The journey continues... for those of you who have been with me from the start, thank you! You've officially read, 179,736 words as of today's postings! We're over halfway done.
On with the show...
Cannon fire continued. Aramis motioned for his men to stay behind the lines and protect themselves as debris continued to fall. He shifted to his right, stationed behind an oak tree and tucked himself along the exposed roots that snaked from its base. His musket rested at the ready beside him. He knew the weapon was useless until the Spanish stopped firing their cannons and charged the field on foot.
They were fortunate, only a few men had been injured in the initial bombardment. A few bumps, bruises, and a few cuts. The men held their own and worked to maintain their composure as the thunderous sounds of cannons exploded. Smoke filled the air and seeped into the valley like a slow-moving shift of heavy fog.
"Aramis!" Athos shouted and motioned for him to join him.
Aramis stood, grabbed his musket, and ran forward with his shoulders hunched.
"Find Porthos, Levi, and Marc… and send one of your men to find Raboin's captains," Athos said, and then pointed toward the far side of the camp. "Tell your men not to advance… not until my orders to do so."
Aramis nodded and quickly returned to his station. He informed his men, sent Francois to notify the other captains, and then Aramis quickly ran toward Porthos' company. The intensity of the explosions had increased in frequency and debris rained down on the regiments with ferocity. The men struggled to remain still while the Spanish continued their assault. French soldiers wanted to fight, they wanted to end the barrage of threats, but they followed orders and held their line and waited for their orders to advance.
Porthos looked up, covered his head with his arms as another cannonball hit the ground just short of the line the men held. "If we stay 'ere much longer, they'll eventually 'ave our positions an' adjust their trajectory." He looked at Aramis, who slid to a stop next to him and ducked for cover.
"Athos wants to see us." Aramis slapped Porthos' arm. "I think he has a plan." He quirked a smile. "He had that tone in his voice."
Porthos chuckled. "I do like it when Athos' tone changes." He ducked when another cannon was fired. More debris landed around them. "It's about damn time!"
"Find Levi," Aramis said and slapped Porthos' arm. "I'll find Marc." He ducked again.
Porthos nodded. "Stand back," he shouted to his men." He motioned with his arm to the trees behind them. "Find refuge in the trees an' hold!"
Smoke continued to roll into the valley. It hung heavy in the air and blanketed the land. It covered bushes, mounds, small trees, and men. While the tops of trees peeked beyond its reach, the gray sky only added to its mystery. Heavy clouds shadowed the afternoon sun and threatened rain. A slight breeze teased the branches of the barren trees and dried, dead weeds bowed to its force. Mud still cursed the men as they positioned themselves. Tents had been destroyed, fires that had burned were now smoldering as debris continued to rain down. The refugees had hidden themselves in the woods behind the chateau and waited for the explosions to stop. Children cried and clung to their mothers. Old men held fast and watched with regret as crooked hands and bad knees and hips prevented their participation in the fight. Soldiers too injured to assist prayed and remained strong together as the day wore on.
Captains shouted orders from horseback, instructing their men to hold strong but not advance… not yet.
Athos entered his tent. His table was broken, his bed askew, and his shelves of maps and ledgers had been knocked over. The right side of the tent flap had been torn from the force of the explosions and the barrage of projectiles. He grabbed what he needed, abandoned the rest, and then walked hastily toward the far side of the camp, where the cannons could not reach.
"Jacques!" Athos shouted. "Get the horses back!" He motioned with his hand and watched the young musketeer shout to those close by for help, and together, they ran for the rope corral to move their mounts.
Athos grasped the hilt of his weapon and continued toward the barn that had been abandoned by the Fontaine family after their eviction from the chateau. The barn, located to the right of the house, but behind the stables was protected by several trees and a narrow creek. It was difficult to see from across the battlefield due to an on shaped hill that sloped like a woman's hip. The barn had been used for supplies by the regiments, but as the supplies dwindled, room became available. Square tipped shovels, pic-forkens, canvas and wooden buckets, and bundles of twine rested against and hung from the wall near the entry. Athos pushed open the door, grabbed two large barrels, and placed an abandoned door across them to form a rough table. He picked up several stones, laid out his maps, and then positioned the stones at the corners.
