Evie fired another shot as the Powdered Lead reached two hundred meters from the barricade, adding to the swirling powder smoke that lay in their wake. The clank of armored soldiers moving past her was a pleasant, reassuring noise. They marched with unnatural precision, backs stiff and jaws set.
They were making rapid progress toward the barricade, and with Sara’s Blessings now in effect, things only went faster. In an ideal world, advancing fire allowed troops to maintain the speed of the quick march without sacrificing firepower, large masses of soldiers maneuvering on the field without providing their enemy the respite that normally would have come during such a repositioning. The reality was different, of course. Their drills had shown that truly rapid movement was impossible, that the complexity of reloading on the march inevitably slowed the column. It was a trade-off that, though Evie advocated for its development, she wasn’t sure was worth it.
Champion’s Inspiration changed that. The moment the music had begun, the Powdered Lead’s pace accelerated. The very millisecond that the forward-most rank fired, the rearmost rank was already advancing, muskets reloaded and ready. No speed was lost, no compromise was made. They moved with precision that would have been the envy of any clockwork contraption, and they maintained the full speed of a quick-step march, driving forward with a landslide’s inevitability.
In eighteen hundred and sixty-two
Both sides were falling to
And we'll all drink stone wine
When Johnny comes marching home!
And we'll all drink stone wine
When Johnny comes marching home!
At a hundred and fifty meters, Evie spotted the first puff of blackpowder from the barricade. It was quickly followed by the rise of a few extra heads, each producing a musket that spat their own flowery burst of white smoke.
She heard a distinct zip! as a musketball shot over the formation’s head. A few clumps of dirt were tossed into the air a dozen meters before her, leaden balls burying themselves uselessly into the road.
“They’re wasting ammunition,” Mui noted, shoving a minié ball down his Hot Rifle. “They can’t hit us from here.”
“I suppose they haven’t heard George Washington’s quote about firing at the whites of the eyes.”
“Who?”
“A general from Earth.”
“Rank one, advance!”
She, Mui, and a dozen others moved with inhuman synchronicity, each the outstretched fingers of a single grasping limb. Evie aimed for a swirl of fading powder smoke, one eye closed, her breathing steady and quiet.
“Fire!”
Her cryslock pistol bucked in her hand, sending a lead ball to visibly slash a hole through the fog she’d been aiming for. Two other bullets lanced through the cloud from others who had picked the same target, trying to cut down the enemy who’d been brazen enough to brave the barrage. She didn’t know if any of them hit their target.
“Rank two, advance!”
In eighteen hundred and sixty-three
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Old Abe he ended slavery
Hurrah! Hurrah!
And we'll all drink stone wine
When Johnny comes marching home!
“Get ready for them to start firing in earnest,” Evie warned Mui. “We’re almost at a hundred meters.”
“I can gauge that much for myself, thank you,” he grunted, pulling the hammer on his Hot Rifle to half-cock. He glanced at Evie. “Are we about to—”
“All ranks, affix bayonets!”
“Yes, we are,” Evie replied, summoning her rapier in her off-hand. Mui scoffed, glancing at Sara accusingly, as if she’d made it a point to interrupt him with the command. Her black helmet gave no hint as to her reaction. She was too focused on commanding the battle.
“Rank three, advance!”
The enemy, it seemed, knew their own weapon’s effective ranges well enough. The true fight erupted the moment the third rank broached the invisible hundred meter mark. Evie heard a shrill whistle from behind the enemy’s lines, barely audible at this distance, and then some two dozen musket-wielding Imperials emerged from behind the barricade. Sara’s voice rose even louder.
“Fire!”
A storm of lead hail filled the air as the two lines engaged one another. The insect-like buzz of screaming bullets redoubled, some of them loud enough to Evie that they had to have passed within mere feet of her.
It was… surprisingly unnerving. Evie had been under plenty of volleys before, but those had been arrows, dark shafts flying in a slow arc that she could track with the naked eye. The battle of Ta-Pet had seen the enemy sporting muskets, but she’d never allowed herself or her troops to end up under effective gunfire, though she’d been briefly injured by chance alone.
This volley was different. She could see nothing of the threat save the spark of gunfire, unable to track the path of bullets until they were already well past her. She had no chance to react, no moment to brace, forcing her to acknowledge for the first time that, no matter how high her Level, her survival was now left entirely to luck. Her heavy cuirassier's chestplate could deflect a bullet, true, but that was all she wore. Her head, neck, and everything beneath her gut was left exposed. For the first time since taking up a blade, Evie truly wondered if she’d made a mistake in eschewing heavier armor.
