Chapter Fifteen

  The Battle of Baine’s Crossing

  Captain Khathan watched as a hundred war elephants prepared to cross the Brurapura. The 13th had endured two days of bombardment. They had lost men. It was not a kind of warfare that the cavalrymen cared for. Still, they had hunkered in their makeshift earthworks and waited for the shelling to end. When it had ended, they knew the enemy was preparing to come once more. The trumpeting and stamping of the elephants could be heard in the gloom, their silhouettes outlined against the pale blue pre-dawn sky. The elephants knew what was coming just as well as the men. Khathan was not a mahout, nor had he fought elephants much, but he had been near them to know they were smarter than many men he could name. There was little fanfare when the mass of elephants surged forward. They meant to break the 13th today.

  “Load!” He shouted. All the men spoke Vastrum well enough. Bugles sounded. Men in the trenches tore cartridges open with their teeth and rammed the powder and musket balls home. The elephants were nearing the far edge of the water. The water was too deep for a horse to ride across without swimming, but only just. The elephants would have no difficulty.

  “Pick your targets!” He shouted. He gripped the hilt of his talwar. He knew the sword would be next to useless fighting elephants, but holding the sword gave him courage for some reason, “Aim for the heads and trunks!” He shouted. These men knew, though. His men were other natives, mostly Kathalans and Dravani. They were good soldiers and experienced with fighting elephants like only a native of the colonies could be. The first elephants entered the water. They were huge beasts with long ivory tusks and powerful trunks. Each elephant carried a small platform, each with three warriors atop it and a fourth man, a mahout, riding just behind its ears. Some soldiers on the elephants held muskets, while others wielded long spears. The beasts were also armoured across the foreheads with thick metal plates. They were fearsome-looking foes. Though the armour on the elephants was imposing, it could still be penetrated by musket fire.

  “Fire!” He roared. His sergeant, a Kathalan named Uroth Cherok, bellowed the order too.

  Musket fire rolled. One of the lead elephants trumpeted and reared up. More elephants trumpeted. One fell into the water, dumping its riders into the river, where they were carried away into the waters churned by the massive stamping feet of yet more elephants. Another elephant fell. Then, the men were reloading. A volley fired from further up the slope behind Khathan’s men. Another elephant fell. Still, the great mass of beasts came forward, trumpeting, bellowing, and flapping their ears. The great beasts were furious now, and they held little fear. The bullets had killed but a few. The rest were angry, and they surged forward through the river.

  “Fire at will!” Captain Khathan shouted. Another elephant died, but what difference did it make if ten fell when there were ninety more still charging? Just a handful would be enough to break the men. The native squadron had prepared in the dark of night, assuming the elephants would be the next to attack.

  The first elephants were almost upon them. Two huge beasts, fearsome ivory tusks dripping water, loomed large before Khathan and his front ranks.

  “Bayonets!” He yelled. He did not know what good the bayonets would do if the great beasts got among the men.

  “Loose formation!” He shouted. The order was repeated down the line. It was better against elephants if you did not bunch your men into tight formations. It was harder for the elephants to trample and cause devastation if you spread out.

  One of the beasts charged out of the water, and as it did so, it bellowed in pain, fell to its knees and refused to rise. Khathan felt a grin form on his face. The second elephant crashed to the ground, trumpeting in pain. His men had planted bamboo spikes in the mud at the water’s edge, making them impossible to see. Thousands of them had been placed there. The men had been busy all night. Men stepped forward to spear one of the beasts, and the men now tumbled from the backs of the elephants. Other men fired into the chaos. More elephants surged forward and around the fallen, trying to find a way through. But the whole shore was thick with nearly invisible bamboo spikes just below the water’s edge. The great pachyderms who pushed forward fell or stumbled, and their momentum was lost. Those behind in the river milled about, unable to charge past the fallen. Musket fire from rear trenches rained as Adams’ and Benton’s men unleashed a hail of death. A dozen of the behemoths were down now. More gunfire poured in. Men with bayonets swarmed the dying creatures, stabbing their riders. Blood flowed. The river began to flow red, and screams of the dying foe filled the air. A drum sounded from the other side of the river, and the surviving elephants began to retreat. They were not willing to pay the toll to cross the river.

