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his fault, was his dream madness for ever listening to the Yankee's talk?
Oh, how wonderful their words had sounded, words such as freedom,
independence, liberty. But never had they told him of the blood, and the
killing, the burning and the dying.
He had staked his belief on them, and now he would die.
The roar of battle thundered closer and closer. Kal looked around at his
fellow conspirators and smiled grimly.
"When the mouse bites the cat, he should expect to lose more than his tail,"
and pulling out a dagger, he headed for the door, determined to kill at least
one noble before they cut him to pieces.
"All company officers to the front!" Andrew roared, and turning, he raised his
field glasses to look back at the city.
God in heaven, he thought, looking in stunned amazement at the panorama of
madness before him. As if a curtain had been pulled back, the storm had
suddenly lifted, revealing Suzdal, in all its agony, a quarter mile away.
The area about Ivor's palace was in flames, the crackling roar lighting up the
sky, while the screams of thousands came down before the wind.
Turning on his horse, Andrew looked back down the road, and his heart swelled
with pride. The men had double-timed most of the way, and there had been few
stragglers, so determined were they to reach the city in time.
Gasping for breath, the officers came up, gathering around Andrew's horse.
"This is going to be a tough nut to crack, gentlemen," Andrew said coldly,
raising his field glasses again for another view.
"All right, the boys aren't trained in city fighting, so here's what we'll do.
We can't let the men get separated and cut off into small groups, and once in
there it'll be impossible for me to control the fight the way I can in the
field.
"We'll attack in column of fours, just as we're lined up now. Companies
A through D will follow me straight up the road through the gate and move
toward the main square of the city. Companies E, F, and G, you're under Mina.
Once you're through the gate I want you to break left, get up on the walls,
and work your way around to the main road that runs straight through the city
from east to west. Once you've worked your way over, start pushing up the
road. Company J and K, you'll hold in reserve at the gate. O'Donald, bring the
gun forward. You'll lead off by clearing the gate area, then fall in as
support for the attack up to the square.
"Now tell your men to mark their targets. I know peasants will be hit in
this we can't help it. But for God's sake tell your men to try to know what
they're shooting at first."
"You're leaving the north and east gates uncovered," Fletcher said.
"Exactly. I want to leave them a way out of there. If we can set up a rout,
they'll need a retreat. I'm hoping we'll trigger a panic and they'll run. It's
going to be grim work, so be careful. If it gets too hot, pull back to the
south gate.
"Understand?"
The men nodded their agreement.
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"Artillery to the front!" O'Donald yelled excitedly.
"All right, gentlemen, let's get ready."
Lashing their team, the gun crew galloped down the road, the infantry parting
to let them pass.
"Uncase the colors!"
The chilling thrill washed over Andrew as the color bearers stepped to the
front of the column. Behind them, five hundred bayonets snapped out of
scabbards, rammers were pulled, and cartridges slammed in.
Steel-tipped rifles came back up to shoulders, and grimly the men waited.
Dismounting, Andrew turned his mount loose. Drawing his saber, he stepped into
the middle of the road, directly behind the limbered gun.
Without looking back, he raised the sword high and pointed toward the city.
"35th Maine, at the double time forward!"
Down the slope toward the city they moved, gaining speed. O'Donald, roaring
with delight, spurred his mount forward, screaming wildly at the gun crew, who
clung desperately to the bouncing, careening limber.
Never had he led a charge such as this, racing far ahead of the infantry.
The gates of the city were open before them. Onward they charged, galloping
past still forms on the side of the road, and terrified refugees who leaped
away at his approach as if he were an apparition.
A wild cry came up from the gate. An arrow snapped past.
"Battle front, unlimber!"
With skill borne from long years of practice, the gun crew turned from the
road, the limber and gun skidding in the snow. Even before it had come to a
rest the men swarmed off, heaving the gun free from its limber and turning it
about to point straight at the gate.
"Spherical case shot, one-second fuse," O'Donald roared, jumping off his mount
to join the crew.
The loader rushed up to the gaping maw of the gun, carrying a three-pound
charge of powder and a shell that would explode two hundred yards downrange,
cutting loose with a deadly hail of fifty musket balls packed inside.
A stream of arrows started to slam into the snow about the gun. The cartridge
pushed in by the loader, he leaped clear as the rammer, leaning in on his
staff, shoved the charge and shell home.
O'Donald grabbed a primer and stuck it in at the breech.
"A bit more to the left." The men leaned on the wheels and angled the piece
while O'Donald squinted down the barrel.
"Hold it. Stand clear!"
With a thunderous roar the Napoleon leaped back. An instant later the gateway
filled with a lightning flash of fire.
Even as the gun fired, Andrew came rushing past, screaming hoarsely, the men
now breaking into a charge.
He thought it must be his imagination, a desperate last wish that what was
happening would somehow be prevented. Staggering from the sword wound to his
arm, Kal backed against a wall, gasping for breath.
There was a pause, so others had heard a thunder as well, but it was only a
second before the nobleman, screaming hoarsely, cut in again with his blade.
Near the front of the company, Hawthorne leaped over the mangled bodies that
filled the gateway. Ahead, by the glare of the burning palace, he could see
the warriors running in panic up the street.
Dear God, he prayed, let them keep running, let them keep running.
He barely spared a glance for the carnage all about him. The streets seemed
choked with dead and dying, peasants, warriors, and nobles piled
indiscriminately atop one another. Fifty, a hundred yards up the street they
pushed, meeting no resistance, while always at the lead were the colors and
Colonel Keane, his hat gone, sword raised high, as if he were an avenging
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angel, with the demon of Sergeant Hans running by his side.
Suddenly the fleeing warriors slowed and stopped, coming up against a crush of
men who were heading back down the street to meet the new attack.
Andrew stopped and looked back.
"Spread that company across the street!"
As a corporal it was now his job to help, and following Sergeant Barry,
Hawthorne guided the ranks into a double line while behind them
Company B drew up in the same formation.
"Front rank, take aim . . . fire!"
"Second rank!" Hawthorne brought his rifle up and pointed toward the
still-charging warriors. How can I? his mind screamed at him. Dear God, not
again.
"Take aim!" He steadied his hand, drawing a bead on a noble who, screaming and
shouting, was driving his foot soldiers forward.
He closed his eyes.
"Fire!"
The gun slammed into his shoulder.
"Company B, six paces forward!"
Hawthorne opened his eyes, and through the tears saw that the noble was gone.
Perhaps he had missed the man and he had run away. Hawthorne prayed.
Reloading, he waited.
"Company A, six paces forward!"
He stepped forward, rifle raised.
"Both ranks, take aim, fire!"
"Company B, six paces forward!"
Like a machine, he tore cartridges, his face smeared with powder. He felt as
if in a dream, caught up in some devil-made machine, whose gears turned and
turned, bringing him forward, and spitting broken bodies out the other side. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]