The ground near to the Wall was frozen hard, the light dusting of snow over it crunching underfoot, indicating that there had been melting before the cold refroze it. The air was still warmer than it was north of the great structure, but the cold seemed to come and go at random, not obeying the day-night cycle that would have been the logical decider of such things.
As Michael looked up from his prone position under a thorny bush at the structure, he wondered if magic was what was responsible. Only a few clicks down the road towards the settlement called 'Mole's Town', it got warm enough that the ground was soft with leaves from deciduous trees and clear of snow. Does the Wall regulate its own temperature? he thought, Is that why it doesn't melt?
Three days the attack force had rode south then east, by crawler, horse and unicorn. The warriors had doubled up on the mounts, and some hung off the sides of the crawler's rear unit on loops of rope. The riders followed the tracks of the machine as it sped ahead to find the next night's camp.
At Queenscrown, terrified villagers hadn't even have the chance to flee before Zheng swung the machine around between them and the direction of Castle Black. What few horses the village had were claimed that evening by Ygritte and Ryk, though nothing and no one else was stolen by any tribe. Fear of Canadian weapons seemed almost supernatural among Free Folk and Thenn alike, something that made Michael feel strangely uncomfortable and powerful at the same time.
At a nameless place with only large jutting limestone as shelter, Michael explained the three possible situations at Castle Black to the chieftains and the plans for dealing with them. The leaders listened, not objecting even when Michael explained the means by which he intended to take the least number of Crow lives.
Away from the Kingsroad between Molestown and Castle Black, the war camp was set up under the cover of thick oaks, their leaves only beginning to turn brown at the edges. No fires were set, out of fear of sentries from atop the Wall seeing the light. The whole force sat in the cold through the night and into the day, as wargs and the Canadians set out to see what was at Castle Black.
And that's how Michael found himself in the bush, wondering about the Wall, about 600 yards from the headquarters of the Night's Watch.
"The castle's layout is the same as Mance said, sir," Zheng commented from beside him, peering through binoculars, "Same as the wargs said. A few new outbuildings, a sort of gatehouse with two sentries, but no walls or fences."
Michael glanced down at the map Mance had drawn on his notepad in pencil, then put his own binos to his eyes again. The multiple round-towers, the squat but stout wooden buildings, the stables, the animal pens and the graveyard and tombs; they were all more or less where the Crow-turned-King said they would be.
"No tents outside, no flags on the gatehouse," he noted aloud, "If the kingdoms are sending troops, they haven't arrived yet."
"Those Eastwatch guys could be in there though," Zheng replied, "We can't see into their barracks or armouries."
Michael frowned. "Maybe we can get the wargs to look closer, but we'll have to tell them to be discreet. The Crows' leadership know about warging. Might be a bit fishy if random birds start checking out every building, especially now we've shown all the doubters that magic is real." I still can hardly believe it myself, but that's good enough to be wary.
Zheng lowered her binos and moved her comms' mouthpiece closer. "Sayer, anyone up top?"
"Just saw some in the elevator," the Private replied over the radio, "They were looking this way when it was going up, but no eyes on top otherwise."
Easy enough to time it so we aren't seen by people going up, Michael thought, This might work. "What about the catapults up there? Can they be turned around to hit us?"
Sayer said nothing for a minute. "No idea, sir. Can't see the bottom of them from down here."
"Another question for the wargs then," Zheng stated.
Michael looked at the castle again. "One more thing. Seen any sign of the big white wolf? That Ornvir guy checked the kennels with his snow-pigeon and sent the Crows' dogs barking like crazy, but he didn't see the wolf there or anywhere else."
Zheng snorted. "The Ghost, you mean?"
"It's real, Corporal. "
"Right, a very big wolf that follows commands. I'll believe it when I see it, lieutenant."
"We've seen dead people rise to their feet and attack us, and you don't believe this?"
"I believe you saw a wolf. Or a wolf-dog, if it was following orders. Things look bigger when they're killing people. You've seen the way the locals are acting around us now, the rule applies even to us."
Michael had no counterargument to that, regardless of how certain he was that the wolf was bigger than normal. Either way, the last thing they needed was coming across that beast mid-infil. Fangs are a bad way to go.
