Note to Reviewers:

There were two reviewers whom I could not respond to directly and I wanted to address your comments.

To Troy08: Thank you so much for the kind review. Athos and his men are in a terrible mess but he is a born leader, and if anyone can get his men from this terrible predicament, it's Athos. If there's a will, there's a way!
p.s. Go Bucks! :-)

To Endless Hazard: I am thrilled to have a fellow history buff reading my stories! I also have gone to many reenactments and am very familiar with the various types of artillery, as having come from a strong military family background. I like having my stories written realistically with an "authentic" feel, so I understand if I made it somewhat unrealistic with the generic term of "cannonball" exploding. I went back through the chapter and changed the terminology to exploding grapeshot and canister to give the story the authentic feel that I insist upon. (Both types of ammunition were used during the 17th C, with canister being filled with misc. items such as iron nails, fragments; and grapeshot, filled with lead/iron balls, dates back to the 15th C, used in central Europe, particularly in the Hussite Wars).
No, I am not bothered by your comment at all; in fact, I am quite pleased you have taken the time to read this story and make your suggestions so that I keep the authenticity of the time-period throughout the entire story. So, Thank You for your input; it very appreciated!

The sun was starting to set in the western sky behind their position under the bridge. Shadows cast from the fortified city darkened the landscape in with an eerie foreshadowing of the night ahead.

Athos crawled to the last pier on the grassy island to check on Porthos and d'Artagnan and the other Musketeers holding down the flank and the end of the bridge.

"How's the arm, d'Artagnan?" Athos motioned his chin to the bandaged arm.

"Sore, but Aramis said that the ball passed through, missing the bone so it's not as bad as it could have been; but I had to give up part of my shirt sleeve for the bandage." d'Artagnan grumbled, but then instantly regretted, as he watched worry crease his captain's brow. "I'll be fine, Captain," he smiled.

"Captain," Porthos crawled over to the side where Athos sat with d'Artagnan. "Have you decided who is going out there tonight on 'at recon scout?"

"No," Athos shook his head. The captain deliberately delayed making the decision for the scout team, knowing full well he could be sending men to their death. "I haven't decided yet," he admitted wearily.

"I volunteer to go, Captain," Porthos offered, sensing the hesitation on Athos's part to make the difficult decision.

"I'll go too, Captain," d'Artagnan quickly submitted, despite his wounded arm.

"No," Athos immediately rejected both of the eager offers to go out on the scout. "d'Artagnan, you are wounded—your arm is hurt," he stated the obvious. "Porthos, I need someone here who is able to fight, if need be, since we don't know what is out there," he pointed toward the fortress.

"I can fight my way up 'at hill," Porthos growled.

"No, Porthos, I need you here," Athos answered curtly.

"But you just said that you needed someone who can fight," Porthos reminded his captain. "I can fight out there, Athos!"

"The answer is no, and that's final," Athos snapped. "I need to get back," the captain crawled back to the middle arch of the bridge where Aramis was cleaning a Musketeer's wounded shoulder.

"Is he okay?" Athos asked the medic, taking notice of the scowl on Aramis's face.

"Yes, as good as can be expected, under the circumstances," he shook his head. "I can't guarantee the men won't get infections when the only cloth I have is repeatedly used; I can only rinse the cloth in the river before I move on to the next man. This isn't the most sanitary of conditions down here under this bridge."

"Yes, I know but…" Athos sighed. "We have no other choice, 'Mis," he rested a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder. "Just do the best you can to help the men."

"Who are you sending out tonight?" Aramis asked, looking out at the nearly-darkened night sky.

"Damn," Athos sighed once again. He knew that he'd have to answer the question eventually, might as well be now. "I'm going to send Béringer and Michaud. They've both done scouting missions such as this before; I think they'll do well with reconnaissance of the area."

"Yes, I think they're both good men for the job," Aramis smiled. "How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Athos answered. "I need to go brief Béringer and Michaud," he said abruptly as he crawled away.

Aramis watched as Athos crawled to the next archway and shook his head. He knew his friend wasn't fine. He also knew that Athos was under a lot of pressure having to make such difficult decisions in a difficult circumstance. However, he was smart enough to know that it was best to let the matter drop—Athos wouldn't discuss it anyway.

Athos completed the instructions for the recon mission as the night sky was completely black. Béringer and Michaud low-crawled through the grass, slipping quietly into the canal water without making a sound. They slid through the mud on the opposite bank to slither away, up the hill and out of sight of the men watching them.