  “We’ve done it!” Sergeant Cherok shouted. Men cheered all across the line as the elephants fell back.

  Before they could truly celebrate, a bugle sounded from the rear. A warning. Khathan turned his head and looked. A scout was riding hard towards the top of the embankment where Major Dryden and a few officers were positioned. Dryden stood, hand on his sword, a look of concern on his face. He turned to Lieutenant Edmonds, one of the Andaban officers, a man he knew well. Edmonds had been under Khathan’s command for a time during Haddock’s campaign of retribution and on the ride to Dau. He was a good man, taciturn and reliable. He was not prone to panic. Now, the man practically ran back towards where his reserve of troopers was waiting and shouted the command to mount up. Dryden was barking commands to the men around him. Drake came running down the slope, doing his best not to slip on the steep bank of the river. A bugle was sounding.

  “Captain!” He shouted as he neared, “The enemy is coming from the north. They have found another crossing! Their cavalry is coming in force from the rear!” He shouted as he arrived.

  Khathan frowned. Good things never last in war. A few other officers stationed on the front lines came up to hear the news. Corporal Higgins, Lieutenants Dobbson, Mallick, and Longview crowded around Drake.

  “What’s the plan?” Higgins asked. He had seemed a man prone to panic, but he had held as well as any during the defence of Baine’s Crossing.

  “We must pull back to the bridge,” Drake said, “It is more defensible.”

  Higgins frowned, “I thought we were to hold until death?”

  Drake shrugged, “We have done our duty. We cannot hold here with an enemy to our rear. Now, we must survive. That is what Dryden said.”

  Khathan nodded, “Sensible.” Holding changed little if the enemy had crossed in force at another place, “Sacrifice loses much of its nobility when it gains nothing.”

  Edmonds and his men were riding north to screen the retreat. Bugles were sounding. Men looked nervous.

  The Guludan looked around at the assembled officers. He could feel the eyes of the officers on him and those of all the other nearby cavalrymen under their command. They needed the words of a leader, “There is no moment in battle where discipline is more vital than in retreat. Break, and they have us. Fall back in an orderly manner. Take care of your brothers, and we will survive this.”

  The lieutenants all nodded. Khathan was surprised they looked at him in this moment rather than one of their people. He supposed they had seen him in battle and knew he had been knighted. More than that, they had faced impossible odds together and held firm. That brotherhood was greater than the colour of his skin or the land of his birth. “I will be the last to fall back.” He said, “Higgins, Longview, Dobbson, fall back first. Mallick, we will go last, falling back in turns and covering one another.

  “Very good, sir.” Men saluted.

  The officers dispersed and went to obey. Soon, soldiers were falling back to where the horses were being kept, which was in the wide, dry farmland behind the hill that rose above the river. Men mounted up in turns and fell back. Khathan was surprised the enemy did not attempt to cross again as they retreated. To the north, musket fire sounded. Edmonds had found the enemy. There were enough trees that they could not see the fighting, but the sound carried, echoing gunfire reverberated through the bright green forest. Only when Khathan and the last of his native soldiers had pulled back up the bank did the enemy begin to come again to the water’s edge, preparing to cross. He had done all he could, but the ford was theirs now.

  Major Lionel Pugh hated the waiting. He hated being relegated to the rear. He was not one for charging pell-mell, but he had always wanted to be just behind the action. He needed to see what was happening. Distant gunfire alternating with the rumble of cannon several miles north at the ford had gone on for days while Major Pugh had waited at the bridge commanding the “defence.” Of course, there was nothing to defend anymore. A token infantry force held the burned-out town of Bogat on the far shore. Little was left of the thatched roof village. Edmonds and his men had set it ablaze to prevent the enemy from using the buildings as cover. Now, the enemy was encamped among the scorched structures. They looked as miserable as Pugh felt listening to the fighting north of them. Regular reports had come in every few hours during the battle. They told of enemy assaults thrown back or the bombardment. They had reported that they expected and were preparing to fight the enemy’s elephants. Rhakan was famous for its war elephants far and wide.

