Dark Wolves

by J A Deriu

  There was a hum of agreement.

  Magnus coughed. “If they have long-range rifles – which I assume they do – they will inflict heavy casualties by the time we get to the gates.”

  “That is a good observation,” she said. “That is why we attack at night.”

  There were muted gasps. “Are you sure, Lord Commander?” Richord rubbed his chin.

  “Yes. And it must be tonight. They know we are here. They killed our scouts. Let’s not give them time to prepare.” There was silence. “Thoughts?”

  “You don’t like easy options, do you, Lord Commander?” Richord grimaced.

  “I like it,” Kani said. “I don’t mind fighting at night. It is cooler.”

  There were heads nodding. “We will need to work quickly to establish the order of battle.”

  “The strategic force – who is it to be?” Magnus asked.

  “Davos, do your men like street fighting?” She looked at the Janissary.

  “Lord Commander, we like it as much as the next soldier, but we have trained for it, and we would pull those black flags down quicker than a hound chasing a fox,” the soldier unemotionally replied.

  “I think the Bear-Hounds then,” she said. There were no objections. She lifted the volume of her voice and spoke to all of the group. “Gentleman and lady – we battle for the Holy City. The masters of this city are engraved in gold in the annals of history. Let us add our names. By the head of Saint Euphemia, may your God be with you.”

  They dispersed for the camp. She signaled for Frank Paulus to wait. “Have the militia get busy with digging trenches and defenses. I want to make it look like we are preparing for a siege.”

  “Yes, Lord Commander, but won’t they be tired for the attack?”

  “That is all right. Work them furiously until they are exhausted. They won’t be in the operations tonight.” His face wilted. “I know, Frank, but tonight will be one for the fanatics.”

  He nodded. “And you Lord Commander, what do you intend?”

  “I will be with the Metropolitan Legion and Black Swans – we will assault the main gate.”

  “I will shadow Gondemar. I am the liaison. It is important that I follow.”

  “Hmm, yes.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Stay close to him, be watchful, and carry extra ammunition. Tonight, we are fighting the army of hell.”

  Richord was waiting for her under the next tree. “Are you worried, Captain?” she asked him. “Is there something?”

  “No, Lord Commander. I am with you, as always. I have confidence. These devils did not even present at Acre. I am interested in what the plan is from here.”

  “We would have secured parts of the Holy Land from Acre in the north, Jerusalem in the center, and Beersheba in the south. This is a great swath of territory. We will need to prepare to defend, for we must assume that the Ottomans will come back. This will be our capital and Acre our stronghold. We will need to secure another port, probably Ashdod. It will be up to others how the territory is constituted and governed. There is politics for that. It is not our concern. If we are victorious, expect that many will come, and many of them will claim a title. There will be a monarch. That is the way in this part of the world. We can return to our origins and protect the pilgrims. For now, the Grand Master has given us only one task, and this is to take the Holy City for Christendom.”

  Richord sighed. “All easily said, Lord Commander. I will rest and then pray that you will lead us to victory again and then lead us in this same way for what is to come after that.”

  She watched him walk away. Miles was talking to Tulock. They were sitting on a stone fence. “Lord Commander.” Miles beckoned her. “This man has an interesting suggestion.”

  Tulock stood and bowed slightly from the hips. “Dear Templar Commander, I have been thinking of something,” the Abyssinian said in his steady manner. “The Abyssinian Army use a weapon that is like a rocket or missile. We call them fire-bursts. We have a supply with us, hundreds. They are usually used in attacks on villages. They will set fire to the huts. Of no use in a stone city, but they would provide light in a nighttime attack.”

  “Like flares,” Miles said.

  “Yes, Templar, like flares. Once you are in the city, it will be dark. The enemy will have the advantage because they will be hidden and will know the streets. At the right time, the fire-bursts could be launched, and the enemy will no longer have that advantage.”

  She nodded. “Will you have them ready?”

  “I will, Templar Commander.”

