The Last Sunset (36 page)

“I’m sorry, I had to cauterize your wound.”

Andy tried to stand up, but was held firmly in
place by Mary. She spoke softly to Alistair as she wound a long strip of cloth
around Andy’s chest.

“She says you must sit still until she has
bandaged the wound, otherwise the bleeding will start again.”

Andy tried to concentrate on Mary’s face to take
his mind off the pain. Under his stare a faint flush rose into her cheeks. The
fiery heat of the whisky was giving way to a relentless ache in the right side
of his body as though he’d been trampled in a stampede.

“You were very fortunate,” Alistair went on.
“The ball passed clean through. I’m sorry ourselves weren’t here. The redcoats
were probing our flank. They got into one of the empty cottages, but
Longholme’s men arrived in time. Anyway, you didn’t seem to need help.”

At last Mary finished bandaging her patient.

“As soon as one of the men comes back we’ll lift
you out of here. We’re using one of the buildings as a field hospital.”

“No!” Andy gritted his teeth against the pain of
talking. “Ah’m staying!”

Alistair nodded. He spoke briefly to Mary, and
together they manoeuvred him against the back wall. His rifle lay where it had
fallen, in a little tarn of blood.

Alistair offered him the whisky jug. “Here, it
will help the pain.”

Andy took a quick gulp of the raw spirit,
coughed painfully a few times then took another swallow.

“The others okay?” he whispered hoarsely.

“We’ve lost three of Longholme’s men. One was
shot like yourself, but wasn’t as fortunate. Another lost his head completely,
poor wee laddie. The third ran off as soon as the shooting started. Two of
Achnacon’s young laddies have musket balls in their limbs.”

“How about our guys?”

“Och everyone’s fine, apart from yourself.
There’s a wee bit of a lull just now, so Sam and Shawnee are away getting his
wound dressed. It was Shawnee who called Mary and myself. I don’t think
Achnacon and Ishbel know about yourself yet.”

By now the shooting had died away completely.
Alistair peered over the top of the wall.

“They’ve pulled themselves back about four
hundred yards. They must have lost a quarter of their men in that attack, so I
don’t think they’ll try any more frontal assaults. I can see a lot of activity
around the wagons. They must be starting to unload their cannon.” He looked
worriedly at Andy. “I’d hoped they would move their cannon a lot closer first.”

“Sorry about that,” grunted Andy.

Alistair shrugged. He caught sight of Sam and
Shawnee scampering along the passageway towards them.

Shawnee made straight for Andy and took hold of
his hand. “I stayed with you like y’said, right up until they told me you were
gonna be all right.”

A pale smile appeared on the soldier’s face.
“Thanks for everything, pet.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Aye ye did,” murmured Andy.

Sam grinned sardonically at the soldier, his own
wounds now cleaned and dressed. “Way to hide what y’got, huh? I guess this
kinda blows it for Plan A.”

“Help me tae the wall,” Andy grunted. “Ah can
still hit them at four hundred yards.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Shawnee said
emphatically. Mary, too, moved to restrain him.

“We need tae stop their cannon,” the soldier
growled.

“You couldn’t stand on your feet, far less aim a
rifle,” Alistair told him.

Sam picked up Andy’s rifle and began to wipe it
clean of blood. “Guess that training session’s gonna come in useful after all…”

Alistair had continued to observe their distant
enemy. “They’re up to something,” he said quietly.

Sam joined him at the wall. “What are y’seeing?”

Alistair pointed out a knot of blue-uniformed
men to the right of the main body.

“They’ve lit a fire in that large metal thing.
Do you see it? It’s like a brazier.”

“Maybe they’re having a cup of tea…”

Alistair grunted sourly. “I don’t like the idea
of ourselves just sitting here, waiting for them to take the initiative.”

“Did you say a brazier?” Andy hissed. He forced
himself to his feet, and reached the wall before his legs buckled. Alistair and
Sam caught him as he crumpled to the ground.

