CHAPTER 5 – THE ANGEL OF BALAKLAVA
13:59 (Constantinople Time)
Saturday, October 7, 1854
British cavalry division camp
Kadikoi, Crimea
“JEANNE IS BACK!”
Emma Armstrong’s joyous shout attracted Margaret Ward, along with the rest of the ambulance staff, out of the tents. Coming from Balaklava Harbor was a procession of twenty pack horses, with a smiling Jeanne Smythe in the lead. Jeanne was wearing her familiar riding skirt and short tunic outfit and looked healthy and in good spirits. Margaret Ward won the race for being the first to get to Jeanne and hug her as the latter dismounted. The French woman was soon surrounded by Doctor Farrell and a dozen excited women all trying to ask questions about her trip to Constantinople. Jeanne finally had to raise her arms and shout.
“Alright, girls, give me time to arrive first and get these supplies unloaded and stored away.”
Jeanne then grabbed Thomas Farrell by one arm and took him aside, speaking to him in a low voice.
“How is the medical situation here, Doc?”
“Actually, not bad at all, Jeanne. We presently have two cases of cholera, two of local fevers and one wounded lightly by a bullet. We are managing quite well, especially now that you brought all those extra supplies.”
“Excellent! Once these supplies are unloaded, I will go back to the port with the pack horses to get more supplies from my ship. By the way, would you know where my dear husband would be now?”
“Probably patrolling the Woronzoff Road that leads to the army main camp, like he does every day. He normally is back before darkness.”
“Good! I have a little something nice for him from Constantinople.”
Farrell watched Jeanne then go direct the unloading of her pack horses and shook his head in wonderment before returning to his patients.
19:09 (Constantinople Time)
British cavalry division camp
Kadikoi, Crimea
Gordon Smythe, leading his fifteen men patrol back into camp in the growing darkness and cold, stopped his horse near the regimental ambulance and contemplated with surprise the numerous piles lined near the medical wagon, their nature hidden by tarps thrown over them and anchored solidly by ropes and pickets. There was also two more big covered wagons and twenty extra horses within the infirmary’s lines.
“What the hell is all this?” He asked himself. Corporal Ward advanced his horse alongside Gordon’s horse while looking at the piles.
“If I may hazard a guess, sir, this may signal that your wife is back from Constantinople. This looks typically like one of her hat tricks.”
“I’d say, Corporal!” Said Gordon happily. “Would you mind leading the men back to their tents? I will go report to Major Henry in one hour.”
“No worry, sir. Have a good time, sir.” Replied Ward in a knowing tone. Gordon let that remark pass, too anxious to see Jeanne to sit on regulations. Getting off his horse as Ward led the patrol away, he tied his horse to the pole where the horses and mules of the medical section were tied as well, then entered the treatment tent. He found Doctor Farrell, helped my Mary Pearson and Emma Armstrong, changing the bandages of Trooper Harris, who had received a bullet in the left arm during a skirmish with a Russian patrol three days ago. Farrell smiled up at him the moment he came in the tent.
“If you are looking for Jeanne, she has been waiting for you in the nurses’ tent for the last hour. She has a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” Said Gordon, his smile becoming a grin. “Then I better not make her wait longer.”
Mary Pearson and Emma Armstrong exchanged a knowing smile as the tall, broad-shouldered officer left.
“God, what a nice-looking man.” Said Mary. “Jeanne is truly a lucky girl to have him.”
Gordon hesitated at the entrance of the nurses’ tent, afraid of disturbing any woman that could be inside at this time. He finally called out loud.
“Jeanne, are you in there? It’s me, Gordon.”
“You can come in, dear!” Answered back his wife through the canvas. Stepping gingerly inside, Gordon abruptly stopped as he stared wide-eyed at Jeanne. Lying on a bear fur laid in the middle of the tent, she was wearing a vaporous Persian dancer’s costume straight out of the Arabian Nights Tales. Smiling invitingly at Gordon, she motioned with her right index for approach.
“Come here, you nice hunk.”
Gordon didn’t make her wait a moment longer.
After making the men take care of their horses first, Corporal Ward was about to lead them to the regimental kitchen, hoping to find something to eat there after their long patrol, when his wife Margaret showed with Patricia Foster. The two women each held one of the handles of a covered cooking pot, apart from carrying bread loaves and wine bottles in wicker baskets. Margaret gave a quick kiss to her husband before making an announcement to the men of the patrol.
