The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (28 page)

The part of his mind that was Teg Portan had given him the final move in this battle. And now, Billy Caudwell knew that he would have to implement it. He would have to turn the Alliance Eagles fully on the slope leading up to the Citadel at Muscigny. It would mean the deaths of the last remaining Troopers, but it would remove all of the Templars. His own survival was not guaranteed, but he stood a better chance than the Troopers and the Templars. The survival of the estate workers, and ultimately the people in Jerusalem, stood as more important than the survival of the Troopers and himself.

But, Billy Caudwell was a fighter. He had no intention of giving up. The Army of Jerusalem, led by King Baldwin had to be somewhere close by. A few more seconds might see the relief forces take the field and drive the Templars away. But, Billy Caudwell had no idea where the King’s army was.

All around him, Billy could hear the ring of blades clashing and the shouts and screams of soldiers locked in the hand-to-hand struggle. The Troopers, with their far superior training, were still able to hold out against the Templars. But, exhaustion, and the weight of numbers arrayed against them, made the outcome inevitable.

“WATO,” Billy announced sadly into the Comms network.

“Sir,” the reply sounded in Billy’s ear.

“On my command,” Billy began as another Templar raced towards him, “I want the Eagles to strafe this slope clean of everything.”

The approaching Templar lowered the long spear that he was carrying; the point deliberately placed to skewer the Outlander. With a loud roar, the Templar charged at Billy.

“Sir?” the WATO challenged Billy. “But, you’ll be killed, sir? Please confirm.”

Pre-occupied by the charging Templar, Billy waited a few seconds as the tall man with the bushy reddish beard rushed towards him. It was a simple matter for Billy to side-step the attack. The Templar, committed to the blow, was already over-extended and off-balance. Grabbing the shaft of the spear, Billy pushed the weapon aside before lashing out with the Battle Blade in his right hand. Swinging the Battle Blade at the Templar, Billy felt the edge of the weapon bite through the chain mail and into the forearm of the spear carrier. With a loud yell, the Templar fell back, away from the next wild swing from the Outlander into the path of his advancing comrades.

“WATO, that order is confirmed,” Billy returned to his Armageddon scenario. “Prepare the Eagles to sweep this slope clear of anything that moves.”

Instructions had already been left that in the event of his death, Jedithram Prust was not to be withdrawn from Earth until Billy’s body had been recovered and prepared. There was to be no period of his parents not knowing what had happened to him. If Billy were to drown in Alliance service, his body was to be left to be discovered in a local river, a victim of accidental drowning. If he was badly burned, then a road accident could be manufactured. There was to be no suggestion of anything untoward that would lead to someone making a connection to the Universal Alliance; thus, threatening the safety of his surviving family.

“Acknowledged,” the WATO replied sadly.

“If I don’t get out of this alive,” Billy said quietly, “Integration Officer Gummell is to take command.”

“Understood, sir,” the WATO answered as another Templar with a heavy broadsword lunged at Billy.

More by instinct than any form of judgement, Billy ducked to his left a split-second before a sword blade hissed past his face. Feeling the wind from the savage stroke, Billy gasped as he struggled to regain his balance. All around him, the surviving Landing Troopers were engaged in their own life and death struggles with the advancing Templars. But, Billy had no time to assess the tactical situation.

The new threat that confronted him lunged forward with the heavy sword, forcing Billy to twist, stumble and finally roll his way out of danger. Rising quickly to his feet to confront the new enemy, Billy realised that he recognised the dark and twisted face beneath the hood of chain mail. The figure in the white surcoat was also overbalanced, having extended himself with the sword thrust.

And, it was that overbalance that allowed Billy to regain his footing on the dangerously slippery and muddy slope.

“Well, Admiral, our paths cross once again!” the cunning face of Arnold of Torroja announced as he set himself up for another attack on the flame-haired Outlander.

“Still think you can win, Brother Arnold?” Billy challenged, lowering the point of the Battle Blade to face the Templar.

“If God wills it,” Arnold replied, licking his lips with expectation and anxiety.

