Never Sound Retreat Part 25

"I know, d.a.m.n it. Andrew, you know what we might have to do."

Andrew looked at Pat and shook his head.

"We're talking about thousands of wounded, Pat, who can't move without help."

"We're also talking about the survivors of four corps."

"If they stay, I stay," Andrew snapped angrily."I'll not have it said I left those boys behind to die, not with a relief column less than two hours away."

Another mortar round screamed in, and Pat fell forward, pushing Andrew to the ground, the concussion of the explosion lifting them up.

Pat stood back up, motioning for their staffs to get moving. Orderlies, leading their mounts, came up, and Andrew climbed back into the saddle, struggling to calm Mercury as two more rounds bracketed them.

Andrew beckoned for his staff to gather around him, the men looking up nervously as another mortar round shrieked overhead.

"We're stopping on the high ground," Andrew shouted, pointing to the conical, tree-clad hill across the valley. "We dig in there and hope that Vincent can break through. All of you ride, get to Schneid, tell him to abandon the attack on the village and get up onto the hill. Start digging in, and also try to push some couriers through to Vincent."

As he spoke he pointed beyond the hill, where, on the horizon, puffs of smoke still lingered from the signal rockets.

The last of the skirmishers came running down the slope, leaping to their mounts. "They're almost on us," one of them shouted. "You better get moving!"

His staff galloped off, only his personal orderly remaining, holding his guidon.

"Pat, see you on the hill," Andrew shouted, as he spurred his mount forward, galloping down the long slope, approaching the rear of the retreating column on the next ridge. Urging Mercury on, he weaved his way through the lines of wagons, which had backed up while negotiating their way down a steep embankment and across a swift-flowing stream. He tried to block out the screams of the wounded inside the wagons as they bounced down the slope.

"Andrew!"

Gaining the sh.o.r.e, Andrew leaned forward as Mercury bounded up the embankment and reined in next to Emil.

"We're getting cut off by the land cruisers," Emil announced. "Word just came back."

"I know." He pointed toward the conical hill. "Try and get the wounded into the woods up there. Get the horses unhitched from the teams and have the wagons upended as barricades."

"You know you could push on without us," Emil said.

"Us? Who the h.e.l.l is Who the h.e.l.l is us?" us?"

Emil smiled.

"Keep them moving!" Andrew shouted.

Pushing on across the open fields, he pa.s.sed columns of regiments, the front ranks breasting through the high gra.s.s, the men staggering forward at the double. Equipment littered the line of retreat, blanket rolls, backpacks, empty canteens, even bayonets and scabbards had been tossed aside, the troops stripped down to rifle, cartridge box, and their tar-covered haversacks which had been filled to overflowing with ammunition before the last of the ordnance wagons had been turned over to the wounded.

At the rear of the columns, exhausted and wounded soldiers struggled to keep up, comrades helping them along.

Spurring Mercury on, he started up the hill, pausing occasionally to glance back. The front of his column had already broken off the attack and was recoiling up the west and northwest slope of the hill. Pausing at a rocky outcropping, Andrew looked back along the line of retreat and saw his flanking units contracting, moving at the double. Pat's guidon stood out at the rear of the retreating column, positioned now by the stream, where the last of the wagons was crossing, a battery deployed by the guidon, firing at the line of Bantag infantry cresting the low ridge where he had been twenty minutes before.

Andrew urged Mercury farther up the slope where the ground began to steepen. He pa.s.sed a clump of trees, a scattering of pines, with dozens of exhausted men sprawled under their shade. Edging his way around more toward the northern flank of the hill, he pa.s.sed a rocky outcropping of boulders, some of them the size of small houses. A brigade of infantry streamed around him, the men deploying into the boulder field, Schneid galloping past below them, shouting directions, pointing out where the retreating brigades were to dig in. A battery of ten-pounders clattered up the slope, horses foaming, panting. The gunners swung their teams around, unlimbering the pieces directly forward of the boulders. The battery forge wagon came to a halt, exhausted gunners pulling picks and shovels from the back of the wagon and starting to dig in, while other gunners, armed with axes, attacked the nearest trees. A decimated infantry regiment came up the slope, their commander ordering the men to help with the building of the breastworks. Groans and curses echoed through the column, but the men set to work, knowing that a dug-in battery might very well decide whether they lived to see evening.

