Chapter Eight – Not one step back
If we do not stop retreating we will be without bread, without fuel, without metal, without raw material, without factories and plants, without railways.
This leads to the conclusion, it is time to finish retreating. Not one step back! Such should now be our main slogan.
Josif Stalin, Soviet Army Order No. 227. July 28, 1942
Gideon and Chief were still finalising the designs of the musket, with the musketeers painfully learning how to load and fire the prototypes, when the observation post reported that perhaps six hundred Midis plus several humans but no heavy weapons they could see, were advancing along the main road.
“Call the OP in,” yelled Gideon. “Everyone to the bridge with weapons. Artillery ready.”
The musketeers hurried excitedly this way and that until they were in previously arranged position, mostly out of sight behind the sandbag walls and in the redoubt. The fifty eight musketeers of the newly created Corps were now organised into an artillery company and two infantry companies, A and B, with A mostly on the left at the sandbags and B on the right but Gideon had no intention of fighting them as companies. Instead he would keep them behind the walls and hope the Midis would be obliging enough to attack straight across the bridge. Getting to the bottom of the gorge was not a problem, although the sides were steep, and crossing the fast flowing Styx creek at the bottom – named after the boundary with the underworld in Greek mythology – was no great challenge. But organisation and effort would be required and it would have to be done under fire. Instead of bothering with all that or hunting for another crossing place, and there were no usable fords for some distance up and down stream, he expected the Midis to simply attack his fortifications.
To encourage such an attack, almost all the musketeers were hidden from view. Those behind the sandbag walls on either flank, angled so that they were facing the bridge, had the force’s few muskets which they were still learning to use. Maybe they would hit something. Gideon, Honey, Monster, the two droids and a few others, including the card playing Dean, who had proved adept at using swords were at the chest high, barrier to the bridge. Behind them were spear people (not spearmen, Gideon was told) who would thrust their captured Midi spears between the fighters and, hopefully, above the round shields the Midis used. This might work but, more importantly, they had artillery of sorts and grenades, which might prove to be a mixed blessing.
As Gideon had pointed out the idea was to throw the grenades so that there was a comfortable barrier between the subsequent explosion and shrapnel and the humans, preferably a host of Midis. Equally importantly they should be thrown so that they did not hit the bridges’ cross beams and bounce into the human ranks.
“In other words, musketeers,” said Gideon in training sessions, “the idea is to throw the grenades so that they kill Midis not humans. You look before you throw and throw accurately. Now let’s practise.” As he was in the front rank, he hoped they understood.
Monster was to Gideon’s right. A little further down the line, Dean was occupying what he saw as down time playing cards with Sam.
“Its straight poker so you keep all five cards hidden – don’t let me see them.”
“Cards, hidden,” said Sam. “Take two.” The android put two cards on the concrete block in front of him to be changed for two from the deck.
“Alright, the man is learning.”
As Gideon had never seen his new enemies properly armed and equipped before he spent some time examining them though a pair of binoculars brought from the rocket base. Some equipment, including sorely needed medical supplies, had been looted from unmanned settlement sites on the human side of the river.
The medieval host which trailed into view consisted of Black Band Midis carrying two spears, one short and one long (“Why two,” wondered Gideon), and a round shield. They wore leather pants and coat without arms. A handful of Red Band officers had swords and longer kite-shaped shields plus a knife, as another symbol of their rank in a scabbard on their leather belt. The humans he could see were mainly at the end of the column, some driving supply carts drawn by the horses bred specially for local conditions. Gideon studied these with some interest. He could use a cavalry arm for scouting if nothing else. He was told that the summer camp had a strong horse riding tradition, but Gideon had not seen anyone riding a horse, or any horses for that matter, until that moment.
The Midis did not ride horses but they had no objection to riding in carts drawn by horses, which was the case for the apparent leader of the assaulting force, a Red Band Midi, unusually tall and stout for his species meaning that he was almost as tall as Gideon and a lot fatter. He rode in what might be described as a rough farm cart with a seat at the back and a human driver on the front bench.
