Then he smiled. If Hood wanted to play, he would oblige.
So Bohuslav ordered one of the T-90 battle tanks to target the man and blow him to kingdom come.
Robert held his position.
He knew they'd be firing any second, but this was more than a matter of drawing a line in the sand, showing both sides what they were up against. It wasn't about weapons, either, or about who was right and wrong. It was about courage, standing up for something you believed in.
Even if you were a solitary figure on the landscape.
Robert patted his horse's neck, holding her steady. Then, right at the very last moment, he pulled the steed around and rode her away, back out of range. He heard the shot from behind, the whizzing sound as the shell flew through the air.
It exploded in the spot where he'd been idling his horse only moments before. The animal protested, but was used to this type of noise. Robert urged her back round and they stood there again.
This time, though, Robert held up his hand — and dropped it again. Giving his order, just as the commander of these troops (the man he'd seen De Falaise morph into, or maybe Tanek?) had obviously done.
Like snowflakes they fell from the sky. But they were the wrong colour for snow. And they originated from the ground not from the air. Huge rocks rained down on the vehicles from strategic, hidden positions on either side. From catapults they'd brought with them, made over the last few months to defend the castle, but wheeled and easily transportable. The rocks landed heavily on the tanks, jeeps and other armoured vehicles, not doing a vast amount of damage, but proving that they weren't the only ones capable of firing projectiles.
It also had the effect of provoking the army into rushing them. Now the jeeps, bikes, tanks and Armoured Fighting Vehicles were moving forward into position. They began firing at the trees, at the point where the rocks had appeared — but Robert knew his men were camouflaged enough that they probably wouldn't be seen. The cannons might have fired ahead of them, but there was nobody apart from Robert on the battlefield to engage yet.
That's how it would stay for a little while, until they'd finished sending their message.
From the trees, now came hails of flaming arrows. These hit the vehicles, exploding on impact — their tips filled with a special sulphur brew. The flames spread across the metal, engulfing some vehicles almost entirely. Others were hit with mini-paint bombs, aimed specifically so that they would break against windscreens and viewing slats, obscuring vision. One driver rammed his jeep into the side of a tank, scraping along until it got in front and the bonnet of the smaller vehicle was crushed under the tracks of the other.
Meanwhile, the bikes, jeeps and other vehicles with tyres were discovering the presents Robert and his men had left. Clusters of barbed wire, which not only burst tyres, but tangled up around them, causing drivers to lose control of their vehicles. Bikes wobbled and keeled over, jeeps ground to a halt, armoured fighting vehicles could do nothing but sit there and offer covering fire.
Those that got away were introduced to holes the men had dug and covered over, much like the ones Robert had used to trap animals he survived on back in Sherwood. They didn't have to be really deep, just enough for the vehicles to dip forward into and be brought to a standstill.
Now came the second wave from the catapults: large gas canisters that hit the vehicles. No sooner had these landed than they were struck by more flaming arrows, igniting the gas. The landscape turned into a series of red and yellow mushrooms. Black smoke was laid down in front of Robert.
He took hold of his bow, grabbed an arrow out of his quiver and notched it, feeling the familiar tension of the string. Welcoming it like an old friend.
Armed men broke through the smoke. He shot the first one in the knee, the second in the shoulder. Given a choice and when not backed into a corner, he would always choose to incapacitate rather than kill — a throwback to his years in the police.
Robert nodded and his men broke free of their cover, some on horseback, some on foot. The firing started moments later, the Russians letting rip with their machine guns.
Robert's men raised their shields; specially made by their blacksmith Faraday, steel plate more than 16 mm thick which their bullets would make a significant dent in, but not penetrate. Sparks flew as the bullets pinged off them. But several of the horses were hit and went down, taking their riders with them. Robert saw some of his men get hit and drop to the ground… only to wait until a Russian soldier was near enough and get up again, taking down the man with a series of martial arts moves.
He grinned again, knowing that each man had the extra protection of specially adapted vests — hard metal- plates fitted into ordinary bullet-proof vests like the ones armed response units wore, found during searches of police facilities. It would give added protection against machine guns and shrapnel. Robert himself was wearing one, and was glad of it too.
The smoke was clearing, making this a fight of bullets against bows. Arrows struck the Russian troops, hitting them in arms, legs, necks, taking them down swiftly. Flaming arrows set them alight and took them out of the battle altogether. Robert looked down and caught sight of Azhar engaging a couple of foot-soldiers, dodging bullets and slicing them with his sword.
Suddenly an AFV charged through, having driven around the trenches, its tyres ripped to shreds but ploughing forwards anyway.
'Dale,' shouted Robert to the young man on horseback, 'with me!'
Leaning forwards, they urged their steeds on through the combat. An explosion off to their right almost caused Dale's horse to rear up, but he kept control. The cannon on top of the AFV was spitting out shells one after the other. Robert nodded for Dale to give him covering fire, taking out the armed men on the ground now flanking the vehicle. The AFV turned and started ploughing diagonally through the fighting.
Robert pulled on the reins, then rode his horse up alongside the armoured vehicle. When he judged it was close enough, he jumped from the saddle onto the side of the thing, landing near the back. His horse rode off without him, away from danger. He almost slipped down and under the wheels, but his hands found purchase on the rails bolted to the metal. A stray bullet twanged off the plating near his head — whoever had fired it obviously reckoning that they couldn't do the AFV any harm but might be able to dislodge The Hooded Man. Robert risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Dale take out the shooter with an arrow to the back.
Two metal flaps were open at the front, obviously so the driver could see. The AFV went over a bump, jolting Robert upwards. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact. He let out a grunt, but it just made him more determined to put an end to the vehicle's run.
With his free hand, he pulled out his sword — then, wincing as he did so, swung round and shoved the weapon into one of the viewing slats. He had no idea whether he'd hit anything, until he felt the end of the sword slide into something soft. When he pulled it out there was blood on the tip.
The AFV veered wildly to one side, away from the battlefield, heading towards some trees. Robert didn't have the luxury of waiting this time and launched himself off the vehicle, hoping he'd roll far enough out of its way that he wouldn't be crushed. He needn't have worried. The AFV was obviously stuck in forward gear, the driver probably slumped over the controls inside. The hatches opened as other men inside scrabbled to flee the vehicle. It hit a tree, but didn't stop. The second tree was too much for it, though, and the AFV shuddered to a halt.
Robert rose, barely having time to recover before he felt a presence at his side. Ducking and turning, the gunfire above him a dead giveaway that this wasn't one of his men, he brought his sword round and struck the man on the calf, digging the blade in and sending him toppling over.
Sheathing his weapon, Robert had his bow out again and was firing quickly: left, right and centre, putting as many of the armed men out of action as he could.
He noted, with some satisfaction, that his troops were all doing the same: picking targets either with the bow or, in close combat, their swords or knives. He also saw something that gave him pause — bodies of Rangers, laying there on the field. One's head had been blown almost totally apart, another had been practically cut in half by
