Chapter 4

Hap felt like a fifth wheel as commanders came and went in a flurry of dust and the clumping of horses' hooves. Suetonius gave his orders tersely, but cooly, lest he create panic among his inexperienced captains. The army had to be turned 90 degrees, they were facing the wrong way, and, as it became evident from scouts arriving throughout the morning, the fulcrum of the Com army had been guessed wrong.

Hap desperately wanted to go to Berengaria where, he'd heard, Moira Lys and the caravan was being attacked by the right flank of the Com army. It was now plain, West Floral was an outpost cunningly disguised as an important supply base. The anchor of the true left flank of the Coms was further north at a small settlement called Canaan. It's centre was none other than Newbury on the fringe of the Northern Fens. This vast front contained nothing less than 12 brigades, 4 of them armored, or, in terms of numbers, around 50,000 troops.

Like the army that faced them, however, the Com host was likely to be of uneven quality. It was evident to Suetonius, also, the Coms had been hastily thrown together and there was a shortage of transport. Scouts had reported many of the infantry were marching in columns and such transport there was had to mark time to keep from overtaking them. 50,000 was still a small force for so great a front, and Suetonius reasoned there'll be appreciable gaps in the line.

The Com army was pivoting on their left flank, Canaan, and the right had moved well ahead. Therefore, their front was a ragged concave struggling to keep together. Suetonius envisioned opportunities, if only he could find them.

"Arnold?" he called, "Where's Napoleon?" A few of his staff grinned as Hap moved forward. "Captain? Take a Berengarian battery and 100 men and wipe West Floral off the map. Nestor has got inside and reports it is thinly defended. Emplace your guns to cover both the north and the river."

"Me?" asked Hap, aghast.

"I've no-one else. You know the place better than anybody. Be my 'Marshal Ney'."

"But I've never..."

"Wilson knows where your men are camped," said Suetonius, and then he was busy with other commanders.

"Wilson?" he confessed as they went to find the men. "Y'know, I'm not really a Captain, I was a maintenance specialist."

"Oh, that," he laughed. "We've known that for weeks. Capitol has been supplying us with intelligence. Of course we checked up on you."

"But I must go to Berengaria. Moira Lys needs me."

"Which is precisely why Suetonius sent you in the opposite direction. Despite your lack of self worth, you're valuable to us. We can't have you throwing away your life. Besides, which, you'll never make it to Berengaria in time."

"But what of them?"

"Malak has been ordered to hold out as long as he can. 500 Black Guard are going to their relief, but, I don't expect they'll be there until the morning. There's nothing else we can do."

Malak proved an incompetent character to place in charge of a defense. Moira Lys didn't imagine he'd hang on very long before running. Finn was all for leaving, too, but, she pointed out, the raggiare were faster moving than the caravan and would run them down on the road. Leaderless, the young Black Guard lads' nerve was beginning to crack at the sight of the approaching maelstrom. Someone need to stiffen their resolve and, Moira Lys was afraid, it was beginning to fall on her shoulders.

Being raised in the tough suburbs of Dublin, she knew a thing or to about organizing a defense. She put idle hands to work sand bagging the gaps between the buildings. In the wider spaces, she rolled some of the 'vans and had rifle ports knocked into the sides. Their autocannon were well-sited and she saw to it they were serviced by boys who knew what to do. She had ammunition drawn from the Berengarian stocks and distributed around the guns. Lookouts on the roofs gave a steady stream of reports and these she had delivered straight to her. Malak, on the other hand, spent his time on the radio sending panicky requests to Suetonius for reinforcements.

There were stocks of spare allsuits in the store and Moira Lys acquired herself one. The autorifle wasn't a difficult weapon to master and, with help from Mirri, she learned the basics quickly.

Mirri. The girl had switched from grieving victim to determined fighter in no time at all. At fourteen, she'd the kind of childhood that taught her self reliance. Little of the mysteries of adult behavior had been kept from her and she'd grown up fast. She awaited the approaching raggiare with a quiet fury - determined to avenge her family and community.

Through their binoculars, the lookouts reported a fleet of small trucks, such as the raggiare use. They were on a wide front of perhaps two clicks or more and the lads had counted upwards of a hundred. Assuming their was about 6 men per vehicle, Moira Lys calculated they were outnumbered by 6 or 7 to 1. With the three autocannon units, however, firepower appeared to be on their side. They had water, food and ample ammunition for a long siege. Things could be a lot worse, she thought. She went around the artillery boys.

"Hold your fire, okay? I don't want to see you spraying the desert, make your shots count. What column are you lads?" she asked.

"We're Montsenys, ma'am," they said.

"They will be proud of you, okay?"

Moira Lys visited the snipers with their scoped autorifles poking through rifle nooks knocked in the walls and pitched roofs. She gave them the same speech, telling them their columns, bands or caravans were going to be proud of them this day.

Hap had little time in which to plan the attack. Nestor had provided him with a little intelligence. He and his men were inside the south perimeter wire lying in wait. He thought a classic infantry attack following a brief artillery barrage with his six howitzers. He'd no idea how good his gunners were - they seemed very young - but guessed he'd find out once the battle commenced.

