The Devil's Regiment (9 page)

“Get on your feet Callum, we've got work to do.” The lieutenant said tersely.

Callum scrambled to his feet, parrying a hasty bayonet thrust, and kicking the redcoat in the belly. Behind him, Perkins lanced his rifle forward, his bayonet pushing deep into the redcoat’s heart. Callum nodded his thanks, and turned back to the work at hand.

Inch by precious inch, they drove the redcoats back. With their outdated weaponry, and in the tight confines of the corridor, the enemy troops had nowhere to go other than the demolished front of the fortress, where their leader waited.

Callum's sabre worked double time as he slashed at the defenders, cutting at eyes, hands, any piece of exposed flesh he could see. Blood whipped from the tip of his sabre as it danced across an enemy’s chest, forcing the redcoat back with a silent scream of agony. He brought his revolver up, and emptied the cylinder into the packed redcoats, before throwing the gun in their faces.

“That's army property!” Carlisle said, a manic grin on his face as he thrust his blade into the chest of an enemy, recovering just in time to parry a strike from another opponent.

“Send the guild the bill!” Callum laughed. The adrenaline was coursing through his system, pushing him to new limits. He smashed the hilt of his sabre into the face of an enemy, then lashed a cut downwards into the man's neck, slicing the jugular. 

“Get down!” Ward yelled. 

They dropped, as Ward and the remainder of the British soldiers  levelled their rifles. The gunfire was like thunder in the enclosed space, the .45 calibre bullets tearing through the redcoats. 

Something shook in the faces of the redcoats, something that overrode the control the demonic Sergeant was exerting over them. As a group, they broke, and ran. Callum sprinted after them, his sabre held low.

“We can't let them get away!” he yelled over his shoulder.

He tore into the courtyard, and dodged to the side as a volley of musket fire greeted him.

The Sergeant had desperately marshalled his defences, but in trying to stop Callum, his troops had wasted their volley, and the British soldiers burst from the entrance of the keep like vengeance incarnate. The soldiers, led by Sergeant Ward and Lieutenant Carlisle, rushed towards the redcoats, their bayonets held low, then rising sharply to plunge into their enemies.

The redcoats were in disarray, their attack foiled by the mad charge of the defenders. The British soldiers slashed, stabbed, and shot their way through the reanimated ranks.

Corporal Dunwit spun, and found himself face to face with the resurrected Harry Cavill. He paused for a moment as his friend advanced towards him, his face cold above the stiff neck of the redcoat uniform. Cavill thrust the musket towards his former friend, the bayonet gleaming in the sunlight.

Dunwit knocked the bayonet aside with the stock of his rifle, twisted the weapon, and drove his own blade into Cavill's chest. He stood silently as a faint look of thanks crossed Cavill's face and he dropped to the floor, and lay still.

A bayonet thrust took him under the left arm, driving upwards towards his heart. Dunwit collapsed and lay on the dusty floor next to Cavill.

***

Callum's eyes scanned the crowd as he fought, searching for the Sergeant. His vision settled on the enemy commander, and he pushed his way through the melee.

The Sergeant saw him coming, and drew the wickedly serrated sword as he came.

“Mongrel.” he said, contempt filling his voice. It was a surprisingly urbane voice, in sharp contract with the harsh fixtures and wild eyes of the Sergeant. There was madness in those eyes, the madness born of blind hatred. As Callum advanced, his blade held low, the features seemed to flicker like an image on water, revealing a hint of scales and insect-like mandibles beneath.

“”What are you?” Callum asked.

“Something pure. Something deserving of this world – and as soon as I have the stone, I and my children shall feed on all of mankind.”

The serrated blade lashed up, and Callum's sabre leapt to meet it.

***

Nathaniel's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Elizabeth. Her long black hair was tied back as she dug in his wounded shoulder with a knife, looking for any traces of the bullet the redcoats had shot him with.

“It's... not working...” he whispered.

“What isn't?” she said, not looking up from her grisly work.

“The Sergeant – need to... both hearts... Chitin.”