A shuffling from behind was soon followed by someone crawling her way through in between Zheng and Michael. On arriving alongside the two of them, Ygritte blew her tangle of red hair out of her face with a sharp breath and looked out at the castle. "At least this one isn't a pile of rocks," she remarked, "Must've taken giants to make stone stand that high."
Michael glanced at her, ignoring the glare of the Corporal from the other side. Ygritte flashed a smile back, edging slightly closer. "Why are you here?" he asked.
"Can't visit my man when he's stuck in the cold watching the Crows go by?"
"Ygritte…"
The spearwife gave a snuffling sort of laugh. "You are easy, Michael Duquesne."
"Better than being called hard. Busy at the moment."
The laugh started again at that, while Zheng groaned loudly with exasperation.
"Mance sent another message," Ygritte said when she was done enjoying the joke, "They captured Halfhand and the Stark boy in a ranging party, tryin' to find out where you Canadians were."
Good news if there ever was any, to Michael's ear. "They get the wolf too?"
"Yeah," Ygritte replied, in English. The word was so strange coming out of her mouth, both he and Zheng had to take a small moment to appreciate it. But the realisation of what the news from north of the Wall meant quickly overtook it.
A predatory grin settled over Zheng's face first."Plan A, sir?"
"Plan A."
The graveyard was a mix of headstones and mound tombs painted a sickly green through night vision. Michael was not afraid of graves or dead bodies or the dark before, but there was something about walking through the final resting place of so many that seemed very unwise to him.
As the team advanced in the cold and faint smell of ashes, he found his rifle drifting to aim towards the closed portal of every tomb. When he finally caught himself doing it, he felt his face burn with embarrassment.
The bodies are ancient, they're not going to burst out eyes-glowing, you idiot, he thought to himself, You may be tired, but stay on mission. By comparison to wights, the Crows were an almost laughable threat in his eyes. He had killed living men on two worlds already.
Turning his attention to Castle Black itself as it got closer and closer, the towers stuck up over the low wooden structures, the occupied ones candle or lantern light flickering from cracks in shutters. They did not quite loom as the Wall did to the immediate right, but Michael was drawn to look regardless.
The team began to move around another mound tomb, the biggest so far, a long shadow indicating a large fire was somewhere on the other side. Getting the first look, Zheng held up a closed fist from her position on-point. The team stopped, and dropped to their knees.
"Report Corporal," Michael said, just barely over a whisper.
"Contact," Zheng replied, "Three men. Crows. Appear to be making something. I think we're where we need to be, sir."
Michael crouch-walked over to her and settled beside, peering around the curve of the mound. Under stone-arched roof that was open to the elements, the three Crows crowded in front of a furnace, one of many that seemed to be both inside and outside the building.
An unfamiliar man in the middle pulled out red hot metal out with tongs and held it over an anvil, glowing brightly white-green in infrared. Another man brought down the hammer to shape it. They were creating a spearhead. The hammerer was immediately recognisable; he had a belly, most of a black beard and was missing an arm.
The armourer, what was his name… Michael thought, Ah, Noye. Donal Noye. He scanned the rest of the building, its T shape and all-stone construction. All as expected.
Michael retreated behind the lee of the mound again before speaking. "It's the armoury, as promised. The armourer himself is out there at the forge, Noye."
"One of the VIPs," O'Neill grunted, "Makes it easier to take him alive… but him being the first to see us may get him killed while trying to do something stupid."
"No choice," Michael replied, "We hit them quickly and quietly. Remember the ROE. Let's go."
The team followed the order without comment. They followed Michael out from behind the mound and fanned out to advance in a wide line. The blacksmiths did not notice as IR aiming lasers lanced from the attachments on the rifles and carbine aimed at them, unable to see the thin beams of light with just their Mark One eyeballs.
With every step closer, Michael watched every movement with more and more care, attention that was rewarded. Casually, as if they were just reaching for a cup of coffee rather than anything deadly, the smiths began to take axes and swords off nearby tables. Too late. We've got you by the balls.
"Evening lads!" O'Neill called, all swagger, "Hands in the air."
