Free Web NovelChapter 151: Push into the Gorge
Three hundred yards out, the camp came into view from a low ridge on the northeast of the oasis. A natural depression sheltered six large tents, a recently reinforced fire, and twenty-eight mercenaries.
Godmar judged them at a glance. They were men who had received warning, understood danger was coming, and no longer had enough time left to prepare properly.
About eight occupied a low earthen embankment on the camp’s eastern side. Another ten were spread across the open ground between the tent rows. The rest were somewhere behind the far row of tents. That meant either a secondary position had been prepared there or several men had chosen a particularly poor place to be when the attack arrived.
Godmar turned toward Brant, another captain, without slowing.
"Volley at eighty."
The contingent closed the remaining distance. The marching force unfolded into rifle formation at eighty yards.
Squads six and seven took the left. Eight and nine moved right. Ten took the center. Fifty rifles stretched across the autumn scrub.
A soldier two places down the line spoke without raising his voice.
"Crossbows on the bank. Five, maybe more."
"Aye," Godmar said. "They’ll get one shot if we leave ’em time."
He brought up his rifle and offered no further instructions.
He fired.
The rest of the volley followed within two seconds.
One mercenary crossing between the tents when the rifles discharged took a shot high through the chest. He dropped before finishing the step he was taking and momentum carried his upper body farther forward than his legs could manage. He came to rest with one arm stretched ahead of him.
The crossbowman at the left of the embankment already had his weapon out when the volley struck. The shot entered through the left side of his jaw. His crossbow discharged harmlessly into the dirt as his hands released it.
The embankment itself absorbed multiple impacts from the right-side squads. Dirt burst from the wall. Two men sheltering against the far side caught fragments of rock. One of them failed to rise after going down.
The volley had done what it needed to do.
Godmar slung his rifle, drew pistol and saber in one motion, and charged forward.
The eighty yards disappeared quickly with fifty soldiers advancing behind him.
The mercenaries on the embankment managed to aim a single crossbow before the assault reached the perimeter. The shot passed wide over a squad captain’s shoulder. There was no opportunity for another.
"Right flank, clear the bank."
Godmar never broke stride.
One squad hit the position from three directions before the remaining mercenaries could react.
Two mercenaries tried to hold the embankment with blades. Pistols answered at twelve feet. The first shot dropped one man immediately. The second followed moments later at nearly the same distance.
Inside the tent rows, the mercenaries who had withdrawn attempted to use the canvas as concealment. At the range the soldiers had already reached, canvas offered little protection and even less uncertainty.
"Far tent. Two bastards."
One soldier jabbed a finger toward the left.
Two squads shifted toward the tent without needing further orders.
The exchange lasted perhaps four seconds. By the time they reached contact range, pistols were empty. Sabers finished the matter.
The surviving mercenaries who could still move broke northeast once the perimeter collapsed.
Godmar watched them go. Chasing them would slow the advance and solve nothing. He gave no pursuit order.
A designated soldier from squad ten crossed toward the supply depot of the camp and marked the nearest crate with chalk.
Godmar studied the embankment, the tents, and the dead. The mercenaries had organized a sensible defense with the warning available to them. The attack had simply arrived faster than their preparations could make use of.
"Good bank," he muttered. "Wrong mornin’ for it."
The contingent re-formed and continued forward.
The ground between the camps rose gradually. The soldiers climbed without ceremony. Autumn had left the soil firmer here, rock sat closer to the surface, giving less under each step.
Brant moved up beside Godmar.
"They’ve heard all that racket. Whole camp’ll be waitin’ now."
"True."
Godmar kept his eyes ahead.
"It doesn’t make the ground unbeatable."
The second camp appeared beyond a ridge at one hundred twenty yards.
Godmar noticed the gorge immediately.
The defile cut between two low rock walls. It looked like a channel carved by water long ago and abandoned by it since. The stone walls rose four meters, perhaps five and the floor narrowed to roughly twelve meters at its tightest point.
The tents and fire sat deeper inside, protected by the terrain itself.
Their captain had understood the advantage immediately.
