David Weber - The Road to Hell

* * *

Temyk chan Esmahr twitched as Battalion-Captain chan Yahndar’s Flicker dropped the message canister neatly into the basket by his elbow. He snatched up the small steel tube, twisted it open, and glanced at its contents. Then he looked up at Platoon-Captain Horahstyr chan Wayshyr.

“Open fire!” he snapped.

* * *

“Open fire!” Company-Captain Namair chan Jersyk barked, looking up from the message slip in his hand.

* * *

Verchyk Gorsatan had exactly zero warning.

One instant he was dashing his signature across the latest report from Fort Ghartoun’s cooks; the next instant four howitzer shells and eighteen mortar bombs came slicing out of a cloudless morning sky. It was true that chan Esmahr and chan Jersyk had been denied any ranging shots, but they and their men were very good at their jobs and there’d been plenty of time to position their weapons with finicky precision. Two of the 3” mortar bombs fell outside the fort’s palisade. They were the only shots that did.

None of Gorsatan’s men had any more warning than their CO. Half were still in the mess hall, and aside from the dozen or so sentries on the walls and in the fort’s watchtower-none of whom had seen a single thing-not one of them was even armed. The cascade of high explosive and steel thundering down upon them was as terrible-and as totally unexpected-as any attack the AEF had launched on its way up-chain to Fort Salby, and the gunners and mortar crews had all the ammunition they could want.

The explosions and deadly splinters of steel turned the fort’s interior into a holocaust. Commander of One Hundred Gorsatan’s chair crashed over backward as he leapt to his feet, his eyes wide. It was impossible. It couldn’t be happening! Not here -not so many thousands of miles behind the front line! But it was happening, and warrior or not, it was his job to do something about it.

His mouth tightened and he crossed his office in two strides, yanked the office door open, and started through it.

The thirty-two-pound 4.3” shell sliced through the cedar shingles above him at a velocity of approximately eight hundred and ninety feet per second.

* * *

“ Now! ”

The bugles began to sound-high, fierce, and strong-and 1st Platoon, Gold Company, 2nd Battalion, 12th Dragoon Regiment, came over the ridgeline in a line of mounted men. The company’s other platoons followed them, dust rising from the hooves of the horses which had carried them so far. The Imperial Ternathian Army’s cavalry were dragoons. Oh, there were still officially lancer “Arpathian” lancer regiments in the ITA, but they were indistinguishable from dragoons these days, except for the uniforms. No Ternathian mounted formation had delivered an actual cavalry charge in seventy years, but there was a time and a place for everything.

Gold Company had five miles to cover, and it was in a hurry.

* * *

“ Mother Jambakol! ”

Sword Falstan Makraik clutched at the observation tower’s railing as the interior of Fort Ghartoun erupted like twice a dozen volcanoes. Blast fronts and shrieking splinters ripped through the observation tower’s floor, and he heard screams behind him. The fire seemed to be coming from the east, and he raced around to that side of the platform, ignoring the white-hot steel death hissing past him, trying desperately to locate its source.

Nothing. He could see nothing , and he swore again, even more foully than before. The godsdamned Sharonians and their godsdamned artillery! No Arcanan heavy weapon could fire over obstacles that way, but the Sharonians could! Only how could they be here?!

The screams, the chaos, and the blood raging across the fort’s parade ground in bubbles of Shartahk’s own hellfire was total. The garrison was already disintegrating, at least a dozen men flinging themselves through the open gate, running madly away from the inferno towards the beckoning safety of the portal to New Uromath. Makraik twisted around in that direction, lips drawn back in a furious snarl. He understood exactly why they were running, and it wasn’t simple cowardice, whatever his emotions might insist, but that couldn’t change the way he felt. He opened his mouth to curse them…then closed it with a snap as a solid line of mounted men came sweeping in from the southeast behind the high, shivering howl of the Wolves of Ternathia, sabers gleaming in the morning light.

* * *

“Battalion-Captain chan Yahndar has the fort, Sir!” Company-Captain chan Korthal announced sharply.

Arlos chan Geraith looked up from his discussion with his staff and brigade commanders, brown eyes narrowed, and chan Korthal grinned hugely.

“Second Battalion didn’t lose a man , Sir-not one -and the Distance Viewers and Plotters confirm that none of the Arcanans got away!”

“Arcanan losses?”

“The Battalion-Captain says initial reports are that they were very heavy, Sir.” There was less delight in chan Korthal’s reply, but he met chan Geraith’s eyes unflinchingly. “His current estimate is that at least half the garrison was killed, and many of the survivors are wounded.”

“Not too surprising, given chan Yahndar’s artillery, especially if the bastards never guessed it was coming, Sir,” Brigade-Captain chan Quay remarked. The 12th Dragoons was one of his regiments, and his expression was grimly satisfied.

“No, it isn’t,” chan Geraith agreed. “Your boys did well, Renyl.” He looked back at the chan Korthal. “What about their hummers?”

“The Distance Viewers say a shell or a mortar bomb must’ve landed directly on the hummer coop early in the attack, Sir.” Chan Korthal shook his head. “None of the Arcanans got to them to send off a message.”

“Good.” Chan Geraith’s voice was even more satisfied than chan Quay’s expression, and he turned back to his senior officers.

“As of this moment, we’ve just cut the Arcanans’ line of communications, gentlemen,” he said, resting the heel of his left hand on one of his bone-handled revolvers. “It’ll take them while to figure that out, though-or I hope to all the gods it will, anyway! And there’s always the pesky little problem of their dragons, isn’t there?”

His staff and brigade commanders chuckled harshly, and he thumped the palm of his right hand on the map before them.

“Renyl, your boys’ve had the lead all the way from Fort Salby. I don’t see any reason they shouldn’t keep it now. I want you on the way to Hell’s Gate within the next six hours.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Shodan,” chan Geraith turned to Brigade-Captain chan Khartan, 2nd Brigade’s CO, “I want the Twenty-Third on the way with Renyl. Three regiments should be enough to look after themselves, especially if the Arcanans are as lax in Hell’s Gate as they were here. I don’t want anyone shoving a hand into any buzz saws, but I want that swamp portal, and I want it nailed down hard . Clear?”

He looked back and forth between the two brigade-captains, his eyes hard, and they nodded back.

“Clear, Sir,” chan Quay said for both of them, and chan Geraith frowned at the map again.

“For the moment, I want you and the Ninth right here at Fort Ghartoun to secure this portal, Shodan. There’s probably going to be dragon traffic through it sometime in the next day or two, and what I really need you to do is to stop it dead, if you can.”

“Understood, Sir,” chan Khartan said. “We’ll do our best.”

“I know you will,” chan Geraith said, and glanced back at chan Korthal. “As for you, Lisar, pass the word to Brigade-Captain chan Sharys. I want him heading for the Failcham portal just as fast as he can move, starting fifteen minutes ago.”