Peter watched as more Narnians ran past him. He gripped his sword, wanting to tell them to hold their ground and fight.
A shell exploded nearby. A stream of bullets ripped up the ground a few feet away. His defiance vanished. They had absolutely nothing that could counter Nazi tanks and artillery.
He spotted Susan out the corner of his eye. She launched another arrow into the air. It arced over and struck a German soldier in the chest. She reached behind her for another arrow when an explosion went off a hundred yards behind them. Susan's horse bucked.
A sharp crack penetrated the dull hum in Peter's ears. Susan jerked and tumbled off her horse.
"Susan!" He rushed over to her. Susan rolled onto her back.
Peter's chest turned to ice when he saw it. Blood, lots of it, pouring out of his sister's neck.
"SUSAN!" He dropped to his knees beside her, eyes bulging at the ugly red hole in her neck. Susan tried to breathe, but instead emitted a sickening, wet gargle.
"No, No, No! Susan!" Peter yanked out his dagger, cut off part of his pants and pressed it against Susan's wound. "Somebody help!"
He trembled when Susan looked up at him, her eyes blazing with fear.
"Lucy!" He swung his head in all directions, but could find no sign of her. "Lucy!" Her cordial had saved Edmund's life when he'd been wounded fighting the White Witch. It could do the same for Susan.
Where the hell was she?
"Lucy!"
He looked down at Susan. Her skin turned a ghostly white.
His father's voice echoed in his head, one of the last things he'd said to him before going off to war.
"You're the oldest, Peter. Look after your brother and sisters. Keep them safe. I'm counting on you."
He was going to fail his father. Susan was dying. Was Lucy already dead? Terror gripped him. He pressed harder against Susan's wound.
Hang on, Susan. Please hang on.
Susan's eyes rolled into the back of her head.
"NO!"
"Susan!"
Peter whipped his head around. Lucy charged toward them, the cordial in her hand.
"Loo! Hurry up!"
She dropped down next to them, tears running down her cheeks. She tipped the cordial. The first drop splashed against the side of Susan's lips. The second one fell into her mouth.
Peter's throat clenched. Would the cordial make it down her throat with that wound?
Hesitantly, he pulled the blood-soaked cloth away from his sister's neck. He gasped when he saw the wound quickly close.
Susan sat up, sucking down a loud, normal-sounding breath.
"Susan! Thank goodness!" Lucy flung her arms around her.
Peter hugged them both. "Are you all right?"
"Yes." Susan nodded. "I'm fine now. Bless you, Lucy." She kissed her sister on the forehead.
Peter's relief was short-lived as bullets zipped around them. He turned and saw the Nazis and White Witch followers drawing closer. Those tanks couldn't be more than two hundred meters away.
He took in everything around him. Some of the Narnians launched arrows at the enemy. Others scattered and ran.
Many more lay on the ground motionless.
Peter closed his eyes, hating himself for what he was about to say.
"Narnians! Retreat!"
XXXXX
Skorzeny grinned in satisfaction as he watched the Narnians flee. Some formed up on the young kings and queens. Others simply ran off in a blind panic.
They pursued the enemy, gunning down as many as they could until they raced into a nearby forest. That's when Gruppenfuhrer Kempf called a halt.
Skorzeny hopped out of his Hanomag and strolled around the battlefield, taking in the bloody, torn corpses of centaurs, fauns, bears, elk, gryphons and other creatures. He frowned briefly as he noted that the kings and queens were not among the dead.
The crack of a rifle made him spin around. He spotted a group of four stormtroopers around a faun, one of them pointing a smoking Gewehr 98 at the creature.
"What the hell's going on?" a stocky Oberscharfuhrer stomped over to them.
"This thing was still alive," said the stormtrooper with the smoking rifle, jabbing the weapon at the now dead faun.
The Oberscharfuhrer groaned and shook his head. "Fool! Don't waste ammunition on something already dying. Use a damn bayonet instead."
The stormtrooper snapped to attention. "Jawohl, Herr Oberscharfuhrer."
After giving the Oberscharfuhrer apologetic looks, the four stormtroopers pulled out their bayonets and affixed them under their rifle barrels. They scoured the battlefield, skewering any Narnian still clinging to life.