“Don’t bother going to the kitchen, guys: Lady Jeanne brought back lots of goodies from Constantinople today and you are on her gift list. The menu for this supper is corned beef hash, fresh bread and wine.”
“Corned beef hash?” Said one of the troopers, his mouth watering already. “We haven’t seen beef in weeks.”
“We know!” Replied Margaret, grinning. “That’s why we’re here. Get your plates ready, men.”
The men of B Troop went to bed content that night, some even more content than the others thanks to some intimate time with their wives arranged by the good offices of Jeanne Smythe. Morale definitely went up by a few notches that evening.
Going away in the early morning on his daily patrols, Gordon returned to camp in the evening to find a large new tent complex in the process of being put up. Contrary to the usual collection of individual tents used by the army, the large marquee tents of the complex were of a model that could be assembled together end-to-end to form long, spacious shelters. The complex actually was shaped like an ‘H’, with two long parallel rows of interconnected tents linked in the center by a section formed by three marquee tents. A number of marquee tents were also attached individually to the arms of the complex. Besides the large tent complex, another group of marquee tents tied together sat maybe thirty yards away, while a row of four individual marquee tents was positionned facing one of the extremities of the separate tent group. A number of civilian workers that Gordon recognized from their spoken language as Turkish men were busy assembling and erecting the tents that were still not in place. More Turkish workers were building a sort of palisade enclosing the whole complex of tents, using poles and planks taken from a large pile of construction wood brought on the preceding day. That sight made Gordon smile with pride.
‘’Decidedly, Jeanne never wastes time.’’
While this happened in Kadikoi, the army wasn’t idle by any means, the men working hard to dig trench works and gun emplacements for the ninety heavy artillery pieces that would bombard the besieged city of Sebastopol. On October the seventeenth, both the British and French siege guns opened up on the fortified city, with Russian guns answering back with gusto. The Russians were actually the first to score big that day, managing a hit that blew up one of the French artillery powder magazines and silencing their guns for a while. The new Hussars field hospital in Kadikoi rapidly filled with wounded men as casualties from the artillery exchange mounted. The mood around was quite sullen then: the hardest part of the war was yet to come and few failed to realize that by now.
06:23 (Constantinople Time)
Wednesday, October 25, 1854
H.M.S. SANS PAREIL, Balaklava harbor
Crimea
Hurried knocks on the door of her cabin finished waking up Fanny Duberly, who then quickly put on a robe while shouting towards the door.
“Who is it?”
“First Officer Pritchard, madam.” Answered a male voice. “I have an urgent note for your from your husband.”
“Hold on, I’m coming!”
Going to the door and unlocking it, Fanny cracked it open and faced the tall, thin navy officer, who passed her a piece of paper.
“Lieutenant Duberly also sent you your horse, madam. It is waiting for you on the quayside.”
“Thank you, sir!” Replied Fanny, taking the paper and then closing the door. She was now conscious of the rumble of distant gunfire as she read the paper.
The battle of Balaklava has begun and promises to be a hot one. I send you the horse. Lose no time, but come up as quickly as you can: do not wait for breakfast.
Excitement overtaking her, Fanny dressed in record time, then ran out of her cabin to pick up her horse, which she found on the quay, its reins held by a servant. Getting on it Amazon style and galloping hard through the filthy, stinking streets of Balaklava, she hardly had time to be clear of the town before she met a Commissariat purveyor riding into town. The man seemed to be bordering on panic as he signaled Fanny to halt, shouting frantically as well.
“THE TURKS HOLDING THE CAUSEWAY HEIGHTS HAVE ABANDONED THEIR BATTERIES AND ARE RUNNING TOWARDS BALAKLAVA. IF YOU HAVE TO GO OUT, KEEP AS MUCH TO THE LEFT AS POSSIBLE AND DON’T LOSE TIME IN GETTING AMONGST OUR OWN MEN, AS THE RUSSIAN CAVALRY IS POURING IN. FOR GOD’S SAKE, RIDE FAST, OR YOU MAY NOT REACH THE CAMP ALIVE!”
“Thank you for the warning, sir. Where is Lord Raglan and his staff now?”