This red-haired Outlander had cost him his dream of the Grand Master’s Chair, and now God had brought the cause of that loss within reach of his sword. Arnold promised himself that he would enjoy killing this troublesome Outlander. The feeble-looking line of black uniforms was all that stood between Arnold and the seemingly heavily fortified Citadel perched on the edge of the ridge. The Citadel was now Arnold and the Templars’ only chance of survival on this battlefield. And, Arnold was determined to seize the prize. With the Citadel secured, Arnold could negotiate passage back to Acre. The failure of the expedition would hurt his standing in the Order, but Arnold knew that he was astute enough politically to recover from the blow in a few years.

“Well, so far he’s not done so brilliantly for you!” Billy replied, watching the Templar’s eyes intently.

Always watch the eyes!
The now-dead Garmaurian First Admiral had always instructed. Any enemy always betrayed their movements in a hand-to-hand with their eyes. Teg Portan, long experienced in hand-to-hand combat, bar room brawls and barracks fights knew his trade. Now, that experience was in the mind of Billy Caudwell. Arnold of Torroja may have been a fully-trained knight of the Templar Order, but his breadth and depth of experience was sorely lacking compared to that of Teg Skarral Portan.

Watch the eyes, Billy told himself as the Templar twitched the blade point at Billy, hoping that the Outlander would commit himself to a clumsy attack. But, Billy Caudwell was having none of it.

“He has given me your death, Outlander!” Arnold smiled viciously, continuing to flicker the blade-point at his flame-haired opponent.

“I don’t die easy,” Billy challenged with a calm and malicious smile. “Maybe he has given me
your
death.”

“I think not,” the confident Arnold smiled wolfishly and swung the heavy broadsword at the red-haired Outlander.

“WATO,” Billy ordered into the Comms net, “commence Eagle strike,” he gave the fateful order.

With Arnold of Torroja in front of him, Billy knew that the Templar commander would not survive. With Arnold’s death, and the annihilation of the Templar contingent, there would be a stark warning to prevent another such attack from ever happening again. Billy had decided that if he had to die, that Arnold of Torroja would be dying with him. Having given the order to wipe out everything, including possibly himself, Billy was resigned to his possible fate. He now felt an ease and a calmness flood over him that seemed to wipe away his fears. He had given the order. He was in charge of his destiny, yet he did not know the exact moment that he would meet that destiny. And, that knowledge gave him comfort, and the determination to ensure that Arnold of Torroja would not be his executioner.

Instinctively, Billy parried the downward swinging blow with his own Battle Blade. The heavy shock from the ringing clash sending a shock wave up Billy’s arm to his shoulder. It was at that moment that Billy Caudwell realised just how strong Arnold of Torroja was. His lifetime of training in the martial arts of his time had made him a strong and deadly warrior.

Pushing the Templar away, the two blades grated loudly against each other allowing Billy to prepare for the next assault. Arnold, at a disadvantage on the slope, took several steps back to balance himself for the next attack. He was fighting uphill and had to get past this red-haired adversary and his warriors to get to the Citadel and some form of safety.

With a loud roar, Arnold of Torroja lunged forward, attempting a vicious swipe to Billy’s left flank. Spotting the move, Billy blocked the blow by pushing the Battle Blade across the face of his body before pivoting on his left heel to deliver a vicious blow to Arnold’s face with his left elbow. Arnold, stunned for a moment, felt as if he had just run into a heavy stone wall. And, reeling back several steps, shook his head to clear the sensation of pain and fuzziness. This Outlander Admiral was skilled in hand-to-hand combat, Arnold realised, and decided that he would have to try a different tack to bring this opponent down.

Darting forward once again, Arnold swung downwards with the heavy blade. And, once again, the red-haired Admiral blocked the blow with a parry from the short sword he carried. And, as the swords clashed, Arnold lashed out with this left hand, catching Billy on the face with the mailed gauntlet that was bunched into a fist. Billy was taken by surprise by the sudden blow. Despite the protection of the PES, the blow was still heavy enough for Billy to be dumped onto his backside on the muddy hillside. Now, with the advantage, Arnold swung again with vicious downward chop. However, Billy had his wits about him sufficiently to twist out of the way a fraction of an instant before the razor-sharp blade hacked deep into the muddy ground where Billy had just moved from.

