CHAPTER 11 (Southern Continent)
Inside Fort, the defenders were as ready as they could be. It was a difficult night. Men cuddled their wives and girlfriends as if they would never let them go and watched their children sleep. Anne Howard sat on her bedroll; Cherry and Joseph snuggled in beside her. She wondered how her husband and eldest daughter were getting on and was making plans as to how to protect her two youngest when, not if, the convicts broke in.
The next day was a beautiful one. The sun rose above the horizon, bringing with it the promise of clear and sunny weather. It hadn’t rained for weeks and the rivers and streams were lower than when they had landed. Summer was almost over.
Parents began to lead their children into the large cave designated as their haven. A large sign was tacked above the entrance, with ‘Children and pregnant woman inside’, in large black letters. On purpose, no guards were stationed outside, thereby emphasising the inmates’ non-combatant status.
Anne Howard went with them. With the departure of the two Jays and the other teenage girls, Anne and another three mothers had been relieved of their positions on the barricades and sent into the cave. Camilla had decided it would be better to have more adults there in order to help keep the children calm and quiet. The four women selected were neither large nor strong. They would be of more use away from the fighting.
As Anne took five-year-old Gavin from his mother’s arms, she promised her that she would look after him as if he were her own flesh and blood. Lysbet Quirke stumbled away and Anne cuddled the little boy close. He did not understand the full import of what was happening and smiled at her trustingly, before squirming out of her arms to go and play with the other youngsters in the play corner.
Carla, a year mate of Jessica’s and daughter of Johannes Pederson, the other ship’s officer with Anne’s husband in the desert, moved closer. A tall, blonde girl, she was remarkably attractive, a true descendent of her northern European ancestry. Her mother Ulla was part of the team manning the western cliff face, determined to do her bit to protect them all. A crack shot, she was the only woman to be trusted with one of the scarce laser-rifles, the only rifle allocated to her part of the defences. They were needed more on the southern barricade where the main attack was expected.
The inhabitants of Fort realised that the main convict army had arrived during the hour before noon. Murdoch wanted his men in place as soon as possible. A grim-faced Camilla, standing at the southern barricade, sword in her belt, watched their approach. As the dust cloud drew closer the defenders were able to see that the army was split into organised phalanxes. A mile away from Fort, three blocks of men peeled away, marching to their attack positions at the base of the cliffs.
“They look well organised,” said Shelley. “Surprising.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Camilla. “Someone has taken charge and sorted them out. They’re certainly not an undisciplined rabble, whatever they might have been when we deserted them back at the ship.”
“We had no choice Camilla, you know that. No point feeling sorry for them now. At least we’ve had more time with those we love.”
Camilla did not answer her. Tears were close.
They were distracted from their inner contemplations by a call from one of the sentries.
“Some of them moving towards us.”
A bunch of five men were approaching. One carried a stout pole, on to which was attached a large piece of white cloth.
“They want a parley,” said Camilla. She strode towards the sentries. “Let them get a bit nearer,” she ordered, “not too near though, just within shouting distance.”
The five stopped of their own accord some fifteen metres from the barricade and Camilla took a deep breath as she showed herself above the top level.
“No further,” she shouted down.
Duchesne raised his arm in assent and stood waiting.
“Well?” Camilla prompted.
“I wish to speak with your commanding officer.”
“I am she,” Camilla shouted back.
He looked surprised at that. He had expected to see Captain Howard and he wondered what had happened to him. However, it didn’t really matter at the end of the day who was in command. “I bring a message from General Murdoch. I have his terms to offer you for surrender.”
“What are these terms?” asked Camilla in a loud voice.
“You will throw down your arms then you will make a breach in this barricade wide enough for two men to pass. All your men and boys over the age of fifteen will walk out towards us in single file, with their hands held high over their heads. I am also enjoined to inform you that your men will be free to go wherever they want as long as they remain at least fifty miles distant from this spot. As a prelude to their freedom, they will be taken downriver where they will be confined for a maximum of three days before being set free. All women and children must remain behind. That is all.”
