Chapter Seventeen – Campaign
The German attack on the Soviet Union, Operation Barbarossa, was the largest military campaign in history. “When Barbarossa commences,” Hitler told his generals at one planning meeting, “the world will hold its breath.”
Spring came, the snow melted and the brownish green grass of Haven showed everywhere. The musketeers looked expectantly to Gideon to lead them out onto the plain for a showdown. Even the horses munching on the spring grass, seemed anxious to be away from their makeshift winter barns. But Gideon was not so sure he should take his youthful force away from its now extensive fortifications. He felt that he was missing something. Why was the enemy so inert? They should be marshalling forces for a strike at Terminus – or maybe to try to outflank him by getting between his force at its base at The Witches’ structure. Instead it seemed to be business as usual. He gathered his own forces at Terminus and sent a company with a handful of cavalry out onto the plains, keeping the drones on overwatch. There were sightings but the Midis refused to engage.
The humans, for their part, had evolved their own methods of co-ordinating ground and air assets, over their phones.
“Ground hog one, this is air dude,” one conversation would go.
“This is ground one, go air dude.”
“Ground, you’ve got company coming on your four o’clock behind trees. Small party, about twenty, spears and one red with sword. No bows we can see.”
“Air dude, thanks man, will engage. Any cav nearby?”
“That’s a negative ground one. Nearest party is infantry checking village on your nine about one klick.”
“Okay, air dude.”
If there was no cavalry, the Midis generally slipped away before the humans could get to them, sometimes after throwing a spear or shooting an arrow or two and maybe firing a single shot from a musket. The bows were a new development. The Midis had used light bows for hunting, and a few had bows at the first day at the structure when Sam had dropped a concrete block on the battering ram, but they were generally not used for fighting. Now bows had been incorporated into their new missile units simply because they were better understood, as weapons, by the rank and file. This sniping from a distance and general refusal to engage, invited comparisons with the insurgency wars of earth including the biggest of them all.
“We could get ourselves involved in another Vietnam,” Gideon overheard one of his musketeers say. “The Midis could take humans into the forests.”
“We’re not gunna do big sweeps in jungle by units so obsessed with body counts that they kill civilians,” said another. “Maybe something more like the Malaysian Emergency where the communists were Chinese, but the bulk of the population were still Muslim Malays who didn’t want anything to do with the insurgents. But what it comes down to is this. We’ve got a set goal. We don’t care about the Midis’ hearts and minds and if they want to go into the forests and indulge in mad, shitty politics, we’re not going to stop them. We just want our parents back.”
Gideon gathered all his forces at Terminus, leaving only a few non-combatants at the Visitors Centre, brought the first company back and sent another in a sweep in a different direction. This netted a few humans who had managed to slip away from their owners while being marched out of range of a musketeer sweep. Otherwise the humans found Midi villages with its population, minus any warriors or slaves, staring at the humans for the doorways of their huts. As the Musketeers did not interfere with property or persons without good reason, the villagers did not fear these visits. Children followed the “funny” human troops for some distance from each village, curious to see what they would do. No slaves.
“Guys, what are we missing?” Gideon demanded of his officers and Room Nine. “Why aren’t we getting any reaction. We want death or glory and we’re visiting villages that don’t care what we do. The Midis we speak to don’t know anything, we don’t know anything, Room Nine doesn’t know anything – no-one knows anything. I want answers.”
Still nothing.
Gideon decided he would send out seven companies in all directions, maybe sending one as far as Haven City where he knew the slave market was still operating. Perhaps the Midis would concentrate to defend the city and he could lure them towards the fortifications at Terminus? But he was still nervous that the other side, or Black Robes, might be planning something. What? He tried to cover all bases. He briefed his company commanders to stay in contact by phone at all times. They were not to push against any resistance encountered but to fall back, remembering to co-ordinate with the companies on their flanks. Hopefully they could lure the Midi warriors into a killing ground.
“If for any reason comms fail, that’s a good sign to fall back,” he told them. “If something changes, fall back. If you’ve got no other means of communicating with the companies on your flanks, fire three shots three times in quick succession if you’re retiring and send a cavalry messenger. We’ll also have a general recall signal. If you hear the mortars firing repeatedly in threes, head back here fast. Above all, remember that old military dictum.”