It didn’t matter in the moment. It couldn’t matter. She held her place in the line the same as everyone else, save for a handful of mercenaries that went down with sounds of pain, taking bullets to their extremities. Evie was particularly interested in one man who dropped hard, crying out, only to leap back to his feet a moment later, laughing maniacally. A gray streak and deep gouge in his chestplate showed the path a bullet had taken as it was deflected by the thin steel. He was clearly in pain from the impact, but he was alive, and the ecstasy of survival kept him laughing as he began reloading. Evie hadn’t expected the Powdered Lead’s chestplate to be capable of resisting gunfire. An undercharged shot, poor musket construction, or plain good luck? She would investigate later.
“Rank one, advance!”
Evie surged forward with the rest of the soldiers, picking her target quickly. Some of the rebels had left themselves poking out from behind the barricade while they reloaded, eschewing cover in favor of a quicker follow-up shot. At ninety meters, Evie aimed for one woman’s head.
“Fire!”
Evie had no idea if it was her shot that killed the woman. The bloody hole that appeared in the bridge of her nose was visible for only a half-second before she collapsed, tumbling out of view. The Powdered Lead had been training their marksmanship for months now. At a mere ninety meters, such a shot could have been managed by anyone.
“Are you ready for the charge?” Evie asked Mui as they reloaded.
“As I can be, I suppose.” He gave his bayonet a good shake, ensuring it was secured well. “Will we be running ahead to mount the wall ourselves, or—”
A dull whump interrupted Mui. They both turned toward the barricade, confused, only to see a dark sphere emerging from behind the wall to arc high through the air. It tumbled end over end, a thin trail of wispy smoke coloring the sky as it sailed high above. It was something she’d never expected the rebels to have, yet there was no denying what her eyes saw.
“Mortar!” She cried, throwing herself to the ground.
The lines stuttered, confused. Too late, Evie realized that the Powdered Lead didn’t know what a mortar was. They’d been constructed and used in training back in Tulian, but that had only begun after the mercenaries had left the city. She lifted her head to yell an explanation, knowing it was too late, but Sara came to her rescue.
“Big-ass grenade!”
That succinct description hit home much quicker for the Powdered Lead. Their neat lines collapsed as men and women dropped to the ground, covering themselves as best they were able.
Evie felt an earth-shaking thud as the shell impacted some fifty feet away, landing between the squadrons. She braced for the crashing explosion, covering her ears, but there was nothing.
She lifted her head, looking back. The iron sphere was thirty centimeters across, its shell misshapen from the impact that had embedded it halfway into the dirt.
A dud?
Her question was answered by an ear-splitting boom, one which shook the ground hard enough to throw dust into Evie’s eyes. Like a fool she reflexively covered herself once again, as if she could react faster than the shriek of whirling iron.
Nothing struck her. No pain, no impact. She heard shrapnel scythe through the air, impacting the trees on either side of the road, but none of them hit her. The shell had buried itself deep enough in the ground that its explosion was partially contained, most of the blast sent up and away, rather than horizontally across the formation. She leapt to her feet a fraction of a second after its detonation, calling out.
“Back on your feet! Up, up, up!”
The Powdered Lead jumped up nearly as quickly as she had, careful to not impale themselves on their bayoneted rifles.
The enemy took advantage of their confusion. A ragged volley ripped eagerly out of the barricade, some two dozen muskets going off in succession. Several people screamed in pain, but Evie didn’t spare them a glance. She locked onto Sara, muscles tensing, already knowing what order was going to be given.
“Evie!” She shouted. A single-word request for Evie to take over tactical command, performing the duties Master Graf had actually trained her to take up: commanding a squad of Irregulars.
“Get the mortar!” Evie barked, pointing her rapier at the rough location she’d seen the shell emerge from. “Mui, with me!”
Sara broke out of the line with an unholy laugh. Her thick slabs of black armor crashed against one another as she threw herself into the sprint, boots gouging long lines in the soil. She swung her massive gun off her back even as she sprinted, breaking it open and shoving cotton-wrapped ammunition into the breech.
Evie leapt into motion behind her, moving slow enough that Mui could follow behind. She was breaking into a charge within firing distance of an enemy musket line, crossing open ground, and rightly should have been terrified.
Of course, she wasn’t. She knew she was safe for a simple reason: the enemy weren’t complete fools.
Sara’s hulking mass shook the earth with every footfall, her arms a blur, folded sword flailing wildly at her hip as she roared onward. The foreign music emanating from her frame was only growing louder, more distorted, bassy reverberations turning the cheerful hymn into a martial war chant, and it was clear to any with eyes or ears that the black behemoth was its source.
