The Devil's Regiment (3 page)

Ward glanced over his shoulder as Carlisle threw himself flat next to the veteran, and saw the trio of agents running for the cart.

“Where the bloody hell are they going?”

***

Nathaniel pulled the revolver from the holster next to his bedroll, and rolled to his feet, thumbing back the hammer as he rose. Across the campfire's glow, Elizabeth was already crouching, her carbine held ready.

“Where's Callum?”

“I'm here.” The dragon-blood said from the shadows. His gun was in his hand, his eyes were sweeping the darkness around them. Nathaniel checked the load on his gun as adrenaline surged through his system.

“Right, let's get to work.”

He took a step towards the firing line of soldiers, but Callum dragged his arm.

“They're trying to flank us – they're going after the weapons cart!”

“How do you...” 

But Callum was already running. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew the sabre he'd secured back in Bombay, freeing the blade from it's leather scabbard. He raised the revolver in his left hand as the first of the Indian rebels appeared from the darkness, and levelled an old musket at him. Callum dived to his right as the man pulled the trigger, and brought his pistol to bear. He pulled the trigger, and the Indian dropped, blood spurting from his chest. He rolled to his feet, and fired wildly into the darkness. A volley of rounds answered him, and he dropped flat, the rounds tearing over his head.

A group of ten men charged out of the night, their weapons raised. A shot sounded from behind him as Nathaniel fired, the rebels scattering. Elizabeth helped Callum to his feet, then turned back to the fight. Callum leapt into action, his right arm flashing up to slap away the barrel of a bayoneted musket that was swinging to bear. He recovered swiftly, and thrust, the blade slashing through the throat of one of the rebels. He turned, his gun flashing up and firing at the nearest man. 

One of the rebels shouted a command, and turned to run. Elizabeth looked calmly through the sights of the carbine, and shot him in the head as he turned. The man fell to the ground, his leg twitching.

The remaining rebels tried desperately to regroup, dropping their muskets and pulling rusted talwars from the scabbards at their sides. Callum leapt forward, parrying a clumsy swing from a sword and lashing his blade at his opponent’s eyes. He kicked the rebel in the stomach, and moved onto his next target.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the battle to their rear. The soldiers were mopping up the remainder of their attackers, and had turned to see the fight at the cart. Carlisle and Ward were approaching at a sprint as the six remaining rebels closed in on Callum.

“Do something!” She yelled at Nathaniel. The agent shot her an aggravated glance.

“They're in too close. I can't shoot without risking hitting Callum!”

Carlisle and Ward sprinted past them, blades drawn. The lieutenant barrelled into one of the rebels, his shoulder slamming into the man's belly, and knocking him to the floor. He spun, and deftly parried a strike from another Indian, rolling his wrist to flick the blade away, and running the man through the heart with a single deadly thrust.

Ward hadn't trained as a swordsman, and showed no such finesse. He hacked at the rebels like a man chopping wood, cutting through arms, necks, and any other piece of bare flesh he saw.

The rebels fell before them like wheat, their blood falling to stain the ground. When one remained, his arm hanging limp at his side, Callum waved the other two back. Carlisle and Ward stepped back, their weapons held ready. Callum took a pace forward, and plunged the tip of his sabre into the ground. He crossed his arms, and stared into the remaining rebel's eyes.

“Do you feel like dying today?”

The Indian man glowered at him, his talwar clutched defiantly in his one useful hand. He half raised the weapon as Callum approached him, but saw something in the tall man's gaze that caused him to drop the weapon. His eyes dropped to the floor. Callum glanced at Ward, who nodded, and stepped forward, grasping the rebel's good arm. 

“Come on boyo. We'll make you a nice warming cup of tea.”

***

“He's just another lad they've convinced to fight for them, really.” Carlisle said, his arms crossed. Their prisoner sat on the far side of the first, a blanket around his shoulders. The young Indian sipped at a steaming cup, his eyes staring into the fire.

“That doesn't really explain why they started shooting at us.”

“Well, if you English bastards turned up in Caerwys, I'd be taking pot shots at you and all.” Sergeant Ward said cheerfully, bringing over a tray of tea.

“You do realise Wales is part of the union, don't you Ward?” Carlisle asked.