“And quite enough too,” said Camilla under her breath. “Just as we expected as well; almost word for word. I don’t believe for a minute that they will allow the men to live either.”
There were assenting murmurs from those who could hear her.
“How do I know that you will stand by these terms?” Camilla countered.
“You have General Murdoch’s word of honour.”
There were a number of derisive laughs from the defenders. One of the ex-guards, who had spent many duty watches on Murdoch’s block back on the ship, sidled up to Camilla and whispered urgently in her ear.
“I know him. Head of Block A. A killer. You can’t trust him Commander.”
Turning towards Duchesne, she shouted down. “And the women and children?”
“We will care for them,” he answered. “They will come to no harm.”
Camilla snorted expressively as the faces of the defenders went flat at the words. Both sexes were well aware of what would happen to them if they were taken prisoner. As one, they opened their mouths. The word “NEVER” resounded throughout the hills. Those in the cave flinched as the echoes of that shout reverberated in their ears. The younger children began to whimper.
Anne Howard held the children clustered round her as tightly as she could manage. Some began to cry, their faces white in the dim light.
“So be it,” called back Duchesne as he walked away. The defenders watched as the five moved back down the hill.
“The die is cast,” said Camilla. She hefted her sword aloft in defiance. There was a great cheer of support from the defenders clustered around her.
The next hour passed slowly. The attacking force stood silently in the heat. Then those atop the barricades saw two large groups of men, numbering some five hundred each, being moved into position at the foot of the slope and in front of the groups already positioned.
“Make every shot count,” commanded Camilla to those with the laser-rifles.
Taylor and Unwin’s men began to march slowly and with some semblance of order up the incline. More ominously, from the defenders point of view, behind them marched the ordered massed ranks of another two groups, Mahler and Smith’s regiments had she but known it. They marched with parade-ground precision. Camilla’s eyes narrowed. These were the ones, the men to be feared.
A clever man, this so-called General Murdoch, she thought. He either knows or suspects that we have some laser-rifles. He’s going to use the ones in front as so much cannon fodder, to make us use the rifles until their power is exhausted. Not that we have any choice.
The laser-rifles fired, cutting swathes of death and destruction in the foremost ranks of men. Their advance slowed then came to a stop. The shocked men stood gazing at their dead comrades for about thirty seconds before the two hundred survivors about-turned and fled the battlefield, down the hill towards the regiments marching up. The defenders watched open-mouthed as the front ranks, instead of coming to a halt and letting these men through, drew their swords on a shouted command. They heard another order and the fleeing survivors simply disapp
eared as they were cut down and trampled over. Mahler and Smith’s men continued their resolute climb up the hill. The batteries of the laser-rifles were by now almost completely exhausted.
They did continue to fire spasmodically for another few minutes and did inflict casualties, but the laser-blasts were neither as long nor were they as powerful as at the start. The rifles began to stutter and then to die. The riflemen, not wanting them to fall into the convicts’ hands, smashed them to smithereens against the barricades and drew their knives and swords.
These convicts are well armed. Camilla watched as they drew closer. These are not wooden clubs and spears. Sunlight glinted on their weapons, testimony to the fact that they were made from metal torn from the Electra’s hull. The front ranks had makeshift shields as well.
The defenders had made their own weapons in much the same way, by cannibalising the vehicles to make swords, knives and spear-points. Some crewmembers had experimented with the hardwood that grew in abundance around them and a few had made bows and arrows although Camilla had little faith in their abilities to actually hit anybody. The two hundred guards smacked the stunner batons into the palms of their hands. They could be very effective if they got the chance to use them.
The attackers reached the thirty metre markers and arrows flashed by above her head. Surprisingly some even found their mark. Then it was twenty. The only sounds she could hear were the sergeants’ chants as they kept their men in line.
