The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (23 page)

The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny

“What devilry is this!?” Arnold of Torroja bellowed in shock and horror as he struggled with the reins of his startled charger.

All around the Alliance Personnel Carrier, panic-stricken horses were desperately trying to escape the nightmare that had torn the ground open behind them in a huge cataclysm of noise, fire and falling debris. Horses bucked and reared, attempting to unseat their riders and flee from this place of noise and terror. Lances and shields lay scattered over the ground where they had been discarded in the frantic scrabble to assert some control over the terrified animals. Unseated horsemen were trying to rise to their feet again, clutching the reins of their frightened beasts, having avoided the dust-swirling nightmare of flailing legs and trampling hooves. Many reluctant animals were still trying to pull away from their riders as stiff-legged, they dug into the dusty ground and pulled away with their terrified strength.

The grunts, screams and snorts of frightened animals were challenged by the massive sonic boom of the two Eagles as they climbed almost vertically upwards into the pale light of the morning sky. The terrified animals, startled for a second time, re-doubled their efforts to unseat their riders. Those who still held their seats had kept their advantage over the animals and hauled on reins to control their beasts. Those already unseated were once again thrown into the battle with frightened animals and wounded pride.

“This is no devilry, Brother Arnold,” Billy Caudwell replied to the question. “It is simply a demonstration of the forces that I command should you try to force a passage through the estate.”

“Witchcraft and sorcery!” Arnold bellowed as his horse spun around with its rider trying to exert greater control.

“Believe what you wish, Brother Arnold, but, having renounced God’s Grace and your oath to the Order, I would suggest that your immortal soul may be in greater danger than you imagine.”

“Leave me to worry about my immortal soul, Outlander! Here are my terms: Clear your pathetic rabble from the road and none of your people will be harmed.”

“And what of the people of Jerusalem, will none of them be harmed, Brother Arnold?”

“Jerusalem is no concern of yours!” Arnold snapped, now brutally aware that he would have to force a passage through the Muscigny estate, with huge casualties, or lose his dream of becoming Grand Master.

“Oh, but Brother Arnold, the slaughter of thousands of innocent people is very much my concern.”

“Then as you have such concern for them, you will be allowed to die before them.”

“I think not Brother Arnold. Here are my terms: You pack up your baggage, you turn your army around, and march back to Acre, or my flying ships will come back and send you all to Satan.”

“Brave words, Admiral, but the Templars do not run from the barking of an ill-bred mongrel.”

“Then as you have chosen your fate Brother Arnold, beware; the ill-bred mongrel has far sharper teeth than the pampered lapdog.”

“We shall see, Admiral, we shall see,” Arnold hissed viciously as he wrenched on the reins to pull his horse around and away from the negotiation.

Digging his spurs into the horse’s flanks, Arnold of Torroja galloped away angrily, followed by the remaining horsemen of his bodyguard.

“Well, that could have gone better, sir,” Officer Garn, standing next to Billy, said philosophically.

“Actually, you’re quite wrong,” Billy replied as he watched Arnold and his bodyguards trot their horses carefully through the moonscape of flame-licked craters and smouldering fissures.

“How so, sir, they’re almost certain to attack?”

“Maybe they will.” Billy smiled and nudged the Personnel Carrier pilot to return them to the Landing Trooper positions. “But we’ve shown them just how powerful our weapons are, we’ve frightened a good few of them, and fear spreads like influenza through an army. Plus, they won’t be charging their heavy cavalry over that little lot.” Billy nodded to the horsemen who were still picking their way through the devastation of the slope.

“Not anytime soon,” he added.

The Landing Trooper Position, Muscigny.

Having withdrawn from the fruitless negotiation, the Personnel Carrier dropped off Billy Caudwell and Senior Landing Trooper Garn before returning Grand Master Odo to the Citadel.

“Well, sir, what next?” Officer Garn asked.

“Oh, I think we leave our friend Arnold to make the next move,” Billy replied, sitting down between the body of the Personnel Carrier and the wall next to the gap that allowed the road to run into the estate.

“And, what do you think that will be, sir?”

“Well, he’s got no artillery,” Billy said calmly as he peered over the edge of the Carrier to view the line of archers and expendables on the still smouldering and pulsar-bolt torn rise for the appearance of catapults and other war machines, “and I don’t think he brought his archers out for display purposes.”

“So, you think he’ll probably try to soften us up a bit?”

“I’d say so. So, I’d advise Battle Shields and pulsar-rifles at rapid-fire, but remember, no killing unless absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, sir,”

Sitting down again, back to the Carrier, Billy made contact with the WATO in the War Room of the Aquarius.

“WATO?” Billy asked through the Comms Net. “How many Eagles can we launch?”

“The full complement of fifteen are available, sir.”

“Very good, launch them all immediately, and have them keep station above the estate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Projectiles!” a loud voice challenged as Billy’s thoughts were interrupted by a loud swishing sound and then followed by the rattling of what sounded like rain on a tin roof.

“Incoming!” another voice called out in alarm as Billy looked up to see the black shadowy trail of arrows dropping from the sky.

Landing Troopers were already activating their Battle Shields as Billy activated the force-shielding on his own PES, just as a sheaf of arrows impacted on the Personnel Carrier behind him and the wall in front of him.

“That was close,” Billy mumbled to himself as he lifted one of the white feathered arrows and noticed the savagely sharpened barb at its tip.

“Commence rapid-fire!” the voice of Garn broke into the Comms Net.

Almost immediately, Billy heard the sound of three hundred pulsar-rifles on rapid-fire tear the air like a tornado. The sound of the seven-barrelled pulsar-rifle, discharging one pulsar-bolt every third of a second, was more like the sound of cloth ripping. However, when in chorus with hundreds of other pulsar-rifles, the effect was similar to that of the blast of a high wind.

