John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

A tiny drop of moisture beaded up in one of Verkan's eyes. He shook his head and mentally disciplined himself. He'd grieve for this boy and the other brave Hostigi of his command after this battle was over and he could afford to relax his First Level mental controls.

Verkan, as a drummer boy, had observed some of the bloodiest battles of what was known across most of Fourth Level Europo-American as the Civil War, but he had never been in a fracas where the combatants were so determined to fight to the last man-which he'd always thought was a cliche until now!

The hillside below him was littered with what had to be six or seven thousand downed horses and about twenty-five hundred killed and wounded Harphaxi regulars. And now they were gathering steam for another charge!

His Mounted Rifles had stood off eight determined attacks, exhausting both their powder kegs and ranks-at last count almost a third of the Rifles were dead or mortally wounded. Still the Harphaxi Army came on. Verkan wasn't sure if it was courage or sheer block-headedness on the enemy's part about being kept out of the war by such a small force as the Mounted Rifles.

He would have ordered retreat, but there was nowhere to go. He certainly didn't want to bring the Harphaxi into the Foundry's backyard. For the first time since arriving on Kalvan's Time-Line, he was seriously considering asking for First Level back up! There was no way he could leave his Rifles on their own.

Sergeant Ryff came running over, favoring his right leg. He'd taken a flesh wound from a lance in the upper thigh. Verkan noted that the blue halberd of Hostigos and the Rifles own banner, two crossed rifles on a green field, were flying proudly. "At last!" the Sergeant puffed. "Reinforcements! The Second and Third Royal Dragoons. They just arrived."

"Praise the Allfather!" Verkan said, and meant it. "First, tell them, we need more fireseed."

Ryff nodded. "I've already got the petty captains gathering the rifles we no longer need." He didn't need to expound on the fact that their owners were soon to be a part of Sashta's soil.

"Good thinking!" He was so busy berating himself for not thinking of the rifles he barely noticed the smile that lit up the sergeant's face. "Put the dragoons in the first rank where their smoothbores will do some good. It looks like our friends are buying courage for another charge."

"For Styphoni, they are right brave. Almost as good as Hostigi."

Verkan found himself in reluctant agreement. "For Styphoni without the Red Hand to stiffen their courage, they fight and die well." That was as much as he would give them.

It wasn't long before the Dragoons' horns were sounding the 'take formation' tune that Kalvan had taught them. Verkan noticed that the Harphaxi were still reordering their lines. The Mounted Rifles were back to full strength, but with significantly less firepower as the smoothbores were inaccurate at distances over a hundred paces.

Verkan felt a vibration against his chest, where his communicator hung from a chain-disguised as a golden image of Galzar. He looked down at the ground and brought the small emblem of Galzar Wolfhead to his lips. He wasn't worried about attracting attention since it was quite common to see soldiers talking to Galzar's image on a battlefield just before an engagement.

It was Kirv's voice from the foundry. "Big trouble coming your way, Chief. We just got the first peeks at your area from the sky-eye: it looks like an entire army is headed to your little dust up. Actually, a really big detachment. Our estimate is twenty to twenty-five thousand effectives tops. Half cavalry and half infantry. It appears Phidestros is trying to out-flank Kalvan. He takes your boy most seriously."

Verkan sucked wind through his cheeks. "Sweet Styphon!"

"We'd like to pull you out of there now, Chief. Let the locals think Allfather Dralm's Chariot came to take you away! By the time this fracas is over, there aren't going to be many witnesses."

"No. I'm not leaving my Rifles."

"Chief be reasonable-they're just outtimers!"

Verkan held back from releasing a string of Second Level curses that would have left Kirv's ears flaming red.

"I'm staying, and that's final."

"But it's hopeless, Chief. I could have a small anti-gravity personnel lifter over there in twenty minutes-Here's Dalla, she wants to speak to you."

"Kirv, you Styphoni sucking-"

"Hi, Fall. I see you've picked up some more colorful Aryan Transpacific idioms. It's not Kirv's fault I'm here; I was tired of all the Study Team bickering and came down here to watch my husband's last stand."

"Hi, Dalla. Don't try and talk me out-"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Verkan. I know you too well to demand that you do something you'd never forgive yourself or me for. I just wish I was there."

"I'll be back, love."

"I hope so," Dalla answered, with a muffled sob. "I'll miss you-my only love."

"Love you too!" Then he flicked the com off-before he agreed to a lift back to the Foundry.

It took the Styphoni infantry another twenty minutes to reach the opposite slope. Even Verkan had to admit they arrived with panache, flags and banners of every color and stripe flying, dominated by Styphon's black sun-wheel on yellow, white and even red, which meant there was at least one band of Styphon's Own Guard-so either Phidestros or Soton took them seriously indeed.

Verkan stood up and used a disguised Kalvan farseer, which was augmented by First Level tech into a very high quality imager. Yes, he could see several Harphaxi squadrons dressed in silvered armor at the fore with their musketoons and flowing red and yellow capes. No, those weren't musketoons they were aiming-they were rifles! And they were about to fire a salvo.

"GET DOWN!" he shouted, as a hail of lead flew across their lines. Twenty or thirty troopers took shots, but they were mostly dragoons who hadn't reacted fast enough. The Mounted Rifles had learned to expect and prepare for anything. He was so proud of them his chest swelled.

Verkan didn't need to repeat himself as the Hostigi lay in their trenches, loading rifles and priming pans. He noticed that many of the dragoons in the forward line had several flintlock pistols and arquebuses, taken from the dead troopers, lined up so they could use them at clash of arms. They were learning. Sergeant Ryff and his petty-captains were passing out pouches of fireseed and Minie balls to the Mounted Rifles. He called Ryff over to make certain there was lead shot and fireseed for the dragoons, who wouldn't know what to do with the Minie balls.

Kalvan didn't have enough Minie balls for everyone, but he made sure his Mounted Rifles had them. He wished his friend were here by his side to take his place in Verkan's Last Stand, because that's what this was shaping up as. Not a bad way to end a long life. It could have been longer, and Dalla would miss him-but there were a lot worse ways to leave this fleshly shell.

This time when the Styphoni charged up the slope it looked as if a multi-hued carpet had come to life and was creeping up the hillside. "Fire!"

The first salvo shook the front line, but only for a moment. On the opposing slope he could see the Harphaxi riflemen aiming their rifles, looking for targets of opportunity. "Stay down! Fire Two!"

They got off four salvos before the wave of soldiers and slashing hand weapons reached their line. In that tightly bunched up mass of humanity, he guessed the casualties were at least one to two thousand. Gunshots were crackling like firecrackers and the screams of dying and wounded horses ripped the air. With the lines this blurred, Verkan dropped two or three Harphaxi. Then his rifle jammed; he bent the barrel over a helmet and smashed the stock into a big mercenary's face. Then he pulled out his needier and began to open up a pocket. Then his charge was on empty and he was using his sword to fend off three slashing sabers.