As the two men hauled him upright a plume of
white smoke belched from the redcoat lines. Something like a fiery meteorite
rose out of the smoke and arced towards
Meall An Fhraoich
. Moments later
the object crashed to the ground a hundred yards away.

“What the hell…?”

“Cannon,” Andy grunted painfully. “Braziers heat
the cannon balls.”

Moments later a second missile followed. This
one landed twenty yards short of the roofless storehouse. A third projectile
overshot Longholme’s stronghold and crashed through the roof of an empty
cottage. The thatch collapsed into the building, sending a shower of sparks
through the window and doorway. Smoke billowed from the shattered remains.

Another cloud of smoke erupted from the
Hanoverian lines. The red-hot cannonball smashed into one of the passageway
walls, sending debris flying in all directions. Shawnee and Mary clung to each
other, as if sheltering from an air raid. The two riflemen hurried to make
ready their weapons.

“Who’n hell are we supposed to be shooting at?”
Sam yelled.

“Guys in blue,” Andy grunted. “Gunners…”

Alistair waited until the American had settled
himself behind the sights of Andy’s rifle, before giving the word. The two
weapons fired together. Alistair stepped back to reload, while Sam blasted off
a further six shots.

“Hell, Andy, y’got some recoil here. Freakin
thing could bring down a T. Rex!”

“Did ye hit anythin’?”

“How ’n hell should I know? Too busy trying to
keep the son of a bitch under control!”

Andy groaned. “This isnae Vietnam… cannae just
blast away… gottae fire single shots…”

Another cannonball appeared out of a plume of
smoke. The missile ricocheted off a huge rock embedded in one of the walls,
before sailing spectacularly over the village.

Alistair was now firing as though he were on a
practice range. Almost every shot found a target. Andy watched in horrified
wonder as one distant figure after another crumpled in a heap.

Sam lined up the rifle once more, aligning his
sights on a group of blue-uniformed shapes to the left of the brazier. He
settled his breathing and squeezed the trigger. Instantly one of the shapes was
flung backwards.

“Got one! Lime-sucking sons of bitches…”

“Again,” growled Andy, “ ’fore they scatter.”

The gunners, however, were made of sterner stuff
than the infantry and doggedly stood their ground as death cracked and whistled
around them. Only after they’d lost half their number were they finally driven
back, hauling two sleds behind them.

A stunning silence descended on the glen, broken
by Sam’s version of a rebel yell.

“Y’can take that as a declaration of
independence, you sons of bitches!”

Cautiously the two women rose to their feet.

“Is that it?” Shawnee asked. “Is it over?”

“It’s over for now,” said Alistair, wiping the
sweat from his forehead, “but they won’t give up that easily. There’s too much
at stake here now.”

Now that the danger had passed Andy began to
lose his grip on the wall. The others grabbed him as he fell, blood seeping
from his chest and back.

Mary gave him a sharp lecture as she adjusted
his dressings. Achnacon appeared in the middle of her tirade. His weary smile
vanished as soon as he saw Andy. He rushed to his side, anxiously addressing
him in Gaelic. Mary’s reply seemed to reassure the old man. At last the English
came back to him.

“It pains myself that you have been brought to
this. But Mary hass said you have been touched by fortune. Your wounds will
heal, if yourself is sensible of them.”

Andy had no time for such minor issues. “Where’s
Ishbel?”

Achnacon shook his head despairingly. “Och,
Ishbel is fine. I bid her stay with yourself when we rushed to guard the flank,
but ’twas a waste of breath. She was most displeased you would not allow her to
stand with yourself, and even now sits in high dudgeon watching to the west.”

Even in his pain Andy smiled at Ishbel’s spirit.

Achnacon lost no time in turning to other matters.
He eyed the two rifles with sharp interest. “With such a musket a man need
never live in fear again. ’Tis truly wondrous weapons yourselfs have brought to
Glen Laragain.”