“No, sir, that's just what we like you buggers to think.”

“We should interrogate him.” Nathaniel said.

The group fell into silence. Callum sipped his tea.

“I agree with Nathaniel. He might have information about what's ahead of us.”

“He's just a boy!” Carlisle objected.

“No, he's a rebel – and he may know where other rebels are. If interrogating him means we can avoid more of these little skirmishes, then interrogate him we shall.”

“But...” The lieutenant began to object.

“They're right sir.” Ward interjected.

Carlisle glowered at the sergeant, who met his gaze impassively.

“...Fine. If you must.”

Nathaniel glanced at his fellow agents.

“Who wants this?”

“I'll do it.” Elizabeth said. “I'm more subtle than you boys.” 

Callum and Nathaniel shared a wry grin as Elizabeth walked over to the young Indian boy.

“Hello.” She said brightly.

The boy gave her a startled look.

“Er... Hell...oh.” He said in broken English, his mouth bending around the strange syllables. She gave him a happy smile.

“Alright, that's a good first step. Now, hold still, this won't hurt a bit.” 

She reached up, and gently rapped her knuckles on his forehead. The young rebel went stone still, his eyes going distant. Callum sipped his tea, and glanced at Nathaniel.

“How long does this usually take her?”

“Oh, a couple of minutes, depending on how deep the interdiction needs to go.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “I can't imagine it'll be much longer. I don't expect this poor lad knows all that much.”

Carlisle looked at Ward.

“Do you know what they're talking about?”

“Not a clue, sir. Shall I tell the men to stand down?”

The officer glanced at the foothills, listening for movement.

“Change it to a four man picket, and stand everyone else down. I don't want anyone left on their own if there's a risk of further action.”

The Welshman gave his officer an appraising look, then nodded.

“Aye sir.”

Over at the fire, the Indian rebel's eyes drooped, and he slumped into sleep. Elizabeth got to her feet and stretched, before walking back to the group.

“There are two more groups between here and Kasharim. If we swing to the east, we'll be able to avoid them.”

Carlisle glanced over at the young man peacefully slumbering by the fire.

“What did you do to him?”

“You don't want to know.”

“I rather think I do, Miss Cartwright.” Carlisle said.

“I inserted a mental string into his mind and extracted everything he knew about the movements of the rebels. I then put him to sleep so that we could get away without him following us.”

Carlisle and Ward glanced at each other, their faces confused.

“Gentlemen, I suggest you just accept that we have abilities that you're not quite equipped to understand.” Nathaniel said calmly. “It'll make things a damn sight easier all round.”

The officer and the sergeant rolled their eyes, and headed for their blankets. Elizabeth gestured to her two colleagues, and they walked few yards further into the darkness.

“What's up?” Callum asked.

“That kid is scared of Kasharim.” She said. “Absolutely terrified.”

Chapter four.

Three uneventful days later, the small column rode across the final hill that barred their view of Kasharim. A long stretch of scrubland led up to the forts’ gates, it's high sandstone walls reaching round in a curve like enfolding arms up to the cliff face behind it. 

“Imposing.” Callum said.

“That's one word for it.” Elizabeth agreed.

They marched steadily towards the stronghold, their weapons slung over their shoulders, trying to keep their appearance as non-threatening as possible.

“Halt, Who goes there?” 

The cry came from the fortress's battlements, but no face presented itself. It was as if the featureless stones had asked the question.

“Lieutenant Carlisle, twenty-fifth cavalry!” 

The fort was silent for a moment, and then the gates began to open. Carlisle held up a hand, and gestured his troops forwards. They marched onwards, their tired horses walking forward into the dusty square of the fortress. Carlisle dismounted and glanced around. A lone soldier was leaning against the door of the main building, his eyes glaring at them from under the rim of his helmet.

“You there.” he snapped. “Have you forgotten how to salute?”

“That's a bit abrasive.” Callum murmured to Ward.

“I rather like it. Good to see the lad show a bit of backbone.”

The soldier by the door straightened a bit sheepishly, and saluted smartly.

“Sorry sir. Things have been a bit relaxed around here lately.” He said.

“Your name, private?”