The captain scrubbed a hand down his face and let out a long, anxious breath. He stared up the hill into the darkness, as though willing to follow them with his eyes into the pitch-black void.

The night sky was cloudy, threatening rain with ominous clouds. The quarter moon was covered with a thick blanket of rain clouds, keeping the light to a sporadic minimum. Athos was grateful his men would be effectively concealed under a blanket of darkness; yet he wondered how effectively they could reconnoiter in the dark.

Under the bridge, inside the archways, the Musketeers couldn't see their hands in front of their face and had to carefully feel their way around. If they had to move they did so on all fours, waving their hands out in front of them as feelers; though most men decided it would be better to stay put and not move around at all.

Athos was grateful the men couldn't see the worry on his face, especially the three brothers he considered so dear to him. Since becoming captain of the Musketeer regiment, Athos couldn't show favoritism to his friends and had withdrawn his companionship after hours—only to forge a new sense of loneliness. During the duty day, especially, he was particularly careful in how he interacted with his three friends, in order to be fair and impartial to all the men.

On occasion, his three friends found their way to his office, where drinks and conversation behind closed doors was a special treat—and was no one else's business but theirs. It was like old times again, picking up where they left off the last time such a meeting occurred, as though nothing had changed. Athos looked forward to their visits, relishing in their companionship, as the special visits replenished the empty place in his heart caused by the loneliness of command.

Time and the responsibilities of command, however, would never diminish his affection for the men he thought of as brothers. Those three men were his brothers—one doesn't forget family simply because of a promotion.

"Listen up," Athos called into the darkness, his voice sounded hollow as it echoed through the archway. "Since we can't see due to the darkness, I need all of you to stay alert; stay close to the man next to you and don't go anywhere for any reason. The less movement from you in here will make you more able to hear movement coming from outside. Keep your ears open to sounds outside the bridge; listen for movement in the water. Thankfully, no one can reach us without going through the water, or coming to us from above on the bridge."

"Captain, they know where we are but we don't know where they are," said Musketeer Lefévre. "We're at a rather large disadvantage in here."

"I understand that, Lefévre,"Athos acknowledged. "Use your sense of hearing; it will be our only alert to the enemy's approach in the darkness. Under no circumstance are any of you to light a fire—no matter how cold you get tonight. I want someone in your group to be awake at all times during the night," Athos instructed. "Assign sleeping shifts, if that will help, but make sure someone is awake and aware of their surroundings at all times."

"Yes sir," the men answered in unison.

"Remember, your lives and the lives of your brothers depend upon you listening for approaching enemy soldiers; their lives depend on you to stay alert. I will be moving between piers to check on you," Athos paused as his voice trailed.

"Captain," d'Artagnan interrupted, "if you're going to be moving around between the three archways it's going to make noise, sir. There might be someone who will already be on edge, they'll panic and then. . ." he paused.

"'At's right, who's to say someone doesn't stab you in the dark thinkin' you were the enemy sneakin' up on 'em, eh?" Porthos stated matter-of-factly with a low growl.

"That's a good point, Porthos," Athos frowned to himself. "I'll announce myself with a secret word…" the captain tried to think of something good the enemy would never guess.

"How about Roger?" d'Artagnan suggested. "The enemy certainly won't know the name of your first horse."

"Roger," Athos repeated, suddenly thinking of the horses that scattered. He thought of his newest horse, Kim, and wondered where she was.

As if reading his mind, Porthos voiced concern for the horses out loud. "I wonder where the horses ran off to?" he asked. "They're probably halfway to Paris by now."

"Mm," d'Artagnan sounded his objection. "I think the horses will stay close. They were scared away, yes, but they're expecting us to come back and get them. They're probably grazing someplace safer than around here."

"Alright, if you hear the code word 'Roger' it's me coming to check on you," the captain ordered. "Do you all understand your orders for tonight and the code word to listen for?" he waited for a response.

"Yes sir," they echoed in unison.

"Good," he nodded, though no one could see him nod. "Stay alert and keep your ears open for any movement." Athos crawled away to give the same speech to the next group of men, and then the group after that.

Finally, he crawled back to the archway where Aramis was backed against the stone wall, getting a glimpse of his friend in the brief respite of moonlight. "Roger," he said to be safe, following his own orders to the men earlier. He sat beside his friend with their shoulders touching as the clouds covered the moon and, once again, it went black.

"Are you sure we're going to stay safe tonight without the Spaniards sneaking up on us" Aramis whispered quietly.

Athos shook his head, worried about that very possibility.