Camilla glanced at Shelley, standing white-faced by her side. The young woman looked at her steadfastly yet her expression reeked of hopelessness. Camilla leant towards her and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. There was no time for more.
There was another shouted command and Smith and Mahler’s men started their attack run. When they reached the barricades they began to scramble over. The defenders waited patiently, then, as the first heads appeared above the edge of the parapet, brought their weapons down. The heads disappeared but plenty more took their places. Squads of attackers began hacking away at the barricades at the bottom then, unaccountably, the convicts fell back.
The defenders could hear the moans of the dying at the bottom of the walls. They had not escaped unscathed themselves. Sixteen were dead and more were wounded. The youngsters on first aid duty ran to help. None of the more lightly injured could be persuaded to leave the barricades.
One of the youngsters, his face smeared with blood, looked at Camilla hysterically. “Have they gone,” he screamed. “Have we beaten them off?”
His face blanched as another roar sounded from outside. The noise began again. As Camilla leant over the top beam to send one attacker into eternity with a large dunt on the back of his head with her sword and watched him fall (unconscious or dead, she didn’t care which), her nose twitched.
“What is that smell?” she yelled over the tumult.
“Burning,” shouted a disembodied voice from somewhere. “They’ve set light to the barricades.”
If only we’d time to build them of stone. The smell was growing stronger with each breath she took. “Get water,” Camilla cried out, “pour it over the fires.”
But there was not enough water in the vats for so many fires and they were soon empty. She could tell that the attackers were feeding the fires too. A stench of oil was mixed in with the smell of burning wood. The smoke grew thicker and caught in everyone’s throats. The defenders began to cough, so did the convicts. She could hear spluttering and shouting as the attackers regrouped. The two front regiments formed up again in two ranks but this time they waited for the fires to do their work.
The barricade platform was becoming increasingly hot underfoot as the fires took hold. Then, one section erupted in flames ten feet high. Those atop this section scrambled to the comparative safety of the ground. Camilla stamped her foot. The beams shook slightly. This section didn’t appear to be as steady as it should be either. She called a warning to all within earshot as she jumped away from the crumbling structure. She was just in time. The foundations had been irrevocably weakened and a further six metres of the barricade disappeared in a cloud of smoke and hot ash.
This was what Mahler and Smith were waiting for. These two regiments had taken the brunt of the attack so far, if one discounted the sacrifice of Taylor and Unwin’s men, and were more than eager to make an end to the fight.
Baker’s regiment and two others formed up behind them. They would follow them in.
“Steady,” called Smith as one or two men started to edge forward ahead of the others, “and remember the orders. No damage to the women and children.”
He waved to Mahler who was red-faced with excitement and raring to go. With a yell, the colonel began to run towards the breach, his men following at his heels.
Camilla was dragging herself to her feet as he burst through the smoke and flames. As he bore down on her, she raised her sword in defence against the downswing. The blades met with a clang and Camilla felt the shock of the impact right down her arm. It felt numb. Mahler raised his sword for a second swing and then his eyes widened as he realised that his opponent was a woman. He hesitated for one fatal moment and Camilla took her chance. Death in her eyes, she swung her sword at his neck. The man’s head and body parted company. She stared mesmerised as the head bounced heavily to the ground. Then Mahler’s men surrounded her. One advanced towards her.
I’ve had a good life. Camilla tightened her grip on her sword. The man grinned, daring her to use it against him. She sensed other men closing in on her. If she did not try to break out at once they would seize her without too much trouble. She rushed at the approaching man, closing in on him before his comrades had a chance to react. The man raised his own weapon to counter her sword thrust and the blades met with a loud clash. As Camilla tried to force her sword towards him, the man stabbed at her with the wicked bladed knife held in his other hand, but he was hampered by the fact that she was a woman so was intending to wound rather than kill. He misjudged his thrust, or perhaps Camilla moved just that infinitesimal amount. The knife penetrated her side, slid through her rib cage and entered her lung. As her lifeblood pumped on to the sandy soil she dropped to her knees.
