Chapter Eighteen – Terminus
In the pre-dawn light, the musketeer known as Padre who had quoted the first commandment to Gideon, called a prayer meeting which most of the musketeer corps attended. “I had thought of preaching on psalm 46,” he told them “‘He makes wars to cease to the ends of the Earth. He breaks the bow and shatters the spear and burns the shields with fire’. But that is not right for what is about to happen. Instead I will quote Ezekiel chapter 25 ‘And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the Lord, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them’.”
The first shot of the Battle of Terminus, often just The Battle to the musketeers that fought in it, was fired by a Midi cannon. This was a surprise to the humans as, until the heard a boom from across the river and a round shot whizzed over the parapet to bounce twice on the hard ground in the rear, musketeers diving out of its way, they had not known the Midis had cannon. Gideon was at the parapet in seconds, scanning the masses of warriors with his binoculars. Captain Chifley was by his side a split second later.
Another ‘boom’ and a tongue of flame in the dim light helped pinpoint the weapon. The shot ploughed into the remains of the bridge and ricocheted well over their heads. A third shot thumped into the ground in front of the fort’s walls.
“It’s a whole battery, sir,” said Chief. “Six of ‘em, but they’re not very good and they’re using round shot, not explosive shells.”
“Maybe,” said Gideon, “but a few of those balls in our rear can cause casualties, especially if our people don’t get out of the way. Time for some counter-battery work. We should have the range on them.”
“Yessir, but where did our friends get the cannons from?”
“The same place as the muskets I’m guessing,” said Gideon. “Black Robes should be back there somewhere.” He searched behind the battery and then around the cluster of senior Red Bands off to the left beside the road and thought he could detect a spot of black, unfortunately well out of range of even the cannons. Chief vanished and soon an artillery observation musketeer appeared on the parapet besides Gideon, holding binoculars and one of the emergency radios the artillery had started using.
“Whoa!” said this eighteen-year-old with a distinct Asian cast to his features, on seeing the host of Midis spread on the plain in front of the redoubt, as the sun rose in front of them. “Like the siege of Helms Deep in that Lord of the Rings films, uh, sir.”
“The humans and elves didn’t have artillery, musketeer. Lay it on ‘em,”
“Yessir. Target, nine fifty metres from you,” he said in the radio. “Ready to observe.”
All the while the Midi battery had been banging away to no great purpose as far as Gideon could see except to draw the attention of the small number of musketeers he had spread over the length of the redoubt’s wall. Some of the shots hit the ground in front of the wall, a few hit the wall itself, but the majority went over the barrier to fall where most of Gideon’s force lay waiting for a Midi attack. The musketeers on the wall soon developed a drill where the one closest to the shot would turn and yell “incoming” and the musketeers behind him would shift out of the way. They did not have to keep in formation, as the British had to at Waterloo for fear of French cavalry. Otherwise, as Gideon realised, his position was classic Wellingtonian– the bulk of the defending force hidden from view by a fold in the ground as well as, in this case, a wall.
Trumpets sounded. Gideon looked to his left. A column had formed out of the masses of Midi warriors – one several times larger than anything he had seen to date. Toms and Captain Chifley were by his side again.
“Collect up the closest three companies, Mr Toms,” said Gideon, “we have work for them. And two sections of the mortars – make it three.”
“Want me to switch the artillery as well?” asked Chifley.
“No, no, everything on that battery. Get rid of it and then we can use them to mess up the Midi columns.” The musketeer next to him spoke again into his radio and the artillery fired for the shot to land well beyond the battery.
“Long,” Gideon heard the spotter through the noise. “One hundred down.”
The artillery fired again. Then the thin screen of musketeers on the wall near the column started firing as the Midis came within range.
“The Midi battery should be concentrating on the part of the wall where the column is about to hit,” said Chifley, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “No-one seems to be thinking about it on their side.”
“They’re thinking about it enough to attack where the sheds are,” yelled Gideon. These were the same sheds that he and other musketeers had hidden behind in attacking the fort the first time around. They had proved far too solid to knock down – being made of the same material as the bridge - without a serious expenditure of explosives which could be used elsewhere. In the end Gideon had ordered the roofs taken off and the explosives set aside for their demolition buried in front of this weak point in the defences.