"Um, Athos," Aramis nudged, "I can't hear a nod or shake of the head and, in case you forgot, I can't see it either."

"Sorry," Athos huffed with amusement. "I'm not sure about anything tonight, 'Mis, except that the enemy can't see out there any better than us."

"What if they drop down on us from on top of the bridge?" the medic whispered. "We'll never hear them coming until it's too late."

"I don't know," Athos whispered back with uncertainty. "It's risky in the dark and they might fall, but we better be ready for them in case they do come that way."

"I just hope it doesn't come to that," Aramis went quiet as his mind wandered, thinking of Minister Tréville inside the fortress. "Do you think he knows about us down here?"

"Do I think who knows about us down here?" Athos asked, confused.

"Tréville," Aramis clarified. "Do you think they can see us from up there? I mean, when it's daylight outside, that is?"

"Yes, I'm sure they can see everything around the vicinity for many leagues from up there—they may have even seen us approaching the fortress," Athos surmised. "But they may also be as trapped inside the cité as we are trapped down here," his heart suddenly filled with dread. If the Spaniards have laid siege to the walled city, they can't come out to help without endangering themselves—which means the trapped Musketeers were in serious trouble.

"I guess we'll find out tomorrow if they can help us down here," Aramis hoped.

Athos shivered as a cold wind blew through the archway. Droplets of rain fell but soon stopped, as though the clouds were unsure of whether to let go of their watery load. "Damn, this is going to be a long night."

"You could sit closer and just go to sleep," Aramis suggested. "I don't bite, you know."

"No," Athos rejected the offer. "I should get moving and check on the men. I need to make sure someone stays awake in each one of the archways."

Athos crawled away, doing his best to be quiet. He felt for the wall of the archway and followed it as he slowly made his way to the pier, then he turned left toward the canal. Remembering his own order, he paused at the pier's end before entering into the archway.

"Roger," he whispered at his arrival.

"Captain," Porthos answered in the dark from somewhere on Athos's left.

"Where are you?" the captain asked, feeling out with his hand in front of him.

"Over here," Porthos called quietly. "Just follow my voice… I'm right here."

Athos crawled until he ran right into the large Musketeer, softly knocking heads with his friend. "Sorry," he apologized. "How are you holding up?"

"We're doin' a'ight, Cap'n," Porthos replied tiredly. From somewhere deeper inside the archway, someone let out a loud snore… and then another.

"Hey, whoever is next to that man, nudge him awake—make him be quiet!" Athos ordered with a harsh whisper.

d'Artagnan not-so-gently nudged the snoring man, "hey, wake up!"

"There will be no snoring," the captain ordered. "There is to be no noise of any kind, period," Athos scolded quietly. "If you can't sleep without snoring then stay awake… and that's an order."

"Sorry, Captain," the man apologized.

"You alright, d'Artagnan?" Athos whispered.

"Yes sir," d'Artagnan answered with a yawn. "'M just tired," he left his spot deeper in the tunnel to sit beside Porthos.

"Get some sleep, pup," Porthos wrapped his arm around the Gascon and pulled him in close to keep him warm. "I'll stay awake for a while."

d'Artagnan readily complied, resting his head on the larger man's shoulder as he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

"You should get some sleep too, Athos," Porthos advised.

"No, I need to stay awake," the captain shook his head. "I have to be alert and watch over the men. I can't risk going to sleep, it's too dangerous."

For the next several hours, Athos crawled from archway to archway checking on the men while also checking for any danger around the bridge. His body ached and his fingers were numb from crawling on the cold ground. Despite moving around for hours, he was shivering when he crawled back into the archway to sit beside Aramis.

Aramis felt the shaking beside him and pulled his friend in close, feverishly rubbing his hands up and down Athos's arms to warm him. "You should get some rest," he whispered.

"No, I'm f-fine," Athos stammered from the chill. He was too wound up and too cold to sleep but sat quietly, as Aramis slept, keeping his ears perked to the outside for strange noises.

Suddenly, Athos heard a twig snap at the end of their archway. He sat up, and with the clouds having parted, he could see the silhouette of two soldiers creeping toward the bridge from the nearby trees.

Athos covered the sleeping medic's mouth as he gently shook Aramis awake and then pointed to the men sneaking their way to the bridge through the grass. The captain pulled out his dagger as Aramis did the same; together the two Musketeers crawled their way to beside the piers where they crouched, waiting for the approaching enemy.