A second volley tore out of the barricade, this one even more hastily fired than the first. The ground around Sara was blown up and away, entire chunks ripped from the road. Lead fragments joined the flying debris as Sara’s armor was struck, creating a shotgun-like spray of lethal projectiles around her body. The enemy had hit her with a half-dozen gunshots.
She didn’t so much as stumble.
Evie flitted across the chewed-up ground Sara had left behind, feet finding solid footing between the pitfalls created by Sara’s boots and rebel gunfire. Lacking Evie’s grace, Mui chose to leap over the impromptu moat entirely, managing to land with enough grace that he kept his momentum up.
Ahead of them both, Sara threw her gun to her shoulder, pulling the trigger the instant its stock settled against her armor.
Evie was battered by the concussive blast of its detonation, followed quickly by the sting of floating sparks flitting against her skin as she sprinted through the smoking cloud. A second explosion sounded in virtually the same moment, creating a spray of wooden shrapnel up ahead.
“HA!” Sara bellowed.
Like a hastily cracked egg, the barricade had been broken half open. Seeing her wife lower her shoulder and turn her torso aside, Evie understood exactly what was about to happen, but she didn’t have enough time to communicate it to Mui.
“Through, not over!” She called.
“What?”
The Champion of Amarat hit the flimsy barricade in a full sprint, shoulder ripping straight through the wound her explosive shot had created. Men and women screamed in terror, their cries matched only by the guttural cheers of the Powdered Lead from behind.
Evie leapt through the gap a moment later, a jagged splinter slicing a burning line in her right arm. She caught sight of Sara again just as her wife’s feet left the ground, her entire body thrown into a head-first tackle. She struck a man around the mid-section, bowling him over with force enough that Evie could hear bones breaking from thirty paces.
The man, Evie saw, wasn’t just an unlucky victim of Sara’s bloodlust. He had been standing next to a contraption that, at first, Evie mistook for a bizarrely wide wine barrel. Short, squat, and wrapped in iron bands, it took her a moment to realize that the crude construct was the mortar they had come to neutralize. It was a tree trunk with a hollow core, runes etched along the sides, crude iron bands hammered around its midsection as reinforcements.
Sweet Gum Mortars, her mind recalled, summoning up her father-in-law’s military history lessons. Constructed on a whim by Union soldiers as ad-hoc siege weapons, they proved surprisingly capable when turned against static Confederate defenses.
It was all the analysis she had time for. Sara was already rolling off the broken body of the mortar operator she’d tackled, back on her feet with sword in her hand.
Evie threw herself to the left, leaping up onto the thin platform that had allowed the rebel soldiers to fire over the barricade. There were perhaps two dozen of them ahead of her, most kneeling down while they reloaded their muskets, some half-crouched just out of sight of the Powdered Lead’s constant gunfire, waiting for a chance to offer a shot in return. Evie was met by a wide-eyed woman holding her musket out at arm’s length, as if it was a holy symbol capable of warding off evil.
Evie’s rapier slipped in and out of her eye before the rebel could blink. She raised her pistol as the woman fell, firing into the chest of the next soldier as her first victim’s body dropped out of the way.
The skirmish didn’t last long after that. Sara only killed two more behind the barricade before those nearby began to throw down their weapons and surrender. Mui had mirrored Evie by attacking the right side of the barricade, bayonet finding the bellies of a handful of soldiers before they began to flee. Evie killed another pair of her own, and would have killed more, if she hadn’t been limited by the amount of time it took for each body to collapse before she could move to the next poor fool in line.
The Powdered Lead reached the barricade some twenty or thirty seconds after Evie had. With the soldiers on the wall distracted by the Irregulars in their midst, it was trivial for the mercenaries to grab onto the crude wall and haul themselves over, scaling it in a few quick steps. The rebels that were still left tried to run, but that only sent them toward Sara, whose black greatsword was wreathed in crackling lightning as she spun it into the bodies of the few fools brave enough to try their luck against her.
The remaining soldiers found surrender a rather appealing option. The skirmish was over.
Sixth Squad arrived no more than a minute after Sara signaled that the fight had been won. They leapt off their bicycles with a will, shoving bayonets into the clay that held the haphazard logs together. Evie spotted iron caskets filled with emcotton being gingerly passed forward, placed in the holes that were being hastily dug into the barricade, long fuses spooling out behind them. Knowing well what could happen when explosives were handled in haste, she whistled for Mui as she went jogging up to join Sara in the rebel camp, ensuring they were all at least a bit further from the demolition work.