The Midi column rolled on, a vast tidal wave of warriors.
“Neno huff,” yelled several Red Bands at once.
“Beeno haff,” roared the cloud, the sound echoing off the Terminus buildings.
“Kill! Kill!” yelled the three companies now crowding onto the wall opposite the attack, howling as they reloaded. Their fire flailed the front of the column which dissolved into puddles – heaps of dead and dying. But the rest came on. Further back in the column some of the Midis were carrying what appeared to be very long ramps. Gideon wondered if they were going to throw the ramps against the walls and then realised they must be bridges for the stream. The stream could be waded of course, although that was a tough thing to do under fire. But would they bring any ladders for the walls? He looked over the rest of the field. Another column was forming to attack his extreme right. If Midis got between the end of the fort and the start of the trees where the cavalry were lurking, that would be a problem.
Captain Toms was still with the companies fighting the column on the left. He got off the parapet, calling for Captain Hannigan.
“Sir!”
“Another attack is forming way over on our right. Take your company and the two companies over there and keep ‘em out.” Gideon stopped for a moment at his command post where musketeers were working on the drones and mobile network, while keeping an eye open for stray cannon balls. “What about the phones?”
“No good sir,” said a Sergeant Besser, a lank-haired youth. “Someone’s really messed with the operating systems across the whole network. I’ll have to see if The Witches can help out. If they’re working on unhacking a star gate, maybe they can undo this. The drones are easier. Musketeer Peterson is now working to reset and reload the software and maybe keep their control separate from the network so it can’t be hacked again.”
“Hmm, okay.” The firing off to Gideon’s right increased. The mortars joined in. “Get the drones up as quick as you can. We’ve got no contact with the people back at the centre?”
“Emails, sir,” said Besser, grinning. “Whoever’s hacking the phone system is real smart but doesn’t know about emails. Room Nine has sent you this.” He picked up a tablet and handed it to Gideon.
“Major new forces, all warriors, came overnight avoiding settled areas,” Gideon read. “Existing forces joined them. All on a signal - all pre-planned. Only highest Midis knew, and they took care not to speak out of turn. No previous reports of cannons.”
“All very well for them to say no previous reports of cannons, sir,” said Besser, as another musketeer yelled “incoming” and a cannon ball shot over the wall a little to the North of them. Neither man flinched. “They’re not being bombarded by them.”
“Get those drones back up, sergeant.”
Gideon climbed the parapet again to see that the Midi battery was distinctly the worse for wear after a direct hit slaughtered two of the gun crews, but the assault on the human left was beginning to look serious.
“Musketeer, sorry what’s your name?”
“Chung, sir,” said the artillery spotter.
“Musketeer Chung, tell Captain Chifley to switch all targeting to the assault on the left for the moment. After this salvo switch targets.”
As it happened, as Chung spoke into his radio, the next round of shots fell more or less on the Midi battery blowing gunners down and knocking two of the pieces of their mounts. That left one lonely, brave, gun crew still firing away. Two of the cannons looked as if they could still fire, Gideon noted through his binoculars, but there did not seem to be anyone organising for those pieces to be remanned by spare gun crews or, for that matter, anyone directing fire. The guns fired in any direction the crews felt like.
Over on the left the cloud of Midis, leaving a trail of bodies, had reached the river, flung down the ramps and those closest to them started running across. Many others threw themselves into the water and started wading across. As the water came up almost to Midi necks and they had little armour they were actually safer in the water than on the ramps. Further back in the column, Gideon could see Midis carrying ladders.
The first few reached the huts and were held there by Red Bands, sheltering behind the concrete walls, while others caught up. The humans started throwing grenades into the sheltering mass, splattering the walls with blood, but still the Midis came on. Black Robes, Gideon realised, must have somehow created new hosts of these creatures to simply fling them at the human fortifications. How had he created them? Probably much the same way he had created the first few thousand that had overrun the human settlement, but those had included females and even children. These were all warriors willing to die for their cause in headlong assaults. There did not seem to be any attempts to manoeuvre, to cross the river to the North or South of the fort, where the stream was deeper but away from human fire – something Gideon feared, as he might then be forced to fall back. Instead they were just going straight for the humans behind their walls.