This imposing creature seemed to take the extensive sandbag fortifications on the human side of the bridge as a personal affront. He leapt off the cart and was about to storm over the bridge, unaware that he was dangerously close to musket killing range, when another human, a female, said something to him. The Midi waited, obviously fuming, while Gideon had the force’s best shot called to his side. This gentleman had a round face set under what previous generations would have described as a Beatle haircut and a wicked grin. His name was Skull. Gideon did not know why he had that name and did not care.
“That Red Hand will make a handy demonstration of our new fire power. Take him out.”
“Hundred and thirty metres,” said Skull, eyeing his target. “A stretch for accurate work with these things sir, but if he comes a bit closer I’ll see what I can do.”
The Witches’ manufacturing machinery made barrels were considerably more uniform and better machined than those of the old-time muskets, but that only meant the weapons could hit a target that it was aimed at out to perhaps one hundred and twenty metres, as opposed to maybe eighty metres with an old time musket. Hitting anything beyond that was a matter of luck.
Skull loaded in the approved manner, and took aim resting his elbows on sandbags. Then Gideon saw a white flag.
“Wait. White flag. Let’s see what happens.”
Somewhat disappointed, Skull stepped back.
“Mr Toms!”
“Sir?”
“Up here.”
William came over to stand with Gideon behind the bridge barricade. William’s phone rang and he answered it, with Gideon thinking that it had better be official business. It was.
“That was Chief with the mortars,” said William. “He says the main Midi group is right on one of their ranging markers. His guys can do some damage.”
“So they could,” said Gideon, eyeing the distance. “We’ll see what these guys with the flag have to say first. Tell Chief he’ll be able to blood his weapons, but not just yet.”
Chief had produced three mortars, which they quickly realised were too heavy for handy use in the field, but could throw grenades a full 200 metres for real damage, rather than the 250 metres he had first estimated, if they could get the length of the fuse right. These had been placed in a sandbagged position off to the left. An observer with binoculars had been stationed on top of The Witches’ structure to correct direction and range.
“Can overwatch see anything more?” asked Gideon. That was the observer.
Checking involved simply ringing her. Gideon could not believe the mobile network still worked, or that the nuclear reactor was still operating, and the power lines were still connected.
“Nothing more coming on the road as far as she can see,” said William after a moment.
“Very well.”
By then the parlaying party was within hailing distance. The woman had short dark hair and fine features which Gideon admired. The chief Midi had been joined by another Red Hand who also looked big and mean for his species.
“Excuse me!” said the woman. “Excuse me! Oh, hello William.”
“Hello BD, what are you doing here?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” said BD. The two Red Hands glowered at him, William, and at Skull, who stood back from the barrier holding his musket across his body looking casual, as Gideon had told him to do. “These bag and stone walls are annoying the Midis. There was trouble with the first group that was here, and they’ve come to find those responsible. It’s all I can do to stop them all coming in here and killing you all. Say is that a gun?” She pointed at Skull’s weapon.
“Why yes,” said William, “it’s a..”
“Mr Toms!” snapped Gideon. “If BD wants to ask something then she should speak to me.”
BD looked at Gideon for the first time and did not seem to like what she saw.
“BD, this is Colonel Gideon Swift. He is commander here.”
“Colonel?” said BD. “What’s that?”
“It’s a military rank. Mr Toms here is a captain.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I do know the Midis are angry over these dumb walls. They have to come down and everyone has to line up for inspection, or they will come in and kill anyone they find in these walls. There are 600 Midis with weapons. The few here wouldn’t stand a chance.”
With the defenders hidden behind sandbags and, for once, quiet, BD couldn’t see anyone aside from Gideon, William, Honey and Monster who had not bothered to hide. As the humans had been about as ferocious as lambs up to that point, the Midi leader had discounted wild tales of mad women chopping off heads and had not bothered with reconnaissance. Obviously something had happened but he thought he would massacre a few humans first and work it all out later.
“Ms BD..”
“Just BD. My name is Brenda Daniels but I prefer the initials. Everyone calls me that.”
“Okay, BD, you have five minutes to clear off the bridge before the fighting starts.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Gideon raised his voice. “This is our bridge, and we don’t want you or your Midi friends on it. Go and find your own bridge.”