“Up there!” Replied the man, pointing at the nearby heights to the North before riding away. Her heart now beating furiously, Fanny rode hard towards those heights.
While going through the British cavalry camp at Kadikoi, she noticed that it was nearly deserted by now. The ambulance cart was also gone from the hospital’s yard, with Doctor Farrell, Sarah Champion and Mary Pearson about to leave in the medical wagon. Thankfully, Fanny did not see any Russians before arriving on the heights where the British command staff was observing the battle. A number of other civilians, including William Russell, were there as well. Dismounting with the help of the journalist, Fanny then looked down anxiously to the East as Russell explained the situation to her.
“The Russians have taken all six redoubts along the Causeway Heights, driving out the Turks in disorder. Our Light Cavalry Brigade is now posted at the extreme west of the valley north of the Causeway Heights, while the Heavy Brigade is positioning itself at the end of the south valley. Unfortunately, a large Russian cavalry force is riding down the heights, heading straight for our base in Balaklava. A single artillery battery and the 93rd Highlanders are the only things that can stop them now.”
Fanny felt gloom as she stared at the thin line of men in red jackets holding the top of a nearby hill. A gray mass of Russian cavalrymen was now charging the unflinching Highlanders. A volley of rifle fire then hid everything in a thick cloud of white smoke. Fanny saw the Russians waver a bit. A second volley made them turn around to the cheers of the British present. The Russians did however reform their lines and charged again, only to be driven off by a third volley and by fire from the gun battery positioned with the Highlanders. An excited Fanny, watching that Russian force retreat, suddenly saw another mass of Russian cavalrymen maybe 2,000 strong go down the south valley towards the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, which counted only 600 men.
“My God!” Exclaimed the wife of a heavy brigade officer present in the crowd of spectators. “Our men are going to be submerged!”
“Where is the infantry, damn it?” Raged Lord Raglan, standing a few yards away from Fanny, getting a sheepish answer from one of his staff officers.
“Uh, General Cathcart’s division will not be ready until after breakfast, sir.”
“WHAT?” Shouted Raglan, his face reddening. “What about the First Division?”
“The Duke of Cambridge is on the march, sir, but won’t be there for another two hours, sir.”
“Well, send a messenger to General Cathcart to tell him to forget breakfast and to haul his fat ass up to the battlefield right away.”
“Yes sir!” Replied the staff officer before running to a liaison officer. Lord Raglan, repressing his impatience, then resumed his observation of the battle.
To everybody’s dismay, including that of the Russians, the commander of the Heavy Cavalry Brigade, General Scarlet, took the time to calmly and carefully line up his troopers, the British officers turning their backs to the Russians while placing their men. The subjugated Russians halted, wondering what those crazy British were doing. The answer soon came when the charge was sounded and the Heavy Brigade, led by Scarlet, rushed at the enemy. Colliding head on with the Russians, the British troopers disappeared in the gray mass, prompting desperate exclamations.
“God help them! They are lost!”
Contrary to all expectations, the British cavalrymen hacked their way through their foes and routed them in eight minutes with the help of some reinforcements from the 4th Dragoon Guards. Cheers went up from the spectators as the Russians retreated back to the top of the Causeway Heights. William Russell, still standing besides Fanny Duberly, was scribbling furiously while looking from time to time through his spyglass.
“By jove, this is going to make one hell of a report!” He said, ecstatic. A shout from a staff officer then got everybody’s attention.
“Milord, the Russians are removing our guns from the redoubts on the Causeway Heights.”
Looking for a moment through his own spyglass, Lord Raglan then turned to his chief of staff.
“Get the Light Brigade to advance and prevent the guns from being taken away. Cardigan should be pursuing that Russian cavalry by now anyway.”
“Uh, Lord Cardigan has not moved yet, Milord.”
“Then what is he waiting for? God’s calling? He must move at once!”
“Yes, Milord!”
As the colonel was writing an order to be given to a liaison officer, Fanny borrowed William Russell’s spyglass for a moment to observe the Light Brigade in the distance, hoping to recognize Henry if he was indeed there. She quickly realized that the distance was too great for that, but she did recognize a familiar white and green cart stopped behind the troopers of the Light Brigade. A lone rider stood besides the cart, its long hair floating in the wind.
“God bless Jeanne! She’s right behind our men, along with our ambulance cart.”
