The Master of Muscigny (The First Admiral Series Book 5) (27 page)

The Jerusalem Cavalry, Muscigny

Joscelin of Edessa clutched tightly to the reins of his galloping charger as it sped over the ground towards the white-coated knights. Behind him, his contingent of four thousand horsemen sounded like a great rumble of rolling thunder. Horses whinnied with excitement as men yelled their battle cries. The lance points were down, the shields held up and braced for the first shock of impact. The knights were knee-to-knee, riding in close, disciplined order. This was a text book cavalry charge, the one that every knight dreamt of and every commander dreamed of leading. As he approached the low boundary wall of the Muscigny estate, Joscelin was astonished to realise that the Templars had not yet spotted his force. Leaping over the low boundary wall of the estate, Joscelin realised that the great shrieking, burning roar of whatever was happening to the Templars’ front was distracting the men and startling their animals. A huge melee of struggling and rearing horses had developed, where knights were falling to the ground and being trampled by frightened horses. They were in no semblance of formation to receive an attack. Most of the Templar knights were still trying to regain control of their startled animals as Joscelin dug in his spurs for the final bone-shattering charge.

At the last moment, someone in the Templar ranks had spotted Joscelin’s approach, but it was far too late. A few dozen knights and infantrymen managed to turn their chargers and weapons to face Joscelin’s onrushing men, but they were out of formation and had no momentum behind them to challenge the speed of their adversaries.

The impact, when it came, was more than brutal. The unprepared knights who chose to challenge Joscelin’s men were simply swept away by the sheer numbers. Joscelin’s first contact was with a Templar knight who swung a sword at him from his left. It was the easiest thing in the world for Joscelin to raise his shield carrying left hand to parry the blow whilst he swung at another knight, back-handed, with his own sword. The sharp-bladed Templar weapon dented Joscelin’s shield with a loud CLANG as he raced past his assailant. The shock from the blow raced up Joscelin’s arm to judder the well-developed muscles at his shoulder. At the same moment he felt his own sword bite into the neck of the Templar knight to his right. He felt the unmistakable rasp of the blade against bone and the chain mail of the back of the headpiece. For a brief moment, Joscelin saw the stricken knight’s back arch as his sword bit home, whilst the blade of a lance, from one of the knights following, pierced through the unfortunate Templar’s chest.

Having struck down the first knight, Joscelin swung his heavy sword forward again in a huge, glittering silver arc which ended with the blade biting into the face of another unprepared Templar horseman. Again, Joscelin felt the familiar jolt of bone and flesh torn by his blade as his horse swept onwards deeper into the Templar rabble. For a brief moment, Joscelin saw the spray of blood and shattered teeth as his sword cut through the man’s lower jaw.

Now, Joscelin was through the barrier of knights who had chosen to resist and rode into the melee of knights still struggling with their mounts.

And, as Joscelin broke through to the melee, the curtain of fiery destruction suddenly ceased. Glimpsing to his right, Joscelin caught sight of his knights sweeping into the flank of the advancing infantry. His knights were now starting to push the Templars back along the line of the wall. The wall was dividing the Templar force, keeping them out of formation. Swords rose and fell amongst the Templar infantry who began to throw down their arms in the face of this new nightmare. Glancing to his left, Joscelin saw his knights starting to herd the Templars, at lance point, towards the centre of their own formation. This was creating a crush amongst the Templars who were trying to resist, leaving them vulnerable to the lances of the Jerusalem knights.

Joscelin, however, was still not finished. Crashing past one Templar knight, he was immediately challenged by a man on foot who swung a heavy sword at Joscelin’s leg. Joscelin swung his own sword downwards, beating the other blade away and letting his momentum carry the weapon through the clash of blades and onto the man’s upper arm. With a loud scream the injured man dropped the weapon and fell to the ground clutching his half-severed arm. An instant later, Joscelin was aware of lance blade being thrust towards him. In a desperate stroke, Joscelin managed to parry the wooden shaft aside and swing at the Templars head. The parry had, unfortunately, unbalanced Joscelin who swung wide, allowing the Templar to drop the lance and draw his sword. Turning his charger around, Joscelin raised his sword to challenge the Templar again and found that three other knights had skewered the Templar, who tumbled from his horse, dropping his sword and clutching his riven abdomen.