"Oh yes. Lovely, lovely, lovely."
Skorzeny turned in the direction of Draut's excited voice. The goblin was bent over a cheetah, digging into its head with a knife. Skorzeny didn't even cringe at the squishing, ripping sound as Draut removed the cheetah's eyeball. He held it over his head, squealing in delight.
"That thing certainly is . . . enthusiastic about his little collection, isn't he?"
Skorzeny glanced over his shoulder to find Gruppenfuhrer Kempf approaching him.
"After what we did here today, we should be able to keep the little monster happy for quite a while." Skorzeny gazed at the dead Narnians around them.
"Mm." Kempf nodded. "A very decisive victory, wouldn't you say?"
"Jawohl, Mein Herr. Unfortunately, the kings and queens escaped."
"True, but it does not matter. We will kill them in good time, then Narnia will be ours."
"If that is the case, then may I volunteer the services of me and my men to lead the search for those crown-wearing brats and bring you their heads? Well, bring you their heads, and bring Draut their eyeballs."
Kempf flashed him a grin. "That will not be necessary, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer."
Skorzeny cranked an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"We will not be tracking down the Narnian royals."
Skorzeny drew his head back in astonishment. "We are just going to let them get away?"
"In a manner of speaking. If we send our men out to track down the royals and their surviving subjects, they may decide to split up, or hide from us. We could waste days trying to find them. Der Fuhrer wants Narnia secured and our regiment sent through the British wardrobe as soon as possible. No. Instead, we will let them return to the one place where they will likely feel safe."
"I assume you mean Cair Paravel."
"Ja. They will want to go to their seat of power, to either cower in fear or to shore up their defenses against us."
"And we will just let them do that?"
"Come now, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer. You saw the weapons these Narnians possess. They can do nothing to harm us."
"A few of our men were hit by arrows. And I'm sure at their castle they will have much larger weapons, like catapults."
"And how much of a danger will they be for us?"
"Medieval weaponry is not my specialty, but I do know someone who is an expert in that field." Skorzeny looked around and saw Maier a few meters away.
"Maier! Go find von Droth for me!"
"Jawohl, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer."
Maier hurried off. Five minutes later, he returned with von Droth, who had a gleam in his eyes and blood on his Knight's War Axe. Skorzeny could only imagine what the Prussian Obersharfuhrer had been doing with that weapon.
"You wish to see me, Herr Hauptsturmfuhrer?"
"Yes. Gruppenfuhrer Kempf has need of your knowledge of medieval warfare."
Von Droth turned to Kempf, standing ramrod straight. "How may I assist you, Herr Gruppenfuhrer?"
"I need to know about some of the long-range weapons the Narnians may possess. Skorzeny here seems to think they might have catapults."
"They do, Mein Herr. Draut and some of his monsters have confirmed this."
Kempf nodded. "But these catapults only hurl rocks, correct? I doubt they will do anything to panzer armor."
"They may dent the armor, most likely scratch the paint. But nothing more. However, catapults were used to launch much more than rocks."
"Such as?"
"Primitive incendiary bombs," said von Droth. "Such as pots filled with Greek Fire or pitch. Our vehicles with open compartments, such as Hanomags and Kubelwagens, would be vulnerable to that sort of attack, provided one of those bombs could even hit it."
"Then they are not very accurate?"
"No, Mein Herr." Von Droth shook his head. "Especially against moving targets."
"And their range?"
"A few hundred meters."
"Any other long range weapons the Narnians possess?" Kempf asked.
"Ballistas, which are basically a very large crossbow. They can fire a bolt four hundred fifty to four hundred sixty meters."
Kempf softly chuckled and turned back to Skorzeny. "Do you hear that? A few hundred meters. Our field guns have a range of nearly six miles. We can sit back and easily pick off their catapults and ballistas, then send in our panzers and mechanized infantry. The royals and their remaining forces will all be in one place, which we will surround, and then destroy."
XXXXX
Peter fought a losing battle to keep his shoulders from slumping and his head from hanging. He kept telling himself he had to appear confident, in control. That's what was expected of a king.