  Templars parted in front of her and closed behind. Their bodies were close. She could smell the sweat and feel their breathing. Night had covered the land. In the distance they could see the fires of their own camp. They were made to look as if many men were there sitting around them, but in truth there were only a handful running from fire to fire to make sure that they were tended. In front was the looming shape of the lightless Holy City.

  The message came that the ninth and last of the attack forces was in position. She checked her weapons. Her rifle was loaded with the lock off and bayonet attached. She had a pistol and short sword ready at her sides and ammunition belts across her chest. She reached her hand back over her shoulder and felt the fletching of an arrow, the hardness of the bow, and the grip handle of the samurai sword that Kani had gifted her and shown her how to use. She dropped her hand to her neck and touched the plain cross of her rosary beads which she wore on the inside of her shirt. She tightened her cap and signaled for those close to lean in. “Templars,” she whispered forcefully.

  They hummed a sharp response.

  “Templars, we are in darkness, but the Blessed Virgin Mary will guide us as she has always. She will be our light. Saint Michael the Archangel will be our weapon. The death cult is our foe, and tonight we send them to the pits of hell. We are Templars not by choice but by destiny, and tonight we close that destiny.” She lifted her gloved hand and made a fist, which she held tightly. “Templars! By the head of Saint Euphemia – love for each other, ferocity toward enemies.” The Templars thrummed in response. “For all the Templars of the past and those to come, we libertate the Holy City. Templars. Beau-Seant.” She dropped her hand, and they moved into the darkness.

  The order was passed to commence all nine attacks. The ranks rippled with confidence and eagerness. There were nearly a quarter of a million of them in the army. The defenders could not have near this type of number. Only Magnus of the Hospitallers had complained. He was bitter that they had been assigned one of the distant gates – no doubt because he wanted to be the first to the Temple of Solomon.

  The assault on the main gate moved at a deliberate run. The ground was rough and strewn with stones. The night air was heavy. Miles clanked at Clavdia’s side. She could see his contented face in the pale moonlight. The silhouettes of the enemy appeared atop the walls. They had recognized the large force moving toward them, and their harsh shouts disturbed the quiet. The first shots came. They were wild. It was impossible for the enemy to aim in the dark.

  The force narrowed as it massed toward the road for the final charge to the gate. The Templar marksmen stopped to fire back at the defenders. The rest increased their pace but kept their formation as they had been trained to do. The Black Swans prepared their hand bombs. Miles signaled them forward. A barricade had been set across the opening of the gate. It looked to be of wood and stones and at a soldier’s height. The bombs, which were the size of a large hand, had their fuses lit and were tossed into the opening.

  Moments later, the thumping bangs came to be immediately followed by the hail of sparks spitting out of the gatehouse. The Black Swans were as fearless as their captain. Before the explosions had stopped, they were through the gate and shooting at the barricade.

  Firing came back, and some fell roughly to the ground. The Templars tightened to get through the narro
w opening. Pedro was at her back, and Greta was in front with her sword out. The Black Swans yelled and climbed the barricade. They made it to the top and shot down to the other side. One was flung back and landed on his fellow comrade in arms. Hand bombs were thrown over.

  “For the Blessed Virgin. Attack. Templars, attack!” Clavdia joined the shouting.

  Miles had battered a gap at the side and was going through with his men. She knocked into Frank, who was covering. He had his rifle aimed and shot an enemy soldier that was on the battlements above. The black-clad body fell from the height. Gondemar clapped him on the back. “Great shot.”

  She directed her group to the Black Swan breach. They passed under the gate. The barricade was flanked by buildings that the enemy fired from. Templars crouched into firing positions and aimed at the flashes. She used the cover to move to the breach. The path was covered by pushed-over stones and boards. She stepped through the gap when a body that came from the other side crashed into her. Fortunately, she had her bayonet down, as it was Miles with one of his bleeding soldiers in his arms. He was dragging the man, who was limp and had a chest wound. More of the Black Swans were retreating through the gap. “There is too much firepower,” Miles calmly advised. “We will need a lot more to charge that lot.”

