Chapter 4: The Raid
Half an hour later, the carriage shows up on the horizon.
The cannon's on a hillock above a bend in the road, concealed in the trees as best we could, with a clean enfilade right down the road. We're crouched in the bushes below the gun – safest bet so a missed shot doesn't waste us – with the carriage bearing down on us.
"They better not fucking miss," I mutter.
"They can miss. Just not twice," says Florent.
"Shut up," hisses Rodin.
Carriage comes on. Closer. Closer…
"Fire one!" yells Rodin. I quickly stick my fingers in my ears.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The shot flies out over our heads. It scrapes the ground, bounces once or twice, then caromes up and plows right into the horses. There's a hideous shriek and a crunch of wood and bone giving way as they die, and then the carriage's forward momentum flips it clean around to land on its roof, crushing the driver beneath it to boot.
It's a perfect shot, and we all cheer. The sight of all the gore and wreckage is beautiful: completely worth hauling the damn cannon through the swamp.
The cheers eventually die down, and we wait for any survivors to emerge. Sure enough, out they crawl, bruised and blooded. We take stock.
A man in plate armour, with a cross blazoned on his surcoat. He'll be a problem. Or she – I suppose it could be a woman under there.
A tall woman with war paint on her face, a spray of red hair, and what looks like a big fucking axe, maybe a glaive. She'll be a problem too.
A man in a turban and what looks like some kind of robe. He doesn't look like a problem, but you never know.
Another man, bearded, who's pulling a big ugly dog out of the wreck. I swear under my breath. I hate dogs, except when served with a side of potatoes. And even if I didn't, that thing'll be a pain in the ass to keep track of. Another problem.
Lastly a shorter woman, blonde, in a blue overcoat, lugging what looks like a…mining pick? If that's all she's got, she's gonna have a problem.
"Bagsies on Blondie," says Florent with a grin. I grin back, but privately I think he's acting like a fool. This is a proper fight coming up, not some cowering villagers we can walk over. Not a good time to try and get in a bit of rape.
"Fire two!" yells Rodin. I put my fingers in my ears again just in time.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
The second cannonball sails down and hits the guy in armour square in the chest. He's instantly turned into paste and a bunch of scrap metal, and the cannonball goes bouncing off down the road. We let out another, bigger cheer. One less problem.
"Charge!" roars Rodin, and we surge forward.