She had reloaded by then, and if her eyes twitched, it was from pain and not panic. Her head still rang with the shock of impact. She pointed her gun over the bank and looked out to see the Denlanders moving off from their cover: a staggered line of grey-clad executioners coming her way, firing and then dropping behind to reload.
She pulled the trigger: spitting into the storm. ‘God help us,’ she said. ‘Time to fall back.’
‘Right you are, Sergeant,’ the soldier acknowledged, but then they heard Mallen’s whistle above the firing. She counted the blasts desperately, but could not keep her mind on them.
‘How . . . ?’ No time to worry about looking a fool. ‘How many? What was that signal, soldier?’
‘Attack, Sergeant.’
Just the two of us? He must have misheard. But there was Marie Angelline’s voice, distant but clear, ‘Forward! Forward! Charge! For the King!’
‘For the King!’ Emily cried along with her. No choice. Stupid way to die. She charged forward the moment her musket was reloaded, with the Stag Rampant soldier beside her. She pulled the trigger and the smoke of her gun obscured the Denlanders for a moment before she had pushed onwards, drawing forth her sabre.
All around her there were men and women in red surging forward. She saw the Denlander line ahead break up and fall away, each man to his own, dashing back under cover and beyond, until they were out of sight and still running.
Mallen’s whistle came again, and this time she counted ‘Regroup’.
‘Come on,’ she told the soldier beside her. He was no longer beside her. Looking back, she could not tell which fallen body was his.
*
Two days before, Tubal had hauled her once again to the colonel’s cramped war table. All the usual suspects were there. Stapewood handed out brandy as the colonel talked heartily with Captain Mallarkey about the upcoming festivities. Slender Lieutenant Gallien, Mallarkey’s second, looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. Pordevere smiled his oh-so-very-white smile at Emily while, behind him, Marie Angelline gave Emily a friendly nod. Bear Sejant was still down their lieutenant from the Big Push.
Justin Lascari and Giles Scavian were at opposite ends of the table, reserving their glowering for each other.
‘Now,’ the colonel said, ‘listen here. Got some intelligence that won’t surprise most of you. Had a Denlander scout here, the last night or so. You may have noticed. Anyway, fellow died on us before he gave too much away, but what we got was damned alarming. They’re taking it all back. All that good ground we gained, they intend to contest it, you see?’
Good ground? A few festering acres of swampland grown lush with the bodies and bones of countless dead men. She remembered the Survivors’ Club: the observation that one could not fight a proper land war here. She wondered if the Denlanders realized that, for surely Colonel Resnic did not.
‘Taking ground, sir?’ Tubal asked, his thoughts running alongside hers.
‘They’re on the advance, Lieutenant. That’s all you need to worry about,’ the colonel said. ‘Fresh troops coming in alongside the chain lakes. Got to stop them or they’ll have the whole place sewn up, yes?’
‘A quick, solid slapping should teach them a lesson, sir,’ Pordevere suggested. ‘You know Denland: no stomach for a real man’s fight.’
‘Absolutely right, Captain. I’m mustering all companies. Scare the damned wretches away. Let them know that what we take, we keep, you hear?’
‘What’s the order of battle, sir?’ said Mallarkey, his voice nearly steady.
‘I’m giving Bear the centre again. You’re still under strength, Captain, so don’t get too far ahead.’
‘Tell the others to keep up, then. Your men are getting fat, Mallarkey.’ Pordevere grinned around the table. ‘Speed, gentlemen. A quick strike. Send them reeling. Like a punch to the jaw at the start of a bout. Wins the battle then and there. No sense getting bogged down in it all.’
Emily caught Angelline’s expression, and it told her succinctly enough that she did not find her commanding officer’s opinions reassuring. Brocky doesn’t need to worry about any competition from that direction!
‘How many of them are there, Colonel?’ Scavian asked.
‘Well . . .’ The colonel tugged at his moustache. ‘Damned fellow didn’t get that out before he gave up, Mr Scavian. Kept giving different figures. We think perhaps a company – or a company and a half.’
‘You think?’ Scavian asked.
‘Oh, hush now, Scavian,’ Lascari told him. ‘This is war. Uncertainty is all part of the game. You shouldn’t have accepted