forward, knife and pistol in hand. He fired two shots, both missed and then he too held an empty gun in his hand.
Radcliffe worked the rifle’s bolt action as he heard the man scream a curse. He had no time to take aim as Belmont took the brunt of the man’s charge. They struggled, the man kicked away Belmont’s legs, but the cavalryman rolled, recovered quickly and snatched a fallen soldier’s bayonet.
In the shifting mist it seemed to Radcliffe that the violence slowed to a mesmerizing dream. Belmont angled his body for the man’s lunge and like a swordsman slashed the twelve-inch blade across the man’s face. The suddenly defenceless man screamed, hands raised to the horrific wound, and stumbled blindly into his adversary. Belmont grappled him briefly and, instead of allowing the man to surrender, plunged the bayonet beneath his armpit. He pushed the corpse away and sprinted towards the flames that silhouetted soldiers fighting to secure their ground. A flurry of bullets snapped in the air. Radcliffe huddled down next to the wounded Mulraney.
Half a dozen men led by Regimental Sergeant Major Thornton ran into view. As the soldiers sought refuge behind the walls, Thornton stood his ground, upright, casting his eyes across the conflict, prepared for a rush from the enemy.
‘Mr Radcliffe, sir, this is no place for a gentleman like yourself,’ he said evenly and without any sense of urgency. ‘Mulraney, I might have known it’d be you getting shot and causing all this trouble.’
Mulraney shivered from the shock of his wound. ‘It’s sorry I am to be a bother, sergeant major, but I did raise the alarm.’
‘That’s as it should be, lad. Now, get yourself off to the infirmary. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, sergeant major.’
‘Very well, then. Off you go.’ The wall above their head was peppered with gunfire, which Thornton seemed to take as a personal assault on his presence. ‘All right then! Can’t have this gentleman doing your work for you! Rout those murdering bastards out,’ he commanded the squad of soldiers, who promptly ran towards the beleaguered enemy.
The sergeant major looked down at Radcliffe. ‘Are you hurt, sir?’
Radcliffe got stiffly to his feet. ‘No, I’m OK, thank you, Mr Thornton.’
‘Very good, sir.’ He extended his hand for the rifle. ‘I think we can manage now, thank you, Mr Radcliffe.’
Radcliffe handed over Mulraney’s rifle and Thornton strode off into the rain.
Colonel Baxter appeared, his clothes and face rain-streaked and smudged with soot. Radcliffe squinted into the shifting light from the diminishing flames.
‘Have you seen Ben?’
*
Horses whinnied; the high walls of their stalls prevented them from seeing the frenetic firefight outside but, despite being trained warhorses, their confinement and the explosions had spooked them.
Flynn had helped Pierce up after his beating and the two men had moved through the darkened stables to calm the horses. Pierce was a dozen stalls away from the entrance when he saw the roughly dressed man with a bundle of dynamite in his hand strike Flynn down with a pistol butt. The man, who hadn’t seen Pierce in the shadows, lit the fuse, tossing it towards those stalls that lay further away. There was little time to stop the impending carnage. Pierce ran at him; the dynamiter spun round and fired his pistol twice at the approaching shadow. Pierce instinctively raised a protective arm as wood splinters spiked the air but kept going. Pierce’s weight floored the wiry man, but he wriggled like an eel, squirming out of Pierce’s grasp. The Fenian was already on his feet, and levelled the revolver at Pierce’s face. The old Buffalo Soldier had expended too much of his strength in the fight against Belmont and his cronies.
Beyond the gunmen Pierce could see the fuse burning. There was no time left: the man had a clear shot. Pierce flinched, turning away at the gun’s deafening roar, but the bullet went high into the
Radcliffe worked the rifle’s bolt action as he heard the man scream a curse. He had no time to take aim as Belmont took the brunt of the man’s charge. They struggled, the man kicked away Belmont’s legs, but the cavalryman rolled, recovered quickly and snatched a fallen soldier’s bayonet.
In the shifting mist it seemed to Radcliffe that the violence slowed to a mesmerizing dream. Belmont angled his body for the man’s lunge and like a swordsman slashed the twelve-inch blade across the man’s face. The suddenly defenceless man screamed, hands raised to the horrific wound, and stumbled blindly into his adversary. Belmont grappled him briefly and, instead of allowing the man to surrender, plunged the bayonet beneath his armpit. He pushed the corpse away and sprinted towards the flames that silhouetted soldiers fighting to secure their ground. A flurry of bullets snapped in the air. Radcliffe huddled down next to the wounded Mulraney.
Half a dozen men led by Regimental Sergeant Major Thornton ran into view. As the soldiers sought refuge behind the walls, Thornton stood his ground, upright, casting his eyes across the conflict, prepared for a rush from the enemy.
‘Mr Radcliffe, sir, this is no place for a gentleman like yourself,’ he said evenly and without any sense of urgency. ‘Mulraney, I might have known it’d be you getting shot and causing all this trouble.’
Mulraney shivered from the shock of his wound. ‘It’s sorry I am to be a bother, sergeant major, but I did raise the alarm.’
‘That’s as it should be, lad. Now, get yourself off to the infirmary. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, sergeant major.’
‘Very well, then. Off you go.’ The wall above their head was peppered with gunfire, which Thornton seemed to take as a personal assault on his presence. ‘All right then! Can’t have this gentleman doing your work for you! Rout those murdering bastards out,’ he commanded the squad of soldiers, who promptly ran towards the beleaguered enemy.
The sergeant major looked down at Radcliffe. ‘Are you hurt, sir?’
Radcliffe got stiffly to his feet. ‘No, I’m OK, thank you, Mr Thornton.’
‘Very good, sir.’ He extended his hand for the rifle. ‘I think we can manage now, thank you, Mr Radcliffe.’
Radcliffe handed over Mulraney’s rifle and Thornton strode off into the rain.
Colonel Baxter appeared, his clothes and face rain-streaked and smudged with soot. Radcliffe squinted into the shifting light from the diminishing flames.
‘Have you seen Ben?’
*
Horses whinnied; the high walls of their stalls prevented them from seeing the frenetic firefight outside but, despite being trained warhorses, their confinement and the explosions had spooked them.
Flynn had helped Pierce up after his beating and the two men had moved through the darkened stables to calm the horses. Pierce was a dozen stalls away from the entrance when he saw the roughly dressed man with a bundle of dynamite in his hand strike Flynn down with a pistol butt. The man, who hadn’t seen Pierce in the shadows, lit the fuse, tossing it towards those stalls that lay further away. There was little time to stop the impending carnage. Pierce ran at him; the dynamiter spun round and fired his pistol twice at the approaching shadow. Pierce instinctively raised a protective arm as wood splinters spiked the air but kept going. Pierce’s weight floored the wiry man, but he wriggled like an eel, squirming out of Pierce’s grasp. The Fenian was already on his feet, and levelled the revolver at Pierce’s face. The old Buffalo Soldier had expended too much of his strength in the fight against Belmont and his cronies.
Beyond the gunmen Pierce could see the fuse burning. There was no time left: the man had a clear shot. Pierce flinched, turning away at the gun’s deafening roar, but the bullet went high into the
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