With his momentum now gone, Joscelin knew he was vulnerable to close quarter infantrymen who could drag him down from his horse and kill him. He knew that he had to keep moving and spurred his horse on looking for new targets. In the melee, the man who stood still, even for a moment, was a dead man. All around him, Templar knights were falling to lance jabs or sword swings in a hopelessly one-sided contest. Joscelin’s knights had now almost completely overwhelmed the Templar horsemen, many of whom were still intent on sacrificing their lives. Pressing into a group of battling knights, Joscelin swung his sword at the back of Templar head and felt the blade pass through the helmet and split the unfortunate man’s skull. The Templar fell from his saddle onto the muddy soil amidst the scurry of flailing hooves and falling corpses.

Looking round, Joscelin saw that his knights had driven a huge wedge into the Templar forces. But, more importantly, Joscelin noted that he had not split the enemy’s formation. With no infantry support, he knew they were in a precarious situation. And, as Joscelin assessed the situation, Templar spears and swords hunted forward towards him and his charger. Somehow, by some superhuman effort, the Templar infantry had held firm. The losses had been heavy, but enough of them had stood their ground to bring Joscelin’s assault to a standstill. The tenacity of the Templar infantry, plus now the softer ground beneath his charger’s hooves, convinced Joscelin that the attack had failed.

The ground beneath his charger was quickly turning into a swamp. The irrigation ditches and channels built by the estate workers had been broken down and trampled by thousands of pairs of feet and horse hooves.

The flat, firm and open ground of Joscelin’s initial charge was quickly deteriorating into a glutinous, muddy and sticky ooze that clung to the horses’ legs and slowed them down. And, a knight depended upon mobility, weight, and speed when confronted with infantry.

Drawing back on his reins, Joscelin felt his charger bear to the right as he slammed the blade of the sword down through the skull of a Templar spearman.

“Withdraw and reform! Withdraw and reform!” he commanded, roweling his charger around as a Templar axe slammed heavily into his shield.

“Withdraw and reform!” he shouted again jamming his sword-point into the axe-man’s throat.

The axe-man, his throat punctured, fell backwards from the blade as Joscelin twisted the sword to free it from the tissue of the dying man. A great gout of blood spurted from the Templar’s neck wound, sheeting the charger’s flank and Joscelin’s arm and shield.

Watching his men disengage from the fight, Joscelin could see Templar infantry start to move forward against his knights. The Templar infantry might catch and kill a few of the retiring horsemen, but the damage had already been done. The ground beneath his charger’s hooves was strewn with bodies in white surcoats. Some of the bodies, stained with blood, lay still and silent whilst others writhed and screamed from the agonies of their slashed and pierced flesh. His charge had inflicted huge losses on the Templars for the loss of very few of his own. The dreaded and deadly Templar cavalry had been all but wiped out. Very few Templar knights remained, and the ones that had survived would be busy thanking God for their lives.

“Withdraw and reform!” Joscelin shouted again, raising his sword aloft.

They could reform and charge again. But, Joscelin knew that the Templars would be prepared and waiting for them next time. And, the greater losses of his own knights that another attack would produce would achieve only a fraction of what he had done here. His orders from King Baldwin had been to stop the Templar cavalry joining the attack on Admiral Guillaume’s position, and Joscelin had achieved that. In the process he had almost broken the Templar force. Muttering a silent prayer Joscelin hoped that it would be enough for the Admiral to hold his ground until the King arrived at Muscigny.

Then, setting his spurs to his charger’s flank, Joscelin of Edessa led his men back out of the melee. He had done all that had been asked of him and more.

The Admiral’s fate was in God’s hands now.

