Additional mounted scouts were sent out in all directions. The city could ill afford to spare them from its battle forces, but it would need all the warning time it could get if any other enemy army came marching toward the city from an unexpected route.
When word came down the road that the Wikosans were coming, and with the predicted six decires, the Asterans and the cavalry set out. Benton looked up at the walls as they rode away, seeing many young women waving to his soldiers, and they waving back. “Just like old times,” Sergeant Tyndall commented. “Remember riding off in 1861?”
“Yes, sergeant, I do. We were going to have the rebellion crushed before the year was out. That’s what they said, anyway.”
“Things don’t always work out like we plan.” Tyndall looked over to where the Asteran column was marching, accompanied by the small Asteran mounted force. The saddles of the Asteran riders now had stirrups, but otherwise they were still equipped just as the Wikosans would be. It had been bittersweet as well as amusing for Benton to see that the Asterans had carefully copied the cavalry stirrups right down to the “U.S.” embossed on the leather.
“Are you all right?” Benton asked Tyndall, knowing that Belisa was with that mounted force.
“I think so, cap’n. But when we parted, Belisa said she hoped I’d come home with an enemy’s head tied to my saddle. Do you think she meant that?”
He hadn’t seen any signs of such primitive, bloodthirsty behavior among the Asterans. “It sounds like a traditional thing to say to someone going off to fight. Something from their ancient past that isn’t meant literally anymore.”
The sergeant nodded, his brow furrowed in thought. “I expect you’re right, sir. Or, at least I hope you’re right. I do like Belisa, cap’n, but there’s some things I draw the line at doing even when a woman asks me.”
Scouts searching with extreme care well off to either side of the road had confirmed the suspicions of the Asterans and the cavalry. There were mounted forces moving on both the north and the south sides of the road, far enough away to be unseen by anyone watching the Wikosan infantry march up the road itself. Wikosan scouts coming down the road had sighted the advancing Asteran infantry and raced back to tell their commanders.
Benton led his cavalry overland, moving as quietly as possible, using any cover available, traveling far enough to the south to outflank the Wikosan mounted force planning to outflank the Asterans on the road. Much farther to the north, Odwan Freya was leading a force of Asteran infantry and the small Asteran mounted force to outflank the Wikosans on the north side.
The Wikosans appeared to have at least six hundred mounted fighters, against the combined numbers of a US Cavalry and Asteran mounted force of less than one hundred fifty. Little wonder the Wikosans advanced with too much confidence and too little care, trusting in their deception and their strong superiority in numbers.
The final approach to the battlefield was in the predawn dimness, the cavalry column moving silently through prairie grass dry and brown from the winter. The wagons had been left behind in the city, unneeded for such a short period in the field, and too likely to be spotted by the enemy. As the sun rose, Captain Benton led his company through small, unnamed courses and creek beds south of Dry Creek. “Lieutenant Garret.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re leading our horses to conserve their strength. Did your professors teach you the other reason for walking horses rather than riding them?”
“No, sir.”
Benton pointed upward. “A man on a horse has a much higher silhouette than a man and a horse walking. A man riding a horse can be seen by a man on the ground much farther than they can see that man.”
Reaching their objective, Benton halted the column and pulled out his field glasses, then handed his horse’s reins to the bugler and hiked up the side of the gulley they were in to look north, keeping low as he reached the top. He gazed through the field glasses, slowly traversing the landscape, but from here couldn’t see the main Wikosan force coming up the road, or the Asterans coming up to meet them. There was no sign of the left or right hook of the Wikosans, either, or of Freya’s force farther north. “Lieutenant Garret, go back west along this gulley and see if you can spot any of the moving forces. Sergeant Tyndall, get our own scouts out to the north and see what they can find.”
Benton lowered his field glasses, unhappy at his inability to communicate with the other parts of the Asteran force but knowing there was nothing he could do about it. The people of this world knew all about using mirrors to flash simple messages quickly over long distances. Indeed, the ruined imperial guard towers they’d seen had done that as part of their mission. But attempting to flash messages between the different parts of the Asteran force now would only betray their presence to any Wikosans moving in the same line of sight.
As the sun climbed in the sky it beat down into the gulley, the air growing warm despite the season. Down here, the almost ever-present Kansas wind couldn’t penetrate well, so the cavalry sat and literally sweated out the wait, most of the cavalrymen grabbing a nap with the practiced efficiency of veterans.
Lieutenant Garret finally came back, moving bent over to keep from being seen by any Wikosan looking this way, and knelt beside Benton. “Captain, the Asterans are coming up the road just as planned. They and the Wikosans on the road are in sight of each other and both sides are spreading out on either side of the road for a fight.”
Several minutes later three of Benton’s scouts scuttled out of the grass and slid into the gulley. “Sir, them Wickies are there in Dry Creek, all right. About five hundred yards north of here. All cavalry, near as we could tell,” Corporal Stein reported. “About three company’s worth of them, I figure.”
Roughly three hundred, then. “Do they have any scouts out on this side?”
