Roy respected Vance, even though she was younger and outranked him. A tall woman, she held herself with authority and had benefited from higher education. Her opinion carried weight.
“That’s for sure,” he replied. Waiting meant time for fear to fester and nerves to falter, for those who watched to grow lax. Like everything else in the military, it was a game of hurry-up-and-wait.
A bell exploded into the air on the southwest side of the massive stronghold, catching everyone’s attention. Colonel Vance grabbed the radio clipped to her belt. “What is it?”
The voice on the other side answered, “Riverboats headed this way, and they ain’t ours.”
“North wall, hold your position!” she ordered in a resounding voice. “Keep watch. It could be a diversion.” Vance then made haste along the battlements toward the big guns that commanded the top of the bluffs.
Minutes dragged like hours as Roy’s attention shifted between the lowlands to the north and the anticipation of an assault from the river. Then cannon fire tore open the air. Shells screamed overhead. The bluffs shuddered as explosions ripped the river below. The earth kicked beneath the walls, vibrations climbing through his boots into his bones.
“Can anyone see what’s happening?” he asked.
Lieutenant Butler, atop a lookout tower, beamed down at Roy, the archers and sharpshooters, and the north wall artillery crews, his teeth gleaming against his dusky skin. “A task group of riverboats—they’re getting pummeled! Can’t raise their aim high enough to hit the walls while we’re swamping them. They damaged a couple of our ships, but more than half of theirs are sinking or burning. The others are turning back, but we’ve got their number.”
Cheers broke loose—hands slapped, boots thudded, men shouting into the hot air. After a week of preparation and a week of watching the grass grow, something had finally happened, and it was going their way.
“Whoop, whoop!” hollered a corporal under Roy’s command. “Boy, we showed them, didn’t we, Sarge?”
Roy, feeling a great deal of national pride, grinned at him, slapping his shoulder. “We sure did. But I guarantee you, they were just takin’ a look-see. They’ll be back with more ships.”
“Do you think?” The corporal’s exuberance waned. Roy nodded and returned to his watch, raising the binoculars. He surveyed the old highway, covered with cracks, vines, and deep puddles.
Vance is right. They won’t come this way.
A cold prickle crawled up his spine before his eyes found it. The whir of tires. The growl of engines. The thunder of hooves and boots. They surged from the treeline, branches snapping, mud spraying, the ground trembling under their weight. The wind carried the stench of oil and horse dung. Metal and smoke coated his tongue.
Roy’s mouth went dry. His pulse slammed against his throat. Legions. Deep. Endless. A kilometer away. He ran, seized the nearest bell, and yanked the clapper hard enough to rattle his teeth.
“They’re coming! North wall!”
Boots pounded stone. Orders cracked. Someone dropped a rifle and cursed. In an instant, celebration changed to dread. Soldiers readied their guns and bows. Cannoneers loaded their shells while catapult crews poured tar on stones.
“OK, soldiers,” Roy called. “Remember your training. Don’t fire until the major gives the word and not until you have a clear target in your sights. We haven’t ammunition to waste. Courage! We have the high ground.”
The Iron Army rolled forward like a rusted tide. The marsh would slow them. It had to. Because nothing else would.
Chapter twenty-four
By Honor, We Rise
Stonevale, the evening after General Calder was rescued
Roderic jolted in the back of the jeep, shoulders braced against Lieutenant Rushing, spine knocking the rollbars behind him. Across the way, Wes Walker drew on a homeroll cigarette, its smoke curling through the open side, while Lark Sutter brought colorful adventure stories to life. He hadn’t caught the driver’s name, nor the brawny man beside her, nor the two riders on the motorcycles.
Numb, sleep-starved, and parched, he wanted nothing but home, surrounded by his family, where he could sleep for twelve straight hours. Spotting familiar terrain through the shadow of twilight, he knew it wouldn’t be long now.
Corporal Foley’s blood still stained his uniform, the young man’s sacrifice seared into his memory. An enemy soldier dragging the lad by one boot, his bright bugle abandoned in the dirt beside his body. Cold spread through Roderic’s veins.
He should have felt more for Colonel Pickering, his father’s longtime friend. He’d watched him die too. Pickering had demonstrated courage at the end, and he’d make sure his name received honor, but he was old. James Foley was not.
Lark’s voice was steady, warm—but the stories barely reached him. He was thinking about the other prisoners who had to be left behind. Itmade him sick. Weariness settled into his bones, heavy and damp as river fog. Still, he was alive and had a job to do. He would drink, eat, shower, and change clothes. Then sleep. Blessed sleep. Maybe sleep first, then the rest.
“This will be my first time seeing Stonevale,” Lark said. “I’ve heard it has a castle.”
Roderic lifted a haunted gaze to her. “It does.”
“Don’t worry, General Calder.” Her rich brown eyes met his with understanding. “What happened isn’t your fault. I’m not sure you realize how successful your attack was. Reports from the capital show a three-to-one casualty disparity. Yes, your army was cut in half, but, for every soldier you lost, you took three of theirs. That’s something to hold on to.”