“What? Let me see!” Exclaimed Russell. A number of spectators and officers nearby, including a French general, had heard Fanny and also looked in that direction. The French general’s Aide, who spoke English, then went to Fanny and saluted her politely.
“Excuse me for disturbing you, madam, but General Bosquet wishes to know if you were referring to Lady Jeanne D’Orléans.”
“I was, sir. I believe that she intends to pick up any of our wounded as the battle goes on, like she did at the Alma.”
“I am not aware of her actions then, madam.” Replied the French officer, surprised. “Could you tell me more about that?”
“With pleasure, sir!” Said Fanny, who then spoke for a minute or so. The French officer nodded thoughtfully as she finished.
“A most brave lady. I will inform my general of this. Thank you for your time, madam.”
The officer then returned to General Bosquet, letting Fanny free to watch anxiously the Light Cavalry Brigade.
To Lord Raglan’s increasing impatience, Lord Cardigan’s brigade kept stationary despite the sending of successive orders to attack, while the British infantry was still mostly absent from the battlefield. By now the Russians were well on their way to finish pulling away the captured Turkish guns from the redoubts along the Causeway Heights. Finally having had enough of Cardigan’s inaction, Raglan wrote down one last order and gave it to Captain Lewis Nolan, the best rider on his staff.
“Bring this to Lord Lucan, so that he can make Lord Cardigan prevent the removal of our guns. Tell Lord Lucan to have the Heavy Brigade in support of the Light Brigade.”
“Right away, Milord!” Replied Nolan, taking the note and saluting before getting on his horse and galloping away.
10:58 (Constantinople Time)
Western end of North valley
Like his men, Gordon Smythe could only wait and wonder as he watched Lord Lucan, who had just arrived with Captain Nolan of the higher staff, confer with Lord Cardigan. From their position low in the valley it was difficult to see what was going on around. Right now, Gordon could only see the large body of Russian cavalry that had gone back from the Causeway Heights to the far end of the valley to reform its ranks behind the guns of the Don Battery, plus more Russian guns and masses of infantry on the Fediukhin Heights to the left and on the Causeway Heights to the right. His blood suddenly chilled when he remembered something Jeanne had told him months ago, something he had not believed then.
“The Light Brigade will charge down a valley ringed on three sides by Russian guns, and it will be a massacre.”
Looking back towards Jeanne, who was sitting on her horse besides the ambulance cart no more than a hundred yards away, Gordon saw her apparently crying quietly. He then understood with horror and shock that she had known for a long time that this was going to happen, but that, for some reason, she would do nothing to prevent the charge despite the obvious distress it was causing her. Gordon looked around at his men, now knowing that he may not see many of them alive by the end of this day. Lord Cardigan turned towards the men then and pointed at the guns down the valley.
“THE BRIGADE WILL CHARGE GUNS TO THE FRONT!”
Gordon waited for Lord Paget to repeat the order before shouting to the men of B Troop.
“B TROOP WILL CHARGE GUNS TO THE FRONT, IN BRIGADE FORMATION!”
The Hussars, which were in second line and on the right flank of the brigade, were containing their excitement with difficulty as Lord Paget shouted another order.
“SWORDS OUT!”
The whole regiment drew its swords as one. Paget then gave the order to move out at a trot as the regiments in the first line started moving forward in perfect alignment.
Janet O’Neil and Margaret Ward, sitting in the front of the cart, could only watch with dread the 632 men of the Light Brigade riding forward down the valley. The Heavy Brigade, led by Lord Lucan and General Scarlet, was now arriving to follow the Light Brigade down the valley. Arriving behind the Heavy Brigade was the Hussars’ medical wagon, its horses driven hard by Sarah Champion. As the Heavy Brigade formed up for a charge, Sarah drove her wagon to a stop besides the ambulance cart and applied the handbrakes before jumping down. Doctor Farrell and Mary Pearson joined her and frantically started to deploy the telescopic rear tent just as the Russian guns started firing on the Light Brigade. The women couldn’t help stop for a moment to look at their men, now a good 400 meters away and under a deluge of fire. They could plainly see men and horses go down, cut by the Russian artillery fire.
“Sean,” said Janet O’Neil tearfully to herself, “please get out of this alive!”
While not saying a word, Margaret Ward was thinking the same about her husband Joseph and knew that the other women had to think similarly.
