modesty. Lemurians didn’t care as much about such things as humans, but even among them, it was undignified to run around with one’s “ass hanging out.”
“I’m not,” he said with a snort. “As you may have gathered, I consider this something of a ‘sideshow’ in a more important war… but it has become part of that war, regardless.”
“All the more reason I’m glad you’re here,” Jindal said.
Chack barked a laugh. “Thank you for that. It’s nice to be appreciated!” His tone grew somber. “And in truth, I don’t mind it much. I’ve developed my own… dislike… of these ‘Doms’ and their Company rebel… tools.”
“I can imagine!’ Jindal blurted. Blair had described the action at the Dueling Grounds in considerable detail.
Chack’s attention was diverted by a figure on a horse, racing toward them on the opposite side of the column. The animal jarred to a stop, and he was amazed to see Lieutenant Blas-Ma-Ar sitting atop as if she’d been riding horses all her life.
“Make way,” she shouted, and forced the horse through the marching troops. Reining in before Chack and Jindal, she saluted.
“How did you learn to control that animal so?” Chack demanded.
“I practiced, sir,” she answered simply. “Beg pardon, but scouts have encountered enemy pickets on the road ahead.” She paused. “They could have brushed them aside, but they left them be, per your orders. They were probably seen.”
“Any contact with Blair yet?”
“No, sir.”
Chack considered and wished again they had the new field communications equipment First Fleet had deployed. Soon they would, reportedly with the arrival of Maaka-Kakja. They’d managed only about five miles the night before, and they’d pushed on early that morning with little sleep. So far, they’d made eight or nine miles that day, but with the heat and humidity, he wasn’t sure his division was ready for a major pitched battle without some rest. “Let’s have a look,” he decided. “Stay back, Major Jindal, but push more scouts ahead on the flanks. We need to coordinate with Blair-and make sure there’s nothing moving up on the left. We want to draw defenders out of New Dublin, but not many, not yet.” His tail swished impatiently. “I do wish we had some ‘air,’ as Captain Reddy would say.” He shook his head. “Not for a few days yet, according to the last reports, so we’ll just have to muddle along the old-fashioned way for now.” He looked around at the confining forest alongside the road. “Be ready to go from column into line,” he said. “It will be hard, but do the best you can. The terrain should open up soon, closer to the town, I believe. If you have no word from me by then, deploy the troops at that point, regardless. But watch the flanks!” He nodded at Blas. “Come,” he said. “Show me.”
They trotted forward, Chack a little unsteady on his mount, parallel to the marching infantry and creaking guns. A sudden flurry of shots echoed in the woods ahead. Instead of dying away, however, such as would have happened if it had been just more pickets and scouts, the shooting intensified.
“It would seem someone has run into someone else,›
“What are you doing, sir?” Blas asked.
“I want to go forward and see what’s happening, but I don’t want this animal shot!”
“Major, we’re on the verge of a ‘meeting engagement’ as General Alden would call it. For the first time, we’re stumbling into a battle we know almost nothing about. You must stay on your horse so you can move quickly from one place to another. That’s why you have him!”
“But…” He looked at the horse. “ He didn’t volunteer to fight
… did he?”
“Do paalkas volunteer?” Blas retorted. Chack started to reply that it wasn’t the same, but Blas had already moved forward. The firing ahead continued to build; dull, thumping crackles of musketry. The troops around them on the road started to trot in response to orders shouted in two languages. The column began shaking out into a ragged line in the trees, facing south, and NCOs shouted and shoved men and ’Cats into position. Chack glanced behind him and saw the rest of the column had ground to a halt. Blas is right, he thought, patting the horse again. I have to stay mounted and find out what’s happening. He urged the horse forward with his heels.
Musket balls voomed through the woods, thwacking into trees and causing a gentle rain of leaves.
“Major!” Blas called. She was leaning over in her saddle, speaking to an Imperial lieutenant.
Chack joined them, and the Imperial lieutenant saluted excitedly. The former wing runner had gained a reputation much larger than his stature, and sitting calmly on a horse with musket balls whizzing by only reinforced it in this man’s eyes.
“Are you in command here?” Chack asked.
“No, sir. Captain Morris commanding Company E of the Fifth, and Company C of your own Second, sent me. They’re in contact with the enemy!”
“I can hear that. What does he face and how did he come to be engaged so closely?”
“Their pickets fled and when we advanced, we ran into a blocking force on the Waterford road.”
The musketry redoubled, and two thunderclaps stirred the brush and loosed more leaves.
“Six-pounders,” Chack decided. “Ours. Your captain Morris must be fully engaged and at least partially deployed. What have we run into, and why were our pickets and scouts not between us?”
“The scouts were… elsewhere,” the lieutenant admitted. “Captain Morris believes we face at least two companies, perhaps a regiment.”
“Artillery?”
“None yet, but it will doubtless arrive soon.”
Chack nodded. “Then we must displace them. They must’ve been expecting us, but maybe not this fast. If we give them time to dig in, this will be a costly fight.” He looked west, toward the mountains he couldn’t see through the trees. “And we have no contact with Major Blair-but he must see this fight; the rising smoke…” He shook his head. “I didn’t want this yet. I wanted to draw troops from in front of Blair but leave them confused about our movements, spread them out. That’s over. The fight has begun. I won’t ask troops to attack ‘gently’ to buy time with their lives.” He looked at the lieutenant. “Tell Captain Morris that the rest of the regiment is coming up. I’ll be there directly myself. In the meantime, he’ll reinforce the companies now in contact and extend his left with an eye toward turning the enemy flank. If he sees an opportunity to do that before I arrive, he will, if he wishes to remain an officer. If the opportunity does not arise, the movement should at least weaken the forces in front of him-and that’s where we will strike with all our might as soon as I join him.”
“What of Major Blair?” Blas-Ma-Ar asked.
“He’ll coordinate his attack with ours, I’m sure of it. We must push the enemy into the open around Waterford to gain the full effect from our artillery and mortars!”
The lieutenant saluted but stood there, waiting.
“What?” Chack asked.
“Uh… where will you be, sir?”
“Right here,” Chack said. He turned to Blas. “Inform Major Jindal of this… change in plans, and return as quickly as you can. I don’t want a battle in this oppressive forest. We must force the enemy out of it where we can see him-and kill him properly.”
The Doms and “rebels” were eventually pushed out of their rapidly improving position by a combined frontal and flank attack. They held determinedly until the fixed bayonets of Imperial and Lemurian Marines drove them from their hasty breastworks. The almost-fanatical courage of Dominion troops had been proven before, but they suffered a major technological disadvantage in a close-quarters fight: their bayonets were “stupid.” Their muskets were little different in function from those of the Imperials, but Imperial and “American” Marines used offset “socket” bayonets that slid on the outside of their weapons’ muzzles. Doms used “plug” bayonets shaped like short swords. They were better tools for everyday use and could hack brush and cut meat and serve as large knives. When “fixed,” however, they were inserted into the muzzles and held in place by friction. They usually had to be driven out. Firing a musket with one in place would rupture the barrel and likely injure or kill the shooter.
Socket bayonets with their triangular blades were virtually useless tools, but wickedly lethal weapons, and a musket could still fire when they were affixed. When the entire regiment under Chack’s personal command rushed the enemy works, running, screaming through the dense trees and shot, bayonets fixed-then stopped and fired a volley into the terrified, waiting defenders-just enough broke and ran to crack the dam. Once that occurred, the remaining Doms had no choice but to run or die, and the crack gave way to a torrent. After that, the race was
