Chapter 24

The first shot was fired at midday while the army was moving along an open plain at the bottom of a huge slope covered in rocky scree. Dryden was riding along chatting amicably with Lieutenant Wolcott, reminiscing about life in Marrowick, when suddenly the young man fell from his horse dead. Something wet spattered across Dryden’s face. It was so sudden that the major barely reacted at first. Then, not a moment later, the retort of the gun could be heard. The shot had come from up in the rocky terrain. Someone nearby shouted, “Sniper!” Men began leaping from their horses to find cover. Another shot rang out and a musket ball ricocheted off a rock nearby. Dryden followed the example of his comrades and dove behind a great boulder that was by the path. Then another shot rang out, and another. A man fell with a shout, and blood wetted his black uniform. Dryden peered out from behind the boulder and saw men up in the hills shooting with great long rifles, twice as long as the cavalry carbines that his men had. Some troopers attempted to fire back, but the distance was much too great. There was also no way for the cavalry to move up the slope, it was far too rocky for horse. More gunfire rained down.

“Hold your fire!” He heard Captain Baker shouting, “You can’t bloody hit them from here!” The men stopped shooting back after that. All they could do was weather the storm from hiding.

Someone beside him went to pull Wolcott’s body into cover. From the bloody bullet hole in his head and the way he lay on the ground, it was clear the man was dead. “He’s dead.” Dryden heard himself say, “Get back to cover, or you’ll soon join him.” As if to illustrate his point, another bullet smacked into the dead body of Wolcott. The men trying to pull him to cover jumped back behind the rocks.

Further up the line, he saw Havor still mounted on his horse as bullets whizzed around him. The man was wielding a cavalry sabre as if he could somehow strike back at their jezail-wielding enemies. Mar was hiding behind a rock the same as the rest, though he was slowly rolling one of his aethium-laced cigarettes. Ahead of the 13th, a group of rangers were attempting to make their way up into the rocks to attack the ambush. They were brave men, but they too were forced to take cover halfway up the rock-strewn slope. To their credit, they were now in firing range, their own long accurate rifles allowed them to provide some return fire. But the jezails had the advantage of high ground. A few rangers would not be enough.

“Someone get Havor off his damned horse!” Dryden shouted.

A trooper stood to obey but was immediately shot. He fell to the ground groaning, a bullet in his shoulder. The bullet had been intended for Havor and would have had him, but for the trooper who had stood. Suddenly Havor turned and pointed with his sword, “Riders!” He shouted, “13th mount up, damn you! Mount up!”

“Blood and thunder! They’ve got us pincered!” Baker shouted. It wasn’t just the 13th Dragoons that were surrounded. Riders were streaming out of ravines a mile away. They had time to form up, but the jezails had them pinned. Dryden knew they were damned if they mounted up, and double damned if they didn’t. Furthermore, most of the riders were not making for the cavalry, but rather for the middle of the line where the baggage train and colonists were. Shouts of fear and panicked drovers began to move quickly and out of order. Bedlam erupted all along the line as the enemy riders kicked into a gallop.

“Fuck!” Dryden shouted, “Mount up you bloody bastards!” He screamed and leapt onto Rosie. Men all down the line did the same. Some fell to the hail of jezail fire, but most did not.

Havor had kicked his horse forward and now men were trailing after him in a chaotic line that angled to intercept the enemy light cavalry. He was waving his sword and bellowing an incoherent rallying cry, “With me! 13th with me!”

Dryden kicked his horse and followed. All the troopers did. He saw that the sepoy cavalry was coming too, and the enemy horsemen wheeled to face them. They had mounted up too despite the jezails. The infantry were coming out from cover and organizing in a line to meet the enemy. Men were shot down from behind by the long rifles positioned on the slope to their rear. The light cavalry of the enemy came hard and fast and came with long lances. The dragoons carried carbines and sabres, but the sepoys had lances too. The line of sepoy cavalry collided head-on with the Vuruni horsemen. The thunder of the hooves, and then the collision shook the ground and reverberated in Dryden’s chest. Spears snapped and pierced men and horse alike. Then the 13th hit the enemy’s flank. They were not in formation, so the charge lacked some of its impact, but the Dragoon charge was utterly fearless.