Although the man, dropping his sword in his haste, rushed to her side and began a vain attempt to stop the bleeding, she was dead within two minutes. Her killer’s comrades began to melt away, intending to disassociate themselves from this forbidden killing of a woman as fast as they could. The man, futilely trying to mop up the blood, stayed where he was. Too many people had seen what he had done for him to try to hide. He had not meant to kill the woman but that would mean nothing to General Murdoch. Mahler’s sergeant, knowing well that the man’s life was forfeit, decided to get it over with quickly and stepped forward. He grasped his victim’s hair atop his head and pulled back, exposing the throat. With his knife, he severed the artery. Better the quick death by a friend’s hand than one of General Murdoch’s sadistic punishments.
Rigid with fear, half hidden by the smoke, Shelley was watching. When Camilla slumped to the ground, she knew that her friend was either dead or dying. Jumping up, she ran past the circle of men, evading the arms that stretched out to stop her. Running for all she was worth, she headed towards the eastern cliff. With a cry of anguish and loss, she ran as hard as she could and leapt off the edge. Her body gained momentum as it fell, thumping against and dislodging some unsuspecting attackers labouring up the cliff face. Her body was discovered some days later, wedged in a cleft some distance from the bottom of the base.
Topside, all was in chaos. Mayhem and death were the order of the day. The youths they did, if possible, spare, not knowing exactly how Murdoch would react to the death of a teenager, but some of the youngsters fought as desperately as their parents. Mindful of Murdoch’s orders, the men were careful to capture the women alive. Most fought valiantly, side by side with their menfolk, but were likewise overwhelmed, but not before they did a fair bit of damage. Angered by the casualties, the regiments did not even
attempt to keep any of the men alive. One by one they fell, hacked to death by squads of angry convicts.
There was one attempted rape. Infuriated at the death of his best friend, one attacker decided to wreak his own type of vengeance and to the stars with Murdoch’s orders. He lunged at one woman, who was standing, shocked, disarmed, tears pouring down her face, as she stared at what was left of her husband lying in the bloody dirt at her feet. The woman began to scream.
There were loud shouts and a scuffle. She felt the man being lifted off her, kicking and struggling as he fought with his captors. Colonel Baker had seen what was happening and brought a squad of his men to her rescue. She scrambled to her feet.
“You all right?” Baker asked her in a gruff voice.
She nodded mutely and watched as her attacker was tied up then dragged away.
“He will be punished,” promised Baker. Turning to his men, he ordered her to be taken towards the other survivors being herded to an area not far from the cave that held the children.
The sounds of fighting stopped and the regiments viewed the field of their victory.
Some of the women were hurt, but only a few had suffered actual wounds that bled. They were mostly bruised, battered and in deep shock at the events of the last hours and with the death of their men. The surviving lads were shoved in beside them; those that could took their weeping mothers in their arms in an attempt to comfort them.
Carefully, Duchesne stood up. He had been wounded in the thigh, although not seriously. Murdoch had not yet arrived to oversee the aftermath of victory. He would be here soon.
Smith ran up to him. “Get some guards round these women and boys,” he urged. “I’m off to find the other women and children.”
Duchesne nodded and began to shout out commands. The surviving sergeants were doing the same. In a surprisingly short time, the regiments were back in formation and the medics were starting to tend the wounded.
After due consideration, Murdoch declined to deal with the women and children that day. His men were tired and weary now that the fight was over. There were wounds to tend and the bodies to clear away. The two regiments assigned clean up duty began the laborious process of removing the dead for burning and burial.