A wild shout erupted from the boulder field, followed by cursing and laughing as several of the men darted back out, followed by one of their comrades, who was holding a decapitated but still-writhing snake by its tail.

Andrew felt a shiver of horror. If there was one thing he was truly terrified of, it was snakes, and he suddenly realized that this rocky hill was most likely a haven for them. He stared at the soldier, who was teasing his comrades with his trophy. The soldier looked up at Andrew.

"Makes a great dinner, sir."

A ripple of laughter swept the regiment, and Andrew wondered if the terror he felt was evident.

Trying to smile, he turned his horse aside and continued on across the west flank of the hill. The column of land cruisers, which he had sighted from the last ridge and lost sight of crossing the valley, were again in view, far closer now, moving to the north, parallel to his line and just beyond artillery range. Dark columns of Bantag infantry moved with them, looking like some sort of living ent.i.ty, a vast, threating multilegged creature, the sunlight glistening off their weapons. Horse-drawn batteries, limber wagons, caissons, and mortar units all moved with the columns.

Angling around to the north side of the hill, he saw Schneid's guidon and rode up to join the corps commander, who was standing next to a battery watching as the gun crews maneuvered their pieces into place, caissons and ammunition wagons deploying into the tree line.

"How's it going here, Rick?"

"Don't have much time, Andrew." He pointed to where the line of land cruisers were deploying into open formation. Bantag skirmishers darted ahead of the lumbering machines, engaging the thin line of blue waiting for them at the base of the hill and in the village, which was now wrapped in flames.

"Any sign of Hawthorne?"

"Haven't you heard, sir?"

"What?"

"Vincent's down. A courier just come through."

"Oh G.o.d." Andrew sighed. "How bad?"

"The courier didn't know. He led a charge to fix Ha'ark's attention on the center, while Marcus moved into the forest with Sixth and Fourth Corps. The attack we saw last night. The courier said word was it was pretty bad, shot in the hip."

So that was the fight from last night, Andrew thought. And it'd be like Vincent to lead it, hoping Ha'ark would see him. d.a.m.n.

Schneid, taking the cigar from his mouth, pointed off to the northwest.

"At least six miles out, caught sight of a column engaged a few minutes ago."

Andrew accepted Rick's field gla.s.ses and saw the smoke, antlike figures moving on the distant hills.

"Two, three hours at least." Andrew sighed. "d.a.m.n, so close, so d.a.m.n close."

"And they're fifteen minutes away," Rick interjected, pointing back down the hill.

The battery before the rocky outcropping opened up, even while their infantry a.s.sistants dragged freshly cut logs up and stacked them in front of the guns. The woods behind Andrew echoed with shouts, the ringing of axes, the men working feverishly to throw up some protection. Over in the rocky outcropping teams of ten and fifteen men struggled with boulders, stacking them into breastworks.

More guns opened up around the western slope of the hill and as the first rounds. .h.i.t the columns, the Bantag, moving as if guided by a single hand, began to spread out. Andrew lowered his field gla.s.ses to watch, awed by the precision of the maneuver.

"Four umens, forty thousand warriors." Rick sighed. "They're moving slow, you can see that, even some straggling. They must have forced-marched through the night."

"Same as we did," Andrew replied.

"What's coming from behind us?" Schneid asked.

"At least six mounted moving up."

"The only ammunition we have is what we're carrying, Andrew. This is going to get tough."