With lightning speed, Athos sprang to his feet as the men neared. He covered the first Spaniard's mouth to keep him from alerting his comrades. In one fluid motion, the captain sliced the man's throat and followed up with a stab of his dagger deep into the artery of the intruder's neck, all the while keeping his hand covering the man's mouth.

Aramis mirrored Athos's movements with dashing precision as he covered the second Spaniard's mouth and then sliced open his neck. The medic expertly twisted the knife to make the wound tear and bleed out faster while keeping his mouth covered, preventing him from screaming out. When the Spaniard stopped moving, Aramis let him fall to the ground.

Looking to his left, Athos saw the shadows of more soldiers approaching in the dark. He sprang into action and ran to wake Porthos and d'Artagnan, "enemy soldiers approaching!" he yelled to alert all the Musketeers.

Porthos and d'Artagnan bolted from their hiding spots inside the archway to pounce on the enemy soldiers before they could even enter the archway. The Musketeers each buried their daggers deep in the necks of their assailants, while twisting the blades to give them absolute lethal wounds. They were careful to keep the mouths of the enemy covered to prevent them from calling out for help.

Soon, Musketeers in each of the archways were engaged in struggles with approaching Spaniards that had hoped to catch the men completely by surprise. Musketeer Baraque was still asleep, unaware of the fighting going on around him, and was attacked by a Spaniard who dug his dagger deep into the sleeping man's neck, killing him instantly.

Musketeer St. Vincent grabbed the Spaniard from behind to slice the man's throat with his main gauche from one ear to the other. He let the man drop to the ground as the gurgling sounds from his cut throat faded to silence.

The remaining Spaniards retreated back up the hill as quickly and quietly as they arrived. After the hysteria of the attack ceased, Athos dared to call out to his men, "is everyone alright?"

Sporadic affirmations were called out, though the captain couldn't tell who the voices were or how many answered. "Gentlemen, call out your names so I can tell how many are hurt," he ordered.

The captain waited as he listened to the sounding off of the names in the darkness around him. "Captain," St. Vincent reported, "Baraque is dead, sir."

"No…" Athos groaned, closing his eyes at the news. "Alright, cover Baraque with his cloak for now, we'll take care of him in the morning."

"Yes sir."

Athos sighed wearily as he crawled away to the next archway to get their reports, listening as each man called out his name. The captain crawled to the last archway, listening to the roll call and groaned aloud once again as he received the report of another fatality. "Sir, Levéque is dead."

"Dammit!" Athos cursed at the news. If the Spaniards were this daring in the dark, what would the daylight bring? Athos shuddered as he thought of what the rising sun might bring with it to his small band of Musketeers—now an additional two men short.

Athos looked to the eastern sky to see the first brushes of color spreading across the horizon. He breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that their wretchedly cold night was almost over; yet his heart filled with dread with thoughts of facing another day fighting the enemy. He knew the daylight would bring with it all of Hell's fury with a shower of cannon fire and gunfire alike.

The captain knew he and his men had better be prepared to face the certain firefight that was coming in the morning. The Musketeers would be facing another day trapped under the bridge, unless the scout team returned to report of a way into the fortress. Somewhere deep inside, Athos knew there was no way into that fortress. If there was a way in, the enemy surely would have found it; but the walled city of Carcassonne has stood impregnable since the 14th century.

Athos could hope, but he intuitively knew that he and his Musketeers would be stuck under the bridge to face another day pinned down by heavy fire. He eagerly awaited the return of the scout team but didn't hold out much hope for what they would find. With a growing sense of foreboding, Athos wondered how many men would survive the new day… or if any of them would survive at all.

He shook his head wearily, "God help us all."

A/N:

For this chapter I wanted to paint the dilemma that Captain Athos would find himself in as the commander of the Musketeers. If any of you are Star Trek fans (of the original series), I would equate Athos with Captain Kirk, who had two very close and dear friends, but yet was responsible for an entire crew of men and women and was not allowed to show favoritism or partiality to anyone. In private, Captain Kirk and Athos could show their "brotherly affection," but in the open, the captains would have to be watchful of their behavior. Privately, Captain Kirk was very lonely, and would only admit to being such on rare occasions. I think Captain Athos would feel the exact same way.

Perhaps Athos would privately long for the days when he was free to show his brotherly affection, to enjoy his friend's company over drinks and conversation; but as captain, he could no longer show such favoritism without it affecting the morale of his regiment. If such favoritism was openly shown, the other men would soon become embittered and would no longer respect their captain and, most probably, would not care to follow his leadership on the battlefield. It is indeed "lonely at the top."