The Landing Trooper Line, Muscigny

“They’re going, sir!” Garn called out from his position on Billy’s left.

Raising his gaze from the sight of the pulsar-rifle, Billy looked past the horde of Templars trudging up the ruined muddy slope towards his position, and saw the Jerusalem cavalry drawing away from the battle at the estate boundary wall.

For a moment, Billy’s heart sank and a flash of anger seared through his mind. The wisdom and experience of Teg Portan pushed away the redundant emotion and told him that the Jerusalem cavalry had done all that they could.

“The Templar cavalry is gone! We can take this lot without them now!” Billy called out to Garn, and gave a thumbs up gesture to encourage the rest of the embattled Troopers.

It was a bit of a false hope, Billy knew. He could see the rest of the Templar contingent advancing from the broken rise towards the estate boundary to reinforce their comrades attacking the slope. That meant there were still far too many Templar infantrymen for his little force to contend with despite the superiority in weapons technology. It would only be a matter of minutes before the white surcoats struggled up the slope to his fragile line of black uniforms and swept them away in blood and slaughter. The Troopers had to stand, because every second that they could would allow Baldwin’s army to get that bit closer to Muscigny. And, with any luck, Baldwin would be able to drive the Templars away before the Citadel fell and they broke into the crippled Aquarius. If the Templar’s could get hold of the Alliance’s technology, it wouldn’t be long before the whole of Europe, the Middle East and beyond was part of a new Templar Empire. Any other religious views would be ruthlessly suppressed, and the loss of life on Geminus would be incalculable.

“Come on, lads!” Garn called out to his Troopers. “We can beat this rabble of scum!”

“WATO!” Billy called into the Comms Net. “Resume Eagle strikes!”

“Acknowledged,” came the calm reply, and a few seconds later the ground around the boundary wall erupted in a sheet of flame and destruction.

Watching the resumption of the carnage, Billy realised that every Templar the Eagles could neutralise was one less for Baldwin to contend with. ‘Neutralise’; Billy smiled at the military euphemism for the slaughter the situation had forced upon them. He had tried so hard to avoid bloodshed, but Garn had been right after all. Sometimes there was just no way to avoid it. And, with a wry smile, Billy took aim at a group of three Templar infantrymen scrabbling up the muddy slope. Pressing the trigger, high on the pistol grip of the rifle, the stream of white-hot pulsar-bolts scythed into the small knot of men in white surcoats.

Under the relentless hail, the three men were toppled over like ninepins in a bowling alley. However, no sooner had the Templars fallen than more men scrabbled up the slope and into the front line of the battle.

Looking down the slope, Billy Caudwell saw hundreds of men in white surcoats, brandishing an array of weapons, slogging and sweating their way up to his fragile looking line. The slope, which had only the day before been newly planted fields that would feed the estate workers over the winter, was now strewn with dead and wounded Templars. The northern plain of the estate, the fields and the irrigation ditches were ruined. The majority of the fallen white figures lay motionless in the deepening mire whilst some writhed and shrieked for aid from their advancing comrades. Many others tried to drag their maimed bodies back to the supposed safety of their own lines. But, some of them already knew that their wounds were beyond the tending of even the skilled surgeons of the Templar Order. Some prayed to their Saviour, and some cursed the Outlanders who had ended their brief and brutalised lives. But, still more Templars kept pushing forward up the brutally ravaged slope.

All along the feeble line, the Troopers were working in their pairs and cutting down the advancing Templars. The screams and yells of falling Templars shredded the heavy dank air amongst the hissing of white-hot pulsar-bolts and the shouts of Landing Trooper officers. The Trooper line was holding firm, the skirmish pairs working to deny the Templars each small section of territory. Whatever happened this day, Billy Caudwell knew that the Landing Troopers at Muscigny would make a courageous name for themselves in the annals of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, and of hatred in the Order of the Temple.

“Incoming!” a voice from Billy’s right called out.

Looking upwards, Billy caught a brief glimpse of arrows descending from the clear blue sky. The Templars had brought their archers forward with the reinforcements from the rise outside of the estate.