“Which one, sir?” asked Captain Toms.
“March towards the sound of guns,” said Gideon, “and, I’ll add this, guys, try and bring your commands back in one piece.”
One company, the veteran A company, remained at Terminus while the rest marched out, in step, past Gideon and Toms. The sight was almost impressive.
“It is well that war is so terrible,” said Toms, “otherwise we should grow too fond of it.” Gideon looked at him. “What, sir? You’re not the only one who can quote, and General Lee was right. We could grow fond of this.”
Gideon fanned his companies out across the plain, screening that force with small groups of cavalry and keeping at least one drone constantly in the air. Now perhaps the Midis would come out to play.
By this time Gideon had organised a headquarters unit which could be packed up into one of the electric cars and two carts staffed mostly by those who had requested non-combat jobs. It included the people controlling the drones and others who relayed orders by phone and plotted positions of units on maps. Honey and Monster attached themselves to this unit in lieu of being anywhere else. They drove a little way onto the plain and set up shop in a field by a stand of trees. A pleasant spot in the Spring sunshine. Honey dozed, Monster ambled over to look at a nearby deserted village, just for something to do. A few slaves came in, picked up by the electric cars used for medivac. One company reported that a slave had seen a “black cloud” of Midis away to the South but it could not be confirmed before nightfall, with the musketeer companies still spread wide over the plain. Still nothing. Gideon slept fitfully in a small tent, on the camp bed he had found in Black Robes’ quarters and was up before the dawn. Perhaps today something would happen. He was right.
At the same time pre-dawn, Captain Ivor Gunderson, commanding the company on Gideon’s extreme right, felt uneasy. A cautious, capable man whose third year of electronic engineering studies had been interrupted by the Midi invasion, Gunderson had moved his command slowly South along the line of the Terminus stream all the previous day, without seeing anything or hearing anything, and finding only one human who had run away from a slave column as it was being evacuated. But the silence was enough to unsettle all of them. Before the Midis they would have met one or two humans supervising tending the fields in a sustainable way. Now there was no one at all and the captive reported seeing “a cloud” of Midis in the distance, off near the stream as he ran.
“What do you mean ‘a cloud’?” asked Gunderson.
“I mean it just seemed to be like a black mass of them.” He was of the hippie type with hair and beard more matted than usual thanks to his time as a slave, quite common among the Haven settlers. He had young children at the Summer Camp but he had no idea where his wife was and was anxious to find her.
“We’re anxious to find all the slaves,” said Gunderson. “Can you give us any more details about this cloud?”
“I just got a glimpse when I looked back. I was too busy running. A moving cloud. Like locusts, maybe.”
Gunderson didn’t like the sound of that, nor did Colonel Swift when he called it in. He was told to just keep scouts in his forward positions, with the main body in the fall back position, without fires, and keep in contact with his flanking company. If and when any contact occurred he was to fall back. Gunderson established his HQ – two logs on which to sit - in a small grove of trees and studied his map by the light of his mobile phone. His company, company H, with the H standing for hot as its members often pointed out, wrapped themselves in ground sheets and tried to sleep as he briefed his platoon commanders and sergeants on how they would manage that most difficult military manoeuvre of all – a fighting retreat.
He was up before dawn, rousing his musketeers. Breakfast would be witches’ bread from their packs, maybe varied with a little jam brought from the Summer Camp. Company transport, a cart holding reserve ammunition and food drawn by a single horse, had been left well back. Gunderson walked up to his picket line, munching on bread. All was still quiet. There was a hint of fire on the horizon on his left. Birds were singing. He saw a flock of birds disturbed ahead of his pickets and then one started gesturing at him frantically.
“There, sir, see, through the trees,” she said, pointing. The sentry had better eyes than Gunderson. At first he didn’t see anything. He squinted then saw movement, from left to right as far as he could see – a moving cloud of Midis. A host. His phone was at his ear, having called force HQ on speed dial, without even thinking about it.