BD looked at William. “Is this how you feel too.”
“What he said.” William, nodded at Gideon.
“Captain Toms is not in charge here,” said Gideon, sharply. “I am. This is still our bridge, and you’re still on it.”
“But you’ll die.”
“Midi’s have already caught me once,” said William.
“If I want military advice from you, I’ll ask for it,” said Gideon.
BD turned to translate to the senior Midi.
“Four minutes,” said Gideon.
“I have to translate the terms of the offer.”
“It wasn’t an offer and this isn’t a parlay. Get off this bridge. That white flag you’re holding…” Gideon looked at the white cloth BD had been holding up on a stick. “Say, is that a pair of your panties?”
“Well, yes, it was all I could find that was white at short notice,” said BD, looking abashed. “That’s right, isn’t it? White means a parlay.”
“Sure,” said Gideon, “and because it’s a pair of your panties I’ll put my deadline back a minute. You have five minutes to get off this bridge.”
BD spoke to the senior Red Hand who growled his displeasure, made a sweeping motion with hand and spoke rapidly. To Gideon the Midi language sounded like a series of grunts strung together.”
“He says that all this will be swept away. You’ll be made to clean the place up before digging your own graves and then being killed beside them.”
“Well if your friend, whatever his name is..”
“General Scragg.”
“..General Scragg has his schedule worked out then we won’t keep him. He sounds like a busy man.”
“Please, I’m trying to stop a massacre?” Gideon thought that BD looked pretty when she pleaded but that wasn’t the point of the meeting.
“If the Midis want to be massacred then we’ll oblige them. Now I’m tired of repeating this point.. get off my bridge!”
BD said something to Scragg who made a fist and jerked it downwards. They were going to die. Gideon waved and smiled, thinking that compared to the people at the HEO Scragg was positively friendly. Both the Red Bands and BD left the bridge, BD looking back apprehensively at what she thought were the bridge’s doomed defenders. The humans with the Midi column had clustered around the carts which were drawn up to the left, out of the way. The Midi forces were on the right.
“Take him out, sir?” said Skull.
“Not now, I want to be seen to be observing the flag of truce, but when the Midi general next comes back in range go for it.”
“Gottit,” said Skull.
“Mr Toms,” said Gideon.
“Sir?”
“You are to personally go and tell those with muskets they are to start firing when the attacking Midis are about halfway over the bridge. Their killing zone is about the middle. They are not to fire on Midis getting close to this position. Too much chance of hitting one of us. Everyone starts firing on your order and then fire at will.
“Yes sir!”
Gideon was well aware that his troops were eager but almost totally raw. Best to keep it simple, let them get some experience, and hope that they caused the other side a few casualties.
“What happens if they get through here, sir?” asked one of the spear people behind Gideon.
“The everyone grabs their knives and hand shovels and we have a good time, but we’ll be using grenades before that,” he said. “Captain Hannigan.”
“Sir,” called that officer from the top of the citadel.
“Plenty of grenades to hand?”
“Yes sir,” she said. “All ready with lighters hot.”
Across the gorge Scragg could be seen forming his soldiers into a single, large column, fronted by a group of big, strong individuals. Gideon then thought to give orders to his artillery. He dialled his artillery commander on a spare phone brought in from the space port and given to him.
“Captain Chifley, start firing at the far end of the bridge when that Midi column reaches it, and keep firing at that point even after they have gone through. I don’t want reinforcements getting to the column.”
“No reinforcements, understood, sir,” said Turns.
The battle started with Midi drums. Scragg’s force included a section of kettle drummers who kept up a slow beat on their instruments. “tum, tum, tum, tum”. The Midi column raised a flag. The background was green with a symbol, difficult to identify at that distance, in yellow.
“Looks like a lightning bolt,” Gideon heard one of the spear-armed musketeers behind him say, after peeping over the parapet.
“Like the Flash,” said another.
“Green is for Green Lantern, man.”
“The Flash has a yellow lightning bolt on something dark,” said another.