Andrew nodded, saying nothing, judging the range, as half a dozen Bantag batteries darted forward at the gallop. The battery commander by the rocky outcropping ordered his four guns to cease fire on the advancing infantry and wait until the Bantag guns started to deploy.

The Bantag batteries continued forward, caissons and pieces bouncing over the rough terrain.

"d.a.m.n they're coming in close," Rick whispered.

Behind Andrew a regiment, moving in columns of four, ran past at the double, men gasping, staggering as they moved to the northeast side of the hill. Another regiment moved in behind the battery deployed to Andrew's right. In spite of their exhaustion the troops started to dig in, pile up rocks, drag dead tree limbs into the line. The few still with packs or blanket rolls threw them onto the barricade.

The enemy batteries below continued to advance, swinging around the burning village. The first of the Bantag batteries slowed, lead horses turning, guns swinging about.

"Case shot, six-second fuses! Range, thirteen hundred yards!" the battery commander to Andrew's left roared. "Remember, we're shooting downhill. Don't aim too high!"

Loaders sprinted down from the caissons, sh.e.l.ls were slammed into breeches. The commander paced his line of four guns, stopping behind each to check on how the gun was laid.

Down below the first of the Bantag batteries was already unlimbered, crews swarming around their pieces, swinging them into position while the caissons were moved back.

"Battery . . . fire!"

The first gun next to Andrew kicked back, the other three firing less than a second later.

The first sh.e.l.l, an air burst, ignited just forward of one of the guns, knocking down the crew; the other three sh.e.l.ls detonated behind the firing line. A caisson blew, the dozens of sh.e.l.ls and more than two hundred pounds of powder inside exploding in a brilliant flash, the explosion causing a second caisson to go up an instant later. As the thump of the detonations washed up the hill, a cheer erupted from the weary defenders, the men coming to their feet, shouting their defiance.

Andrew looked over and nodded at the commander, who stood in front of his pieces, a childlike grin on his face, as if he had just accomplished something he hadn't been quite sure he could do. Seeing that he was under the eyes of the army commander, he immediately struck a pose of professional indifference, turning back to shout at one of the crews for firing too long.

The surviving crews of the enemy battery struggled back to their feet, and within seconds were at work once again, loaders running from the still-intact caissons. More and yet more batteries deployed into line, while the twenty guns Schneid had positioned along the northern slope of the hill opened up. Half a dozen of the Bantag guns never even fired a shot before they were smashed by the concentrated blows, but the surviving guns now came into play. The first shots ranged high overhead, plowing into the forest above and behind Andrew, treetops bursting, limbs raining down.

The Bantag gunners set to work, firing almost as rapidly as their human opponents, concentrating their fire on the battery on the rocky outcropping to Andrew's left. The air around Andrew seemed almost alive, quivering, shaking, as sh.e.l.ls screamed in, explosions bursting in the trees, geysers of dirt fountaining upward.

"Think we better move," Rick shouted. "No sense getting killed when the game's just starting."

Andrew followed his corps commander up the slope and into the trees, feeling guilty that he was leaving the gunners behind. Kneeling behind a fallen tree, he watched the uneven contest, as the guns seemed to be enveloped in a tornado of fire and slashing iron. The second gun in the line crashed on its side as a shot tore its left wheel off, while in the woods a caisson exploded, several trees toppling from the explosions.

A battery suddenly opened up to Andrew's right and, surprised, he stood up as the four guns cut loose, their position concealed in the woods.

"Brought the guns over the top of the hill."

Andrew looked up in surprise to see Pat coming through the trees from above.

"Two more batteries on the way over from Ninth Corps. Seemed like this is where Ha'ark was going to hit first," Pat announced.

"How's it back on the other side?" Andrew shouted, trying to be heard above the cannonade.

"Half hour or so the first of the b.u.g.g.e.rs on horse will be up."

"Emil?"

