  “Solid shot or case, sir?”

  Lewis considered. Their exploding case shot was extremely limited, and they hadn’t solved the problem of making more. Time fuses were difficult enough, but simply casting a hollow metal ball had defeated everyone involved in the project so far. In addition, Varaa had recently questioned the wisdom of “introducing” case shot to the Doms at all. They didn’t have it, but might make their own if they saw it in use, perhaps even collecting unexploded examples. But Lewis might need it today, and he’d have to trust his people to solve the problem of replacing it. As for the Doms . . . I must let the day decide, he told himself. “Solid shot, for now. At least until they spread out a little. As deep as their ranks are at present, ea
ch shot might kill a dozen men. But you’re free to load case at your discretion when they shift to a more open formation,” he replied.

  “If they do,” Varaa said.

  “Surely they will?”

  Varaa pointed to the southwest, just a few hundred yards from where Boogerbear and Lara were reported to have their Rangers, lancers, and Ocelomeh. A large block of Dom lancers was gathered there, just south of their tents. “They learned not to send them straight against us,” Varaa kakked, “and no doubt they mean to come thundering over to strike our flank at some point, but other than that little skirmish last night—that was not a ‘battle,’ ” she stated definitively, “Dom infantry has never received cannon fire. They’ll learn some new lessons today.” She shook her head at Lewis, blinking irony and grinning. “Really, Major Cayce. I protest. You’re educating the enemy far too freely.”

  Lewis grinned back. “Then let’s see how high we can raise their tuition. Lieutenant Hudgens, you may commence firing.”

  The two heavy 12pdrs fired first, almost as one, flattening the tall grass in front of them with a great thundering, clanking boom. Twin jets of yellow fire leaped from muzzles dipping violently downward amid huge rolling clouds of smoke before breeches crashed loudly against elevation screws. The guns rolled back past their crews—about seven feet in all—while brake chains rattled and swayed and the shriek of their shot tore downrange like ripping sheets. Neither had fired an exploding shell, but there were a pair of bright red explosions among the Doms. Mere bodies can’t stop such projectiles, not even a dozen of them, or even sap much of their energy. Whole files of men exploded like melons, shattered parts geysering up all around. Ribs, arm bones, shattered muskets, even buttons, slashed men standing near. Four 6pdr solid shot crashed into the Doms as well, doing similar if lesser execution. Amid the screams and wails of pain, the whole Dom army seemed to voice a collective groan.