“Quiet,” said Gideon. “Argue about flags and super heroes later – we’ve a got a battle to fight.”
“Looks like we’ve gotta stop the game a while, Sam,” Gideon heard Dean say. “We’ll just see to these guys and get back to it. Remember, cards are everything.”
“Cards are everything,” said Sam.
“Tum, tum, tum..” The Red Bands with the Midi column shouted something like “Neno huff.” The Black Band infantry shouted back what sounded like “Beeno haff”. A trumpet sounded and the column started towards the bridge.
“Neno huff,” shouted the Red Bands again.
“Beeno haff,” yelled the Black Bands.
“This is a show,” thought Gideon. “Like Zulus singing or Napoleonic attack columns shouting ‘vive l’Empereur’ as they marched.” Its all a show to frighten the enemy.
“We should yell something back,” said one of the musketeers.
“Fuck you guys?” suggested one of the spear people.
“Decorum, guys, decorum,” said Gideon.
At that point William reappeared at the front barricade.
“I’ve got a chant, if you want, sir” he said.
“Can’t hurt,” said Gideon, “go ahead.”
William climbed up on to the stone barricade to stand and face the still hiding musketeers.
“Guys, the response is ‘kill, kill!’,” and let’s really yell, okay.
“What do we want to do?”
“Kill! Kill!”
It was a creditable effort. The Midis were too occupied with their yelling to notice much, but Gideon could see the humans on the other side of the river look surprised.
“When do we want to do it?” yelled William.
“Now,” screamed the musketeers.
“What are we going to do?”
“Kill! Kill!”
“Louder! We’re supposed to be warming ourselves up to kill, not trying out for the school chorus. What are we going to do?”
“Kill! Kill!”
“When are we going to do it?”
“Now!” they screamed.
This time the sound echoed off the bridge, making the Midi Red Bands look at the human position, in puzzlement. BD, whom Gideon could just see standing well back from the bridge, looked surprised. She could not see who was yelling.
“Havenites, what do when we see a moon?” yelled William. “We howl!” Then he put back his head and howled like wolf. “Howwwl!” The rest of the still hidden musketeers joined in, and put their lungs to it, “howwwwl”.
Although it was broad daylight the sound was distinctly eerie.
“What’s with the howling?” Gideon asked of Monster. He had not heard of the local custom of howling at the moon.
The biker shrugged. “Local shit,” he said.
Through binoculars Gideon could see the mouths of the humans around the carts fall open. They had now realised that the main force was hidden.
The Midi column, maybe three hundred strong or half the force on the other side of the bridge, came on at a steady walk. They did not know about keeping in step, but they knew about keeping in line and beating their spears against the shields in rhythm. “Crash! Crash! Crash!” The drums also kept up their “tum, tum, tum”. Then every few steps, a Midi officer would yell “neno huff”. The rest of the column would yell back, “beeno haff”. They were supremely confident.
“Couldn’t they be quieter when they attack?” Gideon heard one of the female musketeers behind him say.
“They’re attacking us, Lucy,” said another. “Being noisy is part of the deal.”
Gideon wondered, again, about the two spears each Midi carried. The longer one they keep in their hands as they marched, using it to bang their shields while the second one – perhaps used for close up work – was strapped to their backs. Hmmm! Something tugged at the back of Gideon’s mind, but he was about to fight for his life. He shoved the feeling to one side.
The column entered the bridge, and one of the human mortars fired. The bang made the Midis look around and then watch as the projectile arced through the sky to bounce off one of the bridge’s overhead cross beams and explode with a crack. Two of the Midis screamed and fell out.
Good shooting, thought Gideon, and the fuse was about right. Pity it hadn’t landed on the bridge roadway. It could have done real damage.
The next round went through the cross beams, hit an unfortunate Midi on the head, who fell, but failed to explode. The third round, however, hit the rear of the column and exploded, spraying musket balls. Midis screamed and fell out grasping red blotches. Those in front looked behind. Then Gideon heard the command “fire”, and the muskets on the human flanks roared. He saw a few of his musketeers close their eyes when they fired. Musket balls pinged against the bridge structure. So much for firing low. But a few bullets struck the column. Midis fell. The rest looked around. It was dawning on them the battle would not be a walkover.