"Drop your weapons!" Zheng added with authority, "Now!"
The smiths glanced at each other, deciding what to do. One raised an axe and jumped forward a step, as if to throw the weapon. But Noye caught the attacker with his one arm and shook his head gravely, saving the man's life. Smart man, Michael thought, as he let his rifle hang in front of him and drew his pistol. Let's hope you're smart enough to know the pistol is just as deadly.
"Gentlemen, we'll be relieving you of your responsibilities." O'Neill commented in the most mocking Irish accent he could muster, as he was marching past into the armoury with Zheng.
"You'll not get away with this," the youngest blacksmith stated angrily.
Feeling like a cartoon villain just for having heard such a remark directed at him, Michael smirked and took out a roll of duct tape. "As much as I'd like to go twelve rounds on that particular cliché… Sayer, search and tape 'em up."
"Yessir," the Private replied, catching the thrown tape. The Crows stood still as Sayer pat them down, grabbed their arms and taped them together.
"Inside," Michael commanded next, pushing the men to encourage movement. The armourer ordered his subordinates to comply, his single arm mummified around his neck instead of behind his back. Michael blew out a breath. Ouch, that's gonna hurt when it gets taken off. Assuming he isn't dead by dawn.
"We're clear," Zheng reported as they all entered the armoury, "Inside and out, it seems."
The protruding part of the building that led to the smithy was full of charcoal and wood, but they soon passed into the longer and wider section beyond.
To either side of the inner doorway, rows and rows of racks stood illuminated by candlelight, filled with weapons, chainmail vests, helmets, cloth-covered wooden shields and chests. There were two doors at the opposite ends of the building, both facing west into the courtyard. Opposite one of these stood a desk with another candle atop it, a large book open on its surface and a feather pen in a pot of ink. Along the length of the western wall was a series of double shutter windows, widely spaced.
"It's Christmas, sir," O'Neill remarked with cheer, "Santy brought presents for all the good girls and boys. Mance was right, these Crows don't go around the castle armed, most of them anyway."
The Corporal was less enthusiastic, eyeing the armoury's contents warily. "Can't find the entrance to the tunnels that Mance talked about," she remarked, "And why the candles? Why are all these weapons uncovered? There's no one else in here." She kicked a large canvas out from behind the nearest rack, clearly left there to be thrown over the weapons on it to protect them from the elements.
"Doing inventory?" Sayer suggested, "That red guy, looks like a tomato? Isn't he the guy in charge of keeping lists of everything? Maybe he's looking over what they have and putting it in that book." He gestured to the desk beyond.
That sounded familiar. "Yeah, that's how Mormont described him. Must have just stepped out," Michael said. Zheng was right, there was something suspect about it, but nothing worth scrubbing the mission over. Not yet. "We continue as planned. I'll grab him if he shows. Break out the GPMG."
O'Neill saluted, and began unslinging the machine gun. Zheng secured the rear door by simply turning the large key still in its lock, then giving the door a shake to make sure it would hold under pressure. To Michael's relief, it did, but better to be safe than sorry, he shoved one of the racks just far enough to overlap with the swing of the door if anyone forced it.
Easy exit, no quiet entry. Rack-of-Swords Alarm Systems, 11th century technology at its finest.
Seeing that was complete, Sayer poked Armourer Noye with the barrel of his gun to get the man moving again, but he resisted, looking directly at Michael as he did so. "Taking hostages won't grant you any leverage. The Watch doesn't negotiate for exchanges with the wildlings, and won't with your ilk either."
"My ilk don't take hostages," Michael replied, "You're prisoners of war."
"And you're a guarantee against your friends burning down the building with us inside," Zheng added, "But that's just because we can't move you anywhere else."
True enough, Michael decided. "You won't be harmed, not by us anyway. I'm sure Qhorin Halfhand told you as much. Sayer, seal their mouths too."
The ripping sound of the Private pulling out a length of duct tape filled the room three times as he shut the Crows up. With that, they allowed themselves to be moved again. That was too easy.
