37 Assault And Battery #2
I landed Tilly and threw the tarp off her aft cowling to reveal a pile of Imperial weaponry. The other riders did the same. Soon, everyone in our column was armed, and we began to drive towards the main hall to assist my love.
We broke into the palace itself and began storming the halls, encountering surprisingly little resistance.
We rooted out pockets of Imperial dissidents, but I had expected to fight my way through the entire disloyal Imperial Guard.
I was wondering where they were when my commlink crackled again, and Lyudmyla began speaking into my ear.
“Consort, if you read me, we’ve been cut off. Selnikov’s traitors have us outnumbered and surrounded. We require immediate aid.”
“Send me your position. I’ll be right there,” I said, doing my best to keep the panic from my voice. Astrid was in trouble.
I gathered my ersatz cavalry squadron and ordered Darius to follow as fast as he could.
“Get between them and the main hall, then hit them from behind if you can. If you can’t, drive into their flank with everything you’ve got.
Anything to take the pressure off the Emperor. If she dies, all is lost.”
Darius acknowledged my orders, and I flew off, followed by two dozen mounted demons. They were not the same loyalists who had accompanied me to rescue Darius, but Imperial Guard Cavalry on reclaimed mounts. They howled in the wind, anxious to spill blood. I intended to give them the chance.
Astrid and Lyudmyla were trapped in the western gardens.
Their soldiers formed a defensive square, firing by half-platoons into the terraces around them, systematically blowing away the enemy’s cover, but dissidents swarmed over those walls, taking shots at loyalists whenever they felt safe enough to raise their heads.
Even worse, enemy cavalry circled overhead in a giant caracole, diving close enough to loose a lancer bolt before rising out of range.
Lyudmyla had a small sharpshooter section waiting for the riders to close, but there were not enough of them.
Too many of the enemy cavalry troopers escaped on each pass.
In the absolute center, next to the sharpshooters, I saw Astrid, leaning heavily against Lyudmyla, her arm in a sling, her face a mass of bruises, but clearly alive.
I did not wait to reassemble my troops, but couched my greatsword and charged.
These were no unsuspecting prison guards or recently roused soldiers.
These were the traitorous Imperial Guard.
They were not to be taken unawares. One traitor lowered her swordstaff and spurred her hoversteed towards me, intending to skewer me.
Instead, I barrel-rolled, parried her blade with mine, then slid the zeroblade down her swordstaff, through her hoversteed, and through her pelvis. She screamed as she fell from the sky.
I passed through the swarm of flying foes without another chance to strike.
My enemies were too far away or dodged out of my path.
I looped around for another pass and saw that my squadron had followed me.
They formed a flying wedge behind me, mirroring my movements like a flock of starlings.
The enemy broke off from attacking Astrid and formed their own wedge to countercharge.
Cavalry charges rarely led to midair collisions.
With all the anti-collision software crammed in their processers, it’s quite difficult to make two hoversteeds crash head-on.
Instead, one line usually breaks before contact, leading to a chase.
If neither side breaks, then the two formations pass through one another to wheel about and attack again, or the formations dissolve into a chaotic melee, favoring the larger unit with the best bladesmen.
I wanted to stay in formation and avoid a furball – as that would benefit the enemy.
Their lines were sloppy, their ranks uneven, but there were twice as many dissidents as loyalists.
Furious, I gritted my teeth and dove headlong into their countercharge.
My greatsword swung in sweeping arcs, controlling as much space as I could.
I dug the bottom out of an enemy hoversteed, but otherwise failed to land any blows.
I was too small, my reach too short compared to these massive demons.
My cavalry was doing better than me, but not good enough.
I took stock of the developing melee: if I didn’t do something, we would lose.
And then I saw him. Count Gerasimov, Selnikov’s right-hand demon, with red stripes on his gorget and gauntlets, laughing as he impaled one of my soldiers and drove them from the saddle, shaking the poor loyalist loose to fall to the ground.
Red haze clouded my eyes, and before I could strategize and produce a reasonable plan, my mouth went ahead without my brain and bellowed, “Gerasimov, you treacherous slime. Face me, coward!”
My words must have been louder than I’d thought, for the sounds of battle faded. Gerasimov slowly looked over at me, his initial surprised expression melting into a pleased grin. “Run along, little rabbit. You do not belong here.”
I didn’t dignify his words with a response.
Instead, I gripped my greatsword in both hands, clenched Tilly with my knees, and shot forwards with no other goal than to take that smug fucker’s horned head clean off his shoulders.
Gerasimov’s smile widened, then he pulled a lancer.
I barely had time to dive before the sizzling bolt shot over my shoulder, close enough that I felt the heat.
Another bolt flashed by, and I turned sideways, reaching with my blade.
For the second time in as many moments, Gerasimov’s eyes went wide.
He leaned backwards, avoiding the tip of my zeroblade by centimeters as I zoomed past, but as I curled around, his face hardened and he kicked his steed into motion after me.
It was only then that I realized what I had done – challenged a much stronger cavalryman with longer reach and far more experience than myself to a one-on-one duel. It was the heroic and honorable thing to do, but not the smart thing.
My brain regained control of my body, and I leaned low over Tilly’s handlebars to flee.
“Come back, you lily-skinned coward,” Count Gerasimov called.
I saw him following me in Tilly’s rearview.
I dove into the gardens, searching for an edge amid the terrain.
Tilly and I hurdled over a hedge, then swung in a tight circle around a topiary, hoping to surprise him with a charge from the flank, but Gerasimov was ready for that. He parried my blow with little effort.
“I thought you wanted this fight. Now find you lack the strength?” Gerasimov laughed, pursuing me again.
I juked and wove among the trees of a charming little wilderness.
Gerasimov followed. I was able to keep out of his blade’s reach, but how long until he grew tired and reloaded one of his lancer pistols?
The lancers. I looked down. Tilly still had two pistols in her saddle holsters.
The garden’s wall came up fast. I grimaced and pulled into a near-vertical climb.
Let’s see how maneuverable your lumbering Imperial steed is, I thought.
The Imperials built their steeds for shock charges, not light dragoon work like Commonwealth models, and while Gerasimov was mounted on a custom-built black charger, I was on Tilly, fully upgraded with the best parts the Royal Guards Armory could provide.
I flew to the side of a cylindrical tower, Gerasimov in hot pursuit, and spiraled up its face.
I kept the count close enough to catch me, but far enough away he couldn’t get a good shot.
Tilly ate up the altitude, devouring meters and sending us higher.
I couldn’t spare a glance to see how Astrid’s battle was going, but if any of those combatants had stopped fighting to watch me, they would have a wonderful view.
And then I ran out of tower. Just as I had planned.