The Red Band at the front of the column, a large fellow waving a sword did the only thing possible in the circumstances, pointing his sword at the humans he could see at the stone barricade – this included Gideon – and yelling “tado!”.
“Umph!” said the Midi column in unison, then the leading files transferred their shields to their spear hands and grabbed the short spears on their backs.
Gideon suddenly realised what the second spears were for.
“Get down!” he screamed. Most of those on the wall heard him and had the sense to obey, as the leading Midi ranks threw their spears. But not everyone. A large musketeer at one end of the line took a spear in the eye and died instantly. Another was hit around the shoulder joint.
“Grenades!” screamed Gideon and the grenadiers both behind the fighting line and on the citadel, itching to join the action lit fuses and flung their bombs. The grenades went off in a series of distinct ‘Whumps!’ as the human fighters still sheltered below the parapet. Midis screamed. “Up musketeers! Watch for spears.” Beyond the wall was carnage of bodies, wounded Midis grasping at bloodied arms and holes in their torsos. Their blood was just as red as that of any human. Beyond that heap were the survivors gaping in horror at the pile of comrades, then they saw the humans, screamed with outrage and charged.
Gideon deflected the spear thrust of the Midi opposite with his captured shield, with the creature snarling “Haf! Haf”, whatever that meant, close enough for the human to feel it’s breath. Gideon tried to get past the creature’s shield with his sword as they heaved together but the creature shifted his own shield. The musketeer with a spear beside him was trying to wound the midi on Gideon’s left with similar lack of success. The creatures were strong. Up and down the line the musketeers, Gideon among them, were yelling “Kill! Kill”. The Midis yelled “Haf! Haf!” Well off to the right was the lone cry “Colin!” and Gideon was dimly aware of a object, perhaps a head, flying across the line to be momentarily lit up by explosions as Turn’s guns pounded the end of the bridge.
Then the Red Band Midi on Gideon’s right, with a sword and larger shield rather than a spear, dropped low and heaved with his shield catching Monster unaware. The biker staggered back. The Midis jumped up onto the parapet, knocking aside a spear trust with ease, then crouched down and raised his sword to strike the momentarily disorganised Monster. That left his right side exposed. Still struggled to get through the defences of his own opponent, Gideon spared a split second to push the point of his sword into the flesh underneath the creature’s rib cage, twist it and withdraw. The creature screamed, staggered and turned to Gideon only for a recovered Monster to push forward and stab the Red Hand in the other side. It screamed again, twisted and fell off the wall.
“Grenades!” yelled Gideon, then “everyone down” as he saw the shells lob over the heads of the Midis. The explosions seemed to rock the wall. The Midi attackers abruptly vanished. A couple, including the one opposing Gideon, who had been trying to climb over the wall, fell on the other side. The Soldier pushed the corpse of his dead opponent to one side. When the humans peeped back over the wall, they were rewarded by the sight of the attacking force, many of the them staggering, retreating across the bodies of their own dead and dying to run the gauntlet of the artillery barrage.
The humans yelled in triumph, several getting up on the sandbags to laugh and jeer at the Midis, adding insults about what they could do with their mothers and variations on the common form of the verb to fornicate. Then one howled and the others stopped the pointless insults to also howl. A few of the more dedicated musketeers kept firing. In the distance. Gideon was aware of the lone figure of BD standing as if in shock.
“All cease fire,” yelled Gideon, “Stop the wolf thing and get off the walls.” The musketeers fell silent. “Mr Toms, tell Captain Chifley to see if he can hit the other Midis out there.
“Sir!”
He looked at his casualties. He had organised medics with scrounged equipment and medicine, but he was well aware those preparations would be inadequate for any major encounter. He had two dead and four wounded, one seriously. The dead would keep Colin company in what would now be designated as the hero’s graveyard, but the musketeer who had taken a spear right in his shoulder joint was a real problem. He had been dosed with morphine taken from the medical centre at the summer camp by a far sighted musketeer, but he needed surgery and they did not yet have surgeons or operating facilities.