War had always fascinated him since he was a kid. He'd read Napoleonic history while other kids were playing with blocks. He remembered reading somewhere that First World War Russian Marshal Brusilov had achieved success by stationing the infantry well forward of the artillery. That way, they had less exposed ground to cover before engaging the enemy. He figured it was a sensible thing to do in these circumstances. But how would his green infantry cope with artillery rounds being fired over their heads? And how accurate will that artillery be with his boys never having fired in anger before?

All was quiet as he moved the guns within range. He got his infantry to crawl forward on their stomachs until they were about 50 metres short of the first of the defenses. With little preliminary, he gave the artillery his instructions before crawling forward to join the infantry.

Adrenalin pumped through his body and he willed himself to remain calm. A great deal depended on his ability to keep his head. 150 metres forward, he came on the infantry. He checked they were all ready then turned back with his torch. He flashed a red signal, once, twice, and there followed a brilliant flash.

'THRRUMPPH'

On the extreme left of Suetonius's new positions, Moira Lys watched them come onwards toward Berengaria. The enemy showed little finesse - a haphazard line of vehicles driving as fast as the terrain allowed. She'd set an aiming mark for the autocannon - a rocky outcrop - and she sucked in her breath as the first truck reached the point.

The crew needed no more orders. With a staccato rattle, the autocannon let loose. The red sand erupted around it before the vehicle disintegrated in a huge fireball. The affect on his fellows was immediate. The trucks maneuvered right and left creating a swirling cloud of red dust. The autocannon continued to pour fire at anything they could see - another vehicle stopped, pouring smoke.

The raggiare returned fire with their machine guns and soon the defenders could hear the rounds whistling overhead. Some had abandoned their vehicles and continued the advance on foot. 'Poof', a sniper in the roof drew a bead on a target. Another fired, and soon most of the defenders were firing on the distant figures.

A truck erupted in flame and Moira Lys heard Mirri beside her calmly saying, "one for my father, one for my mother and that's for uncle Demos..."

Above there was a woosh and Moira Lys saw a streak of flame. A rocket landed on the roof of one of the buildings and, with a crack, blew a shower of shingles onto the ground.

Some trucks appeared to be trying to circle to the west, chased by Berengaria's enthusiastic gunners. More of Mirri's community was avenged and they counted a further five columns of smoke. Nevertheless, the raggiare were closing in on foot and their fire was becoming more accurate. Moira Lys heard a thump and saw a shingle shatter not more than 2 metres away.

"Shit, that was close," Finn said.

"Listen, if it goes through your head, that's close. Those monkeys couldn't hit a tethered duck with a coconut." Finn ducked as he heard another round whizz overhead. "Don't bother," said Moira Lys. "Yer head can't move as fast as a bullet."

"Fuck, what's got into you, Moira Lys? You'd be the last person I would've thought would be doing this."

"Ask her," Moira Lys said, indicating Mirri. "Sure, I thought I'd could get away from it, but, honestly, where is there left to go? I love this land and I'll be damned if I'm going to chased out of it."

Firing appeared to be dying down. Evidently someone on the other side concluded they were taking too many casualties. Moira Lys predicted they would now wait for nightfall. If only they could hang on until morning then the relief would get to them.

Major Clarke of the sixth Ranger battalion, Armed Forces of the North American Association (Capitol) jumped when he heard the crump from Hap's howitzer battery. An errant shell landed in the river not more than 50 metres from his position and he jerked in astonishment.

"What the fuck?" he exclaimed, and suddenly West Floral on the opposite side of the river lit up with a rippling, blinding series of explosions. "They're attacking!" Clarke said, incredulous. The very air vibrated with the roaring and rumbling. His men tumbled from their bivouacs shouting they were under attack. Another 'over' landed close by in the river, and the Rangers scrambled into their dugouts.

Nestor instinctively covered his head with his hands as the shells landed. He saw one go through the roof of the admin building and blow the walls clean out from under it. With a crash, the roof then fell in a cloud of smoke and dust. Other shells ploughed up the runway sending lumps of concrete high into the air. The small Black Guard unit then scanned the area with night vision scanners and spotted a few Com defenders running for the river. These they dispatched efficiently.

It was then Hap's infantry charged into the fray, yelling and firing their autorifles randomly around. The noise made them sound like a whole infantry brigade and the Coms weren't hanging around to discover the truth.

"Let's check out the tanks?" Nestor told his men, and left the pursuit of the enemy to Hap's men. They walked down the line of revetments throwing stones at the hulls of the 'tanks.' Each landed with a dull clonk, indicating it was a wooden dummy - that is, until the third. The stone bounced off with a resounding clang, as did the next one. "What?" exclaimed Nestor and looked at his men. "They're fucking real! Get on the radio to Suetonius. Tell him we've found some armor."

The news electrified those at the improvised HQ. "How many?" Suetonius asked.