The Midis spilled out past and between the sheds, reached the wall and started climbing. It was not smooth and certainly not high. Musketeers did not reach over the wall to fire at the base, but instead dropped grenades, adding to the carnage. Mortar shells ranged down, sometimes exploding before they hit the ground, other times bouncing once or even twice as the Midis ran in all directions, then exploding. More Midis crowded onto the space between the redoubt and the river. Midi musketeers who had somehow survived to cross the river – they were specially targeted by the musketeers – fired above the heads of their fellows. Gideon saw a musketeer crumple and fall off the wall. He saw a musketeer behind the wall hold up two wires, the ends bare strands of copper, and yell something at Toms. That officer looked at the Midis crowded beneath the wall and shook his head. Not yet.
By that time the artillery had found the range on just the other side of the river in a continuous series of shell bursts that threw bodies around and broke the ramps but did not stop Midis throwing themselves into the stream. Finally, as the front rank of warriors threatened to push pass the line of humans on the wall Toms nodded to the musketeer with the wires and yelled “everybody down!” - a shout that carried across to Gideon, even above the din. The humans ducked. The musketeer touched the two ends of the wires together, and the explosive buried in front of the stone huts went off with a boom – throwing Midi bodies into the air. Knowing what to expect Gideon had also ducked. When he raised his head a small mushroom cloud had formed, quickly dissipating.
The human defenders picked themselves up, covered in dust and hurled themselves at the Midis who had managed to push their way onto the wall, then jumped down and cleared the concrete sheds the old-school way by and bayonet, yelling “Kill! Kill!” then howling. The few surviving Midis, who had been brave up to that point, jumped back into the river to escape the wrathful humans – demons from the Midi underworld come to life in their imagination – while the artillery and mortars dealt with the few left on the far bank. The humans pulled the ramps the Midis had been using across to their side of the stream, grabbed the ladders and threw them all over the wall. They may come in useful. The attack was over.
Well before that final act, however, Gideon’s attention was absorbed by the drama on his extreme right. There the long sheds on the far side of the river, which Gideon had not thought necessary to knock down, made it difficult for the Midis to marshal the big crowds they now seemed to prefer. Instead, a crowd formed at the Southern end of the sheds, out of range and then surged forward, around the sheds aiming for the musketeer right.
The cry “Neno huff,” was met with a booming, roaring “Beeno haff,” that echoed off the sheds and, seemingly, from the hills behind them. The crowd surged forward
“Kill! Kill!” screamed the humans. Soon the human line was firing continuously. The artillery, still occupied with the attack on the left, had nothing to spare but mortar shells arched over the wall, their fuses sparking to go off with a whump. The tidal wave rolled on. The warriors reached the Terminus stream throwing down ramps like those carried by their brethren on the other wing and charged across screaming “beeno haff” to be met by a hail of fire from humans exhorted to “aim low”. Midis died on the ramps and on the far bank as a few humans paused firing to toss grenades. Others jumped in the stream to wade across, many perishing in those few metres to drift downstream. Still they came on.
By this time the artillery had finished with the attack on the human left and switched targets, aiming for the far bank of the stream. Like the German artillery on the Somme dropping shells behind the attacking British infantry, the human artillery was trying to prevent reinforcements getting through. The humans, however, did not have enough cannon to achieve those sorts of barrages. The warriors kept on charging through the storm of shell and rifle fire, across the stream and on to the base of the wall where they were met with grenades. The survivors climbed the wall to be confronted by bayonets with angry, desperate musketeers behind them. Smaller parties working way around the human right, despite fire from the cavalry stationed in the trees further to the right. Gideon was forced to send one of the two companies in reserve to clear out those infiltrations. He took back one from the force on the left, but left Toms and the other companies in place.