“Let’s take him into the Witches,” said Fred, short for Fredericka, the chief medic who reported the butchers bill to Gideon. She was a tall, attractive girl who had joined up with her boyfriend and asked for a non-combat role. As she had studying for a medical degree before the invasion she was the closest they had to a doctor
“They’re a different species,” Gideon pointed out. “Isn’t it like taking people to a vet?”
“I was in the interface room yesterday trying to work out medical stuff and one of them came and spoke to me. She says you call her Agnes.”
“Oh right – she just came into the interface room?” Gideon had told his musketeers to keep to the rooms humans already used. He thought that having loads of musketeers wandering through the structure trying to talk to The Witches would soon wear out their welcome. Not that the order was really necessary. The visible doors would not open unless the human had an appointment organised through Sam, and only Gideon could ask for an appointment.
“She came in through that door on the other side. First time I’d seen one. She said she’d been looking at the stuff I’d been asking for and wanting to know if anyone was hurt.”
“The Witches must monitor the requests,” said Gideon, half to himself. He hadn’t realised that the Witches would do so, but it was their materials and their machines, so it was their call.
“Guess they must,” said Fredericka. “Anyway, she said they have healing machines and they could adapt one. She’d been looking at the human body.”
“I thought they were too busy meditating on space time.”
“Got the impression that messing with human medicine was a hobby,” said Fred.
“Worth a try but ask Agnes if you or another medic can be there when it happens. We’re talking about alien machines working on human bodies. I don’t want our guy to end up as something else, or whatever.”
“I’ll tell Agnes that,” said Fred.
“You did me a solid at the fight, man,” said Monster, after Fred left.
“No problem. I couldn’t do anything with my guy, but yours exposed his side,” Gideon raised his sword arm to demonstrate, “and I thought of Culloden.”
“Cullwhatta?”
“Culloden – a battle between English Redcoats and Scottish Highlanders, eighteenth century. The Redcoats had lost earlier battles but they changed their bayonet drill so that each soldier targeted the highlander on their right when that guy raised his sword arm, exposing his side.”
“You’re weird, man,” said Monster.
“It’s sort of appropriate,” said Gideon. “That charge had a real Highland feel to it.”
There was movement at the end of the bridge. A Red Band, the deputy to General Scragg who had been on the bridge earlier, was walking towards them holding a human hostage, with a knife at the man’s throat, BD trailing along. The rest of the Midi force was well back, out of range of Chief’s artillery. Gideon called Monster. Honey and Skull to him, grabbed a loaded musket from the nearest musketeer and walked out onto the bridge. The two contingents met halfway.
“This is Dr Richard Poole,” said BD, as if it as perfectly normal to introduce a hostage apparently under threat of death.
The Red Hand screamed something.
“Hey, fellas,” said Dr Poole, a small man with a black beard, filthy clothes and torn Tee-shirt. One lens of his Harry Potter-liker glasses was cracked. He had been the driver of General Scragg’s cart until a few seconds ago.
“Captain Mosta here says that unless you surrender, he will kill Dr Poole.”
“He’s kidding, right?” said Gideon.
“This has happened before. He will kill Dr Poole, if you don’t do as he says.”
“Hey, Vincent,” said Dr Poole to Skull.
Gideon thought that for someone under threat of death, the hostage was remarkable calm.
“Hey, Dr Poole,” said Skull.
“Is my Jimmy part of this nonsense?”
“Still back at summer camp but talking about coming out when I left,” said Skull.
“Have the Midis been allowed to get away with this before?” said Gideon to BD.
“It’s about negotiation,” said BD, her voice finally showing the strain of dealing with a violent confrontation. “I just need to know your objectives and we can work something out. Otherwise Dr Poole dies.”
“I thought I made my objectives clear last time,” said Gideon drawing back the hammer on the musket he had brought. “This is our bridge, and if you look around you can see you can see what happens when ill-disposed creatures try to take it from us.” To emphasise Gideon’s point, one of the Midi wounded chose that moment to get up and stagger away, bleeding. The humans ignored the creature. “Tell your