Ten men formed a line across the gorge entrance. The remaining twelve occupied natural ledges higher on the rock walls, crossbows pointed downward toward the entrance.
Godmar took in the position in a single pass.
The entrance restricted his rifle formation to perhaps ten or twelve men across. Any squad entering the gorge would be exposed to fire from above. The ledge positions could engage the soldiers while remaining difficult to target in return.
Which meant the terrain itself needed to be answered.
"Squad ten."
He looked toward the captain. "Osmaer. Two men on the rock walls. One each side above the entrance. I want ’em up there before we move."
"Sige and Frem."
Osmaer didn’t hesitate.
"They’re on it."
Both soldiers broke from the formation and headed for the base of the stone walls.
Ten rifles formed the front rank at the gorge entrance while Sige and Frem climbed.
The ascent took only moments.
Sige appeared on the left wall. Frem emerged on the right. Both flattened themselves at the edge and aimed their rifles down into the gorge.
Godmar raised his fist.
Then dropped it forward.
Ten rifles fired into the mercenary line one hundred yards away.
At that distance, against ten men standing shoulder to shoulder inside a twelve-meter corridor, the results were immediate.
Three men at the center of the line were down before the smoke drifted clear of the entrance. A fourth on the right side took a partial hit through the shoulder and slammed into the stone wall. His legs attempted to keep him upright for a moment before failing.
The front line had been broken.
Godmar drove the squads forward.
The soldiers entered the gorge at a run.
The walls compressed everything the moment they crossed the entrance. Ten men abreast occupied most of the available width. Stone rose on both sides.
The pistol were drawn before the soldiers had covered ten meters.
"Left ledge!"
Sige shifted position, found the threat, and fired.
The crossbowman on the left ledge released his shot as the bullet struck his shoulder. The bolt buried itself in the gorge floor instead of the advancing soldiers.
A mercenary near the midpoint emerged from behind a natural projection where the stone jutted inward. His sword was already moving as he stepped clear.
The nearest soldier caught the blow across crossed wrists. Instead of retreating, he used his own forward momentum and the pressure of the soldier beside him to drive the mercenary back against the rock.
Pistol fire clattered inside the gorge.
Stone walls trapped and reflected every noise. Each shot overlapped the echoes of the one before it. By the fourth or fifth discharge, the sounds blended together into something impossible to separate.
"Frem. Right rear ledge."
Godmar’s voice carried upward.
Frem adjusted, found the position, and fired.
The mercenary on the ledge was struck and dropped from the wall.
The squads continued through the remaining length of the gorge.
The fight at the far end became melee instantly. The pistols had emptied before anyone reached the tents, and the distance between the final pistol shot and the camp itself was too short for anything else.
Two mercenaries were at the tents with blades drawn and clear professional resolve. They fought well. They fought like men who had already decided how the day would end.
Then the mercenary captain emerged through the tents.
Away from them.
He sprinted for the gorge’s exit where the northeastern foothills appeared beyond the camp.
"Captain’s leggin’ it!"
"Let the bastard run."
"Too far for a pistol."
One soldier in the second rank, among the forty who had not fired during the volley, already had his Sceotan off his shoulder.
"Nah."
He raised the rifle.
"Watch this."
He stopped moving, planted his feet, and took aim.
The captain was one hundred and fifty yards away and increasing the distance with every stride.
The soldier fired. A beat.
Then the captain was struck on his back and crashed at the mouth of the exit.
For a second nobody said anything.
"Damn me."
A few men stared.
One barked a laugh.
"That’s a shot."
"Aye," another said. "Thet’s a bloody shot."
The gorge was clear.
A soldier marked the supply depot at the far end of camp with chalk.
Sige and Frem climbed down from the rock walls and rejoined the formation near the exit.
Beyond the gorge, the foothills appeared into broken ground and autumn scrub. Somewhere ahead, survivors from both camps were already moving in the direction the contingent intended to travel.
"Northeast now."
Godmar started forward.
"We keep movin’." ƒreewebɳovel.com
The company pushed out of the gorge.