  Gideon sat behind, leaning against the stone of the gatehouse, which still stood over the ruined bridge. The newly promoted sergeant had felt something like Pugh’s shadow, following close at his heels. He was an intimidating man, though there seemed nothing special about him. He had the hollow eyes of a veteran who had seen and done everything that might be asked and more. He had been among those the rest had taken to calling Black City men. As far as Pugh could see, he was not a particularly noble or good man, but that made him the very best of sergeants. Men feared him. The man was sitting and reading a small journal, occasionally jotting something down.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “What’s that?” Pugh asked his sergeant, trying to start a conversation. He always liked to get to know the men under his command. Gideon was not a talkative man, and when he did speak, his voice was all gravel and musket smoke.

  “Something Flint gave me when they made me sergeant. You could say it’s a bit of an informal logbook.”

  “Of what?”

  “It’s got all the names of the boys we lost over the years. Little bits about ‘em. Things we remembered. Been handed down from sergeant to sergeant. Albans had it before Flint. He wrote a few dozen names in there, from when we fought in Huz. Flint filled in all the boys we lost in Vurun. I’ve been fillin’ in the boys we lost these last few days. Two dozen good lads, killed in a muggy shitpot named Bogat.” He paused for a spell. Pugh had nothing meaningful to add. Gideon filled the silence, “I’ve been callin’ it the book of the dead.”

  Pugh was silent. It was the most Gideon had ever said to him, and suddenly, Pugh had nothing to reply with.

  “Lot of good boys in there, all gone to the pit.” Gideon closed the book and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

  “Just the enlisted, or does it have the officers too?”

  “All of ‘em. Every cursed one, all the way back to the founding of the 13th. Way before Havor was Colonel. Book’s halfway full. Reckon there’s plenty of room for more.” Gideon’s usual frown deepened.

  Pugh looked back at Havor’s command tent. The Colonel had not engaged in the fighting at all. He had barely left his tent as the battle over the bridge raged. It was very unlike him. The man had once been a fierce combat leader who fought at the front. Pugh had always respected that trait. Since Vurun, the man had changed, becoming withdrawn, often drinking more than was appropriate. He was still a competent officer in many respects, but his lack of presence in the battle was beginning to rankle Pugh. They needed him, or at least they needed the old version of him from before the imprisonment. He wondered if this broken version of the man would do any good or if it was better that he hid in his tent. He still had the same old charm that Havor had always possessed, but it felt hollow, like a piece of him had been stripped out, and he was using drink to fill the void. He was lost in thought when, in the distance, a bugle sounded. Pugh could not quite make out which bugle call had been blown. Nearby, a group of soldiers was playing dice and laughing.

  “Bloody sevens,” One of the men grumbled.

  “You cheat!” Another said.

  “Oi, what are you on about? These are your bloody dice? If anyone’s cheating, it’s you!”

  The bugle sounded again, closer. Pugh stood, staring north.

  “Give me my bloody coin!” One of the men said, leaning over the dice.

  “Quiet!” Pugh snapped, “What’s that bugle call?”

  Sergeant Gideon stood and stepped forward from the shadows where he had been seated, listening intently. The bugle called again, but closer.

  “Bloody pit,” The sergeant muttered, “They’re sounding the retreat.”

  Pugh stood taller and scanned the area, “Get everyone together. They’re coming this way. See that embankment, sergeant? I want half of the squadron behind it, the other half behind that slope overlooking the field. That field there is our killing ground. I want muskets loaded, eh?” Without waiting for the response, he turned to the group of dice players, “Your name, private?” He said to the man who had accused the other of cheating.

  “Tommy, sir.” The young trooper said, standing and saluting. He had a gangly look to him.

  “Well, Tommy, find Lieutenant Flint. I think I saw him up near the latrines a bit ago. Get everyone down here on the double. The fighting is coming to us.” Pugh grinned. He liked fighting perhaps too much. The red roar of battle was the only time when the memories of pain and humiliation from Vurun faded.