"Last of the wagons are into the trees. Got two divisions of Ninth Corps digging in on the south slope, the other division and the boys left from Fifth Corps moving in to cover the east slope. What's left of Eleventh Corps is in reserve on top of the hill. Some Bantag with rifles are popping at us from long range, but all the action's up here. So I thought I'd come up for the show."

Andrew nodded in agreement and realized, that in many ways, he was almost superfluous to this fight. Schneid had done a masterful job of deploying on the north and western slopes, Pat, as usual, had han-dled the rear guard, and Emil had managed to get his wounded safely in.

Pat stood and started down the slope to where the beleaguered battery continued to fight, the commander pulling the men from his number two gun off to strengthen the ranks of his remaining three pieces.

"Pat, get the h.e.l.l back here!" Andrew shouted.

"Now, Andrew me darlin', this is an artilleryman's fight, it is!" Pat roared, and, going over to the number one gun pitched in, shoving the gun sergeant aside to aim the piece himself.

Feeling as if some sort of challenge had been offered, Andrew stood and looked down the line. The infantry was deployed, men pressed low, enduring the bombardment. Motioning for his guidon bearer to follow, Andrew started to walk the length of the line, Rick falling in by his side.

"Sir, aren't these kinds of displays a little ridiculous in a modern war?" Rick asked, ducking low and pulling Andrew down with him as a sh.e.l.l burst directly overhead, clipping the top of a tree in half and sending the branches and severed trunk showering down around them.

Andrew forced a grin.

"The men expect it." Andrew could see the troops looking up at him. "And besides, there are times when an army commander's life no longer counts."

"d.a.m.n it, sir, you stole that line," Schneid said in English, laughing. "Hanc.o.c.k said that just before he got shot at Gettysburg."

Andrew, slightly embarra.s.sed that his theft of a d.a.m.n good line had been found out, was tempted to order Schneid to leave him alone.

A high-pitched shriek echoed up from the smoke, which now obscured the valley where the Bantag were deploying. Andrew turned, gazing intently, and finally saw it. The first of the land cruisers was advancing, pa.s.sing through the line of guns, swarms of Bantag infantry following.

"Press it in!" Ha'ark shouted.

"My Qar Qarth, their land cruisers are moving down on us from behind." One of his staff pointed to the swirling columns of black coal smoke.

Ha'ark turned about to look toward the northwest. The enemy relief column was clearly in view, a dozen land cruisers moving in line abreast, only a light screen of his troops falling back before their advance.

His own cruisers were deployed, nearly thirty machines. More than one was already falling behind. Looking back to the south, he could see the machines which had broken down in the advance, one of them exploding. If he turned about now, to face the threat, it would mean withdrawing, moving the machines yet again. How many more would break down?

"Pull five regiments of the Fourth Umen, three batteries of artillery," Ha'ark ordered. "Send them back to slow the advance. In two hours we can finish off Keane and his men trapped on the hill, then we shall turn and deal with the other threat."

Cursing, Marcus walked around the ironclad, the driver standing on top of the machine oblivious to the sniper rounds whipping past.

"Sir, the cylinder head's cracked. We have to shut it down, get a new cylinder from supply. I'm sorry."

"That's two machines down, and we haven't even gotten into the fight yet," Marcus roared.

The driver leapt down from the top of the machine and took off his helmet and chain-mail face guard which protected him from any flying splinters that would shard off on the inside of the machine when it was. .h.i.t.

The driver watched with obvious envy as the ironclad commanded by Timokin crept past, the exuberant major piloting the machine with the top hatch open. Timokin snapped off a smart salute to Marcus and joyfully pointed toward the battle ahead.

Marcus returned the boy's salute, then fixed his attention back toward Rocky Hill, which was now shrouded in smoke and a near-continual rain of bursting sh.e.l.ls. Through breaks in the smoke he could see the first wave of Bantag land cruisers creeping up the slope, guns firing.

"G.o.d help Andrew now."

"I tell you this is going to be bad," Feyodor shouted.