“Shields!” Garn yelled, but too late.

Dozens of Troopers were struck by the falling projectiles before they could operate their Battle Shields. Black figures, struck down by the arrows, lay motionless or were dragging themselves out of the line. Their comrades tried desperately to shield them from further arrow strikes as another shower of the deadly missiles fell like hailstones amongst them.

“WATO!” Billy ordered into the Comms Net. “Locate those archers and suppress them!”

“Acknowledged,” the familiar voice responded.

Billy knew that two Eagles would be withdrawn from strafing the rise to locate the archers who were now raining death and destruction on the Trooper line. It might take a few minutes for the Eagle pilots to find and then blast them to oblivion. But, until then, the brave Landing Troopers would just have to suffer under the torrent of arrows.

The lightly wounded Troopers were starting to resume their positions beneath the Battle Shields built into their uniforms. However, the more seriously injured were being pulled out of the line and covered with their own Battle Shields. Watching anxiously, Billy felt a pang of guilt that he was the only one who possessed a Personal Environment Suit. His PES had been a prototype piece of Garmaurian technology, and the scientists and manufacturers of the Universal Alliance had had trouble merging the microscopic machines with the fibre of the PES. Priority for the early production models had gone to species that were not nitrogen/oxygen-breathers like the Thexxians, Hubbarts, Icharians and Ceradors that made up the bulk of the Landing Trooper Brigades.

The Troopers had to make do with the Garmaurian Battle Shields. However, this technological advantage in the hands of the highly trained and professional Landing Troopers was still cutting a devastating swathe of death and dismemberment through the ranks of Templars attacking the flimsy line of black uniforms. But, the battle still had to be fought on the ground; the Landing Troopers had to deny the Templars the road to Jerusalem; and, despite the superiority of the Eagles, that battle was still swinging heavily in the favour of the Templars.

Despite the horrendous losses, the white surcoats were still struggling up the slope towards the Landing Trooper position. The steady and accurate fire from the Landing Troopers was taking a heavy toll of the suicidally-brave Templars. But, the sheer weight of numbers was proving too much for the courageous Troopers.

In the midst of the horde that struggled upwards against the glutinous mud of the slope, Arnold of Torroja ditched his heavy Templar shield and the helmet with the nose-piece that protected him on horseback, but were increasingly burdensome when fighting on foot. The viciously sharp broadsword used by cavalry to hack and slash at infantrymen and mounted warriors alike made a useful walking stick as Arnold heaved and sweated in the chain mail of his armour. The slope, for all its gentle and rolling appearance, had now become a major obstacle to Arnold and his Templar infantry. The excited headlong dash from the ridge beyond the estate was now a lung-bursting, muscle-aching slog through the mud to reach the battle. The infantry, who had survived the inferno of devastation from the sky that had slaughtered so many of their Templar brethren, slogged and struggled up the slippery and muddy slope, determined to exact retribution on the black-clad Troopers for their comrades.

And, as Billy Caudwell watched the Templars struggling up the slope, the part of his mind that was Teg Portan told him that the logical course of action was to let the Eagles loose on the slope and annihilate everything. That, unfortunately, meant Billy committing suicide and killing the last of the Troopers as well as the entire Templar contingent. It was a solution of final option: an Armageddon. But, one that Billy was not quite prepared to implement just yet. The force-shielding from the PES might be sufficient to protect Billy from the raging inferno of fire and explosions from the Eagles’ pulsar-bolts. That was a question Billy did not wish to have to answer.

The Landing Trooper would definitely not survive a massive Eagle strike. Their deaths would be a crushing blow for First Admiral Billy Caudwell to live with.

The Templars, by their sheer weight of numbers, were closing in on the Landing Trooper line as Billy weighed the options in his mind. The power supply on the Aquarius had still not been restored. Thus, there would be no support or assistance from the ship. And, unknown to Arnold of Torroja, the Citadel at Muscigny was incomplete. The Citadel was essentially indefensible in its current state. Another week or so of construction work would have seen the walls high enough to give the defenders a slight chance. For the estate workers, the safety of the Citadel was more psychological than physical. Billy just needed them out of the way to let the Troopers fight.