“Everyone out, now,” he said, while waiting for the connection. “Go, go. Back to the others.” He heard the HQ staffer. “Company H – we’ve got Midis to our front big time, retiring now.” Then the phone went dead.
“Hello! Hello!” said the musketeer at HQ. “Colonel, phone has gone dead. H Company just reported a big contact, then the call cut out.”
“See if you can get Captain Gunderson back,” said Gideon. “Monster get the others up. I think its show time.”
“Sir, the drone has cut out,” said Musketeer Peterson. “No contact.”
“Crashed?”
Peterson spread his hands. “I’ve got no control so I guess, sir. We just had the one up close to Captain Gunderson’s company. We still have two, but I can’t put ‘em up as I dunno what happened to the first one, sir.”
“Nothing, sir,” said the phone operator. “No dial tone, no nothing. Comms are down.”
They heard a few distant shots in about the direction of H Company. Gideon waited in the ensuring silence. A few more shots and then more shots that built up into a continuous cackle.
“Looks like we’ve found something,” said Gideon. “And Black Robes has proved smart enough to mess with the phones and drones. You.” He pointed at one of the HQ staff still blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Run to Captain Chifley, kick him awake if you have to, his big cannons are to give the general recall. You.” He pointed at one of the tiny detachment of cavalry he had kept at HQ, who had also just been kicked out of bed by Monster. “The phones are down. Ride in the direction of the shots and find out what’s happening. Then come back. You.” He pointed at another. “Ride in the opposite direction to Company B.” This was the company going North. “Make sure they know they are to retire with all speed. Then work your away clockwise. Tell all cavalry you meet about the general order and that I said they are to retire on Terminus, on the double but keeping contact with flanking units. You.” He pointed to a third. “Ride to company G. That’s the next company along from where all the firing is coming from in that direction.” He pointed. “You keep the firing on your right. Tell Captain Bartuah he is to come in on Company H’s flank in support if he can while everyone falls back. He may already be doing that. Then go to Captain Cherry in the next company along, make sure she’s falling back and that she should support G and H.”
This flurry of orders was met with “yessirs” and fast departures. No doubted that game time had started. To underline the point in the distance was came the unmistakable ‘whump’ of grenades. The action was heating up.
Captain Gunderson and company H were fighting for their lives – or perhaps fleeing for their lives. Gunderson had fallen back for several minutes without contesting the matter, keeping his company at a fast trot while he looked for a position to make a stand. There! A line of trees at right angles to the creek. It would have to do.
“Evens stay here with me,” he said. “Odds, fire and retire. “Hornby.” This was his second in command, inevitably nicknamed Horny. “Find someplace to hold with odds and get there real quick. Go now and scout.”
“Yes sir.”
Then Gunderson turned and almost ran himself. The Midis had abandoned their usual columns for simply advancing in a dense mass with Red Bands ensuring that the “cloud” as the freed slave had described the formation, did not get too spread out. They meant to overwhelm his little command; just swamp it, and never mind casualties. At six hundred metres the Midi front was several times that of H Company’s line and moving towards them in a dense wave.
“Neno huff,” shouted the Red Bands.
“Beeno haff,” roared the cloud.
“Kill! Kill!” yelled the humans and started firing.
Back at musketeer HQ the phone system had been declared dead. “Some sort of virus, best as I can tell,” said one of the musketeers.
“Sir, the email is still working,” said another, looking up from a laptop. “I’ve got an email from Room Nine saying that they got texts from contacts about large troop movements North and South before the phones cut out.”
“Looks like Gunderson’s people have found the one to the South. What about the North? Anyone heard any shots? Any word from Captain Hannigan’s company?”
To the North, a cavalry scout rode up to Captain Hannigan as she stood listening to the very distant noise of shots.
“They sure sound like ours, right at the end of the line,” she said to her second in command.
“Midis in front of you, ma’am,” said the scout. “Thousands.”
“Thousands!” she exclaimed, turning to look. Most of her command, who heard the exchange, also turned to look. They could not see anything.
“Just out of sight, ma’am, but they’re there.”
They heard the boom of cannon, and looked behind them, to see two columns of smoke billowing up from Terminus.