With his arms extended, he leaned against the makeshift table and contemplated the plan. Athos looked up and nodded to the captains of the other regiments, and then toward his own lieutenants. He clenched his jaw when d'Artagnan walked in and stood with his arms crossed and his hands tucked beneath his armpits. He looked tired, pale, and ill. But with a clinched jaw, determined eyes, and a look of defiance, he nodded to Athos.
"The Spanish have 15 —"
"22," Porthos said, and looked at Athos. "They've got 22 cannons."
Everyone exhaled at once.
"Why would the Spanish have that much artillery here?" Captain Guidry said in disbelief. His black hair frayed from the leather tie at the base of his neck, and hooded brown eyes glanced at those around him. "There are easier and much more efficient ways of crossing into French Territory than east of Verdun." He looked at those around him. The tone of his voice begged for answers. "Why here?"
"We border a portion of the Spanish occupied Dutch Republic," Captain Comtois said. "Perhaps the Dutch military is moving this way and the Spanish are preparing for their arrival?"
"How would they know?" d'Artagnan said from the back of the room. He coughed several times and finally spit before he shrugged and leaned against the barn wall.
"There's a traitor amongst us," Captain Fain said, "or — the Spanish are very good at guessing."
"The reason for them being here and so heavily equipped is a moot point — what we need," Athos said, "is to destroy the artillery before it destroys us." He looked hard at those around him. His face was stern, eyes hard, and his voice determined.
"Cannons, Athos," Captain Duris said defeatedly. "How do we destroy cannons?"
Athos looked at his map and added seven more small stones to the Spanish military line. The map was a rough rendition of the lands, surrounding nobility, and communities, most of which had been abandoned and whose residents now hid within the trees behind the battlefields. "I don't believe the Spanish have a significant number of men behind the lines here," his ran his finger across the map indicating the location, "which might explain why — in the weeks since this started — we've had no serious combat other than a few skirmishes and persistent onslaughts of cannon fire."
"So what about the cannons?" Guidry said.
"It's not about the cannons — it's about the perception of having a substantial military."
Marc frowned, cleared his throat, and said, "Do you believe we have a window of time before their full military arrives? Or," he shrugged, "are they just low in number?"
"Either way, that's a wager, Captain," Comtois said, "that I'm not sure I'm willing to take."
"The Musketeers will," Porthos said. He stood with his arms crossed, shoulders back, and his chin raised. He was a big man, not heavy, but broad, powerful, and tall. He knew his size, and he knew the presence he carried. "What is it, Captain, that you need us to do?"
Athos clenched his jaw and nodded. With his right hand on his belt, he pointed to the map and said, "To destroy the cannons, we need to get behind enemy lines — there is no other way." He looked up as several of the captains shook their heads in disagreement.
"You go behind enemy lines, no matter the size of your army, you'll be slaughtered —"
"He just said —"
"Porthos," Athos said and shook his head, stopping him from saying anything more. He shifted, rubbed the back of his neck, and looked at those around him. "My men will manage the cannons —"
"We'll help," Captain Duris said. He stepped forward, looked at the map and nodded to Guidry, who stepped beside him.
"We will too." Guidry said.
"But," Duris said, "how do we destroy them?"
Athos parted his lips and pulled an iron rod from the bucket near his foot. He placed it on the makeshift table. "We have to hammer these into the vents — one per cannon."
Comtois exhaled slowly and rubbed his cheeks with the cup of his hand. "You have to get behind enemy lines to do it." He looked at Athos and shrugged. "How will you manage that?"