  “Sir!” The trooper saluted again and ran to find Flint.

  Gideon bellowed at them to move. Men sprang to action, running to follow orders. Men doused campfires, put on boots, and grabbed swords, knives, and muskets. Pugh grabbed two men who were slow to get moving, “You two. I want you carrying the ammo crates behind the lines. I want every platoon to be bloody overflowing with cartridges.”

  The men snapped to attention and went to run off.

  “Oi, the ammo carts are that way,” Gideon grabbed one by his jacket collar and turned him bodily, “If I find either of you shirked your duties, I’ll hang you from the gatehouse myself, eh?” Gideon’s dark eyes seemed to bore holes in the men, and they turned and ran towards where the ammo carts were secured, which was in an earthwork, well away from the rest of the baggage train or main encampment.

  Pugh strode towards the command tent. Gideon began to follow him, “I need you with the men.” He said.

  Gideon saluted and jogged towards the embankments where the men were gathering. Sergeant Major Steel was there, too. They would have to do until the officers could be rounded up. Havor’s tent was back from the bridge, beyond the camp where the men were billeted. Pugh pushed the tent flap open and walked in. Havor, Brine, and Mar were seated, chatting quietly.

  “Our men are retreating from the Ford. They’re headed this way.”

  “Bloody hells,” Brine said. He was a young captain. His face paled. He stood and looked at the colonel.

  “Why?” Havor asked.

  “I assume the enemy broke through. We have had no messenger.” Pugh replied.

  “Blood and hounds,” Havor said. He looked weary, “How are we responding?” He asked.

  Pugh found it odd that Havor was deferring to him in this manner, but he was the commander. It was his prerogative, “Setting a new defensive line. Preparing to meet the enemy should they attempt to pursue our squadrons. I suggest we pull everything back to the abandoned palace west of here. There’s no better spot to defend.”

  “Very well. Do it. Find the quartermaster. Make it so. Whatever you need to do, make it all so.” Havor’s voice was weary, as if planning and decision-making had become impossible, as if he was burdened heavily by it.

  “Where do you need me?” Mar was already rolling up one of his aethium cigarettes. His face had taken on a hollow look over the last few days, and his gold eye had lost its lustre somehow.

  “With me,” Pugh replied.

  The wizard stood slowly and nearly toppled over but caught himself.

  “Are you well?” Pugh asked.

  “No.” Mar said bluntly, “But what difference does that make? We have a battle to fight.”

  Gideon knelt, looking out across the field to the north of the bridge. The river was on his right—the road behind running off to his left. Flint had been found and brought. He looked poorly. The men were arrayed along an old dike built long ago to keep the Burapura from flooding the approach to the bridge and perhaps the palace itself. It would serve as good cover for the men of the 13th. Fifty men were positioned along it, their muskets loaded. Another fifty knelt just behind the top of a second embankment, so the soldiers were arranged in an L shape, both sides of which overlooked the same field. They could still hear shooting and bugles sounding to the north. The retreat sounded orderly, with the occasional pause, followed by the rolling thunder of a musket volley. Flint collapsed behind Gideon and sighed. He lay on the grass of the berm and closed his eyes.

  “You well?” Gideon asked his lieutenant.

  “Been up with the cobbler’s marbles all night, lad.”

  “Eh?”

  “The runs. The trots. The whisky shits. The raja’s fucking great and terrible retribution…”

  “I’ve got it,” Gideon said.

  “My arsehole’s bloody raw,” Flint said, his eyes still closed.

  “I said I’ve got it,” Gideon growled louder, his eyes fixed on the distant trees where their men should appear any moment. “You well enough to fight… Sir?” He kept forgetting that the man was an officer and was due a greater amount of respect even than he had as a sergeant. It was hard to remember since Flint himself didn’t seem to care much for the rank and had little sense of decorum.

  “Aye. Day I can’t fight is the day I’m dead, eh?”

  There was movement in the far trees, “Look there.” Figures were coming through. Men on horseback came in riding hard.