“The recall signal,” said her second in command, a Lieutenant Davis. “Just tried calling HQ. Phones are out. Completely dead.”
“Listen up, everyone,” said Hannigan, after checking her own phone. There were no signal bars. “We go back smartly. Not running but fast. You keep Behind Lieutenant Davis and in front of me. Now move! Recall signal squad! Give the recall. Trooper, the phones are out. Tell the next company along we’re moving back, then race and tell Colonel Gideon.”
The trooper nodded and sped off while the previously designated squad loaded muskets, fired in batches of three and then trotted after the main body. As she reached the rest of the company Hannigan looked over her shoulder and glimpsed a vast, dark mass. B Company would have to keep moving or it would get into a world of hurt. Everywhere the humans started to fall back on Terminus.
For Gunderson’s H Company, it was not so much a matter of falling back, but of trying to keep from being overwhelmed. “Everyone, grenades and run to the next position!” screamed the captain. They had practised this - practised it until they were sick of the manoeuvre and thought they had it down pat. But doing it on a calm day, throwing rocks as pretend grenades against a pretend enemy was a world away from throwing live grenades at an enemy in the next field, bearing down relentlessly on their position. Worse, the enemy were shooting back. As they threw the grenades a musketeer crashed the ground. He did not cry or scream, just collapsed and lay very still. A medic was there in seconds to check the body then shook her head at Gunderson.
“Body has to be left,” said the captain, grabbing the man’s rifle and cartridge pack. The musketeer’s name had been Michaels, but there was not time to think about that now. “Go, go!” He glanced back just as the grenades exploded. Most of the Midis were armed with the traditional spears, but a few had muskets which they fired wildly. Another bullet went by him to his right. Time to go. Further along the line a women musketeer was hobbling along, blood streaming from her leg but leaning on another musketeer and making good time. He looked along the old line. No one left? The musketeers in the fall back position, offset to their left as they had practised, started shooting. Gunderson left.
Company A had doubled out of the fort to line up in front of Gideon. Most stood with both hands around the shooting end of their rifles, butt on the ground, listening to the now continuous cackle of firing to the South. A mortar section of four mortars had loaded their weapons and ammunition onto one of the car-carts supply trains. Another car would medivac the wounded.
“Guys, it’s possible that H Company may need a hand,” said Gideon. A Company murmured. It had been the first company formed and the light of battle came into their eyes. “We’re going to double there and fall in their flank. Other companies are coming to help. I don’t want to stop them. Just slow the Midis long enough so that all the companies can get across the bridge. The last line will be at the town’s big sheds. Everyone understands?” They murmured agreement. “Now move. Double over but keep together. Mortars hold for a minute I’m coming with you.”
A Company moved off as a cavalry trooper rode up. “Colonel Gideon sir, Captain Hannigan is withdrawing. There’s thousands of Midis in front of her.”
“Ye gods! They want to cut us off from the fort. Okay, um, go back. General order. Everyone except those involved in the South are to double to here. Repeat it back to me.” The trooper did so. “If anyone wants to know why say that all the Midis in Haven are coming here. Now move.” The trooper clattered off. “Captain Toms!”
“Sir?”
“We need a defence line there.” He waved to the North of the town.”
“But there’s nothing there, sir.”
“I can see that,” snapped Gideon. “We need to put something there about one hundred metres out. Cut down trees, throw a few stones down. Anything. Use the artillery crews. We won’t be moving the artillery from the fort. Maybe not even the mortars. Once the Midis get this close, they’ll be in range. Get busy!” Toms yessired and moved off.
“Monster!” Gideon realised the biker was standing close by, along with Honey, expecting to go with him to the battle. “How do you feel about being a traffic cop?”
“Last traffic cop I met cost me two hundred bucks.”
“We are about to have the mother of all battles for this bridge,” said Gideon. “I’m going to get the whole corps across it and I’m going to blow it. It’d be real helpful if the bridge didn’t become clogged. Keep traffic moving. Any cavalry comes they get their horses across the bridge first, then come back and help with building the defensive line. Priority to medivac cars. If worse comes to worse companies can wade on either side but its fast flowing. That’s a last resort. Got all that?”