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing, but he'd already lapsed back into unconsciousness. She got slowly to her feet, lifted her carbine, and headed for the door

***

The combatants moved back and forth amid the battle, their blades dancing in the air before them. Callum thrust and parried, slashed and blocked as he looked for a gap in the Sergeant's defence. There was something about the Sergeant's eyes that unsettled him, some hint of insect-like hatred. It made him feel small, like a bug waiting to be crushed under the heel of an elephant.

He blocked a wild cut, and lashed a riposte at the Sergeant's stomach, trying to slice open the creature's belly. The Sergeant grabbed his arm, and wrenched, twisting the limb back on itself. Callum grunted in pain as his fingers began to loosen on the hilt of the sabre. The Sergeant increased the pressure, and the sword dropped to the floor with a steely clatter.

The demonic Sergeant smiled, a hint of fang and mandible flickering behind his face, and raised the sword.

Whatever the Sergeant had prepared for though, he was not prepared for five-foot-ten-inches of angry Welshman barrelling into him.

Sergeant Ward hit the redcoat leader at a dead run, lowering his shoulder and slamming into the demon, knocking it off balance. He lifted his rifle, the bayonet at the end dripping blood, as the Sergeant raised himself to his full height.

“How sweet, a little human defending it's friend.”

Ward stood his ground, and levelled the rifle.

“That's Sergeant to you, you little bastard.”

He charged, jabbing with the bayonet, forcing the demonic officer to parry.

“You come in here...”

He flicked the blade upwards, opening a cut on his enemy’s face. The Sergeant growled, and stepped backwards.

“You kill my lads...”

Ward ducked under a swing of the serrated sword, and slammed the stock of his gun into the Sergeant's belly, drawing a pained grunt.

“And you do it while wearing a sergeant's stripes! I can't be having that, boyo!” 

Ward dropped low, swinging the bayoneted rifle up in a lethal arc, the blade plunging towards the creature's chest.

The Sergeant backhanded Ward across the face as Elizabeth ran across the battlefield towards Callum.

“Callum, Nathaniel says it's a Chitin. It's a mimicker that has two hearts, one on either side.” she said, sliding to a stop by his side. She lifted her carbine and fired at one of the redcoats, shooting him between the eyes. “It's spell spreads a poison – if you don't kill both it's hearts, anyone wounded today will die, slowly.”

“Well, that makes things simple.”

He got back to his feet, and picked up the sabre in his left hand, he walked painfully to where Ward was fighting the devilish Sergeant. The Welshman was starting to fare badly, fending off massive blows from the serrated sword with the chipped and battered body of his rifle. Callum moved up behind the Sergeant, and kicked the back of his knee as hard as he could.

The demon roared, and turned to face him.

“You didn't think I'd finished with you, did you?”

The Sergeant swung his sword in a massive overhead arc, his rage blinding him to his peril. Callum parried the blow plumb on the sabre's blade, and flicked his right wrist.

The silver sword sprung to life in his hand. He drew it back, and plunged it into the left side of the demonic Sergeant's chest.

“Ward!” He yelled.

The Welsh soldier acted on instinct at Callum's yell, and drove his bayonet into the other side of the Sergeant's chest. The demon stiffened, his eyes going wide with shock. Then, his face seemed to melt, running from the flesh like water to reveal multi-faceted, insect-like eyes, and a wide, fanged jaw. Black hair bristled from the creatures flesh as it's hands transformed into claws. With it's spell of concealment banished Callum saw that the serrated blade wasn't a sword, but a stinger attached to the creatures arm.

It roared at the sky, then toppled backwards to lie still in the dust. Across the field of battle, the redcoats began to collapse, their reanimated forms no longer held by the magic that sustained them.

On the hills above the fort, a horn sounded. Callum looked up, and saw cavalry marching into view, their numbers lining up across the skyline. He glanced at Ward.

“Looks like reinforcements are here.”

“And too bloody late to be of any use. Fucking typical if you ask me.”

Callum grinned and reached over. The welsh man shook his proffered hand, a broad grin on his face. Carlisle joined them, his own sabre bloody and dented.

“Well, shall we go to meet them lads?” he asked.

Callum sat on the dusty ground.

“Sod that Roger.” He said mildly. “They can come to us.”

Ward and Carlisle sat next to him as the reinforcements began to ride towards the fort.