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Dryden speared a mounted soldier through the side as they came. His horse collided with theirs and the shock nearly tore him from his saddle. The man’s horse was knocked aside and Rosie carried on gamely. The momentum was slowed, but he swung at the next man who was engaged with a sepoy. The enemy was cut down. The slain Vuruni officer’s yellow sash and bright silk robes were stained with blood. Dryden looked around and found the enemy’s standard. He kicked Rosie’s flanks and yanked the reins towards it. She pushed hard, bowling through men and horse alike. A young man held the standard in his hands. He had golden eyes and black hair. The flag of the Vuruni was a black field with a golden eagle gripping a snake. Dryden’s sword ripped into the standard bearer’s neck. Their flag fell. A man on a horse, in a golden helm, wielding a talwar, came screaming at him with a battle cry full of rage. Dryden ducked under the blow and steered his Rosie into the enemy’s warhorse. Rosie bowled him over, then trampled him, her hooves landing heavily on his chest. Still, he was not dead. He pulled himself to his feet. Dryden didn’t give him a chance, he swung the horse around through the chaos of battle and cleaved the man’s head in. Then the tide of men and horses carried him away. He hacked at the enemy again and again until a horn sounded and the enemy faded away, their survivors riding off. A bugle sounded and the red of battle faded from his eyes. Men and horse lay dying or dead all across the field of battle. Among the dead stood the survivors, sepoys, horses, and dragoons. Somehow Dryden and his horse had come through unscathed. He didn’t really understand how. There wasn’t a scratch on him. He turned to find his men.

The bugle sounded again, the call to form up. He found Havor walking without a horse, “Damnit. They shot Gamalion out from under me. I loved that horse.” He sounded genuinely sad. A trooper nearby dismounted and handed his commander the reins. Havor nodded to the man and mounted the new steed, “What’s his name?”

“Commandant.”

“Very good, thank you trooper. Get yourself a new mount with the quartermaster.” They had many spare mounts that travelled with the baggage train.

Exhausted men and horses were rallying to their commanders. Captains Baker and Pugh rode up, “Orders?” They almost said together.

“What do we do with the dead?” Baker asked,

Havor shook his head, “We’ve no time to waste on the dead. Leave them where they lie.”

“Should we not burn them?” Pugh added.

“We’ll be long gone before the witch can wake them, I should think,” Mar answered for Havor.

They turned and rode back to the road and the column, taking up their place at the rear of the army. The sepoy lancers had lost many more riders, and only a few survivors limped back to their place in the column. The jezails had stopped firing when the cavalry had engaged and then had melted back into the hills. The skirmish was over. Between the jezails and the cavalry battle, hundreds were either dead or wounded. Somehow the 13th had lost only two dozen in the skirmish. The injured were patched up and the dead were left to rot all across the plain and along the road. Soon the long column began to move forward again. The bloodied army soldiered on.

The enemy came again at dawn. They came just as the army was decamping. They had found gaps in the pickets and had come up through the narrow ravines that cut the land like a maze. The enemy soldiers fired their jezails down into the army encampment from the tops of the hills. The tactic of sniping down on the army had worked well the day before. There were far more of them that morning than there had been the prior afternoon. The 13th Dragoons were on the far side of the large encampment, far from the range of the enemy snipers. Nonetheless, all the men found cover, not wanting to be picked off as before. The shooting went on through the morning. First, several units of sepoys were sent to deal with it, but they were repulsed twice. The assault only ended when Colonel Gorst led his regiment of Grenadiers up the hills to drive off the snipers. Casualties were heavy, but they saw the enemy off. The army set double pickets that night and did not move again until the following day.