Michael ordered the team to split up. Sayer would follow him to the corner at one end, Zheng and O'Neill would go to the other end with the GPMG. The prisoners came with Michael too, where they couldn't interfere with the most deadly weapon at the disposal of the team. They promptly were put on their asses and had their legs taped together in a corner by Sayer, the weapons in nearby racks tossed out of reach.
Michael opened the door to the yard and saw exactly what he expected to see; an open courtyard providing no cover at all to whoever could've wanted to cross it, stretching out between the armoury and the central buildings; the 'shield hall', the barracks buildings and the common hall.
There was only thing that felt off; very few signs of light or life could be seen across the way. Mance had said there were eight hundred fighting men at Castle Black at the time he had deserted the Night's Watch, but that had been a long time ago. If there are that many tonight, they're being very quiet, Michael thought, It isn't even that late. But in for a penny…
"We're good to go over here, sir," O'Neill reported.
Michael glanced down the hall. Zheng had the GPMG loaded and set up on top of the desk, over a pile of spare furniture and right in front of the open doorway. The candle, book and inkwell previously occupying it had all been shoved onto the floor. The Corporal was sat in what appeared to be a very comfortable padded leather chair, though she was leaning forward on the table to aim rather than leaning back to relax. At least she's comfy.
"I'll announce us. Stand to, ladies and gentlemen."
Holstering his pistol again and taking up the rifle in hand, Michael moved outside a single step. It seemed colder than it had been on the march. The wind seemed to swirl in no direction at all, only there to rob anyone of whatever heat they had. The Wall's magic? he wondered.
He found no one waiting in ambush for him around the corner of the armoury, or even on top of the arch of the gatehouse which rounded off the buildings enclosing the yard. He had been half-expecting to see Jon Stark's wolf standing there, waiting to tear his throat out. Where is the damn thing?
Not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, Michael quickly took out the flare gun he had for the occasion, and pointed it directly into the sky. As he squeezed the trigger just as he heard the sound of wood slamming on stone.
The flare shot up into the sky, bathing every surface with brilliant red light. And a half dozen crossbowmen moving to aim at Michael from the previously shuttered windows of the central buildings.
Without thinking, he bolted backwards inside the armoury again, tripping over the threshold. Bolts thrummed around him, burying themselves in the wood of the door frame and floor, skittering off the armoury's stone walls. His head thumping, Michael rolled sideways out of sight, as his subordinates returned fire.
Tracers from the machine gun raked the buildings opposite, downing the next handful of crossbowmen appearing at the windows. Michael sat breathing hard, mind still registering what had just happened. They saw us coming. But they didn't get their weapons and armour? And they had their crossbows? Why? Did they see us too late and had to grab anything they could?
"Cease fire," he ordered, "Cease fire now!"
Sayer and O'Neill obeyed immediately. Zheng let one last burst go from the machine gun, earning her a smack on the top of her helmet from the Sergeant standing beside her. The shooting over with, muffled shouts of pain and groaning replaced it. More than expected.
Michael stood up again, half-climbing up the wall he had been sitting against, and peeked out into the courtyard again. He saw Crows beginning to do the same thing, though they could likely not see anything now that the flare had dropped out of sight. Brave, Michael thought, After seeing what firepower we've got.
"Mr. Noye, did you get any warning of our arrival?" Michael asked the armourer, still tied up in the opposite corner, "Were you bait?" The man looked back blankly. His mouth was still taped shut.
Doesn't mean you can't reply. "Nod or shake your head," Michael commanded, "Did you know we were coming?" After a few seconds, Noye reluctantly shook his head.
Good. They've got nothing to resist with other than what they grabbed last-minute. Michael leaned out of the doorway again. "Ser Alliser Thorne! This is Ulysses! We have captured your armoury, along with your armourer and most of your weapons!"
No reply came.
"You have two choices," Michael continued, "Surrender the castle to me, and none of you will be harmed! Or attempt to retake the armoury and I will stack your men like firewood in this god damn courtyard!"
"We don't negotiate with wildlings!" came the grim answer, "Or wildling lovers!"
Well, if you want to play it like that. Michael looked to Sayer. "Do you know where he's shouting from?"
