The Archer's Marines: The First Marines - Medieval fiction action story about Marines, naval warfare, and knights after King Richard's crusade in Syria, ... times (The Company of Archers Book 5) (15 page)

       “Aye, that’s probably best.  But be sure to move the men you free to other galleys.”

       “Of course; I’m not daft am I?”

       “Only when it comes to women and the best ale to drink,” is Henry’s teasing response.

       We might have stood there and bantered for a while except that all around us the men who have been resting suddenly begin standing up and pointing and talking loudly – the landward city gate is open and an army is coming out.

       “Best you run back to your galley while there’s still time.”

                                         Chapter Fourteen

       Our camp of shade tents is organized into a square next to the galley we are moving along the little stream.  That way the companies in each of our four battle groups faces in a different direction with our supplies and non-fighting auxiliaries in the middle of the square.  It makes us instantly ready for battle. 
Thomas says that’s what the old Romans did. It makes sense, yes it does.

       Henry and I immediately climb the wooden ladders that let us see over the tops of our men’s tents and heads.  There are three ladders and a squad of auxiliaries makes sure they follow the square wherever it goes.

       What we see is rather encouraging.  The Byzantines are led out into the hot and sunny open area between us and the city walls by four or five hundred horsemen, undoubtedly their knights and mounted men at arms.  Behind them comes thousands and thousands of men walking in what appears to be a disorganized mass.  And off to the side are a smaller mounted party clustered next to a brightly colored tent that goes up as we watch – the local gentry have come out to watch their army massacre the little band of foolish invaders.

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       Once again a small group of horsemen moves forward. 

       “They want to talk,” Henry offers unnecessarily. 

       “That’s fine.  I’m willing to talk, not that I think it will do any good.  Wait here.  I’ll be right back.” 

       And with that I climb down from my ladder and walk through ranks of the battle group facing the growing mass of Byzantines in the distance.  My little group of guards trots along behind me.

       Peter’s battle group faces the growing horde of Byzantines and he’s standing immediately in front of his men waiting for me.

       “Are we ready?”  I ask him.  I already know the answer because I’ve just been looking down at his men and walked through them.  But I want to give him a chance to say something for his men.

       “Oh I should think so.  We’ve got way more than enough arrows and pikes to take care of that lot.”

       “That’s what it looks like to me too.  They remind me of a herd of sheep walking towards a pack of wolves
.”  It’s a good description to spread through the ranks and I’m sure it will.

        Then I walk about thirty paces in front of our men and stop with my guards in a half moon immediately behind me.  I’m wearing my chain mail under my white linen gown and there are seven black stripes on its front and back.  The sergeant of my guards has three stripes, his chosen man two, and the each of the others have one – they’re all Marines and very good at killing our enemies wherever they find them.

       “I suspect they’ll be a bit treachery to put some fear into us,” I say to my guards softly under my breath. “But don’t push an arrow at anyone unless he pulls his sword; kill anyone who does.” 

      
The Greeks are famous for their treachery, aren’t they?  At that least that’s what the church says. And it must be true since they’re constantly killing their leaders and replacing them.

      
“That’s far enough,” I say in French as I hold up my hand.  There are six of them this time including the one from yesterday who speaks French.  This time several of them actually look like they might be serious fighting men instead of courtiers wearing huge turbans to prove they are important.  One of them has a particularly intense look on his face and is holding his unsheathed sword next to his horse’s neck.

       “Are you here to bring me my men and coins or are you here to die?” I inquire in French with a sweet tone to my voice. 
To die for sure.

       Before the man can answer I turn to my guards and in a conversational tone give an order in English to the sergeant and his chosen man. “Willy, Rufe … point a shaft at the man on the left with his sword in his hand.  Push one at him quickly if he starts to use it.  You too Robert.  The rest of you watch the others - but only launch at those who actually raise blades to attack us.”

     “The emperor commands you to leave immediately.  If you do not we will slaughter you all without mercy.”

       “How strange.  That is exactly the message I have for you.  Take your army back inside the city before it is too late for you.  But I do have a question if I might.”

       “A question?”

       “Yes, a question.  Is it true what everyone says, that the big funny looking turbans that you wear are used to identify the nobles who are too cowardly to fight?” 
I’m provoking them aren’t I?  I hope so.

      
The translation of my insult gets an immediate response from the arrogant young man holding the sword.  He digs his heels into his horse and starts to raise it.  His effort is only partially successful - the horse comes at me and he doesn’t; he’s knocked backwards off the horse by three arrows that go through his chain mail and into his chest up to their fletchings.

         “Nice horse,” I say as I grab its bridle.  “I’ll keep it as a remembrance.”  Then I turn around and walk back to our square leading my new horse
. I’ve never had a horse of my own before.  It’s all black.

      
My visitors haul their horses around and gallop back to the tent by the distant wall. 
I wonder if the emperor and his courtiers are there to watch.  I hope so.

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       My new horse is being hobbled and I am back on my ladder talking to Henry when the Byzantine army finally starts moving forward.  It looks like a mob of looters led by a bunch of men on horses.  They’re a couple of miles away and are coming straight at us.  There’s not much chance that mob is going to be able to change direction and hit us in the flanks or from behind. 

       Most of our men are still under the tents but ready to instantly move out of them and into the hot sunlight. 

       “Battle Groups Straighten Line with Flank Protection Three,” Henry says to the sergeant who has climbed to the very top of the third ladder – who promptly repeats the order in each direction with the clearest and loudest voice I’ve ever heard.

