Part 9 (1/2)

”Bugler, sound a.s.sembly!” Arnett roared, and it was the last command he ever gave as, an instant later, a sniper bullet smashed into his forehead.

McDougal caught the colonel as he fell, saw that he was dead, and dropped him. McDougal took a quick look around. The Thirty-third was well dug in on a low hilltop. Though drunk, he still knew how to fight, and, running to the parapet wall, he saw the black-clad host storming out of the forest and into the cleared firing lanes cut around the position. Bullets snicked through the air above him, a geyser of dirt erupting from the battlement wall by his side.

Laughing, he looked back at the men of his regiment, most of them green boys who'd never heard a shot fired in anger. The call of the bugle was no longer needed as the men raced to the battlement walls, fumbling to sling on cartridge boxes. Though only a regimental sergeant major, he took one look at the Roum lieutenant colonel who was second-in-command and knew that the old patrician was out of his element.

The Bantag leapt forward, shouting their deep soul-searching death cries. McDougal could see some of his own men already stepping back off the firing line, ready to flee.

Drawing his revolver, he leapt on top of the breastworks and, laughing, pointed the revolver at the advancing charge.

”Stand and fight, you sons of b.i.t.c.hes,” he roared. ”We're all going to die, so let's go down fighting!”

Whipping his horse, Vincent Hawthorne urged it into one final desperate surge. He could see the messenger coming down off the crest a mile ahead, galloping hard, and the urgency of the rider already told him what he had dreaded to hear, though the thumping of the guns in the distance was indication enough of what was happening.

Overhead one of the d.a.m.n airs.h.i.+ps was moving lazily to the southeast, toward the ocean. Even as he watched it, there was a puff of smoke, and several seconds later he heard the scream of the light sh.e.l.l as it came in and detonated fifty yards away. He continued to urge his horse forward, finally reining in as the messenger approached, motioning for him to swing around and ride alongside. The messenger turned his horse about and fell in on Vincent's flank.

”They're coming!” he shouted.

Even as the messenger screamed his warning Vincent reached the crest of the hill and reined in hard.

Fort Hanc.o.c.k, which guarded the narrow harbor two miles beyond, was wreathed in smoke. Flashes of light told him that the fort's guns were still firing, but he knew already there was precious little the fort's thirty-pounders could do against the forces arrayed before it.

Sighing, he looked back across the open prairie he had just crossed. The first regiments of infantry were visible in the distance, four, maybe five miles away. Another two hours before they'd be up, and by then it would be far too late.

”Sir, did you get our last message? We got no reply, the line went dead. I was told to come look for you.”

”No. I saw where the telegraph wire's been cut as I came up,” Vincent replied. ”d.a.m.n airs.h.i.+ps.”

”It's h.e.l.l down there,” the messenger said. ”They've got some d.a.m.n big guns.”

Through the eddies of smoke he could see a half dozen ironclads sitting almost stationary less than a hundred yards offsh.o.r.e, pouring their shot into the fort. He had expected to see that, but it was what was going on along the sh.o.r.e a couple of miles south of the bay that filled him with awe . . . and fear.

Chapter Six.

If ever he had felt a moment of triumph, it was here, at this moment. Ha'ark wished that others, who had known him before, could see him thus, those who had scoffed at him, those who had felt themselves his betters because of their blood, and not because of what they had accomplished as he had now accomplished.

The galley he was in raced toward the rocky beach, maneuvering at the last second to slow its forward movement. It was a point of honor that he must be first, so that the legend would be fed, to grow in its telling. As the boat slid up onto the beach it stopped with a sudden lurch, and, losing his balance, he fell forward off the boat, landing on his hands and knees on the muddy sh.o.r.e.

He could hear the gasps, the cries of some that an ill omen had occurred. His mind raced and then, smiling, he dug down into the mud with his hands, and stood up, holding his arms high.

See, my warriors!” he roared. ”I seize this world with both hands!”

A wild triumphal roar erupted, and the warriors, eager to join him, leapt from the sides of the boat, into the muddy water, wading ash.o.r.e. Casting the dirt down he turned to struggle up the slippery ledge to the high firm ground beyond, hiding his delight as some of his soldiers scrambled to pick up as a lucky talisman the mud he had dropped.

Dozens of boats beached to either side of him, each one disgorging eighty warriors, who raced up onto the open ground and began to spread out in open order, pus.h.i.+ng a line forward toward the low ridgeline beyond. The airs.h.i.+p overhead had already signaled that the nearest forces were still an hour or more away. Surprise had been nearly complete. His greatest fear had been that Keane would have received enough warning to block him. He did not yet have the s.h.i.+ps that could land directly on a defended beach, and all his plans would have been for naught.

To his right, just beyond artillery range, the enemy fort was still under attack. Maybe the fools would be stupid enough to try and stay, for if they lingered much longer, his ground troops would cut off their escape and thus acquire rations for the evening.

More and yet more s.h.i.+ps came in, disgorging their regiments, while one of the precious flat-bottomed steams.h.i.+ps edged its way to sh.o.r.e, dropped a forward ramp, and the first battery of artillery was pushed ash.o.r.e. Hundreds of warriors, armed with picks and shovels, were busy cutting a road through the ledge, and within minutes the battery was up off the beach, horses. .h.i.tched to the caissons and then lashed forward.

Raising his field gla.s.ses, he could see a small cl.u.s.ter of riders on the far ridge. Was it Hans?

He focused in on them. No; if it was Hans, he would know. There would be that sense of defiance, that d.a.m.nable defiance. If he could sense anything from this one, it was fear. Good, very good.