Monster looked at the bridge and then back at Gideon. “I ain’t handing out fines.”
“If anyone pisses you off or blocks traffic, you can chuck ‘em off the bridge.”
“Now that’s a plan,” said Monster.
H Company was about to fall back from its fourth position and Gunderson was loading another casualty onto the supply cart – a musketeer whose arm had been broken by a Midi bullet but was protesting feebly that she could still fire.
“Gotta get the arm seen too,” he said, as the medic dosed her.
“Raw work, sir,” said Lieutenant Hornby. “We can’t even slow them.”
By this time H Company’s rifles were making a continuous cackle. They could see the faces of their opponents as they yelled “Neno huff” then “Beeno haff”. H Company was piling bodies but making no impression on the cloud. The Midis were heedless of casualties
Then they were aware of a breathless Captain Bartuah, the gigantic commander of G Company of West African descent, and that the volume of fire had increased. As soon as he realised what was happening, Burtah and his company had run to join them
“Private fight, mun, or can anyone join,” he said.
“The more the merrier,” said Gunderson, almost grinning.
Even with G Company, however, all they could do was retreat. But at the next fall back position Gunderson was aware of more firing to his left. Looking over he saw F Company firing at the cloud. A minute later Captain Cherry came over, breathless. Her company had also run to join the fight.
“You were having a party and didn’t invite us,” she said, on one knee while musket balls whipped by her, “F Company is going to rev it up for you.”
Then A Company joined the fight joining on the left of G, linking to Cherry’s company and the mortar/grenade thrower section sent by Gideon roared into life behind them. There was no need to worry about range. They could not miss. The grenades arched over the musketeer line, their path marked by lit fuses, to burst with a whump in the middle of the Midi formation. For the first time, the cloud faltered.
In the North, Captain Hannigan heard the distant crackling at the other end of the line become noticeably louder and thought to look over her shoulder. She gasped. A dark mass of Midis had just crested a distant rise, stretching right across her field of view. Thousands.
“We got company people,” she called. All her company looked behind. A few of the more hopeful Midis, seeing the humans for the first time, tried firing their muskets to no effect, but the humans gasped and some quickened their pace. “No one runs!” she snapped. “We keep the same even pace. Can anyone see the company on our left facing towards Terminus, C Company?”
“Thought I saw someone, ma’am, just before,” said one of the musketeers pointing off to the left. “In line with us.”
Hannigan checked her phone again. No signal at all. She thought about racing over and co-ordinating a stand with C Company but then thought that they were all converging on one point. The trouble was, she knew, they would have to turn and fight before they got back across the bridge, and she could not recall any defensible position before that.
As Hannigan was wondering about defensive positions, Toms and the artillery crews were dragging industrial pallets they had found in the sheds across to the chosen defensive line. They dug trenches, dropped one end of the pallets in the ground so that they stood upright, then wedged them in place with rocks. A large tree which had shaded a section of the road for many years met an abrupt end thanks to a chainsaw wielded by Monster, who figured his bridge duties would kick in later. Some sandbags left over from the construction of the fort were added to the line. Another tree was cut down and dragged into position by electric car. A troop of cavalry came in, having been sent back by Gideon.
“Horses across bridge,” said Monster, “then youse come back and work on the line.”
“Should we be doing fortifications?” asked the Lieutenant commanding the troop. He did not try to insist that Monster call him sir.
“Orders from Swiftie. He also told me that anyone who disagrees I get to throw off the bridge.”
“Guess we’re playing forts.”
Gideon arrived at the main engagement to find that his forces were trying to hold ground, with a slow trickle of casualties going to the medivac carts. Honey was with him and her immense popularity meant that just her presence in the front line boosted morale. Disdaining the drill of loading and firing a musket or rifle she always carried the two-handed sword she had used in that first encounter. Now she strolled along the battle line, unconcerned by the occasional bullet whizzing by her, sword across her shoulders and both arms hanging over it, just as a Viking raider might have carried his sword. A large Asian Viking in pigtails grinning benignly at all.