But how could he feel that way? He kept thinking back to the rout they had suffered at the hands of the Nazis. Over half his forces had been killed. Susan had almost died! And what of Stonethunder, Moonbreeze and Stormrider? He hadn't seen any of them since the battle. His stomach clenched as he assumed the worst.
Peter, his siblings and their surviving forces had taken refuge in the forest during the night, moving out only when his scouts had determined the Nazis weren't pursuing them. Why they didn't baffled him. The Narnian army was reeling. Why not chase them down and finish them off?
Peter decided to just accept that one bright spot in an otherwise horrific defeat.
It won't last long, though. The Nazis and the remnants of the White Witch's army would certainly make for Cair Paravel. Then what? How could they stop tanks and artillery and machine guns?
Aslan could probably defeat them. But the great lion had told him he and the rest of Narnia would have to face this great challenge on their own.
Why? Anger flared inside him. Why would Aslan let this happen? Why would he leave them to face an enemy much more advanced than them? There were challenges, then there was setting up your followers for a massacre.
Help us, Aslan. Please.
Peter gazed around him, hoping the great lion would suddenly appear.
He didn't.
Peter grunted, his anger growing.
Cair Paravel soon came into view. He sat up straighter on his horse as he took in the gleaming white marble towers and ramparts. From his vantage point, the massive castle looked formidable.
Then he thought of some of the sections of London turned to rubble by German bombs. Stone buildings that had stood for hundreds of years, pulverized. Surely whatever artillery the Germans brought with them could do the same to Cair Paravel.
Peter gazed around the open field leading up to the castle. Catapults and Ballistas ringed it. Earthen berms had sprung up, some sheltering troops and archers, other sprouting rows of long, sharpened stakes. General Oreius had certainly done a remarkable job preparing their defenses.
He doubted it would do any good against the Germans.
Peter and the others neared one of the catapults when a familiar-looking centaur trotted toward them.
"Your Majesties." General Oreius bowed to him and his siblings. "Are you well?"
"As well as can be expected." Peter grimaced. That was probably not the best thing to say.
Oreius frowned. "Some of the gryphons who returned ahead of you told us what happened at Hanaspoek's Grove. I took it upon myself to summon every available Narnian to aide in the defense of Cair Paravel. I've also deployed numerous scouts to give us ample warning before the Naa-sees arrive."
"Good work, General." Peter bit his lip, wishing he could just hand command over to Oreius. Why shouldn't he? The centaur had a lot more experience at war than he did. Oreius also hadn't been the one to lead his troops into a trap.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Another matter. Swiftwind and his party encountered more Sons of Adam and brought them here."
"Nazis?"
"Apparently not. They claim to be from the same country as you." Oreius swiveled his head to take in all four Pevensie children.
Susan's eyes widened. "You mean there are more people from Britain in Narnia?"
"It would seem so, Your Majesty. If what they say is true."
"Who are they?" asked Edmund.
"They say they are soldiers, but a special sort of soldier. 'Commandos' was the word they used to describe themselves."
A jolt of hope shot through Peter. British soldiers? In Narnia? And Commandos no less. His heartbeat picked up. He wondered how the British Army knew about the existence of the wardrobe and Narnia. In a split second, Peter decided it didn't matter. The British Army was here. Surely they'd have the sort of weapons to deal with tanks and artillery.
"Take us to them," Peter ordered.
He and his siblings dismounted from their horses and followed Oreius into the castle. The centaur took them to the great hall. The four gryphons inside, including Swiftwind, bowed when they entered. Peter gave them a quick nod as he laid his eyes on the seven men seated at one of the tables in the middle of the hall. One of them, tall and lean with a thin mustache, rose to his feet. Peter started toward him, then slowed, wrinkling his brow. Why did that man look so familiar?
"I don't believe it."
Peter turned around and saw Edmund standing there with his mouth wide open in astonishment. Surprise also radiated from Susan's face.
"What is it?"
"Peter, don't you know who that is?" Edmund pointed to the lean soldier. "That's David Niven."
"What?" David Niven? The actor? He turned back to the soldier, studying his face. Images of the film Dawn Patrol sprang into his mind.
It can't be. Then he remembered seeing some story in The Times about Niven and other actors joining the armed forces.