Sayer's lips thinned, his NV goggles sweeping from side to side as the younger man considered the options. "Might be top right window of the middle building," he said, "Get him talking again." He shifted his radio headset under his helmet to hear better.
Michael nodded. "Thorne, you've seen the power of our weapons yourself! Even if you retake this building, we'll kill so many that Mance will be able to take the Wall anyway! Do the honourable thing, surrender the castle and the deal I spoke of before is still on the table!"
"Mance won't like that," Zheng commented over the comms.
"Mance can ask me bollocks," O'Neill replied, the exact meaning of his words not entirely clear to anyone else but the sentiment crystal clear.
A crossbow bolt zipped through the doorway between Sayer and Michael, ricocheting off the floor and skidding to a halt against the wall beside Noye and the other Crows.
"There's your answer, you foreign bastard!" Ser Alliser declared, "Get a good look, they'll be the last thing you see."
"Top right, middle building, left side of the window," Sayer confirmed.
Michael brought his rifle into grip again. "Zheng. Supply him with lead."
The Corporal fired the machine gun once again. The bullets tore into the place Sayer had identified as the position of Alliser Thorne, the wood splintering and shattering. The snow on the roof and its own weight soon caused it to sag as Zheng destroyed the supporting wood beams. There was movement in all the other windows, men rushing about.
That's right, run. "Cease fire," Michael commanded, figuring that anything more was a waste of bullets.
Shouts could be heard again now that the machine gun wasn't speaking. "Fetch the maester! Fetch the maester!" "Gods, what is that thing!" "Stay away from the windows!" Or so Michael's mind pieced together. It was hard to hear exactly from distance, behind wood and stone, over the sounds of men rushing and incoherently screaming.
Leaning around the door frame again, Michael took aim through the window beyond with the most movement he could see, and let off a burst. A scream of pain was the result, followed by yet more shouting and movement.
Chaos, just as planned. With a great deal of satisfaction, Michael switched channels on his radio.
"Weirwood, this is Maple. Point Alpha seized. You're up."
The callsigns and jargon felt a little frivolous in a world where only Canadians or their allies possessed radios, but it was the little things that held together the idea that they were all still a Canadian military unit. Long may it last, Michael thought, as the sound of rustling came back over the comms.
"Copy," Ygritte replied, her pronunciation of the word in English slightly off before she got all sly and sultry, "Be seeing you soon, Mi… Maple."
She's impossible, Michael thought, switching d his radio back to the team channel. So the wait begins.
"What now?" Sayer asked.
Michael sighed. "Now we see how long it takes for them to try and kill us all."
"Oh."
A half hour of concentration watching the green-and-black enhanced world outside for any sign of attack was broken in an instant. A dull crack from an unexpected direction.
Michael might not have noticed it at all, but Sayer twisted to look where the noise was coming from. "What is it?" he asked the Private.
"Over there," Sayer said, pointing to the wall surface beside where the prisoners were sitting. Another crack, duller but louder this time, announced the slight shifting of the wall and a little waterfall of dust as the mortar holding the stone together was crushed by an impact.
The hair on Michael's neck stood on end, as recognition of what was happening dawned on him. The building had many blind spots, and the Crows had exploited that in an unexpected way. "They're battering down the wall over here," Michael reported in English to his subordinates, as the third impact hit and the stone at its centre began poking out slightly.
"I think I've found the tunnel entrance too," O'Neill said, "I hear someone fucking around with keys somewhere under the corner and muttering. The floorboards look like they can pop up and out."
The Night's Watch plan of attack revealed itself to Michael; hit the armoury from multiple directions simultaneously. The battering down of the armoury wall at the south side would be the signal for all the others to attack. The tunnels and the hallway to the forge area were likely already full of men ready to charge in. A quick glance outside confirmed many eyes looking out from edges of shutter-windows and buildings, so maybe even a mass attack across the courtyard would follow soon afterwards.
Very well thought out, but who is doing the thinking? Michael wondered, Did Thorne survive? Has Ser Rykker taken command? Or has the old man regained his senses?
Regardless, he was not about to let their plan proceed. "O'Neill watch the tunnel and the back door as best you can. Sayer, with me, we're going outside to stop them knocking down the building. Zheng, give us suppressive fire on the buildings on my word."