“Perkins sir.”

“Alright Perkins, where's your commanding officer?”

“Sergeant Mortimer is in the mess hall, sir.”

Carlisle paused.

“You've got a sergeant in command? What happened to Lieutenant Coldfield?”

Perkins looked edgy for a moment, Then frowned.

“It's... hard to explain sir. You'd better speak to the sarge first.” He shot a curious glance at Callum, who was walking towards them at Ward's side. Carlisle tried to hide the irritation  on his face.

“Perkins, are you being deliberately obscure?”

“No sir.”

“Ah, it's natural talent then. Alright, I concede defeat, lets go find your sergeant.” He glanced at Callum. “You coming, Mr Drake?”

Callum paused momentarily, and glared at Nathaniel.

“Was that your idea?”

“Of course. Off you go and speak with the sergeant, Mr Drake.”

Callum fixed him with a foul look and followed after the soldiers, grumbling to himself. Nathaniel turned and glanced at Elizabeth. 

“Let’s go take a look at the battlements. It should be a bit quieter up there.”

They headed towards the stairs that led to the battlements, and walked up to look out over the plain. 

“What do you think? You're more sensitive about this than I am.”

“And Callum's more sensitive than me.”

“Callum also has a knack of intimidation. He knows how to fight – and knows how soldiers think.”

“Yes. Strange that. He spent all that time in the cult's pocket dimension, yet he can use a sabre like he was born to it.”

“Well, it's not like he's human Elizabeth.”

She glanced at him, then returned to staring over the battlements.

“He's human enough to bleed.”

***

Sergeant Mortimer was slumped over a bowl of watery porridge when Perkins ushered the three newcomers into the room. He glanced up at Carlisle, and stood hastily to attention. The lieutenant took one look at him, and saw the tiredness in his eyes.

“At ease, sergeant.” 

Mortimer gave him a grateful look, and sank back into his seat. Callum sat opposite the man, and squinted at him.

“What's going on here, sergeant?”

“Mr Drake...” Carlisle began. Callum shot him a look and the officer subsided. Mortimer looked between them, then shrugged.

“Well, nothing much, sir. Just that we've been getting attacked every other day, and we're down from a complement of two-thousand to less than five hundred”, he said mildly.

“Attacked by who? Rebels?” Ward asked?

“No, mate. Near as I can tell, we're being attacked by the devil's own troops.” He leaned back in his chair. “It started a couple of months ago. Up until then, this had been a pretty quiet post – no bugger was stupid enough to try and attack this place. You've seen it from the outside – you'd have to be mad.”

“Then, one night the bell started going like bloody hell – begging yer pardon sir. We all ran up to the walls. The lieutenant, he was the first up there. He was one of the first to die as well.” He shook his head. “They were bloody redcoats, sir. Like in the old paintings they have up in headquarters. They even had bloody muskets – bayonets and all.”

Carlisle raised an eyebrow and glanced at Callum. The dragon-blood leaned forward, his eyes boring into Mortimer's. 

“Where's the Lieutenant now, sergeant?”

Mortimer's haunted eyes rose to his.

“Where do you think? He's out there with them.”

Out in the courtyard, the bell began to ring.

***

Elizabeth and Nathaniel stared at the scrubland, as the heat washing off it began to form into two ranks of men. Their red coats shone brightly in the afternoon sun, brass buttons gleaming. They spread out across the dusty ground, their muskets held upright, bayonets catching the light. Silently, they began to march towards the fortress.

“Go get our weapons, now. I'm going to try and get a ward spell in place.” Elizabeth paused. He glared at her.

“Go!”

She took off at a run for the stairs, leaping down them two at a time towards the cart in the courtyard. 

Nathaniel reached out with his mind, and began to pull in the strands of magical energy that floated around the earth. He raised one hand to the sky, and pointed a finger at the ground in front of the marching phantasms. 

The sky clouded over, suddenly and without warning. Lightning flashed from overhead, a long  streak of energy that blasted a scorched line across the scrubland.

The phantom regiment halted, coming perfectly to attention. At the end of their ranks, a soldier wearing a battered shako and sergeant's stripes stepped forward, and walked towards the line in the dirt where the lightning had struck.