  They both looked up. There was a hiss and then a crack across the sky. A yellow, fiery light lit the night sky and began dropping slowly. “Tulock has fired the fire-bursts,” Clavdia said. “He’s too early. The force is still outside.”

  The light brought an intensifying of the gunfire, and they ducked down. They could only fall back to the shelter of the gatehouse, and under there they could still be hit by a well-angled bullet.

  A Templar was knocked over by the jolt of a hitting bullet. Shouts of pain filled the shelter. Miles stood straight and fired back at the enemy.

  She called out orders. “Templars, stay together. We must take the barricade.” She looked back at those who were grouping under the gate. It seemed much less than they needed.

  Miles had stuck his head out of the cover and reported back. “The enemy is massing on the battlements and shooting down on our fighters who are badly exposed because of these fire-bursts.”

  “That is why there are not more coming through. Damn.”

  “Too right. Damn. We need numbers to rush the barricade.”

  “Shall we signal for the Bear-Hounds?”

  “Yes, I think so. They will plow right through.”

  Gondemar broke away from a panting runner and scurried across to speak to her. Frank was with him. “Lord Commander.” The Templar was breathless. “The Hospitallers have ordered the Bear-Hounds to deploy through their gate. Tulock seeing the attack, shot the fire-bursts.”

  Clavdia shook her head. “He is well out of the action. What a waste. Magnus, that stupid bastard.”

  “We need those men here!” Miles cursed. “This is the gate to take. We could crash that barricade if we had them.”

  “Signal for the militia to come,” Frank interjected.

  “What?”

  “The militia. They will give you the numbers you need.”

  “What are you talking about, boy? They will end up dead,” Miles mordantly said.

  “They are ready.” Frank looked at Clavdia.

  Her head was still shaking. “All right, Captain.” She addressed Gondemar. “Signal for the Montgisard Militia to attack.” She turned to Frank. “Are you sure they are ready?” He shook his head that he was. She faced Miles. “Rally your men, Captain.”

  They hunkered in their position and exchanged fire with the enemy. The sounds of heavy firing rang out from behind as the advancing Templars were fired on from the battlements and tried to shoot down the enemy in return. The gateway was full, so that those who were outside had to find cover among the shrubs and ditches until the barricade was charged and the road cleared. The Black Swans threw the last of their hand bombs over the barricade. The enemy shouted back and replied with another volley of bullets.

  The sounds of shooting from outside the gate intensified and were accompanied by screams from the charging Templars. Frank’s lip curled in a grimly satisfied way. A body of one of the enemy soldiers fell from the battlement and crunched onto the road. Another one who had also been shot followed. An exhausted runner collapsed next to Clavdia and then lifted himself. “The militia is here.”

  “Signal them through, Sergeant,” she ordered. She stood and gripped her rifle. “Prepare to attack,” she called out. The Templars quickly formed into rows and leveled their bayonets. Miles was at her shoulder. His face was lit yellow by the descending fire-bursts. She could feel the thick of the Templars around her. She glanced behind to see that the gray of the Templars and the dark blue of the militia were being waved through the gate. They had to go before they became too bunched. “Attack, Templars! Attack.”

  Her scream was echoed by many voices. “For the Blessed Virgin.” They fired a thick barrage of bullets to clear any defender with his head above the barricade and charged. A column spread to the side to cover the firing positions of the enemy who overlooked them on the wall.

  Clavdia had learned that battle was about numbers – but more importantly about how those numbers were used. She shouted orders so that the Black Swans would attack one side, the Metropolitan Legion the other, and the militia would go over the top of the barricade. That way the End-of-Days Army would be swamped trying to defend on three sides.