"Actually, it's Lieutenant Niven now. Might I assume you are the Pevensie children?"
"You know us?" asked Lucy.
"Oh yes. Professor Kirke filled us in on you lot before we set off."
"You've met Professor Kirke?" said Peter.
"That's right. He told us you might be in this world having some sort of adventure."
"That we have." Peter closed the distance between them and extended his hand. "High King Peter of Narnia." He then introduced his brother and sisters.
"Your Majesty." Niven bowed, then turned to the other soldiers. "Well don't just sit there, lads. We're British, for Heaven's sake. If anyone knows how to show proper respect for royalty, we do."
The soldiers got to their feet and bowed. Niven then introduced his men to Peter and his siblings.
"Mister Niven . . . I mean, Lieutenant," Peter began. "You're not going to believe this. The Germans. They're here in Narnia."
"Believe it or not, Your Majesty, we know all about it."
Peter listened in shock as Niven told him about Professor Kirke reporting to MI-6 that a group of Nazis had come through the wardrobe to scout the area around his estate.
"You mean . . ." Susan laid a hand over her chest. "You mean the Germans are not only invading Narnia. They plan to use the wardrobe to invade England?"
"That's what we believe, Miss . . . I mean, Your Majesty."
Peter swallowed, thinking of all the Nazi soldiers he saw at Hanaspoek's Grove, and imaging what they could do if set loose upon Oxford. Or London, which was about an hour's drive from Professor Kirke's estate.
"I think they're on their way." He told Niven and his men about their battle the other day, trying to keep from grimacing at how badly things had gone for them. When he got to the part of them hiding in the forest for the night, he couldn't look Niven in the eyes. The man wasn't an actor any more, but a soldier. A Commando. What must he think of him?
Some silly boy playing king, getting his soldiers killed, and not able to come up with any plan to stop the Nazis.
Niven would be correct to think that of him.
"But now you're here," said Edmund. "Surely you've got some weapons that can blow up a German tank."
"Unfortunately, we don't. We we're sent here to recce Narnia for any signs of Germans. We're only carrying small arms, grenades, and Rowling there has our Bren Gun. None of which are useful against panzers."
"What about General Montgomery's lads?" Rowling suggested. "I saw a couple of them carrying Boys."
"Boys?" Lucy's face crinkled in puzzlement.
"That's the name for our anti-tank rifle," answered Sergeant-Major Pike. He then grunted. "Not a very good one in my opinion. The recoil's enough to dislocate your shoulder. The thing's only got an effective range of a hundred yards, and it won't do much good against the thicker armor of Jerry's newer panzers. You wouldn't happen to know what kind of panzers attacked your forces?"
Again, Peter's eyes flickered in all directions but the soldiers'. After a couple seconds of silence, he sighed. "I'm sorry, Sergeant-Major. To us, a German tank is a German tank."
Pike scowled momentarily.
"Still, those Boys would be better than nothing," Corporal Taylor chimed in.
"Perhaps," said Niven. "But the problem is General Montgomery's troops are at least a day-and-a-half's march from this castle. More likely two. I'd say Jerry will be here long before our boys."
"What about using the gryphons?"
Everyone, including Swiftwind and his gryphons, turned to Commander Fleming. He looked around at them before continuing. "What I mean is, they flew us all here. Why not send some of them back toward the wardrobe entrance? They can collect some Boys for us and bring them back here."
"How about they bring back more soldiers, too?" asked Edmund.
"We can only carry one human at a time," said Swiftwind. "And we already have a number of gryphons dedicated to scouting missions and attack from the air. Even if we were to do this, we could not bring a significant number of British soldiers to Cair Paravel before the Naa-sees arrive."
"I'm afraid you're right, my winged friend." The corners of Niven's mouth twitched.
"Even so," Susan said. "The more people we have here with modern weapons, the better."
Peter stared at his sister for a couple seconds before turning back to Niven. "I think we should try it, Lieutenant. Susan's right. Every soldier we can bring here with a rifle or machine gun, or especially those Boys, it'll give us that much more of an edge against the Germans."