Acknowledgements rang out over the comms, and Sayer stood up from his kneeling position. Exhaling a long breath, Michael reactivated his IR laser, adjusted his night-vision goggles and ran his fingers over the seven grenades hanging on various locations of his body. Go time.
"Sayer, I want lots of violence on top of the gatehouse when we get out there. Zheng, now."
"Copy."
The machine gun ripped another line of tracers through the barracks once again, bursts flying out in succession as the Corporal made sure each likely location of a shooter was given attention.
After three, Michael adjusted the focus of his NV goggles and stepped out into the courtyard again. Immediately, he saw three crossbowmen up on the gatehouse, aiming this way and that in confusion. He ignored them. Worrying about them was Sayer's job, and the Private saw to it at once. The IR laser from his weapon swung upwards at the targets, quickly followed by bullets.
Four steps to the left of the door and Michael aimed around the side of the armoury the Crows were attempting to knock down. The sight of a hundred armed men greeted him, armed with seemingly anything they could get their hands on; wood axes, iron fire pokers, sharpened sticks, rough-fashioned wooden clubs. The group was guarding another twenty holding a massive wooden beam with leather straps tied around it; the battering ram.
Michael slid around the corner again, out of sight except for his head, and reached for a grenade.
"They're there!" shouted one man, dropping the ram and backing off. The others lurched to compensate in the change of weight,
"Where?" asked another, older voice. Chatter started up, the men turning this way and that, or trying to spark-ignite unlit torches with flints to provide light to see.
I must seem like a phantom, Michael thought. Aiming for a spot between the breach team and the assault force, he threw the grenade and ducked back around the corner again. There were shouts, as one or two Crows noticed the round object sail by, but this only increased the confusion.
The explosion a few seconds later was followed closely by incoherent screaming and shouting.
Tempo. Michael shouldered his weapon. "Sayer, with me." Moving back into sight of the Crows, he found a confused tangle of men seeking a target, running or crying desperately for their mothers. A few managed to get their torches, just in time to see.
Knowing that the mob could overrun him if they got momentum going, Michael didn't wait. He sighted the first of them still standing and armed, and shot him, dead on, centre mass. Thinking no more of that man, he moved on to the next, as Sayer joined in. Rinse and repeat.
The rest broke and ran, those that could. They bolted for the shelter of the nearest buildings, most bringing their makeshift weapons with them. Michael stopped firing to preserve ammunition, almost feeling sorry for them. Must be like Martians or something would be to us.
Sayer sent a few more rounds chasing after them, until there were no more targets. A few seconds later, and only discarded torches and bodies remained scattered in the snow. It wasn't hard to tell which bodies were dead and which were alive for the moment. Even in the cold, the ferrous smell of blood leeched into the air.
The Private halted suddenly, looking at something. "That's the maester's helper from the sit-down," Sayer said, pointing with the muzzle of his assault rifle at a particularly large lump under a black woollen cloak on the ground.
So it is, Michael thought, Must've been conscripted to work the battering ram. "Tarly."
The cloaked lump shook for a moment, before the person hiding beneath it poked his head out. The teenager had a long, thin cut across his cheek where something had scratched him, but the thick wood of the ram had shielded from the grenade besides that. "Yes?" Tarly asked, like he had been asked a question at dinner and hadn't quite heard it.
"Ser Alliser still in command?"
"No, it's Ser Rykker now. You killed Ser Alliser."
"Good." He's more likely to lay down arms… I think.
Michael considered what to do. Tarly was not wounded and could be taken prisoner easily, but he wasn't enough of a threat to be considered a true combatant anyway. But he did have certain rudimentary skills, if memory served. "Help the wounded. I'd prefer if they didn't all die."
The kid rose to his feet, tears flooding his eyes. "Yes, my lord."
I'm not your lord or the Lord, Michael thought, opening his mouth to respond.
Gunfire from inside the armoury stopped him. A glance behind showed no attack from across the courtyard.
"We need you back in here sir!" O'Neill shouted over the radio, "They're getting in!" More gunfire followed.