  Flint rolled over and squinted in the morning sunlight, “Ours looks like.”

  “Agreed.” More horsemen were breaking from cover. More men broke from the trees. “Looks like Adams’ men.”

  The group spurred their mounts and rode in. Gideon stood and greeted Lieutenant Longview as he rode in, “What’s the situation, sir?”

  Longview had the face of a beaten man. His blue eyes seemed pale in the morning light, “Enemy came across the river just after dawn. Everyone is pulling back.”

  “Pugh told us to hold here.”

  “We’re pulling back.” He repeated dumbly.

  Flint stood and stared at him, “To where?”

  “I, I don’t know. We’re falling back.” He repeated again.

  Pugh and Brine came striding up with Mar in tow, “Report.” The Major barked.

  “This fuckwit is pulling back. To where, he won’t say. Knock some sense into him, Major, sir.” Flint said, half amused.

  Pugh ignored the lack of decorum and turned to Longview, “What were your orders?”

  “Adams said to pull back.”

  “That’s all?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. That’s all he said. We did as he said.”

  “Well, you’ve pulled back. I want you to ride over to those ruins, take them, and hold them until the rest of us work our way there. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, of course, sir. The ruins. On it.” Longview answered, seeming to snap out of his stupor. He turned and began issuing orders to men.

  The whole company rode through the lines and turned down the road towards the palace. As they moved away, more riders streamed from the woods. This time, it was the rest of Adams’ men and half of Benton’s. Benton himself led them. Another small group of men, mostly sepoys, wore V.A.C. uniforms and were led by a company officer that Gideon did not recognize. It seemed they had suffered only a few losses. Only Edmonds' company and Khathan’s squadron had yet to return. Dryden was still out there with them, too. More gunfire rolled in the distance. Men and horses streamed back through the lines. Some assembled on the road. Others bolstered the defensive line set by Pugh. Others were sent to escort the baggage train. More gunfire rolled, but closer. Then they were through the trees. Khathan’s men in black uniforms with red turbans bright against the brown and green terrain. The natives had brought up the rear. Dryden rode with them. Some of Edmonds' men were there, too. They rode hard for the lines, and Gideon could see why. Enemy cavalry was hot on their heels, breaking from the trees.

  “Hold!” Pugh shouted, “Hold until our boys are clear, then let the Rakes have it!”

  The enemy rode hard, trying to catch the Vastrum men before they could reach safety, but their horses were smaller and just a little slower. They had been able to keep up because the terrain had been poor, and the smaller mounts were sturdy, but once the troopers of the 13th made it to the open ground they were quick to gallop away from the Rhakani soldiers. They went up and over the berm. The enemy cavalry pulled up short but well within musket range.

  “Fire,” Pugh said softly.

  Gideon stood and roared the order, “Fire, you filthy bastards!”

  He felt a thrill as the thunder of battle roared. The enemy fell. There was something about commanding men in battle he liked—ordering his men to fire and seeing the enemy driven back. He grinned. “Reload!” he bellowed. Men went to obey, but the surviving enemy cavalry were falling back. Dead and wounded enemies lay upon the ground.

  Dryden dismounted his horse, handed the reins to a nearby private, and came to join them. Riding bound and tied next to him was a Rhakani soldier. Dryden offered no explanation for who the man was and it was not Gideon’s place to ask.

  “Where’s Edmonds?” Pugh asked.

  “I don’t know. Still out there, perhaps.” Major Dryden answered. Gideon knew the truth, though, that Edmonds and his men were unlikely to be alive. “What are Havor’s orders?”

  “We move to the ruins west of here. Defend there. Hope we can divert the enemy long enough for the Hussars and cannon to arrive.” Pugh answered, “I’ve already sent men to secure it. What happened at the crossing?”

  “We held their war elephants admirably, but their cavalry crossed in force further upstream.”

  “I thought you said there were no more crossings.” Pugh frowned.

  “There is always a crossing if you’re foolhardy enough to try it. They took a risk and met with success. We could not defend ourselves on two fronts.” Dryden explained, “What’s done is done. To the ruins, then, we must needs survive this day.”