“No, sir. Not a one. And all of them are looking north toward the road. I reckon we could’ve walked up and carried off a couple of them and the rest wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Show me where they are.” The scouts pointed, Benton studying the area carefully through his field glasses and now spotting a few plumes among trees growing in the creek bed. Some careless Wikosans were wearing helmets that stood up high enough to see. “Is there anything for the horses to worry about between us and them?”
Corporal Stein pointed east. “A little prairie dog town over that way, captain. That’s it.”
“Good job. Lieutenant Garret, let’s get the company lined up.”
They’d learned all about this from the plains tribes. How to sneak up on an enemy, ensuring surprise, the importance of scouting the terrain carefully, and then an overwhelming attack before those being assaulted had time to gather their wits.
Moving with care to avoid making noise, the company formed into one line facing toward the enemy, each cavalryman holding his horse and ready to mount, about one yard between the men and horses as they stood abreast. “Pass the word down the line,” Benton ordered. “The men are to use their pistols. They are to fire a volley just before contact with the enemy, and only after emptying their pistols are they to draw sabers and fight with blades.”
Sergeant Tyndall passed the word, then grinned at Benton. “Good thing you got the company some of them new Smith and Wesson revolvers, cap’n.”
Good thing, indeed, given the odds facing them. The .44 caliber Smith and Wessons that the Army had bought this year could fire six shots almost as fast as a trooper could pull the trigger, whereas the old Model 1860 Colt cap and ball pistols had taken a while to fire each shot and a long time to reload.
Then they could only wait. Benton kept looking north, but his thoughts were often not on the Wikosans, but on the Asteran force to the north commanded by Odwan Freya.
“They’ll be fine, cap’n,” Sergeant Tyndall startled him by saying in a low voice. “Belisa says that Odwan is one tough fighter.”
“Thanks,” Benton muttered, embarrassed that Tyndall had read his feelings.
A moment later, the sounds of horns floated over the prairie. “Those are ours, cap’n,” Tyndall confirmed. “Asteran, I mean. They’re ordering the infantry on the road to advance.”
The feint attack was going in. “Pass the word for the men to prepare to mount,” Benton ordered.
Tyndall took a long drink from his canteen, then spat to one side. “Faking a retreat is hard to do right, cap’n. You think that Agani and Costoni can do it?”
“They’ve got the best troops the Asterans can muster as well as the worst, and the best ones are supposed to form a shield wall in the rear to keep the weaker ones from really running.” That was how it was supposed to work, anyway.
More Asteran horns, Tyndall listening carefully. “That’s the order to attack, cap’n.”
“Mount up.”
All along the line, cavalrymen swung into their saddles, one hand grasping their bridles and the other drawing and cocking their pistols.
“Uncase the colors.”
The flag of the United States of America and the guidon of the 5th Cavalry regiment came free of their canvas tubes, unfurling in the breeze.
The sounds of the horns were confused now. Decires Agani and Costoni had command of the force on the road, which was even weaker than it appeared since half of it was made up of the sort of older, younger or inexperienced fighters whom Freya had characterized as only good enough to defend the walls. Those soldiers would be falling back now as the Wikosans advanced, the enemy no doubt thrilled at how easily the Asteran attack seemed to be crumbling.
Benton raised one hand. “Company B, advance at a walk!” His hand came down and the cavalry surged into a walk, moving as one, the line of men and horses coming up from the gully and heading toward the still-hidden mounted force of Wikosans. Dressing their line to keep it as straight as possible, the company advanced.
This was the hard part for any cavalry force, to wait to commence the charge until they were the right distance from the enemy. Charge too early, and the horses would be spent when they made contact. Charge too late, and they might not have enough speed up.
The metal-on-metal clanging din of battle on the road could be heard now as well as the calls of horns, and Benton saw the Wikosan mounted force, still screened from the road but every man in their own saddles now, every head turned north toward the fight.
Three hundred yards, the cavalry moving steadily through the high prairie grass, silent but for the rattle of harness and the crackling of the dry grass being shoved aside by the horses. Two hundred yards, the Wikosans milling about, plainly eager to go but waiting for some signal.
“Bugler,” Benton ordered. “Sound the trot.”
As the notes of the bugle rose over the prairie, the line of cavalry kicked their horses into a trot.
The enemy horsemen looked back as the sounds of the bugle finally rose over the racket of the nearby battle and the noise of the Wikosans’ own horses and gear. Their mouths gaped open in shock, then Benton heard them shouting warnings to each other.
One hundred and fifty yards. “Bugler, sound the gallop.”
This time the bugle call was more insistent, and at the demand of their riders the cavalry horses leaped forward, the straight line maintaining its order even as the horses raced faster toward the enemy. Benton gripped his pistol harder, the wind whipping at his face.
The Wikosans were turning their horses and colliding with each other as the enemy force struggled to reorient toward the new threat.
Roughly fifty yards. “Bugler, sound the charge!” Benton shouted over the thunder of one hundred horses galloping to the attack. The bugle sang urgently and continuously, its notes ringing over the battlefield, and now the cavalrymen roared as they kicked their horses into an all-out assault, the flags flying open behind the color bearers as Company B hit the enemy with the mass and momentum only a cavalry charge could create.