The rebel camp was predictably simple. Supplies, tents, and latrines were laid out for some fifty-odd soldiers, the jungle perimeter guarded by thick stakes that had been prepared with a good deal more care than the barricade itself. This had been little more than an overgrown sentry’s camp, something that would have been manned by two or three soldiers if it had been in Sporatos. With jungle predators a constant threat, however, this was the bare minimum number of soldiers required to ensure long-term survival.
Sara was crouched beside the mortar, helmet visor lifted as she spoke into a communication crystal. Several men and women, all sporting severe but non-lethal wounds, were groaning on the ground nearby. Sensing Evie’s approach, Sara waved two fingers towards the wounded rebels.
Mui joined Evie to help her forcefully grab the rebel’s broken limbs, pulling them straight enough that she could apply a splint. They weren’t going to waste healing potions on enemy soldiers, but Sara clearly wanted the mortar operators cognizant enough for an interrogation. It wouldn’t do to have them screaming in pain every time they tried to take a deep breath.
“...the runes are definitely magical, yeah,” Sara was saying into the communication crystal, speaking Continental so that the rebels couldn’t understand. “Not just decorative. I don’t know what they’re supposed to do, but I can at least sense the fact that they’re real magic.”
“That’s interesting,” David Brown’s voice replied, full of merry cheer. “Based on the measurements you were telling me, they really shouldn’t have needed enchantments to get the mortar to work. Wooden mortars saw a lot of success back in the day, even if they weren’t as reliable as proper metal ones.”
“Could be they were just being overly cautious.”
“Sure, sure,” Sara’s father agreed. “If you can enchant it, why shouldn’t you, right? It’s not gonna hurt anything. I’d do the same. But if you can’t take the mortar with you, you might want to take a photo of it so we can examine the runes later.”
“Damnit. I didn’t bring the camera.”
“Dang.” There was a sound of David drumming his fingers on a table, then an excited gasp. “Ooh! They’re cut into the wood, right? You can do a charcoal rubbing!”
“A what?”
Evie was already reaching into her bag, leaving Mui to apply the splint to the unfortunate soul that she was keeping pinned down with a knee. She tore a blank page out of her notebook and grabbed one of her old charcoal pencils that had been mostly replaced by Hurlish’s beautiful fountain pen, then handed them both to Sara without speaking. Sara mouthed a thank you to her as she began to follow her father’s instructions.
The rest of the battle’s aftermath was handled with admirably professional swiftness. The surviving soldiers were rounded up, disarmed, and kept under the careful watch of First and Second Squad. Sixth Squad finished preparing the explosives while the rest of the Powdered Lead advanced to a safe distance, bringing the bicycles up for the soldiers that had been disengaged.
While Sara interrogated the mortar operators, Evie went about collecting samples of the enemy’s muskets. She had to take more captured examples than she’d expected, as it seemed that the rebel empire had failed to grasp the importance of standardization. While the basic flintlock mechanism didn’t change much between weapons, nearly everything else did. Barrel length varied by as much as ten centimeters, the stocks took on a bewildering variety of different shapes, and even the weapon’s calibers had subtle variations. All used the same ammunition, but that only meant the gap between ball and barrel was often far more than was ideal, wasting a great deal of potential velocity.
Still, compared to earlier captured examples, Evie had to admit that the muskets were an improved product. Their iron was solid, simple beaded sights were now omnipresent, and most importantly of all, they had all functioned. Unlike the previous battles, there was no sign of muskets that had suffered catastrophic malfunctions or outright detonations. Between that, the mortar, and the attempt at a cannon captured in Ta-Pet, it was clear that the rebels were doing their utmost to catch up to Tulian gunsmithing.
Still not rifled, she smugly noted, handing another captured musket off to a mercenary with instructions to carry it back to Hurlish. At this point I’m almost surprised. What is stopping them? Do they lack the industrial capacity to cut rifling in the barrels, or have our efforts to conceal the secrets of our weapon’s accuracy really been that successful?
She was pleased either way. The longer their military technology advantage was maintained, the better.
Sara’s interrogation of the wounded mortar operators concluded swiftly, helped along by them bearing witness to the barricade’s detonation, the entire structure evaporating out of existence like a drop of water hitting glowing iron. Unfortunately, they knew little. They had been trained on the operation of the weapon and given instruction to report back on its efficacy— that was all. They knew nothing of its construction, how many others were in use, or if more advanced versions were under consideration. Regrettable, if predictable.
“How did I perform?”
Mui’s low voice snapped Evie out of her contemplations. She turned to the foamy-furred catfolk, looking him up and down. Tired but with no visible wounds, he had made it through the battle with his armor unmarred.