       “Good isn’t he,” Henry asks me with a smile as he nods towards the sergeant with the very big voice.  We can hear the order being repeated by the sergeants all around us.  Within moments our square begins spreading out into one long battle line with pike men in the first three ranks, archers in the next five ranks, and two or three water carriers and other auxiliaries behind them – and their auxiliaries scurry to move the tents to once again shade them.

      
Our Marine archers could all launch their arrows from our square but this is the formation that will give our archers the best look at the approaching army and thus the most accuracy.  It’s little wonder our companies of Marines and pike men move into it so smoothly - Henry and his sergeants have them practice walking back and forth from battle squares to battle lines as part of every training day.

       “String bows.  Stand by with longs,”

       “Pike men set butts.  Pike men kneel.”

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       It takes the straggling mob that passes for the Byzantine army the better part of half an hour to begin to reach positions and stop about two hundred yards in front of our front line.  Even those in the rear of the mob are well within range although they probably don’t know it.  Their horsemen are grouped in the center.  There look to be about five hundred horse and as many as twenty thousand men on foot.

       “Flank Protection Two; first line switch to heavies… Flank Protection Two; first line switch to heavies.” 

       “Good call, Henry.  What do you think?  Should we keep waiting?” 
What we are doing is waiting until they start to surge forward.  That’s when their commanders will lose control and be unable to order a retreat.

      
Henry doesn’t have a chance to answer.  Suddenly all the flags around the horsemen are dipped and the Byzantines begin to move forward with a great cheers and shouts.  The horsemen begin trotting towards us and then break into a gallop with the men walking in a great huge mass behind them.  The feet of the horses and the walking men are kicking up clouds of dust.

        “Shoot.  Rapid fire.  Shoot.  Rapid Fire.”

       The sky is suddenly filled with a continuous cloud of arrows – and they’re all coming down on the poor sods running and riding towards us.  Horses fall and the mob is like a baited animal that suddenly begins writhing and trembling as darts pour into it from all sides.

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       All around me I hear the grunting as archers push out their heavy bows to give the shots more power and distance.  The unarmored men running in the cloud of dust behind the sword waving horsemen begin to slow down and turn around as more and more of them go down; what’s left of the horsemen, however, keep coming.  They’ve broken into a gallop and are waving their swords over their heads as they close on us.  Their infantry are further and further behind them.

       For the first time arrows are beginning to fall in our ranks and our men are beginning to go down.  Some of the Byzantine archers are obviously still functioning in the mob of men milling around in the huge cloud of dust in front us; they are now close enough for their short bows to become effective.  It’s hard to pick the archers out because there is a great huge dust cloud in front of us and it’s getting bigger and bigger and slowly drifting towards us.

       One of my guards hands a ship’s shield up to me and I instinctively raise it just in time for an arrow to slam into it.  Henry already has a shield.  That’s when I realize that standing on the ladders so we can see is also making us a target for the Byzantine archers in the huge cloud of dust rising in front of us.

       “Raise your pikes.”  …. “Raise your pikes.” I hear Henry boom out through his talker as the arrow thuds into my shield.

       A few seconds later what’s left of the Byzantine horsemen begin to reach us and crash into our lines. 
We should have put out stakes and caltrops.  That’s what I’m thinking as I watch the first of the galloping horses crash into our front lines and impale themselves on our pikes
.

       Some of the horsemen see the pikes held by our kneeling pike men come up in time to turn aside but most don’t.  And in their final moments of life they cause us serious damage and confusion - because so many of them fly off their impaled and suddenly stopped horses and into our ranks.  For a brief moment there is a lull in the volume of arrows we are delivering.  But it quickly ends as the Marines who are knocked down by the unhorsed riders tumbling into our ranks pick themselves up and resume shooting.

      I don’t see it happen.  One of the unhorsed riders tumbles through the ranks of our men and knocks my ladder over.  I come down hard on top of the fallen ladder and for a few seconds all I know is that I’m on the ground. 

       Numerous hands pull me to my feet and help steady me as I climb the first few steps of Henry’s ladder.  The ladder with the loud sergeant is also on the ground or I’d have taken that one.

       What I see is alarming.  Some of the Byzantine horsemen are riding off but those that smashed into our pike men have caused gaps and disruptions in our lines.  Various things happen simultaneously as I watch – our sergeants and the men themselves are scrambling to their feet and closing ranks to fill the gaps; our delivery of arrows diminishes as some of the Marines begin to run out and the sergeants stop shooting while they push the pike men into place to fill the line; and the dust cloud full of the Byzantine foot reaches our lines and begins going past us on both the left and the right.

       A few of the Byzantine foot reaching our lines are looking to fight.  Most, however, appear to be stunned and confused by incredible noise and surprised to find themselves face to face with our men in the dust - I can see many them trying to back away when they realize they’ve reached our lines.  And those who still want to fight are being hampered by having to get around the dead and struggling horses all along our front in order to reach our front line.

       Those of the Byzantine foot who are still willing to fight are also being hampered by being totally hot and exhausted as a result of their long walk in the hot sun.  Our men, by contrast, are well watered and spent most of the day waiting in the shade.

       Most of the overheated and exhausted Byzantine foot appear to be barely trained and poorly armed militia.  Our pike men, on the other hand, may not have qualified as archers yet to become Marines but every one of them spends part of each day practicing with a sword and shield.  And right behind them are the best archers in the world who, in self-defense, are lowering their aims to take out the Byzantine foot immediately in front of them.