The tunnel and the back door… "Roger. On our way." Not wasting another second, Michael left Tarly behind and strode back around and through the doorway, Sayer close at hand.
Crows with torches seemed to be all over the armoury now, grabbing swords or failing to dodge the bullets flying at them from the other end of the building. O'Neill and Zheng could only be seen intermittently through the crowd of them.
The nearest was hunched over the three taped-up blacksmiths, attempting to cut them free with a dinner knife in one hand, while holding a reclaimed battle axe in the other. The sound of Michael's boots hitting the wooden floor alerted the man, who immediately lunged forwards.
Too close. Michael let loose the remaining bullets in his rifle's magazine, six or seven shots riddling the man from belly to sternum. The attacker lost the strength to use or hold his knife or axe in the space of half a second, but his body still impacted with full force. Pushed back into Sayer, Michael attempted to untangle himself. The man clawed at them both to stay standing, as if managing that feat would keep him alive.
Shoving didn't seem to work, but Sayer soon connected with a vicious punch to the head over Michael's shoulder, sending the dying Crow sprawling to the floor and leaking blood everywhere. At last.
Moving to let Sayer in, Michael pushed his goggles out of his eyes, and reloaded. Once that was done, he moved along the edge of the wall opposite the inner door, keeping out of the firing lines of Zheng and O'Neill's weapons. The Crows's faces turned about, noticing the new threat. But no charge followed, for fear of being shot in the back.
The next few minutes were a blur for Michael. The pistol did its job, and Private used Arran's rifle to the same effect. Rack-by-rack, Michael and Sayer cleared the armoury. Men in black cloaks cowered, pounced, ducked or swung swords to try and prevent it, but all of them ended up dead.
The only interruption to the blur was the memory of him throwing a grenade into the adjoining corridor to the forge area then kicking the door closed. The last he saw, the next group of Crows were running straight into the kill zone.
Its explosion signalled the end of the assault too. The Crows still inside the building ran for their lives, for any doorway they could think of. They failed, save for one man who crawled out almost unnoticed, having pretended to be dead before. Sayer had missed the shot as the man opened the inner door, ran through it and closed it behind him.
Full sensation returned to Michael as he found himself standing in front of O'Neill and Zheng. Both were breathing hard, the floor around them a sea of spent brass and bodies. A crossbow bolt was lodged in the desk's leg, inches from the Corporal's gut. Sayer was coughing, hunched over a small pool of vomit nearby.
Yet all eyes seemed to be on him. What's the problem? "Report," Michael said to the Sergeant.
O'Neill gathered himself, standing straighter. "They came through the roof too, sir. The tunnel was a diversion. They saw we were shooting from both doors at the ends and all reasonable paths." He pointed to a spot on the ceiling, maybe ten feet away from the machine gun nest, where the roof slates had been removed.
Michael looked up at the hole, then down at the floor, finding nothing. Removed the roof quietly, didn't just smash it in. Didn't make the mistake of removing the entire roof, which would've forced us to leave before we could be trapped with in an enclosed space. Rykker is smart.
"We're lucky. If they had attacked in force from across the courtyard at the same time, they would've overrun us. Guess the suppressive fire when we stepped out to deal with the battering ram convinced them that was a bad idea."
"Are you okay, sir?" Zheng asked, looking up from the desk at him, her NV goggles flipped up to reveal an aghast face.
Michael cocked an eyebrow at her. "Yes, Corporal. Why?"
"You're covered in blood, sir," O'Neill said, "Then there's that fuckin' abattoir behind you to consider." Michael glanced back at the bloody floor covered with dead, at least thirty of them. The prisoners still taped up at the other end of the armoury averted their eyes, fearful. Even Noye, a guy not likely to be fearful a whole lot.
It was me or them. Michael thought with annoyance. "It's not my blood."
The Sergeant stared and frowned. "I can see that, sir."
There it is, the strange look after a fight. "Not my first rodeo. I'll tell you all about it some time. The assault force can't be far now."
"They're coming!" Zheng grumbled, her NV goggles back over her eyes and aimed out the door again. She began shooting again, adjusting the machine gun this way and that.