***

“I have to say, Mr Drake, you seem to have made an awful mess of my fort.” Major Thomas said lightly as he dismounted from his horse and walked towards them. The twenty survivors of the siege got to their feet, and stood wearily to attention. Thomas surveyed them thoughtfully.

“At ease, gentlemen. I can see you've had a difficult time of it. Is Mr Wittington-Smythe around?”

“Wounded, Sir.” Carlisle said. Thomas nodded.

“I've bought surgeons. We'll attend to him immediately.” He glanced down at the hideous body of the Chitin that lay steaming in the cooling afternoon air. “Ugly bugger, isn't he?”

“Powerful, though.” Callum said.

“That's the way of it sometimes.”

“If you don't mind me asking, sir, how did you get here so quickly?” Carlisle asked.

“What do you mean?”

“We only sent the other men to get you two days ago. It's at least a week's travel to Bombay and back.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“We had a messenger from Mr Drake's organisation. Young girl, dressed in white.”

Callum and Elizabeth shared a glance. Thomas caught their look.

“I take it she wasn't entirely what she seemed?”

“Far from it, Major.” Elizabeth said. “But it's probably best not to probe too deeply into that.”

Thomas looked like he was going to question her further for a moment, then shrugged.

“You're probably right about that, Miss Cartwright.”

He gave them all a broad smile.

“You know, I haven’t been out in the field in years, and when I finally get here, you've finished already. Terribly rude of you. I suppose we'll just have to get you back to Bombay. Captain Carlisle?”

Carlisle blinked in astonishment, then snapped to attention.

“Sir!”

“Form your men up. I've got a feeling they can't wait to leave this damned place.”

“Yes sir!”

“What will you do with the fort?” Callum asked as Ward and Carlisle moved off to give their orders.

“I'm going to have it demolished, Mr Drake. Too many bad rumours associated with it. Bad for morale. This won't happen again.”

Elizabeth nodded her approval.

“Make sure you seal it up well Major. Just to be on the safe side.”

***

Clarence tapped his fingers on the round table, his eyes flicking from one agent to the other. Nathaniel, his arm in a sling, stared back, his irritation showing clearly on his face.

“Did you know there was a void stone in that fort, Clarence?”

“We had our suspicions.” the guild's chief responded vaguely.

Far from cooling on the long trip from Bombay, Nathaniel's irritation had grown more towering by the day on the ship back – to the point where the usually respectful mage had stormed into the reception area of the Star Chamber and demanded to see Clarence instantly.

Clarence's eyes went to Callum's arm, and the black tattoo winding across his flesh.

“And you knew what would happen if I came into contact with it, didn't you?” the dragon-blood said.

“...We had our suspicions.”

Nathaniel slammed his hand down on the table.

“Well, next time Clarence, you can damned well tell us your suspicions before you send us into a situation.” He glared at the head of the Guild, his eyes filled with fire. “We agreed to join the Order. What we didn't agree to do was be your pawns. If you want us to do this job, from now on, I want full disclosure from you.”

Clarence raised an eyebrow, and shrugged his shoulders, sending a ripple through his portly frame.

“As you will. I certainly wouldn't want to lose you after such good work.” he smiled. “From now on, you shall be fully briefed. Now, I'm sure you have other places to be.”

He turned back to the pile of work before him, clearly ignoring them. The three agents shared a look, then headed for the door.

Outside in the corridor Callum smiled.

“I think that went about as well as could be expected.”

Nathaniel shrugged.

“I wanted him to know where we stand. I have no problem with doing missions for the Guild, but I refuse to be Clarence's catspaw.”

“I think he understands that.” Elizabeth added. “So, what now?”

Callum grinned, and threw his arms around their shoulders, ignoring the slight flinch from Nathaniel.

“For now, I say we go and have a drink. Its been a long few weeks.”

She laughed.

“I can live with that.”

***

After the door had clicked shut behind the three agents of the Order, Clarence counted to ten under his breath. Then, he leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe.

“Was that,” He said to the empty room, “what you intended?”

The girl in white smiled at him from the next seat, her eyes mischievous.

“It certainly doesn't go against my plans. Not too badly done, Clarence, not too badly done at all.”