Benton leveled his pistol at a Wikosan who seemed to be shouting orders, firing a few feet short of contact with the enemy, other pistols going off all along the line as the rest of the troopers fired. The Wikosans, already wavering, broke frantically toward the road, all thought of attacking fled as the cavalry herded them north, firing and shouting, the Wikosan horses panicking at the noise again and throwing many of those riders who weren’t being felled by the .44 caliber bullets from the revolvers which punched easily through the armor of the Wikosans.
He could see the road now, the Asteran force holding a blocking position along the road to the west while the Wikosan infantry pressed forward against it. But the sound of the gunshots from the cavalry had already alerted the Wikosans on the road to their peril, and Benton saw them beginning to fall back. He shot another Wikosan at point blank range, the impact of the shot knocking the enemy out of the saddle, then took two more shots to drop a Wikosan with a lance. His next bullet went into a dismounted Wikosan who was staggering around waving a axe.
The cavalry was near the road now, herding the surviving Wikosan horsemen toward their infantry, the horns of the Asterans on the road sounding as their holding action turned into a slow, steady advance. The Asteran line thinned, extending outward to either side to curl around the edges of the Wikosan infantry formation as the Wikosans fell back.
From the north, more Wikosans came, riding frantically, then hauling in their reins as they saw the cavalry charging up from the south, pistol shots still crashing over the lesser sounds of swords on shields or armor. The small Asteran mounted force appeared just north of the road beyond the Wikosans there, the blue banner spangled with stars identifying them clearly as they blocked the road, then Asteran infantry came into view to the north, advancing quickly in line, shields locked, pressing the northern hook into the Wikosan infantry on the road where the fleeing remnants of the southern hook were already stampeding into their own infantry.
Benton wheeled his formation, forcing the Wikosans ahead of him to crash into the Wikosan infantry as they tried to escape. The enemy mounted force which had formed the northern hook was mostly intact since it had been able to outrun the Asteran infantry, but it was also forced into its own infantry as it tried to flee and the Wikosan force was pressed on all sides. The cavalry wheeled again and Asteran infantry pushed forward and around, the forces on the road moving to link up with the northern advance as it reached the road behind the Wikosans. The Asteran mounted soldiers charged into a band of fleeing Wikosan mounted men who seemed about to escape, driving those Wikosans back upon their infantry as well.
A line of Wikosan infantry headed for the last open escape path, moving southeast with their shields joined to form a solid defense.
Benton slowed his horse, turning to shout at the thirty or so cavalrymen closest to him. “Carbines!” The cavalrymen checked their mounts, drawing their carbines and aiming at the escaping Wikosans. Shooting from the saddle was notoriously inaccurate, but the wall of Wikosans was almost impossible to miss. “Fire!” A ragged volley erupted from the carbines, and several of the Wikosans in the front rank were punched backwards by hits. The rest of the escaping Wikosans hesitated, stumbling to a halt.
Sergeant Tyndall led another group of cavalry close to the Wikosans, reining in their horses only twenty feet from the infantry and firing their carbines in a devastating salvo.
The Wikosan infantry broke, running back towards their comrades, smashing into other Wikosans who had tried to follow them out of the trap.
The southern flank of the Asteran infantry under Agani and Costoni made contact with the southern edge of the Asteran infantry which had come from the north, closing the net and completely encircling the Wikosans.
The Wikosans on each side of the formation tried to force their way to the other side to escape, only to discover an unbroken line of Asterans on all sides. The enemy army turned into a mob as panic set in and the vengeful Asterans locked shields and pressed in harder, an unyielding wall of armor and weapons ringing in the Wikosans who were increasingly packed too tightly to fight well and were no longer
offering any effective resistance.
“Bugler, sound assembly.” Benton’s mount was exhausted, almost staggering as he reined the horse to a walk. This was the infantry’s battle now. The surviving Wikosan mounted forces were trapped in the heaving mass of foot soldiers, their horses lashing out at their own side in panic.
He looked down at the saber in his hand. He couldn’t clearly remember holstering his empty pistol and drawing the saber, but the blade had a slick of blood on the edge where he had struck a Wikosan.
Lieutenant Garret rode up, his face pale but his eyes still lit from the excitement of battle. “Two dead, six wounded, sir. Four horses down.”
“Thank you, lieutenant.” Benton, trying to keep his hands from trembling, carefully wiped his saber blade and returned the weapon to its scabbard. “Who are the dead?”
“Private Murphy and Private Frost, sir.”
“Damn. Sergeant Tyndall, check on the wounded, let me know how serious their injuries are, and make sure the Asteran surgeons know we have wounded who need treating.”
Tyndall saluted and rushed off at the best pace his winded horse could manage.
Lieutenant Garret stared toward where the Asteran infantry was still crushing the helpless rabble which had been the Wikosan army. “As close to another Cannae as matters, captain.”
“Yes, lieutenant. Congratulations on your first battle. You handled yourself well.” Benton sighed, looking back at the fight before kicking his reluctant horse into motion again. “The Wikosans don’t stand a chance now, but they keep trying to fight. The Asterans don’t need us to assist in the slaughter. Let’s see to our dead.”