Two airs.h.i.+ps came in low over the hills and, rim-ning with the breeze, swept over the ocean, then turned into the wind. Dripping down, they approached one of the galleys, from which a small red balloon was flying. The first airs.h.i.+p pa.s.sed over the galley, snagging the balloon, and it soared up, cans of fuel dangling from the end of the line, which was quickly hauled up. The second airs.h.i.+p moved into position, another balloon went up, to be snagged as well. The warriors around him watched the show with awe and looked with admiration at Ha'ark. Yet again he had shown them a new thing, a way of keeping the flying machines above them for yet more hours. It was so simple, Ha'ark thought, and yet so wondrous to them. Once their position was secured a station would be established and the airs.h.i.+ps landed.

His attention now s.h.i.+fted to the center of all his plans. A steams.h.i.+p moved in close to sh.o.r.e, and, as its whistle sounded, the towline astern of the s.h.i.+p was cast off. The four barges behind slowed to a stop. Galleys moved in on either side of the barges, lines were cast over, and the ungainly craft towed slowly the last hundred yards to the beach, galleys and barges sliding up onto the muddy sh.o.r.e.

The bow of the first barge dropped forward. Puffs of smoke swirled up in a black cloud, and, with its whistle shrieking, the first land cruiser edged off the barge, its great wheels sinking deep into the mud. Troops carrying heavy planks leapt from the galleys and ran up in front of the cruiser, throwing the boards down in front of the machine. He held his breath, waiting. The land cruiser edged forward, the middle drive wheels leaving the barge. The boards underneath cracked under the weight, sinking. The machine remained stationary for a moment, steam and smoke pouring out of it, and then ever so slowly it edged forward, heading toward the opening cut in the ledge. The land cruiser reared up as its front wheels dug into the embankment. It rose higher, and yet higher, its forward gun pointing to the heavens. Wheels spinning, it seemed to hang in midair, then cleared the ledge, slamming down onto the hard ground of the open steppe.

The driver held the whistle down in triumph, the high, piercing shriek sending a s.h.i.+ver down Ha'ark's spine. Farther down the beach the second cruiser was ash.o.r.e, then a third, and a fourth. Whistles shrieking, they slowly started forward, infantry companies spreading out before the advance, artillery batteries falling in beside the cruisers.

The chant started somewhere forward, and in an instant swept the length of the line . . . ”Ha . . . ark, Ha ... ark, Ha . . . ark!”

Grinning, Ha'ark waited as an orderly brought his horse. Mounting, he cantered over to the nearest land cruiser and, leaping from his mount, scrambled on top of the machine. Ha'ark motioned to the rifle in its scabbard, and an orderly drew it out and tossed it to him. He held it aloft, the sunlight rippling along the burnished barrel. Warriors who but short years ago would have charged with swords drawn, now held bayonet-tipped rifles aloft in reply.

”Ha . . . ark! Ha . . . ark! Ha . . . ark!”

Smiling, he looked back toward the rider on the hill.

”Ha . . . ark!”

The words floated in the late-afternoon air as Vincent lowered his field gla.s.ses. So that was him.

He tried to focus his thoughts, knowing all that Hans had told him. There were some of the Horde that could somehow sense the minds of others. Hans believed in it; so did Andrew. He now felt it as well, a probing, a taunting, a show of irresistible force that in his heart Vincent knew he could not stop.

Looking back down at the fort, he was horrified to see a column of men breaking out of the western sally port, running. They had waited too long. Bantag skirmishers were already deploying on their flank, pouring fire in.

He focused his gla.s.ses on one of them, watching as the Bantag fired, levered his breech open, slid a cartridge in, slammed the breech shut, capped the nipple, and aimed. Sharps pattern rifles, just like ours. Four, maybe five rounds a minute. He lowered his gla.s.ses and saw men dropping. The Bantag were good shots, hitting at two and three hundred yards. The knot of men thinned out, the strongest surging forward, running in panic.

The black-uniformed Bantag warriors charged, their long strides closing the gap at a frightening speed. The panicked regiment s.h.i.+ed away, turning to the north, but there was no safety there, only a downhill run to the bay.

The messenger beside him was cursing, crying. Vincent ignored him. Looking back across the prairie, he saw a battery of guns, twenty-pounders, racing forward, still almost a mile away. Can we make the stand here, Vincent wondered, or should we pull back? Some of his staff was now gathered around him, looking in wide-eyed wonder at the army deploying from the beach.

Vincent turned and started barking out orders.

”Get that battery up here now! Then detail off the two closest regiments armed with Sharps to open out into a skirmish line and come forward.” Vincent pointed at one of his men, and the orderly saluted and galloped off.

He pointed at the next one in line. ”Get back to General Gordon, tell him to hold the rest of the division on the ridge behind us, and dig in! Then I want a message sent back to General Keane.”

Vincent motioned for a message pad. Fis.h.i.+ng a pencil out of his breast pocket, he jotted down a quick note-”Sir. The main invasion has. .h.i.t here at Fort Hanc.o.c.k. Estimate two umens armed with modern weapons. Supported by eight ironclads, several hundred other s.h.i.+ps. At least twenty land cruisers like one Hans described. Will try to delay them, await your orders.”

After he signed his name he pa.s.sed the dispatch over. ”Ride like h.e.l.l!”

Taking his field gla.s.ses up, he focused on the fort. Cursing softly, he watched as the last of the garrison was slaughtered. One of the Bantag, as if sensing that he was watching, held a man aloft by his hair while laughing and looking straight up at Vincent. With a flourish of his blade he sliced the man's throat, then lapped at the blood as it cascaded out.

Bitter cursing erupted around Vincent.