front of the mass of mots, Thru and Ter-Saab screamed, shoved, and even slapped at them with the flat of the sword to get them turned around and moving back to the main line of the regiment.
The mots were on fire with battle. They could barely hear the commands shouted into their faces. But after intense work by the officers, they gave way and tumbled back to the main line. The mot army's front was reknit: spontoon bearers to the front, spear throwers behind them.
Almost immediately the men on their front charged, hoping to catch them on the hop while the mots reorganized. They came in with a determined thrust, but the spontoons proved deadly; being smaller and lighter than the pikes, they could be worked more quickly and the best brilbies with the spontoon were unbeatable. Now the fighting became intense right along their line.
Thru was in the thick of it, unable to disengage and return to the command post. It was close work with sword and spear, hard, dangerous, and confusing. When the two sides drew back again for a breather, he noticed that he'd taken a hard blow to the right shin, which was bleeding freely. His fingers were also bleeding. He'd lost a nail.
Around him the lines of the Sixth Regiment reformed as everyone found their own unit commanders. What had been total chaos was reshaped into something resembling a regiment.
Thru saw that Ter-Saab was still alive, still fighting, still bellowing orders as the units coalesced once more.
Horns blew on the Shasht side. The men on their front withdrew to the limit of bow shot and stood behind a wall of shields. More men were in motion behind them as the enemy prepared another assault column.
It would be a minute or two before they were ready. Thru took the opportunity to run across to Colss's command position. It took him just a few moments to sprint along behind the regiments, but when he reached the table, set beneath the brigade and army banner, he found disaster.
Colss was on the ground, dying in the arms of a sergeant. A stray arrow had taken him in the neck, penetrating clear through to the other side.
Crouched down beside the dying Colss was a nervous-looking Colonel Floss, a Sulmese aristocrat now grappling with the reality of command in the middle of a battle.
Lieutenant Chillespi was also there, the efficient youngster who ran Colss's staff.
"Brigadier," said Chillespi as Thru came up. Thru took it all in with a single glance. Ross was floundering, but prickly; Colss was done for. The pool of red around him was overwhelming. Despite the efforts of two orderlies, he was dying.
"General Colss is unable to speak, sir."
"I can see that, Lieutenant." Thru turned to Floss.
"Colonel, we must fall back over the stone walls at once. We can't allow ourselves to be trapped against them."
Floss saw the walls, but was obviously afraid of trying to withdraw in the face of the Shasht army.
"How?"
"Now's the moment. They're reorganizing before they attack again. We will simply pull back and keep moving. The enemy stood down, they're getting their breath back and putting together a fresh attack. You hear those horns?"
Floss licked his lips. "Yes, what do they signify?"
"Those are regimental horns; I hear two different pairs. It's a big attack they're planning, but that means it will take a half a minute. If we hurry."
Floss stared at him.
"But if they're gong to attack, we should make ready."
"We need to be behind those stone walls. We don't want them at our backs."
Floss still hesitated. Thru didn't wait, but simply turned to Chillespi. "Orders for the army. Moving to the rear. All units are to withdraw over the stone wall into the polder. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"But, wait, who are you to take command?" said Floss.
"Someone has to, or we will all die here."
Floss stared back at him, the indecision writ large on his face.
Thru's order went out, and was obeyed. Thru was in effective command.
"Everyone, back behind the walls, at the double!"
And they
The mots were on fire with battle. They could barely hear the commands shouted into their faces. But after intense work by the officers, they gave way and tumbled back to the main line. The mot army's front was reknit: spontoon bearers to the front, spear throwers behind them.
Almost immediately the men on their front charged, hoping to catch them on the hop while the mots reorganized. They came in with a determined thrust, but the spontoons proved deadly; being smaller and lighter than the pikes, they could be worked more quickly and the best brilbies with the spontoon were unbeatable. Now the fighting became intense right along their line.
Thru was in the thick of it, unable to disengage and return to the command post. It was close work with sword and spear, hard, dangerous, and confusing. When the two sides drew back again for a breather, he noticed that he'd taken a hard blow to the right shin, which was bleeding freely. His fingers were also bleeding. He'd lost a nail.
Around him the lines of the Sixth Regiment reformed as everyone found their own unit commanders. What had been total chaos was reshaped into something resembling a regiment.
Thru saw that Ter-Saab was still alive, still fighting, still bellowing orders as the units coalesced once more.
Horns blew on the Shasht side. The men on their front withdrew to the limit of bow shot and stood behind a wall of shields. More men were in motion behind them as the enemy prepared another assault column.
It would be a minute or two before they were ready. Thru took the opportunity to run across to Colss's command position. It took him just a few moments to sprint along behind the regiments, but when he reached the table, set beneath the brigade and army banner, he found disaster.
Colss was on the ground, dying in the arms of a sergeant. A stray arrow had taken him in the neck, penetrating clear through to the other side.
Crouched down beside the dying Colss was a nervous-looking Colonel Floss, a Sulmese aristocrat now grappling with the reality of command in the middle of a battle.
Lieutenant Chillespi was also there, the efficient youngster who ran Colss's staff.
"Brigadier," said Chillespi as Thru came up. Thru took it all in with a single glance. Ross was floundering, but prickly; Colss was done for. The pool of red around him was overwhelming. Despite the efforts of two orderlies, he was dying.
"General Colss is unable to speak, sir."
"I can see that, Lieutenant." Thru turned to Floss.
"Colonel, we must fall back over the stone walls at once. We can't allow ourselves to be trapped against them."
Floss saw the walls, but was obviously afraid of trying to withdraw in the face of the Shasht army.
"How?"
"Now's the moment. They're reorganizing before they attack again. We will simply pull back and keep moving. The enemy stood down, they're getting their breath back and putting together a fresh attack. You hear those horns?"
Floss licked his lips. "Yes, what do they signify?"
"Those are regimental horns; I hear two different pairs. It's a big attack they're planning, but that means it will take a half a minute. If we hurry."
Floss stared at him.
"But if they're gong to attack, we should make ready."
"We need to be behind those stone walls. We don't want them at our backs."
Floss still hesitated. Thru didn't wait, but simply turned to Chillespi. "Orders for the army. Moving to the rear. All units are to withdraw over the stone wall into the polder. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"But, wait, who are you to take command?" said Floss.
"Someone has to, or we will all die here."
Floss stared back at him, the indecision writ large on his face.
Thru's order went out, and was obeyed. Thru was in effective command.
"Everyone, back behind the walls, at the double!"
And they
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