Riding in front of his troop, Gordon could see too well the men and horses being blown away or cut to shreds by the murderous Russian gunfire. At least one third of the troopers in the first line of the brigade were already down, with more falling nearly every second. The brigade was now at full gallop and 800 meters from that cursed Don Battery. Thousands of Russian cavalrymen stood waiting behind those guns but Lord Cardigan never wavered, leading his men straight down the mouths of those guns. The man may have been an incompetent martinet but he was no coward. At 500 meters from the guns, Cardigan rose his sword high and shouted.
“CHAARGE!”
A powerful concert of cheers and yells answered him and the remnants of the Light Brigade pushed their horses to the utmost, coming down on the terrified Russian gunners frantically trying to reload their pieces.
On Sapoune Ridge, Lord Raglan was watching the charge with increasing dismay and fury.
“What the hell do Lucan and Cardigan think they are doing? Right! Veer right or both brigades will be done in!”
“Maybe not, sir.” Said softly his chief of staff. “We may yet salvage the Heavy Brigade out of this: I think that Lord Lucan is turning around now.”
French General Bosquet, watching all this, shook his head sadly.
“C’est magnifique, mais ce n’est pas la guerre. C’est de la folie{10}!”
Margaret Ward got up on the bench seat of the cart as soon as she understood that the Heavy Brigade was not going to support the Light Brigade anymore.
“NOOO! OUR MEN NEED YOU, YOU COWARDS!”
“MARGARET!” Shouted Jeanne harshly. “THEY TRIED THEIR BEST. LORD LUCAN WAS RIGHT TO TURN HIS BRIGADE AROUND.”
“BUT OUR MEN ARE IN THERE, DYING!” Shouted back Margaret, nearly hysterical.
“I KNOW THAT, DAMMIT!” Replied Jeanne, who then softened her voice. “It is up to us now to save as many of them as we can. Follow me and don’t let anyone stop you.”
Jeanne then launched her horse forward at a gallop, straight towards the Russian guns at the other end of the valley, followed by the ambulance cart. As terrified as they were, Janet and Margaret did not hesitate for one second: their husbands were in there somewhere, maybe dead or dying. The officers and men of the Heavy Brigade, retreating under artillery fire, were too surprised by seeing a woman riding a horse and two more women driving a cart riding through their ranks to even attempt to stop them. Lord Lucan, his right shoulder slashed open by a piece of shrapnel, didn’t even notice them go by through the drifting white smoke from the Russian guns and din of the battlefield until General Scarlet, riding a few yards to his right, looked back and spoke in obvious surprise.
“What are those crazy women up to?”
“Uh? What women, General?”
“Lady Smythe and two other nurses on a cart, Milord.”
Looking back as well, Lucan only had time to see briefly a cart and a rider with long black hair disappear amidst the white smoke. A shell then burst nearby, reminding him of the precariousness of the situation of the Heavy Brigade.
“Keep withdrawing until the western end of the valley, General. We will then cover the retreat of any stragglers from the Light Brigade.”
“What about those women, Milord?”
“I’m afraid that they are on their own now.”
Feeling bad about this, Scarlet didn’t insist, however, and led his brigade back all the way.
There were no more than fifty riders from the first line left charging when it finally plowed through the Russian guns, Lord Cardigan still in the lead. Gordon Smythe and the other riders of the second line still in action also rode through the battery a few seconds later, hacking and slashing like madmen at the Russian gunners. Lord Paget, a short cigar still stuck between his teeth, soon saw the survivors of the first line turn around and retreat, pursued by a solid mass of Russian Lancers. He immediately shouted at his men, who were pursuing the surviving Russian gunners.
“HALT BOYS! HALT FRONT! IF WE DON’T HALT NOW WE’RE DONE!”
Gordon Smythe was firing his revolvers to good effect, his rapid shots clearing the Russians around him, when he heard Paget’s order. Seeing as well the hundreds of Russian Lancers advancing on them, he then gathered his surviving men and covered their retreat as well as he could, emptying both of his revolvers in the process. Holstering them, he then drew his sword and started frantically hacking his way back to the British lines.
Fanny Duberly, having once again borrowed Russell’s spyglass to observe the desperate fight in the distance, suddenly shouted in a near hysterical voice, making the civilian spectators and army officers around her look sharply at her.