Raising his head from behind the Personnel Carrier once again, Billy saw that the pulsar-rifles were wreaking havoc on the line of Templar archers. A continuous sheet of pulsar-bolt fire seethed from the Landing Trooper line and tore into the serried ranks of archers. Looking down the Landing Trooper line, Billy was pleased to see that each Landing Trooper had activated his Battle Shield and was firing his seven-barrelled pulsar-rifle into the mass of archers.

Those Landing Troopers stationed behind the Personnel Carriers were able to hold the Shield over their heads whilst resting the pulsar-rifle on the side of the vehicle. Those in the spaces between Carriers worked in kneeling groups of three. The first Trooper, on the left, was able to manipulate his Shield to protect the lower bodies of himself and the other two comrades. The second Trooper, in the centre, held his Shield up over the heads of himself and the others in the trio. The third Trooper on the far right used his Shield to protect the upper bodies of himself and the other two in the group. This left a gap, just wide enough for a pulsar-rifle barrel between the upper and lower body Shields. Resting the barrels on the Shield edges, the Troopers were able to pour rapid-fire pulsar-bolts into the huge target that presented itself on the top of the rise.

All along the Templar lines, dozens of archers were struck down by the white-hot pulsar-bolts. Some were knocked from their feet as if by some invisible fist, whilst others spun around like children’s toys before either falling back into the line or toppling over the edge of the rise. The great wooden shields were quickly reduced to matchwood under the sheer incessant volume of pulsar-rifle fire. Their leaders, shouting commands and pushing wavering men back into line, tried to maintain discipline in the ranks. However, the tidal wave of pulsar-bolts soon sought them out and stunned them to silence. The bolts that failed to connect with a target zipped harmlessly into the air with the loud sizzling sound that meant the bolt was cooling. It would continue into the air until it had cooled to the point where its energy was spent, causing the bolt to dissipate in the atmosphere.

The pulsar-bolts that were aimed low began to tear chunks of dirt and debris from the edge of the rise where the archers stood. And, under such constant pounding, the ground began to give way under the relentless assault. Like a huge mechanical excavator, the ground was stripped away from beneath the archers’ feet by the relentless stream of badly-aimed pulsar-bolts.

Loose soil and debris began to cascade down the gentle slope of the rise as more and more archers either lost their footing or were bowled over by a direct hit. Some pulsar-bolts, striking the edge of the rise, fizzed into the air taking an archer with it as it sped off into oblivion.

Watching the carnage unfold on the Templar line, Billy was pleased to note that the next flight of arrows was only a fraction of the size of the first two attacks. The archers were being remorselessly cut down by the rapid-fire of the pulsar-rifles. The shafts fell to the ground rattling uselessly against the Battle Shields held aloft by the Landing Troopers as the pulsar-rifles continued to scythe through their ranks. With nearly a quarter of the archers down in less than two minutes, the Templar commanders sent the expendables forward.

A new line of Templar shields quickly formed in front of the hard-pressed archers. However, the new protective line fared little better than the first. The sheer torrent of pulsar-bolts swept relentlessly along the new front, toppling shields and soldiers alike. The archers, scrambling back for safety, found little respite, but did manage to let loose one more feeble and cursory flight that rattled harmlessly against the Landing Troopers’ Battle Shields. The expendables manning the front line now faced the inexorable meat-grinder of the pulsar-bolts that stunned their targets into insensibility. Every second, scores of unconscious bodies toppled helplessly down the front face of the slope to join the hundreds of motionless white-coated forms that were strewn haphazardly across the top of the rise. Again the pulsar-bolts chewed up the ground at the top of the slope, tearing and rending the ground in great spurts of dirt and debris. The dislodged dirt tumbled down the slope whilst the dust, never given time to settle, continued to spurt and spume into the air as the shield wall of the remaining expendables began to slowly retreat from the edge of the slope.

“Cease fire!” Billy ordered sharply into the Comms Net as the shields began to recede from his view.

And as quickly as the holocaust of pulsar-bolts had begun, it ceased.

As the last of the pulsar-bolts seethed into the shattered ground of the rise, an eerie silence fell over the battlefield. Normally, the groans of the wounded and pitiful cries for help would soar and clamour over the silence after such a violent bombardment. The ringing in the survivors’ ears would be assailed by pleas from the injured and dying. But here, there would be very few injured. They would all be unconscious and unable to call out. For a moment, Billy felt incredibly alone as he scanned the rise and witnessed hundreds, perhaps thousands of unconscious Templars strewn across the entire face of the rise top. Bows, shields, swords and helmets were scattered amongst the fallen figures and craters torn in the ground by the pulsar-bolts.

In some places, the piles of fallen Templars were three deep as one unconscious man had rolled down the slope and blocked the progress of subsequent casualties. In other places groups and clusters formed, and try as he might Billy was unable to find any solitary figures. To Billy, it looked like some great high tide that had strewn the flotsam and jetsam of battle across this small patch of ground.

“All secure sir, no casualties,” Garn reported.

“Very good, stay on alert,” Billy said as he continued to scan the top of the rise.

Nothing seemed to be moving on what had been the Templar front line until a white flag appeared from just beyond the crest of the rise. Tentatively, heads began to appear behind the flag bearer as the first of the casualties were being lifted away.

“Flag of truce, sir?” Garn queried through the Comms Net.

“They’re lifting their wounded. Let them take as long as they want.

The more time that the Templars took to take up their wounded, the more time King Baldwin had to reach the estate with reinforcements. Slowly and tentatively, Templars began to cross the line of the rise onto the front slope to lift the thousands of stunned soldiers back to safety.

“Round one to the Troopers.” Billy smiled softly.