The Troopers, meanwhile, were doing exactly that. The Templars were quickly closing in on the Landing Trooper position. In front of Billy, two Troopers were keeping up a rapid fire. However, despite the losses, there were just too many Templars crowding in around the position. A brief glance down the line of the slope showed Billy that the white surcoats had finally reached the Troopers, and that the hand-to-hand battle was about to commence. So, slinging the pulsar-rifle across his back, Billy drew the pulsar-pistol from his hip holster and the Battle Blade from his boot top. He could use the pistol in his left hand whilst the stronger right hand could wield the Blade. This was what the Landing Troopers had been trained to do. Hours of battle simulations and exercises in hand-to-hand combat clearing the enemy from the cramped confines of spaceships were the meat and drink of the Brigades.

Ready for the battle, Billy shot down the first Templar to approach him, who shouted loudly whilst swinging a heavy sword. The Templar caught in the chest by the pulsar-pellet toppled over with a loud shriek as his blood boiled and his body tissues fried from the heat of the projectile. It was a hideously painful way to die. However, it was not a slow death. Being wounded by a sharp blade could cause a soldier to bleed to death slowly and in pain. That, however, was a consideration far from Billy’s mind as another Templar with a spear and shield rushed towards his position.

Taking quick aim with the pistol, Billy pressed the trigger set high on the butt of the weapon with his left forefinger. At close range, even Billy could not miss the rampaging target dressed in white with a huge red cross emblazoned across his chest. The pellet caught the unfortunate Templar in the throat, causing instantaneous death for the short squat man with black hair and a straggly beard. For a moment, Billy saw the anger and terror in the man’s eyes that split-second before the pulsar-pellet killed him. It was the anger of a man who felt that he had nothing left to lose. His fate was in the hands of the God that he believed in, and so he had thrown himself almost recklessly at the Trooper line.

The next Templar followed only a split-second later, swinging a short battle axe as he screamed his challenge to the red-haired Outlander enemy. Having just dispatched the spear and shield carrier, Billy was just a fraction of a second slow in taking aim at the charging axe-man. Raising the pistol, Billy found that he was already too late. The vicious downward swing of the axe caught Billy’s forearm.

The PES protected Billy’s arm from the viciously sharpened blade. However, it could not protect him from the force of the blow. The savage blow felt like Billy had punched a brick wall, causing him to drop the pistol. But, the Battle Blade in his right hand was still a viable and functioning weapon. The Templar having committed himself to hacking at the pistol arm now found that he was defenceless from the brutal short swinging chop of the Battle Blade. In one smooth movement, Billy brought the Blade to bear on the Templars head just above his left ear. The Blade slashed through the chain mail headgear of the armour and shattered the axe-man’s skull.

Silently, the axe-man fell; his body tumbling over the already fallen shield and spear man brought down by the pulsar-pistol. Meanwhile, Billy had no time to consider the fallen axe-man as another Templar now filled his field of vision. This time it was another spear carrier, but without a shield. The Templar, a tall burly man with reddish brown hair jabbed at Billy with short professional stabs. Dodging the first two thrusts, Billy quickly realised that this one knew his business. He was a strong, skilled and experienced warrior. It was going to require a great deal of care to deal with this one. But, as Billy watched the spearman, he could also see other Templars approaching the Landing Trooper line.

The whole line was now engaged in the hand-to-hand. It would now be only a matter of minutes before the Troopers were overrun. The Landing Trooper line would start to fall back even though there was no place for them to retreat to. The line would also start to shrink as the Troopers congregated for a last stand. And, the Templars would start to pick up their weapons. It might take them only minutes to work out how they were operated. The Citadel would, undoubtedly, fall. And, without force-shielding, the Aquarius would be vulnerable to the attackers armed with pulsar-rifles.