The battle had just reached the fort wall on the right when a spark from a mortar fuse, or maybe it was a carelessly handled Midi musket started a fire in the long grass and bracken on the far bank. The day was a warm one. It quickly spread. Those Midi wounded unable to move screamed, just as wounded screamed when caught by fires at the Battle of the Wilderness in the American Civil War, thrashing feebly at flames on their clothes. Others got up and staggered away only for the fire to overtake them and they slumped down, clothes burning. The Midis due to reinforce the attack on the human right pulled wounded out of the way of the fire instead, and the attack petered out. Smoke blew across the field, making the humans cough.
Gideon set his musketeers to work defouling their weapons. Like old fashioned muskets it was necessary to pour boiling water down the muzzles of the rifles every now and then to clean out residue left by the repeated explosions. The artillery finished off the lone Midi artillery piece which had continued to bang away during the action, and then tended to its weapons. Everyone drank water.
While Gideon was talking to the musketeers on the left wing where the action had been hottest, Captain Toms called him over.
“Have you seen this, sir?” he said and used his foot to turn over a body of one of the Midis who had made it to the top of the wall only to meet a human bayonet. “These guys are different. The face is something like that of a Midi but its features blocky and half-formed.”
“So it is,” agreed Gideon couching down for a closer look. Thinking the skin also looked like putty on an impulse he used a pen to press one cheek. Unlike human skin which would bounce back when the pen was removed, the Midi skin remained misshapen, as if it was a form of putty or clay. “Are they all like this?”
“Had musketeers check out the bodies we can get to. They say that there are some that look just like the Midis we’ve been dealing with, but plenty more like these.”
“No wonder they gave up on the columns they’ve been using.”
“Sir?”
“The best working theory on where the Midis came from is that they were basically cooked up somewhere east of here, had their traditions implanted and then sent out like some migrating horde, right? Well someone, my friend in the Black Robes comes to mind, decided to cook up another quick batch to throw at us, but didn’t bother with refinements.”
“Quantity over quality, sir, or maybe like those zombie films with endless bodies throwing themselves at the survivors,” said Toms.
“Must be. No need to bother with warrior traditions or tactical formations. Just get them shouting, holding a spear and moving in the right direction. Not much manoeuvring with these guys either. One of my fears was that they’d build bridges over the stream well away from the redoubt and force us out of it, but no building bridges with these cut down models.”
“Bad enough as it is, sir,” said Toms.
“True. If we hadn’t switched to rifles and mortars we’d have been in real trouble, but the battle ain’t done yet and the casualties we’ve inflicted to date don’t matter a damn.”
“Yessir,” said Toms, which was about all that could be said.
Gideon stepped up onto the ramparts again as the fires on the Midi side burnt themselves out, wondering what was next in store for the humans. As if to underline his discussion with his second in command he could hear two musketeers talking further down the wall.
“Casualties matter, depending on the regime,” said one musketeer. “I mean look at the wars of insurgency. The Americans caused many times more casualties than they took in Vietnam inflicting them on a much smaller country. The Viet Cong, the insurgency movement in the south, was crippled by the casualties it took in the Tet offensive. The French in Algeria also handed out loads more casualties than they took. Didn’t change anything. The Chinese in the Korean war and the Russians in the war with the Germans just threw bodies at their opponents, sometimes without weapons. The Chinese use to come on bugles and flags, the whole bit and pick up rifles from those already killed as they charged.”
“Brave of the Chinese,” commented the other. “At least the Midis have weapons.”
“Oh sure, you’ve gotta hand it to them, just like you’ve gotta, sort of admire the Midis for wanting to charge this place over piles of their own dead,” said the first. “But my point is that the old communist regimes didn’t give a damn about casualties. The citizens were there to serve the state, and its self-appointed hierarchy and anyone who challenged that or counted casualties would find themselves in a re-education camp.”
“These guys aren’t communist,” protested the second.
“True, they’ve got some sort of tribal structure and tribal chiefs would mostly consider they have an obligation to their own people so we gotta be having some effect, I guess. Even if most of the Midis we’ve been killing are these cheap imitations, whatever they are, there’s still plenty of actual Midis in there being killed.”