Niven's jaw tightened. He slowly bobbed his head back and forth, as though thinking. He then took a breath. "Very well. We'll go with that. Commander." He turned to Fleming. "Would you be good enough to head back to General Montgomery and present him with our plan? I think it best we stay off the R/T, in case Jerry might be listening in."
"Can do."
"Swiftwind, take him," Peter ordered. "And let him have his weapons back. That goes for all of them."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The Commandos collected their weapons and gear, which had been placed on a table at the far end of the great hall. After Fleming and Swiftwind departed, Niven addressed them.
"Sergeant-Major Pike is right about one thing. The Boys aren't the most effective anti-tank weapons we have. But there's no way we can get our tanks or artillery through Professor Kirke's wardrobe. And if we can't knock out those panzers, not only are we in trouble here, but they'll likely roll over General Montgomery's defenses, and send their infantry through the wardrobe."
"In other words, Sir," said Rowling, "We need to find some way to stop those panzers with whatever's here in Narnia."
"Exactly, Corporal." Niven looked to the kings and queens. "I know your weaponry is similar to what they had in the Middle Ages, but there must be something you have that we can use as a sort of an improvised explosive. Gunpowder, perhaps?"
"No, sorry." Peter shook his head. "Gunpowder hasn't been discovered in Narnia."
Niven snorted and chewed on his lip. "What about fuel oil? Surely you use that for lamps or cooking."
"We do." It was General Oreius who answered. "Some of it, or derivatives of it, we use to create fire projectiles for our catapults."
"Mm." Niven frowned. "Unfortunately, General, catapults aren't a very accurate weapon, especially against moving targets."
"I would agree with that."
"So what do we do if we can't hit their tanks with our catapults?" Edmund sounded a bit frustrated.
Niven shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We have to find some way to pour it on them. If we can get some of that oil into an open hatch or a viewing port and ignite it, that tank would be finished."
"I doubt the Germans will send their panzers up to the gates of the castle like in an old-fashioned siege," Pike pointed out. "That'd be our only way to dump any kind of oil on them."
Peter turned his head, face scrunched. Damn the luck. Finally someone had come up with a way to stop a German tank with Narnian technology, and they had no way to implement it. Sergeant-Major Pike was right. The Germans would never let their panzers get close to the walls of Cair Paravel, where the Narnians could drop or pour something from above . . .
Above . . .
Peter's eyes widened. He whipped his head back to Niven. "The gryphons."
"What?"
"The gryphons." He looked around at the remaining ones in the great hall. "Maybe they can carry the oil in barrels or pots and drop it on the German tanks, like a dive bomber. Then we can use a flaming arrow or something to ignite it."
Peter noticed Niven's face light up. A trace of a smile formed on his lips. "I think you're on to something there, Your Majesty."
The compliment from the actor-turned-soldier created an airy feeling in his chest.
"If this will help defeat these Naa-see butchers, then we gladly accept this task," said one of the gryphons. The others nodded emphatically.
"Heh!" Sergeant Ladamire barked. "Blimey, who needs the RAF for air support when you've got gryphons?"
"That still leaves one problem," said Pike.
"What's that, Sarge?" asked Rowling.
"Jerry's artillery. Even if we do manage to keep their tanks and infantry from reaching Cair Paravel, they can just sit back and use their big guns to pound this place into rubble."
The airy feeling in Peter's chest deflated. His chin quivered. No, no, no. Just when he finally saw a glimmer of hope, Pike had to dash it.
There has to be a way to stop their artillery. Think, damn you. Think.
He clenched his teeth. He'd already thought of using gryphons to bomb the Germans tanks with oil. Maybe he could do the same with their artillery. But did he have enough gryphons for both tasks, as well as ferrying British soldiers to Cair Paravel? What if he divided his aerial forces so much they didn't destroy all the tanks and artillery pieces? How well did the Germans protect their artillery?
"Lieutenant. What sort of guards would the Germans have for their artillery?"
"A handful of sentries. Probably a machine gun nest covering each battery."
Peter nodded. "I think I may have an idea for dealing with their artillery, though it might be risky."
Niven grinned. "We're Commandos, Your Majesty. In our line of work, risk comes with the territory."
TO BE CONTINUED