Duchesne, unaccountably solicitous of the effect this clean up process would have on the women and young lads if they were forced to watch the bodies of their husbands and fathers being dragged away, ordered his men to remove any weapons from them and then to put them into the cave that held the other women and children. After a guard was set, there they could be left until morning. The convicts listened to the sound of wailing and crying as the news of their defeat was recounted in grim and anguished detail.
With Camilla dead, there was no obvious person available to take command. Anne Howard did what she could, but was fighting a losing battle against shock, grief and loss. As she eventually lay down to grab a few hours sleep she couldn’t help but worry about what further disasters tomorrow would bring.
The winning officers were discussing that very thing.
“A successful operation,” said Smith, “though I’ve lost about a quarter of my men.”
“Same here,” said Baker. “Need replacements if I’m to keep the regiment up to full strength.”
Murdoch provided the solution in typical fashion. “Reallocate Mahler’s survivors,” he decreed, “He won’t be needing them.”
They all laughed.
The General turned to Smith. “What have we got then?”
“I estimate that there are about three hundred and twenty women and perhaps the same number of children,” Smith replied. “Quite a few youths but less older girls than I might have expected.”
“My scouts have seen some tracks,” Colonel Brentwood informed them from the edge of the circle of officers, “and the advance scouts reported seeing a small group fleeing east yesterday.”
Everyone’s face swivelled towards him.
“What sort of tracks?” demanded Sam Baker, “and are you sure of the direction they took?”
“Definitely going east. One of my men said he thought they belonged to horses. Perhaps these girls were spirited away before we got here?”
“We’ll find out,” promised Murdoch, “but tomorrow we get what we have out of the cave and have a decent look at them all.”
Turning to Duchesne, he added, “I want you to take charge of all the boys over the age of twelve. Break them into our way of thinking, re-educate them. You know what I mean?”
Duchesne did and the men dispersed to get some rest. Whether it was well deserved of not depended on one’s point of view. Certainly those in the cave would not have thought so.
The women, children and young teenagers inside the cave waited for dawn. They had been surprised that they had not been molested when the men took over but knew that this was a temporary respite. They began to ready themselves for the ordeals to come. Outwardly they were calm, for the sake of the children. There would be no point in trying to hide in the back recesses of the cave; they would only be dragged outside when the men came to check. They decided to exit with their heads held high. The mothers hoped that the men would have cleared away the bodies of their men; it was not a sight for children to see their brothers and fathers lying dead in the dust.
The call came, as expected, not long after dawn.
“Time to come out now ladies. Families stay together. No harm will come to you and I promise that you will not be separated from your children.”
This was unexpected; the women had assumed that separation would be the order of the day, their children taken away. They looked at each other. No one wanted to be the first. Anne Howard took a deep breath. As the Captain’s lady, it would be she and her children that must set the example. She began to walk towards the exit, holding tight to Cherry and Joseph’s hands.
When she emerged into the sunlight, she saw little evidence of yesterday’s battle. Three regiments were formed in rank in a large horseshoe round the open space in front of her. To one side and on rough tables, food and drink lay waiting. In the very centre of the space stood a blocky, greying man, hands on hips and smiling. She shivered. There was menace and a certain satisfaction in that smile. Another large man stood at his side, sword at the ready, eyes alight for any trouble. Although the fighting women and lads had been roughly searched the previous evening, Cracov was well aware that they might have some sharp implements secreted away. He was in no mind to be stabbed from behind by a revengeful female.
Anne came to a halt a few paces from Murdoch who stared at her. He recognised her from the holos he had looked at in Captain Howard’s cabin back on the ship. He had liked what he had seen then and liked what he saw even more now. Her short curly auburn hair was tousled certainly and the woman was none too clean, there were no bathing facilities within the cave, but the eyes that met his were steadfast and only faintly tinged with fear. His plans to choose a young maiden took an immediate about-turn. He wanted this woman. She wasn’t young; in her mid-thirties he judged, but the curly-headed children at her side were proof that she was fertile. Perhaps she was the better option. She would know how to please a man and the existence of the children would ensure that she continued to do so. Murdoch had made his choice though he decided to wait a while before he made the announcement.
