Casca 18: The Cursed (15 page)

By the time Casca reached the outer wall of his palace, the British marines had broken through the last of the city wall
defenses and were advancing on the palace.

Casca had selected from the palace stable the very best horse, a great black stallion with a great columnar neck, immense chest, and massive hindquarters. Its eyes were tinged with red, and it was perhaps a little mad which suited Casca just fine. For what he had in mind he needed madness.

He galloped to the main gate in the outer wall of the palace where the palace guard were concentrated, prepared to sell their lives dearly. "Fall back, fall back," he shouted, his arm waving the troops away from the gate..

The captain looked confused and worried, but passed on the order to his men, and they all withdrew to the left of the gate as Casca indicated. .

"Open the gates. Quickly, quickly. Open all the gates."

The gatemen could not believe their ears, but they followed orders and cranked open the great gates just as the British sailors dragged a small cannon toward them.

The marines rushed through the opening and quickly formed a square, the front ranks aiming at the retreating Chinese.

Casca raced around his troops like a crazed shepherd herding sheep.
"Retreat! Retreat! Fall back," he shouted, herding his men along the breadth of the open space between the first and second walls.

The subaltern gave the order, and the kneeling men emptied their magazines into the backs of the retreating Chinese.

Dozens of them fell, but most of them made it to the corner and escaped around it from the field of fire.

The young lieutenant was puzzled. The British had the whole broad field to themselves. He gestured with his sword and ordered an advance after the fleeing Chinese.

The marines hurried along the length of the wall, maintaining their square, wading through the streams and ornamental ponds until they reached the corner.

As they gained the corner another company appeared in the open gateway, just in time to see their comrades cut down by a fierce hail of
arrows that took the square in its right flank.

The square turned and reformed, but most of the men who were now in the front rank had empty rifles and had not had time to reload in the pursuit of the fleeing Chinese. At the order to fire, the volley was ragged, and the next volley from the second rank was worse.

Then another hail of arrows fell upon the square, cutting down most of the men who had just emptied their rifles.

A new front rank formed, the kneeling men all with full magazines. But the Chinese were retreating again, and on the order to fire the marines emptied their guns into their backs. Many Chinese fell, but most made it to the protection of the next corner.

The new contingent of marines hurried to the assistance of the first, reaching the first corner as the first group got to the next corner.

To be cut down again by hundreds of arrows.

The leading company was being drastically reduced in numbers. The British square was not designed for this sort of maneuver. Now the back rank was at the front, facing Casca's men with empty rifles. The few men who had reloaded were clumsily turning to their right, their own bodies impeding them in bringing their weapons to bear.

A third group of marines came through the gate and rushed after the others. The sailors were dragging their cannon through the gate, but with no clear idea of what they were to do with it.

Casca left his captain to continue the confusing maneuver and galloped right around the open space and back to the gate, now calling down fire from the men on the top of the walls, and shouting to the gatemen to close the gates.

Outside the walls two more contingents of marines came to a confused standstill. The cannon and most of their machine guns were now inside the closed gates, and the archers atop the wall were taking a heavy toll of them.

Casca ordered the next gates opened and led the first of his retreating troops through them into the next open space. The ragged square of marines was making its way back to the first gate, the speed of their advance preventing them from reloading, and the repeated right turns constantly bringing the wrong men into confrontation with Casca's men.

When they rushed through the second open gate the Chinese archers were waiting for them, and by the time they managed to regroup and reload the square had been almost wiped out.

Then it was the turn of the pursuing companies, and they fared no better. The subalterns in charge lacked battle experience, and nothing in their training had prepared them for this sort of fight. Nor could they see what was going wrong with the preceding contingent until it was happening to themselves.

The situation had now changed dramatically. The marines who had only half an hour before had the city at their mercy were now separated into five groups spread about the two open spaces while the defending Chinese were concentrated inside the second wall and on top of both walls.

The British cannon and Maxims had been rendered useless.

But their only orders were to attack, and they continued unprofitably to advance on the palace.

When Casca had the inner gates opened the trap was complete. Two contingents were outside the outer wall, their cannon inside the wall. They had some machine guns, but nobody to fire at.

The other three contingents were each alone in the space between two walls, and only the first one was in contact with the enemy on the ground, and were hugely outnumbered and disorganized.

Casca led an attack, racing his horse around the square to get to the men who were trying to reload, while his infantry overwhelmed the others by sheer weight of numbers.

The swordsmen cut the square to bloody pieces. Casca had the gates opened and they poured out to fall upon the second group with the same result.

And all the time the marines were subjected to the fire from the archers on the walls, while the heavy, clumsy Maxim guns had nobody to fire at.

Now Casca shouted for the main gate to be reopened and charged through it at the head of his infantry, sword in one hand, mace in the other, accounting for a British soldier with almost every swing of his arm.

More marines were now advancing from the river, but the very speed of their unimpeded advance rendered them ineffective.

Inside the walls some of the Maxim crews had at last got their guns ready for action, but in one direction marines were retreating from the concentrated counterattack of the Chinese, and in the other direction were the newly advancing marines.

Casca, it seemed, had carried the day.

It seemed.

But he had not reckoned with Baron Ying.

The baron had regrouped what was left of his force and marched back to join in the British attack.

Now he was riding into the city at the head of the advance guard.

"Well, fuck it," Casca cursed, "I'm not really cut out to be a count anyway."

He broke away from the action and spurred his horse toward the baron.

"Fucking nobles," he fumed as he rode, "never do give the loyalty they demand. If he would join me I could push the British into the sea."

He drew his Webley and fired as he closed with the baron.

But the light bullet bounced harmlessly off Ying's shield. A second shot fared no better, glancing off his body
armor. The third struck the chamfron that protected his horse's head, and another the poitrel on its chest.

Then he was busy using his shield to parry a lance thrust from the baron. They raced past each other and wheeled to meet again.

Casca aimed the Webley for Ying's chest as the baron drew from his holster his enormous handgun, slowing his horse as he held the four foot length in both hands.

Casca's last bullet took him in the heart, but at the same instant the huge ball from the baron's gun smashed its way through Casca's chest
armor, splintering his ribs, punching a hole in his heart, and exiting through his back.

His mind screamed,
not again...

The marble felt cool and almost comfortable under his back. Two faces swam into focus and he recognized Sister Martina and the doctor Poon Fong.

All his weary mind could think was,
here I am again. Will it never end?

Sister Martina smiled at him pleasantly as she raised the mallet above her head, saying gently, "I told you the Lamb would watch over you. You are not done with us yet. The rest may die and be in chains, but not you. You must be free." The smile changed. Years of cruelty washed over her face; the eyes grew narrow as spittle gathered into
a froth at the corners of her mouth.

"Yes, you shall be free, though you deserve all the pain of the ages to be burned into your black Christ killing soul. You should die ten thousand times for your sins. But you shall go free. We shall take you away from this land. There is no place for you here any longer!"

The mallet swung down, taking Casca away. Before the black claimed him he wondered where he would awaken this time, and to what?

Feudal Japan.  A forbidding island, where honor is a warrior’s prized possession, and his sword
a swift and deadly instrument of pride and vengeance.  Casca joins forces with the legendary samurai warrior Muramasa.  Together they embark on an odyssey of bloody conquest…

A journey that ends in the savage fury of samurai against samurai!

For more information on the entire Casca series see
www.casca.net

The Barry Sadler website
www.barrysadler.com