Paul Kane - Broken Arrow

Close enough to…

Even though he couldn't get up, Robert could still swing his fist — and he did just that. He couldn't get as much leverage behind the punch as he would have liked, but it had the desired effect of knocking the Russian back, and the sickle blade slid out of Robert's thigh as he reeled.

Robert struggled to get up onto an elbow, his torso and thigh in competition to see which could cause him more pain. With his free hand, he unsheathed his sword, just in time to hold it before him to meet a blow from the enraged Russian.

"That won't save you," promised the man, his piercing eyes flashing. "Nothing will." He struck again. Robert's blade clashed with two sickles this time, but he wasn't strong enough to hold them at bay. The man was leaning hard on the blades, the sickles getting lower and lower. "And nothing will save your friends at the castle, either."

Robert's elbow gave out, but he was quick enough to grab the other end of his sword. However, he was flat on his back, the man pressing down on top of him. The sickles were millimetres from his chest. Catching him off guard, the suited man suddenly put more weight on one side than the other, the left blade dropping — though not before Robert shifted slightly so that it entered his shoulder rather than his chest. Again, an excruciating white hot agony, and Robert let go of his grip on the sword.

Leaving the point of the sickle in Robert's shoulder, the man above him raised the other one high. He wasn't going for the chest any more. Now he was going to bring the sickle round in an arc, slit open Robert's throat, maybe even cut off his head.

There was a swish of air and Robert closed his eyes, steeling himself for the sickle to slice his flesh. Instead he felt something wet on his face and chest. Then came a cry.

When Robert opened his eyes he saw what had happened. Dale was standing off to one side, his sword covered in blood. The suited man was rising and backing off, clutching his hand… no, not his hand. Because that lay on the ground, still holding the sickle.

Blood was spurting from the suited man's stump and Dale was still on him. He lashed out with another stroke of the blade which the man had to duck to avoid. Robert heard him scream out something in his native tongue, cursing the person who'd cut off his extremity. Dale took no notice, waiting for the suited man to right himself before crouching and slashing crosswise. The man arched his body and it looked like Dale's attack had fallen short. Then more redness stained the white shirt, the bottom half of his tie falling to the ground as a slash in the fabric appeared. The man looked up at Dale, shocked, then down at this new wound.

Scrabbling back and holding his stomach, the man's face was growing paler by the second. Then he fell over, curling up in the foetal position.

Dale looked like he was about do some more damage when Robert let out a load groan, the first sickle still embedded in him.

"Hold on," said Dale. He put down his sword and took hold of the handle of the sickle. "Brace yourself, Robert, this is going to really hurt." He pulled out the blade, but it felt like the metal was still inside. Then Dale took Robert's hand and got him to apply pressure to the wound, while he saw to the leg. Robert heard, rather than saw — his vision was swimming — Dale rip a piece off his sleeve, tying a tourniquet around the wounded thigh.

"Son of a… I don't believe it," said Dale, getting up. Robert blinked and saw the blurry, suited man crawling back to the vehicle that had rammed into him. The Russian could just about move, reaching up in an effort to drag himself back into the passenger seat. Then helping hands pulled him inside, the driver setting off even before the suited man's legs were properly inside. Robert grabbed Dale with his free hand and shook his head.

"L… Leave him," he moaned.

Dale looked at Robert, as if about to disagree with him, then nodded. "He's half dead anyway," said the youth. "Let's see to you." He began ripping more material to tie around the shoulder wound.

"How… How are…" began Robert.

Dale frowned, then worked out what he was trying to ask. "It's pretty much over. The ones that are left seem to be scattering. We did it, we held them back."

Robert let out a breath, fighting to hang on to consciousness. His grip on the young man's arm tightened. "You… You have to gather the men…"

"I don't understand."

"Get… get them together… There's… there's another…" Robert forced the words out. "Another army heading for the castle… Tanek must be with them…"

"Fuck," Dale said quietly. "Okay, we can deal. Let's just get you sorted out first."

Another squeeze of Dale's arm, with all the strength Robert could muster. "Leave me."

"I… we can't do that, Robert."

"Leave me… Get to the castle… Mary… promise me… Mary…" Then his grip relaxed and Dale's features disappeared completely, fading from view. He'd been here before, when he'd been caught in an explosion, fighting De Falaise's men at Mary's farm.

Mary again.

He'd been saved by her that time. But now she was the one in trouble.

In the blackness, Robert heard Dale arguing with someone, with several voices, telling them they had to go.

Dale was following orders, just as he always did. Doing what Robert asked of him. "We'll send back help," were the last words Robert heard him say.

Then there was nothing but stillness — that and the smell of the English countryside — as he lost his grasp on consciousness completely.

The first sign that something was wrong came when they lost contact with the sentries on the outskirts of the city.

"Could just be a fault in the radio equipment," Jack said to Mary when he visited her room, but the look on his face told her he didn't believe that for a second. When Robert's teams had originally infiltrated Nottingham, they'd kept up the pretence that the guards were still on duty, to retain the element of surprise. If the lookouts really were gone, then it showed that whoever was on their way didn't care whether they knew or not. "But I've already begun spreading the word among the men, just in case," Jack continued.

"We'd better gather people together," Mary told him, "Just give me a second." That second had been to grab a coat and fish out her father's precious old Peacekeeper revolvers, along with the bullets she had left. Robert hadn't even bothered asking her to give them up, as he knew what the answer would be. "Okay," she said, and they walked out together along the corridor.

Tate and Gwen hadn't been hard to find, they were still arguing down below.

"The fact remains, you got me here under false pretences! I thought better of you, Reverend." The auburn-haired woman was holding her baby in one arm, and jabbing a free finger in Tate's face.

"I never said anything about you taking more weapons back to Hope."

" New Hope," she reminded him. "We have all the food we need, what else was I expected to think?

"But you know, as well as I, Robert's feelings."

"Screw Robert. He's leaving my people out there defenceless!" snapped the woman, then caught sight of Mary and Jack from the corner of her eye. She stopped her rant, but didn't apologise.

Tate shook his head. "I only did this out of the best of intentions. Robert has gone to tackle this new threat, and I thought you'd be safest here."

"You may have underestimated exactly how safe we are," Mary told the holy man.

Jack explained about the lookouts to the baffled Tate.

"Then we need to break out those weapons right away!" Gwen said. "Start handing them out to your men and-"

"The men are capable of defending themselves regardless" said Mary.

Gwen rounded on her. "I thought you out of all of them had some sense, Mary."