“Competently, as I expected,” Evie replied. “Why do you wish to know?”
“Insecurity, I suppose.”
Her brows rose. “I see my wife has been teaching you psychological terminology as well.”
“Yes.” Mui licked his muzzle, his broad tongue briefly smoothing over his whiskers. “After a battle like that, I find myself… anxious. It is no wonder that the enemy breaks so quickly under musketfire. It is an unnerving experience, to know that your death may come without so much as a hint of warning.”
Evie thought back to the hiss and whine of overflying bullets. She nodded firmly. “I agree.”
Mui’s eyes widened. “You do? I cannot imagine. You didn’t show an ounce of fear.”
“I wasn’t afraid, no. But your choice of word, anxious? A fitting one, I would say. I even found myself reconsidering my habit of eschewing heavier protection.”
“And I my refusal to accept a gift of enchanted armor from you.” Mui inspected his Hot Rifle, running the claw of his thumb along the wood. The weapon had collected several new nicks from deflected blades. “When we eventually meet the enemy on equal ground, I don’t see how any amount of skill could keep oneself alive. Who lives and who dies in the chaos of a musket volley is up to chance.”
“Skill still plays its part. The skill of commanders, the discipline of the troops, and,” Evie twisted her lips into a smile, “the skill of the alchemist that brewed our healing potions. Remember, these weapons dominated a planet which had nothing in the way of healing magic. The death tolls of those wars were indescribable.”
Mui shuddered. “I would say that I can only imagine it, but I’d rather not conjure up such a grisly thought.” He slung his Hot Rifle over his shoulder, pulling the strap tight as he nodded to Sara, who was finishing up her interrogation of the captured troops. “I imagine that she will wish to push on for the rest of the day, will—”
“Powdered Lead!” Sara cried out. “Prepare to move out! We’re closer to the rebel army than we thought! If we make it there by evening, we can ride back under the cover of night to avoid pursuit by griffons!”
Though Sara stood a good ways off, Mui crossed his arms and frowned, staring at the woman.
“That’s the third time you’ve interrupted my question with its answer. You’re doing it on purpose, aren’t you?”
As Sara turned to speak to Armorer’s Apprentice Blessya to receive reports of captured supplies, her voice floated into Mui and Evie’s ears with an impish, mocking air.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But you better get ready to ride.”
Mui scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning away. Evie watched the exchange for a moment longer.
Hurlish may have won the battle of relaxation while Sara is in camp, but she doesn’t have enough control out here. How best to rectify that?
Evie glanced around, humming thoughtfully. She found some inspiration when her eyes landed on a soldier bringing up a pair of bikes, one of which was the heavily-reinforced example reserved for Sara and her brutish armor.
She accepted the bicycle from the woman with a nod, moving it to the front of the nearly four hundred strong column. Thanks to their healing potions, only two members of the Powdered Lead had died, both struck in the head and killed instantly. An excellent showing that, nonetheless, Sara would be silently irate over.
She didn’t show it, of course. Her expression was bright and happy as she came up to Evie, nodding to the bike.
“Ready to go?”
“Yes.” Evie swung her legs over the seat, settling in.
Sara frowned at her. “You going to drive for the second half or something?”
“Yes.”
Her frown deepened. “That’s stupid. I’m wearing a couple hundred pounds of armor and you’re tiny. We’d look ridiculous with me dangling off the back.”
“You just announced that we will not only ride the rest of the day at an increased speed, we will also be riding some hours into the night. After likely having engaged in a second battle in a single day.” Evie knocked the kickstand away, lips pressed thin as she smiled at her wife. “If you want to insist that you exhaust yourself further, feel free. But I will also insist that I tell Hurlish you did so.”
Sara stared at her. For five seconds. Ten. Twenty.
And then she blew out an explosive sigh, shoulders slumping.
“Goddammit,” she grumbled, throwing her legs over the bike. “Should’ve at least had her make us a fucking tandem bike or something.” She settled a foot on the pegs, hands on Evie’s shoulders. She looked around at the Powdered Lead, ostensibly calm. Judging by the other night, Evie felt certain Sara would have been blushing furiously if not for her Blessings. “This looks fucking stupid. You know that, right?”
“As well as you know that I do not care.”
“Ugh.”
A sharp whistle blew. The first few rows of the bikes began to advance, Evie and Sara included. It took quite a bit of effort for Evie to get their overwhelming mass moving— nearly five hundred pounds in total— but she managed it without falling over. Things got considerably easy as she accelerated.
Suddenly, responding to something Evie couldn’t hear, Sara muttered under her breath.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Mui.”
Evie smirked.
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