To Andy’s dismay Sam handed the rifle to the old
clansman. Achnacon examined the strange shape of the gun, his eyes bright with
wonder. He asked the same question he’d put to Muirshearlach:

“And how might a man insert a ball into such a
fine barrel?”

Sam unclipped the magazine and showed him the
uppermost bullet.

“These little babies do the same job as ball and
powder, except y’feed ’em into the bottom of the rifle… right here.”

Andy drifted off into unconsciousness, missing
the rest of Sam’s training session. When he awoke again his head was cradled in
Ishbel’s lap. She was stroking his hair, humming a plaintive melody over him.
His chest hurt like hell, and his mouth was sour with the taste of blood.

“Hi,” he smiled up at her, “how’s it goin’?”

Ishbel’s beautifully groomed hair had been
reduced to an untidy mess, concealing her face from Andy’s view. Her only reply
was a snuffling sound.

“As y’can see your girl got the news,” said Sam.
“How y’doing? Y’musta been out for nearly a half hour.”

“No’ bad… only hurts when Ah breathe.”

Andy could see Alistair and Mary standing with
the two Americans at the rampart. From somewhere in the background came the
murmured voices of Achnacon and Longholme. They seemed to be convening a
council of war.

“What’s happening? Any more attacks?”

Alistair looked worriedly to the east.
“Everything’s been quiet since they pulled their cannon back. But a lot of
their infantry have been withdrawn out of sight. Whatever they’re up to they’re
taking great pains to conceal it from ourselves.”

Ishbel swept her hair back and gently kissed
Andy on the mouth. He smiled wanly at her, and with his left hand tapped his
heart and drew a little circle in the air. She replied with a watery smile that
dissolved into another trickle of tears.

Andy wasn’t sure if he closed his eyes for a
moment or an hour, but with a sudden start he was fully conscious.

“Incoming!” yelled Sam, as a red-hot cannonball
sailed lazily overhead. The missile crashed against one of the rear walls.
Instantly Shawnee and Mary disappeared out of sight, while Longholme hurried
back to his own position.

“I can’t see them!” Alistair yelled. “They’ve
moved their cannon out of sight!”

Andy met no resistance from Ishbel as he
struggled to his feet. He could see a distant cloud of smoke rising into the
air. Ishbel did her best to support Andy, but the pain of standing upright
showed on his face.

“…Must have someone spotting for them,” he
grunted.

Achnacon joined them at the rampart. “Not even
your fast muskets can strike a concealed enemy,” he said grimly. “Perhaps if
some of us sallied out we may silence their cannon.”

“That would be suicide!” exclaimed Alistair.
“They will have infantry close by to protect the guns.”

Another balloon of white smoke appeared above
the eastern horizon. The boom of the cannon reached them as the projectile
smashed into a wall yards from Longholme’s position. Splinters of rocky
shrapnel felled one of the
bodachs
. They watched as redcoat and tartaned
youth alike carried him to the rear, using his own plaid as a stretcher.

“Somebody’s gotta come up with something,” said
Sam, “before we all get turned to hamburger.”

“We need elevation… Need tae get above them…”

“The northern slopes of the glen,” said
Alistair. “If somebody can get far enough up the hillside they might have a
clear shot.”

“Hell, man, you’d be adding a coupla hundred
yards to the target. You’d need to be a marksman to make a shot like that.”

“Indeed you would,” said Alistair.

Another cannonball crashed against the fortified
wall of one of the occupied cottages. The wall held, but the impact created
fault lines in the drystone construction. Another direct hit would bring the
building down on top of everyone inside. Achnacon rushed off to evacuate the
cottage. From the cries within it was clear some of the people were close to
panic.

“Unless anyone has a better idea,” Alistair shouted
above the din, “I would suggest Sam and myself get moving straightaway.”

Shawnee stood to one side, her face a mess of
conflicting emotions, her eyes large and tear-filled. Mary was more tactile,
clinging to Alistair for long moments before she was gently eased aside.