“MY GOD! JEANNE IS RIDING DOWN THE VALLEY, FOLLOWED BY OUR AMBULANCE CART!”
Consternation and disbelief ran through the crowd as Russell grabbed back his spyglass for a look.
“By jove, you’re right, Misses Duberly. They’re now through the Heavy Brigade and are riding deeper in still.”
“They must be lunatics!” Pronounced a fat ‘Traveling Gentleman’ who had been treating the battle like a circus show. “That is no place for women.”
A resounding slap from Fanny then sent the surprised tourist on his bum.
“You, mister, are lucky that Jeanne didn’t hear this!” Spat Fanny, enraged. “If she went in there, it was to help our wounded men on the battlefield, not to provide some cheap thrills to tourists like you.”
“I think that the cart and Jeanne just stopped near some bodies halfway down the valley.” Announced William Russell, observing through his spyglass. “Damn! Those Russian bastards are shooting at them!”
Russell’s last remark made everybody who had a spyglass point it at the cart and Jeanne, unwittingly creating a new, dramatic focus point on the battlefield.
Covering the wounded trooper with herself from the rain of dirt projected by the exploding shell, Jeanne then looked up anxiously at Janet and Margaret, still sitting in the cart about twenty yards away.
“ARE YOU ALRIGHT, GIRLS?”
“YES!” Replied Janet after a short pause.
“MARGARET, COME HERE TO HELP ME, THEN. JANET KEEP AN EYE ON MY HORSE AND THE CART IN THE MEANTIME.”
Deciding that this battlefield was too dangerous to spend much time on each wounded they found, Jeanne did only summary first aid on his patient, then loaded him on a stretcher with Margaret’s help. Carrying the wounded to the cart, the three women then joined their efforts to load the stretcher in the back of the cart. Letting Margaret and Janet strap the stretcher in place, Jeanne ran to another man moaning with pain nearby. The sergeant from the 11th Hussars had a horrific wound to his face, with both of his eyes impaled. Clenching her teeth, Jeanne poured some water on the wound to clean it, then started applying a bandage on it while speaking soft words to calm the wounded. The man stiffened from the pain but didn’t scream as she worked on him. In the meantime, Margaret checked the other bodies around, looking for living survivors. Jeanne soon had the blinded man get to his feet and led him to the cart, where he climbed inside with Janet’s help. Another shell screamed through the air, making all of them duck. It overshot the cart, exploding forty yards away.
“Janet, keep the cart moving at all times, even when me and Margaret are treating wounded men. Don’t give those bastards an easy target.”
“Got that!’
Getting back on her horse, Jeanne then galloped to the next cluster of bodies a hundred yards further down the valley, followed by the cart. Amidst three dead horses and a wounded, wildly thrashing beast, a horse stood nearly motionless, its reins still held by its dead rider lying on the ground. Two more soldiers lay dead near him but another one seemed only shaken, his face haggard and his hands trembling. Jeanne realized that the man was suffering from a case of so-called ‘shell shock’ and knew that it had nothing to do with cowardice. Helping him to his feet, she then gently led him to the cart and made him climb aboard before running to the riderless horse and pulling the reins out of the dead man’s hand. Tying the horse to her own Pegasus, she got into the saddle and rode further down the valley, pulling the spare mount along. Encountering another riderless horse, she grabbed its reins as well, prompting a question from Margaret.
“Why lose your time with horses, Jeanne? We are here to save men.”
“Margaret, many of our men are without horses now as they try to return to our lines. A horse may mean life for those men.”
“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t think about that.” Said Margaret apologetically. Janet suddenly pointed down the valley.
“Over there! Two men limping together.”
“Go get them!” Ordered Jeanne at once. “Then bring your patients to the medical wagon and come back here. I’m going to check those bodies over there.”
As the cart rolled towards the now gesticulating soldiers, Jeanne rode to a group of six bodies 150 yards away, careful to zigzag on her way. That paid off as a shell narrowly missed her, passing only a few yards over her head before plowing into the ground some distance away. Her heart jumped in her chest when she got near the bodies: they wore the uniform of the 8th Hussars! Afraid of seeing Gordon in the lot, she jumped down from her horse while still holding the reins. Pegasus then positioned itself between her and the Russian guns to her right, activating its invisible electromagnetic shield to protect her as best it could. The fir