“I don’t want you holding here,” said Gideon to his officers. “There’s another force of Midis coming from the South, just as big.”
“Just as big, sir?” gasped Cherry. “We thought this must be all.”
“Looks like we got ourselves a whole lot more enemies. My guess is that they meant to attack both ends at once but didn’t get the timing right. Whatever. We’ve got to get everyone back inside the fort. Captain Bartuah, start moving back, by companies. Make sure the mortars and Med guys know.”
“Yessir.”
Time for the commander to show himself on the front line. Before he left Gideon moved right along the ranks, Honey trailing along behind, trying to make himself heard above the noise, telling anyone who had time to listen what was happening. While they was there the Midis edged closer, heedless of losses. Time to get out. Gideon hitched a ride back with the medivac car, as the human battle line retreated, leaving Honey behind in case it got to close quarter fighting. At Terminus he found a defensive line of sorts, both to the North and South, and two companies that had not gone as far as the others yesterday had returned to man the lines.
Then Hannigan’s B Company was in sight and behind them a dark mass which made the musketeers gasp. Gideon organised a line. The grenade launcher crews who had been helping with the fortifications set up their weapons and fired. Then Hannigan’s company reached the fortifications and the musketeers fired, howling. The front edge of the Midi cloud seemed to melt into the soil but, like the cloud coming the other way, the force just seemed to shrug off casualties and come on, as if they were a zombie horde rather than creatures who cared about life or death. The artillery stationed inside the fort opened fire, lobbing explosive shells deep into the mass of the enemy. Captain Chifley had worked out a way to direct artillery fire by observers using emergency radios scavenged from the ski resort. Unlike the phones, these still worked. The size of the target meant that it was hardly necessary to direct the fire, but it showed how far the musketeers had come.
The Midis wavered again, then came with the now familiar call and response.
“Neno huff.” “Beeno haff.”
“Kill! Kill!”
For Gideon the rest of the day was a series of mass assaults stopped with difficulty – including hand to hand fighting along the makeshift barricade. He and Monster became a makeshift close quarter team that pitched in where the fighting was thickest – Gideon using a rifle with a bayonet, and Monster, like Honey, keeping his sword. Then the southern forces arrived, making a stand at the end of the sheds, helped by being finally in range of the Fort’s artillery, and Gideon had to work out how to get his forces across the bridge without his perimeter caving in. Just as he set to this work, Monster tapped him on the arm and pointed. To the East, stretching as far as they could see was another black cloud of Midis.
“More shit,” said Monster.
It was seriously time to get behind the stream and into the fort. Gunderson’s H Company was sent back first, their ordeal not quite over as they had to race around to the edge of the forests on the other side of the river to fire at the Midis from that side. The cavalry was sent over to fire at the Midis coming from the North, followed by the mortar sections doubling over so that they could continue their work from behind the walls. Then it was company by company racing across the bridge to take up positions on the parapets, and then finally B Company walking across behind a shield of mortar, artillery and rifle fire. One of the last across was Gideon. The musketeer who had supervised the setting of the explosive on the bridge, claiming expertise in the area, looked at him expectantly.
“Blow it,” said Gideon.
The musketeer touched a gas lighter to a fuse by the gate. The fuse hissed and then the line of sparks ran out to the bridge followed by an ear-splitting whump! For a moment the bridge seemed intact, then it swayed and collapsed into the stream, spraying water over the Midis who were about to storm it.
The gates were closed and propped into place while Gideon went up to the ramparts to see all three of the Midi clouds converge in front of the musketeer position into one, gigantic horde. All three clouds had been supposed to attack at once, Gideon guessed, and completely overwhelm the Musketeers away from the fort, but had not got their timing right. Now all the Midis in the universe were crowding into Terminus proper, in front of the fort, and would attack the position the next day.
Gideon had his wish. The invitations had been issued, the music selected and the guests had arrived for the biggest, noisiest, most murderous, mother of all dance parties – Terminus.
Vous ne les laisserez pas passer, mes camarades (You will not let them pass, my comrades). General Robert Nivelle, June 23, 1916, Verdun.