A trumpet sounding off to his left diverted Gideon’s attention. The smoke from the fires was still swirling over the battlefield and seemed to be thickening, but another attack was about to hit his left. A female musketeer called Sweet, came running up, wearing one of the emergency search radio headsets now being used for communications. She should have been in her final year at school but instead had volunteered for a non-combat role and had ended up as an aide in corps headquarters.
“Captain Hannigan reports that a cloud is forming opposite her,” said Musketeer Sweet.
They were going to attack his left and right at the same time, thought Gideon. “Stay with me,” Musketeer Sweet, he said aloud. “Relay reports and orders.” He should have thought of establishing an arrangement like this before.
Sweet nodded. Her hair was auburn, cut short, and her face smooth. She would have plenty of guys vying for her attention, if she survived the war. Most of the musketeers who had come back from the left were sent to that wing again. Gideon heard the now familiar shouts of “Neno huff,” and an echoing “Beeno haff,” Was the response louder than the first time? That was a worry. This time the artillery, not distracted by counter-battery work, opened up the moment the front of the cloud was within range. The gunners, keeping up an impressive rate of fire, stripped off their shirts as they worked, the girls retaining their bras. This was not the time for modesty. One told Gideon later, somewhat disappointed, that the guys had been too busy to look.
The Midis pushed through the curtain of artillery fire at a trot, to be met by a hail of rifle bullets. The Midi musketeers had started working in two man teams well away from the main body, one holding a large wooden shield, which they hoped might protect the team and a second Midi firing a musket when the team got within range. Gideon searched for his sniper squad led by Skull and Padre, trailing Sweet, and told them to target those musketeer teams. None should be left alive.
“The Lord has guided us to that work already,” said Padre.
“He means we’re on it,” said Skull.
“Captain Hannigan says the attack opposite her is coming within artillery range,” said Sweet, blocking one ear with her left hand as she tried to listen to the messages above the din. She had to yell at Gideon. “She’s asking for reinforcements.”
“Tell her she’ll have to wait for artillery. C and D companies are coming.” Gideon ran to where those two companies were waiting and sent them on their way. Hannigan would have four companies, plus mortar teams, while Toms had three plus mortars and artillery support. That left him with just A company, his most experienced, plus two mortar teams who plainly thought they were missing out on the fun.
Sergeant Besser of his headquarters unit ran up and thrust a tablet in his hands.
“Email from base. Problems, sir,” he said.
Gideon read:
“Midis with a human have attacked here. Got into visitors centre. A few of us shut ourselves in Witches’ building. Don’t know what’s happened in v centre yet. All phones are out. Agnes came down. She says the human was with Colonel Swift’s group originally and Colonel Swift knew him. Waiting for them to go.”
“Shit!” said Gideon. He’d forgotten all about Boothroyd.
Boothroyd and his malcontents had not been heard of for months, Gideon thought as the battle continued to rage about him. A musket bullet whined well above his head. He thought so little about the former HEO driver’s band that Gideon had only left a handful of musketeers at the base, almost all non-combat. But of course, as Gideon now realised, the human must have been able to contact Black Robes through the Midis in his gang. How else would Boothroyd have known when to attack? He must have been watching at a distance the whole time, sending reports to Black Robes for all he knew, and that might be how Robes knew about the loading and firing sequence for artillery. It wasn’t as simple as that of musket/rifles. Well, there was nothing he could do about it now. They had no choice but to deal with the problem in front of them.
He handed the tablet back to Sergeant Besser, still thinking.
“Is that the guy you ransomed Kat from sir?” asked Besser.
Gideon nodded. “And Boothroyd will pay for what he’d done, after we deal with the Midis.”
“Yessir, what do you want me to reply to this email.”
“Just say they are to remain in the structure until the gang is gone then try to find survivors, but everyone is to sleep in the Witches structure until help gets there. We’re in the middle of a battle so just when that’s going to be is a good question. Just say as soon as we can.”
“Yessir”.
It was just as well that the Witches had locking mechanisms on their front door that prohibited all but musketeers from entering. There were other internal barriers, in case anyone did get past the first door. Gideon doubted that Boothroyd and his Midi band would try to force the door or stay for long once they had taken what they could find at the visitor’s centre and camp. If they took prisoners and hurt those prisoners, the Musketeers would settle with him and his band later, assuming they survived.