Still reeling from the blow to the face, Billy lashed out with his heavy-booted right leg.

The blow aimed at Arnold missed, but it did force the Templar back from renewing the attack. Springing back onto his feet, and still clutching the Battle Blade; Billy cursed himself for his stupidity. He should have seen the blow coming, and silently chastised himself for his amateurish mistake as he watched the Templar, sword in both hands, silently celebrating his minor triumph with the arrogant half-grimace and half-smile that was starting to annoy Billy. He had no idea that Billy had already ordered his certain death.

With a quick glance to his side, Billy saw that the other Troopers were fully engaged in the hand-to-hand battle. Despite the strafing from the Eagles overhead, small groups of armed Templars were still struggling up the slope to join the close-combat with the Landing Troopers. The white surcoats struggling up the slope carried an array of swords, spears and battle-axes to bring to the battle that was rapidly turning against the Landing Troopers. When sufficient numbers of Templars had negotiated the slope, the Landing Troopers would be overwhelmed; leaving only the Citadel, garrisoned by the estate workers, to block their path to Jerusalem. The estate workers were barely trained, and most of them completely inexperienced in battle. Billy knew that they would fight bravely in a futile and brutally short battle, and die fighting for their homes and their families.

The thought of everything that these people had built up in the months that he had known them, the struggles that they had faced and conquered, only to see them slaughtered like cattle enraged Billy as he faced the Templar commander once more. This time, Billy took the initiative. With his own shout of defiance, he stormed down the slope towards the waiting Templar. Arnold, braced for the impact of the attack, and prepared his sword for the next strike. But, rather than the full frontal attack he expected, the red-haired Admiral dropped to his backside and slid the final few yards towards the waiting Templar. Startled for a moment by the strange behaviour, Arnold tried to comprehend what Billy was doing. It was the split-second of hesitation that was his undoing.

As Billy skidded towards the astonished Templar, he jammed the point of the Battle Blade into Arnold’s left thigh. The viciously sharpened alien alloy of the Blade seared through the chain mail leggings of Arnold’s armour and passed through his thigh, missing the bone to push out through the other side of his leg. Still grasping the eagle-head handle of the Battle Blade, Billy dragged the screaming Arnold to the muddy ground.

Dropping his own sword, Arnold felt the agonising, searing pain of the leg wound as he was dragged across the ground by the momentum from the Admiral’s attack. When Arnold and the Admiral drew to a halt, Billy wrenched the Battle Blade from the Templar’s leg with a great gout of blood and a shriek of pure agony. Billy scrambled to his feet, grabbing the Templar’s sword and pushing the point up against the crippled and defenceless man’s throat.

“Go on!” the Templar snarled his defiance. “Do it!” he demanded, his face twisted in a mask of pain and hatred as he clutched the vicious wound to his thigh.

For a moment, Billy felt the anger flare up in his mind again. This creature who wanted to kill thousands in the name of his twisted concept of faith was at Billy’s mercy. Simply by leaning on the sword he could end the life and the dreams of this monster. The part of his mind that was Teg Skarral Portan, the Garmaurian First Admiral, knew that this individual had to die. Teg Portan was pragmatic and ruthless enough to kill without a murmur. But, taking a deep breath, Billy realised that he could not kill in cold blood. Such an act would make him no better than the creature who lay at his mercy.

Around him, Billy could see that the Templar infantry were starting to disengage and retreat from the slope.

Startled, he turned to see that the crest of the ridge was now swarming with soldiers in liveries that were a myriad of colours. The Army of Jerusalem had arrived.

“WATO!” Billy shouted excitedly, activating the Comms channel with a thought. “Call off the Eagles, call them off! Abort! Abort! Abort!” he turned to the Landing Trooper line. “Cease Fire! Cease Fire!”