"At night," Athos said. He looked at Aramis and then Porthos, who both nodded in agreement. He pointed to the map and drew a line with his index finger from the far side of the battle line. "Six bands of four men, three on each side. The iron rods will take about a minute to pound in," he looked at the captains while still leaning over the table, "you must have your strongest men using the beetles to pound the stakes — two men to guard the cannon and one to hold the stake until it's stable." He pulled away from the table and rested his hand on the hilt of his weapon. "The rest of us will need to pull a line behind the cannons — if," he stressed, "if their military is larger than expected, we'll need to fight them on their own ground. If we place musketeers — your best — within range, they can fire at the oncoming forces while the cannons are being disabled."
"Men will be protecting those cannons. They may even fire them tonight," Pruette said and, with his arms crossed, clapped a hand against his right bicep.
"I want men fluent in Spanish to lead the men and inform those guarding the cannons that their shifts are up. It's dark enough and with a few minor changes in attire we can get close enough to eliminate the immediate threat."
"I've got a few men who speak Spanish fluently," Captain Fain said with a nod. "If," he pointed to the map and drew a line across the battlefield, "you place musketeers here, they're likely to shoot their own men by accident."
Aramis choked back a laugh and said, "Not our Musketeers." He stepped forward and pointed to the cannons. "The Spanish have night fires going — large ones," he stepped back and shrugged, "keep your men on our side of the fires. We'll shoot beyond them."
"Lieutenant Aramis will oversee the musketeers — including those from your regiments who are your best marksmen."
Captain Fain raised his eyebrows and nodded.
"What about General Raboin?" Guidry said. "What does he have to say about this?"
Comtois and the others answered before Athos could. "I doubt the general could find his way around a privy—"
"His only instructions were to continue to fight," Athos said. "And that is what we're doing."
The captains all looked at each other and agreed.
"So, how soon and where do you want our bands to meet?" Comtois said.
"Now," Athos said. "Once the Musketeers are ready to move, we'll lead the charge."
Comtois leaned forward, tapped his knuckles on the table, and said, "If this works…"
"We'll all be in your debt," Duris said with a respectful nod.
Athos clinched his jaw and nodded. He watched them leave, murmuring amongst themselves, and then he turned to look at all five of his lieutenants. "We need strength for this —"
"You don't have to ask, Captain," Levi said and stepped forward. "I have a couple of men in mind."
"I do too," Marc said. "And," he quirked an eyebrow, "they're fluent in Spanish."
Athos nodded, but said to all of them, "Form your bands, but find someone you trust to hold the stake — someone who's not afraid to get hit." He held the metal bar and tossed it to Porthos. "There are more of these by the forge near the stables. Bring at least 30 with you — just in case and then get a few to each of the bands." He watched Porthos grab the stake and lift the heft with his hand and nod. "Work with Aramis and Marc to find the best Spanish speaking Musketeers."
Porthos nodded.
"I'm going to find Walnut," Athos said. "If he can help —"
"He could probably beetle two at a time," Aramis said, and then chuckled. He looked at Porthos, who frowned, and then shrugged. "He might."
"What about me?" d'Artagnan said. "I'm not dead… let me do something — I want to do something."
Athos looked hard at him as he stepped forward. He was still strong, but sickly. "Timing," he said. "I need someone to manage the timeline. Once the men are in position to cross into enemy territory, they will only have a few minutes to begin and complete their assignments. I want the line of defensive soldiers moving at the same time — as soon as the guards leave their posts, move into position. Aramis will manage the musketeers and fire at will once the Spanish realize what is happening. There will be chaos and we will end up in a fight, but," he paused and ran his fingers through his hair, "if we can remove the threat of the cannons, we'll have a much better chance of surviving, even if they have a full military behind them."
"Do you really think the cannons are a ruse to what's really going on?" d'Artagnan asked. He coughed, spit, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"More importantly," Aramis said, "if it is a ruse… how much is General Raboin a part of it?"
"Go," Athos said. He lifted the door from the barrels and replaced it against the wall and then moved the barrels back to their original position. "We have little time. The sun will be down shortly and I want to move before the threat of morning arrives."