Artillery shells were still whistling overhead, as the crackle of rifle fire intensified on his left. Firing started on his right. At that moment Lieutenant Lapping, A Company commander now that Captain Toms was commanding the left wing defence, strolled up.
“Pardon me, sir,” he said, “have you noticed that the haze is getting thicker?”
Now that Lapping had mentioned it, Gideon realised that the haze had become decidedly thicker in just the past few minutes. The artillery explosions off to the left were visible as flashes of light in the gloom.
“Guess it has, Lieutenant. Been wondering myself.”
A thin, bespectacled youth Lapping had been a business major – not that there was much business in Haven – on a skiing trip when the Midis struck and had been among the first to volunteer. He had proved to be a good officer.
“It just that some of the musketeers say that it doesn’t seem natural, sir. It’s not a smoke haze from the fire and it’s not from the explosions. It’s more like a sea mist, but it’s too late on a warm day, and the others say mists here are very rare.”
“It’s artificial?” said Gideon. “Why would anyone go to the trouble of an artificial mist?”
Lapping shrugged. “Hide troop movements, sir. Really tough to surprise us here, even at night. A mist might do the trick…”
That line of reasoning made Gideon uneasy, and the more he thought about it the greater his unease.
“The Midis have been hammering both wings all day,” he said half to himself and then stopped.
“Blenheim and Gettysburg,” said Lapping catching Gideon’s train of thought.
“John Churchill hammered the French wings until Marshall Tallard weakened his centre to reinforce the wings,” said Gideon, still half to himself, “then sent his main attack against the weakened centre.”
“General Lee was trying the same thing at Gettysburg, sir,” said the Lieutenant, “but the attack on the centre, Pickett’s charge, failed.”
“Sergeant Besser?” roared Gideon turning from Lapping. “Can you get those drones up yet?”
“All ready sir, but with the mist there doesn’t seem much point.”
“Get one up now,” snapped Gideon, “and send low altitude through the centre. I’m looking for big bodies of troops. Lieutenant get your people up on the walls, there.” Gideon pointed at the centre of his position, opposite the destroyed bridge. “And smartly. Monster, Honey, Fred, Sam come with me.”
They stood on the wall’s parapet as A Company assembled beside them, Gideon looking into the mist, as the drone roared out just above their heads. The battles on either wing continued to rage.
“What are we looking for, man?” said Monster. “This is the only part of the wall that’s quiet.”
“Too quiet,” said Gideon.
“Captain Hannigan’s asking where her artillery support is, sir,” said Sweet, pressing the ear piece of her radio set to her ear.
“Tell her there are problems all over the field.” Gideon’s uneasy feeling of before had now become full blown anxiety. He thought he could hear something over the din of battle. Monster’s head was cocked to one side, as if he also heard something. Honey brought up her sword. “Sweet, tell the artillery they are to pause and swing to fire at the centre one hundred metres beyond the bridge and keep firing. On my word they are to unleash hell.”
“Hey, that old film Gladiator,” said Lieutenant Lapping.
Before Gideon could glare at him, Sergeant Besser ran out from the command post, yelling. “Midis, sir, thousands of them directly in front of us and heading this way.”
“We got company people,” said Gideon then yelled. “Sergeant Besser, every person” (he nearly said every man) “who can bear a rifle should get up here and bring a rifle for me. Sweet, tell Captain Toms and Captain Hannigan we’re got big problems in the centre and we need musketeers back here. Anyone they can spare and those they can’t, at least a company from each plus mortar teams.” He saw Skull within yelling distance, killing Midi musketeers. “Skull! Collect up Padre and your guys and get them here.” Skull looked around, startled, saw A company on the wall and realised what must be happening. He nodded.
“You guys!” Gideon pointed at his two reserve mortar teams who suddenly realised they were about to have more fun than the rest of the mortar teams put together. “Get ready and keep your rifles handy.”
“I see them,” said Honey.
Then Gideon could see them through the mist, an advancing, seemingly solid wall of Midis, then the inevitable cry of “Neno huff,” met with a “Beeno haff,” where this time the “haff” was shouted.
“Kill!