All he did therefore was instruct her to lead the line of women and children towards the registration table and then to eat the meal he had ordered. A squad of men entered the cave at that point to make sure that no one was hiding inside. When they exited after their search, they lined up at the entrance, thus completing the circle of men.
The registration process took time. The captives ate little of the prepared repast. This gentle treatment was unsettling. After this they were led away to bathe, the only indignity being a thorough search of their persons by medical personnel.
Once they were escorted back into the circle however, their fears were realised with a vengeance. They were lined up in rank
s of fifteen, although the children remained at their mothers’ sides.
The surviving fighting colonels appeared at that point, with Cocteau and Cracov behind them. They stood in front of the lines of anxious women, talking. Murdoch then arrived, carrying a list in his hand and placed himself beside them. He gave the list to Duchesne, who nodded and stepped forward.
“When your name is called, step forward and form up in front of the lines,” he ordered. The names he called out were all male and belonged to boys aged eleven years and over. The boys on his list were soon standing in a tight bunch in front of him. Some were crying, others stood bravely.
“You boys will go now with my sergeant.” One of his sergeants, a grizzled veteran of the last conflict to occur on Earth, stepped out into the circle. The lads hesitated.
Duchesne encouraged them with a smile. “Go with this man. He will look after you.”
With a final look back at their mothers, the boys obeyed. Sobs were heard from the depleted ranks.
Then the colonels (and Cracov) began to walk up and down the lines, choosing the female of their choice. Cocteau made straight for Carla Pederson.
“Your name?” he asked politely. “Age?”
The girl answered in a trembling voice.
“Fifteen?” he mused reflectively. She was a bit young, but Murdoch had said that those girls aged fifteen and over were to be considered available. He put his hand on Carla’s shoulder and began to pull her away from her anguished mother, who promptly burst into tears. Carla let herself be led away, too stunned over what was happening to even try to resist. This scene was replayed as the other colonels made their choices.
To everyone’s surprise, Cracov chose a buxom ex-crewmember who was almost as large as he. She did not look too happy about the situation. If those chosen had children, they accompanied their mother; this part of Murdoch’s bargain was being kept. As they passed the registration desk, the clerks made small annotations on their lists.
Then Murdoch spoke and his words chilled those remaining to the bone.
“The rest of you will place yourselves at the disposal of my men. You will be treated fairly and may keep your children with you as long as you perform your duties satisfactorily. Any trouble and you will never see them again.”
Some of the women fell to their knees in shock. The children started to cry.
“There is one exception,” shouted Murdoch over the weeping and wailing. He pointed to Anne, who unlike the majority, was standing silently, her arms around her remaining children. “You and your children will come with me. You have just been promoted from Captain’s wife to General’s woman.”
Anne looked at him, stunned. So he has worked out who I am? Mindful of his recent threat, she stepped forward, three measured paces, Cherry and Joseph at her heels.
“I have always wanted a son and daughter,” Murdoch encouraged. Cherry flinched.
Oh Peter, where are you? Please forgive me but I’ve got to do this, for our children’s sake.
Murdoch stood waiting for her, right foot tapping impatiently, a habit he had when he believed his patience was being tried. With a sigh of resignation Anne lifted her head high and walked the remaining distance to his side. He took her hand in his, smiled and led her away. He was content.
Now would come the period of consolidation as the men settled into their new way of life. Winter would soon be upon them, they would be busy. True, there were difficult issues to resolve such as not enough women. He would send out hunters to catch those who had got away and there was the problem of these huge carnivorous wolves, but he had made a start.
Cocteau, a shocked Carla held wrist-tight in his hand, moved back into the circle. Anne could hear him issuing orders as to the immediate allocation of the women as she, Cherry and Joseph left to begin their new lives.
* * * * *