“And Captain?” Hawk-Eye waited to catch his gaze. “Don’t be seen.”
“Yes, sir.” The captain, two other men, and a woman rushed to the warehouse door, stopped, and cautiously slipped outside.
Inside the large, open chamber, fear, anticipation, and impatience hung in the stale air like suspended wheat chaff on a threshing floor. What Hawk-Eye wouldn’t have given for a brisk wind to blow them all away. Sensing his troops’ unease, he nudged his mount, rode out a few meters ahead of the lines, and turned to face them. An inspirational speech would help. He wasn’t good at speeches. Still, the waiting, the unknown, was getting to them all.
“Listen up!” Every rider, driver, and gunner fixed searching eyes on him, their tension as tight as drawn wire. “Shortly, the bugle will sound, and we’ll charge through those roll-up doors—full speed, no punches pulled. Give each other room and don’t shoot until you have a target in your sights. Lancers, make straight for the rows of troops and be the spearhead that cuts them down. Grenadiers, throw your explosives as soon as you’re in range, aiming for vehicles or clumps of soldiers. Then draw your swords. Speed on horseback is your advantage. Keep it. The same holds true for the cycle squads. Jeeps, Humvees, and trucks, wreak havoc. Keep hitting the outer bands and don’t let yourselves be surrounded.”
A distant boom vibrated through the building, but all remained quiet, focused on their commander. A horse snorted. Another pawed the ground.
“You are the finest, bravest souls I’ve ever known, and it has been the greatest privilege of my life to serve with you. Remember this—we don’t fight for a queen, for gain, or for glory. This day, we muster all our grit to defend our homes, our families, and our freedom. Will we stand idly by and let Luther Irons and his army take what is ours?”
“No, sir!” thundered the soldiers’ reply.
Raising his voice even louder, Hawk-Eye shouted, “Will we let them burn our fields, slaughter our cattle, and kidnap our loved ones?”
“No, sir!”
“Will we let them enslave our nation, rip away our freedom, and divide our citizens by race and religion?”
“No, sir!”
“Then let’s bloody them, cavalry! With the ferocity our ancestors mustered in past generations, with the conviction that our cause is noble, let’s stop the Iron Army in its tracks—right here, right now!”
“Yes, sir!” they all cheered.
Hawk-Eye felt the energy shift and smiled. They were probably all going to die, but at least they’d go down fighting, not fleeing in terror.
The young captain and his scouts rushed back into the warehouse, wide-eyed. “They didn’t see us, I swear!” He yanked off his helmet and pointed toward the doors. “Garcia must have sent a patrol. They’re heading straight for us, and we’ll lose the element of surprise.”
“Mount up, troops,” commanded Major McKinley. “I think we just got our signal to attack.”
Chapter eleven
Xenophon
Soldiers lunged to new positions as trees burst into flames, cannonballs slammed into buildings and hillsides, and mud and blood peppered General Roderic Calder, Lieutenant Rushing, and Corporal Foley. They scrambled up the wooded embankment leading to the demolished artillery unit, while archers and infantry took up their new positions. Gripping a young birch trunk, Roderic twisted over his shoulder to survey the battlefield. The vast number of corpses was appalling, the heavy casualties favoring the larger force.
The taste of blood and ash lingered in his mouth, but Roderic’s heart leaped at a sight that might turn the tide. With most of the oil fires extinguished, Garcia gave the order to charge. A broad line of enemy soldiers poured into the bog, hundreds of men wide. They surged forward while rank after rank splashed in behind them until, about halfway across, their forward momentum stopped. The rows piled in on each other like a logjam. Calder’s sharpshooters opened fire. Archers loosed their arrows, some still carrying flames, into the mass of Republic soldiers.
“General, it’s working!” Rushing exclaimed, hope radiating from his scruffy face.
“If only he’d started with a full charge.” Roderic couldn’t allow himself relief—not yet, not with thousands of his troops already lost.
“Sir, look!” Foley pointed in a different direction, away from the swamp. The Stonevale cavalry had mounted a full-scale charge, not at the enemy’s rear,but at its eastern flank. They would still do damage, but the move bordered on foolhardy.
“I haven’t given the signal.” What optimism Roderic might have fostered withered into dread. “You didn’t blow the call.”
“No, sir.” Foley raised his horn. “Only for the infantry earlier.”
“With all the blasting noise, he probably couldn’t hear,” Rushing offered. “Look at all those engulfed rooftops. They might have been forced from the warehouses.”
“Come on,” Roderic said, raising his gaze up the hillside. “We’ll have a better view from the top and discover Colonel Pickering’s fate.”
Planting a muddy boot into a foothold, Roderic reached a gloved hand to the next tree and pulled. Loose pebbles rolled from under his steps as he sought purchase on the steep incline. Rushing and Foley found the climb easier than a man of his age. At least Garcia no longer considered this position worthy of the bombardment that blasted other locations.
Broken tree trunks and shattered cannons—both the antiques and the twenty-first-century models—dominated the crest in smoldering bits. The unmoving corpses and scattered limbs of men and women who’d served under his command left him sick and hollow. A cough drew his attention, and Roderic rushed around the dead and debris to a mostly intact M777 howitzer. Several wounded soldiers took refuge around its extended tripod base. One was an elderly man with silver eagles on his shoulders.
“Colonel Pickering.” Roderic reached him first while Rushing and Foley checked on the others.