  She was still for a moment, making sure that the attack was as it should be. Miles’s men were a model of him and jostled with one another to be first into the breach. Their captain barged his way to the front and led them through the gap with a nonchalant yell. Her body hurried into action, and she joined her own legion attacking their side of the barricade. They shoved sacks out of the way and toppled wooden screens. The militia had scaled to the top of the barricade and were shooting down. She saw Frank direct them with his hand thrust forward and finger pointed.

  The enemy’s fire was no longer concentrated. Templars were hit and fell, but many more made it under the gate and to the other side, where they could steady and shoot at the shattered ranks of the enemy. She met up with Miles as Templars began to chase the enemy soldiers into the narrow streets. The barricade was being pulled down so more of their own could surge into the city. “We need to keep our ranks,” she said to Miles. “This will be cat and mouse.”

  The Templars bayoneted any of the enemy left and secured the area. They used the light from the Abyssinian fire-bursts to check maps. The consensus was that the enemy would defend to the death the Temple Mount, so that would be where their main force would be. They had prepared to fight disciplined Ottomans. This enemy would be unpredictable.

  They broke into small groups to secure the city street by street with a main force held back to strike if the enemy counterattacked. The fighting from the other gates could be heard. Reports came that at least three had been breached. The Two-Headed Wolves and Bay City Legion had taken a nearby gate, Fulke’s contingent another, and the Hospitallers and Bear-Hounds were coming from deep.

  The streets had an eerie quiet, only broken by the fighting in the background and the sound of a baby crying from a window. The inhabitants had hidden from the fighting but could be seen moving a curtain or peeking over a ledge. A single enemy or a few of them would emerge from the gloom, fire their rifles until empty, and charge at them while shouting their deathly mantra. The marksmen were not troubled in ending them well before a sword was needed.

  Miles urged his men to move faster. He was fretting that Magnus would beat them to the temple. Clavdia wanted caution. There was no need for haste. They were not fighting a proper army. The reality was that the city had fallen. The cult had made it easier by chasing the Ottomans away.

  She ducked into a doorway as a burning motor vehicle was rolled down a slope toward them. She managed to glance in
side as it passed. “Take cover,” she shouted. “There is a bomb!” She had seen the burning fuse attached to the barrel that had been tied inside. The motor vehicle crashed into a lamppost and exploded. Flaming parts of it careened over the street. Shrapnel hissed and spat past her. Dust spewed, and smoke whorled from the mess. She held her position and checked that it was not the prelude to a charge. Templars emerged out of the dirty smoke. Pedro crouched next to her. Greta was behind him cleaning the soot from her face. “Are there casualties?” she asked.

  Pedro nodded his head. “There are. Gondemar is the worst. Badly torn up, Lord Commander. He is not breathing.”

  She grimaced and completed a sign of the cross.

  The fire-bursts had landed deep into the Holy City so that they had some light to move by. The Temple Mount was within sight. Its dome looked black in the night. The streets were ancient flagstones with many parts uneven. The resistance was not coordinated. It was a ragtag of fighters left to their own command.

  She called a runner to her side. “Inform Captain Knight Jodi that I have ordered a full attack. To not hold back and join the attack.”

  Across the street, the Black Swans had taken fire from a window on the upper story of a building. One of them had been hit and was being bandaged. Others kicked in doors but were not sure which window the shooting had come from. Miles tapped his wounded man on the knee and joined the search. He stalked to a darkened doorway and kicked the door open with a vicious, well-trained kick. Out of the blackness with the speed of a striking viper, a flashing blade was thrust out. The captain did not move. The point could be seen sticking out from his back. Clavdia bolted from her position. Miles stood but still did not move. Halfway across the road, she realized that she had left her rifle. She managed to ready her bow and nock an arrow without upsetting her strides. She fired over the captain’s shoulder. The enemy was propelled, lifeless, backward, with an arrow through his neck. Miles fell into her arms. She struggled to hold him from the ground. The handle of the imbedded blade moved with his heavy breaths. His hand pulled at her arm, and he then lifted it so that his fingers could touch her face. “I am sorry, Lord …” He gulped his last breath.