Fearing the Crows would get in through the other doors, Michael grabbed Sayer and navigated through the corpses back to the other end of the building. Zheng's curses came over the radio as they arrived. The machine gun had run dry, needing another belt of bullets. And the enemy were coming in strength.
The moon had come out from behind the clouds, but the courtyard was dark in a different way; a sea of black cloaks. Men and boys of all ages poured from the doors of and gaps between the buildings, holding everything and anything that could be used to brain a human being to death. Leading them were the knights, easily identified by the fact they actually had swords and armour.
Too many, Michael's mind whispered. Zheng opened up with the machine gun again. Sayer and O'Neill joined in with rifle fire. It was too late. The bodies of those directly in the firing line of the machine gun would provide just enough cover, and the rifles would need to be reloaded far quicker. It was a matter of seconds before the enemy were inside. "Back off from the doors, bottleneck th…" He stopped.
An arrow had come from above, out of nowhere. In seconds, more arrows peppered the mass of men, enough to get their attention. The charge stopped, as did the shooting, without any order being given by anyone. A great roar went up, accompanied by the screeching of metal on metal.
They're here! Michael thought in triumph. He stepped out of the doorway, unnoticed by the Crows. Their attention was too focused on the arrival of the Thenns, advancing in a shieldwall through the gate. A forest of bronze-tipped spears levelled against the Crows, who began backing off away from it.
From the sides, both behind the armoury and through the other buildings, the men of Ruddy Hall were appearing too, cutting off all avenues of escape, one by one.
And atop the gatehouse and keep roofs, a bright red road flare suddenly ignited, revealing Ygritte and her weirwood longbow, along with the Laughing Tree tribes's archers on every raised walkway and peak. The Crows began balling up as a clump, the realisation that they were surrounded moving each man by instinct to face the nearest enemy.
Almost entirely according to plan, Michael thought with satisfaction, Good thing Zheng stopped shooting, or they would've fought to the death. There was only one thing left to do.
"Ygritte, hold fire," he said over the comms, knowing she would've switched channels on arriving at the castle. His eyes scanned the Crow force for Ser Rykker, and found the knight less than twenty paces away, backing off. He opened his mouth to speak, but had to steady himself first. Fatigue was setting in, the fatigue of killing too many up close.
"Ser Jaramy Rykker," Michael stated, raising his rifle at the man.
The knight shifted his gaze from the gatehouse to Michael, his face a picture of indecision, his sword and shield still in hand. Many of the Crows to his sides did the same. "How?" Ser Rykker asked, "This many could not have climbed."
"We used our weapons to breach the Wall at the Nightfort. Or should I say the Giantsfort, it's theirs now."
A mocking smile flashed briefly over Ser Rykker's features. "I would call such a thing impossible, if you were not all standing in front of me."
Michael lowered his weapon a little, to show his face. "You fought well. You didn't give up even after we seized your weapons. You tried very hard to take the weapons back, forcing us to kill far more of your people than I was hoping for. But my country has never lost a war. Surrender the castle to me, no more of you will be harmed without cause. Or you can look to the wildlings for what answer they'll give you instead."
Ser Rykker shook his head. "I cannot yield. Your wildling friends would cause havoc in the Seven Kingdoms, to noble and smallfolk alike. Chivalry demands I resist them. For every one of them I kill, I save the lives of men and the virtues of maidens they would take later."
Probably true. "You won't kill any. My subordinates will shoot you all down, now that you've kindly gathered in one place."
Rykker scoffed, or feigned it. Don't try and break into Hollywood, good ser knight.
"As for the Seven Kingdoms, Mance and I made an agreement. There will be no repeat of previous invasions by the Free Folk, they will settle the Gift. I'm sure some warriors will disobey their King, but better a few hundred raiders than a hundred thousand dead men marching to the Others' tune."
Michael raised his weapon to his shoulder one last time. "Live to help us keep an orderly peace, or die here with your entire brotherhood. Your choice."
The knight did not reply for what seemed like an hour, and when he did, he had no words to give. He sheathed his sword, unbuckled it from the belt it was attached to, and placed it on the ground gently.
The Crows followed suit, though none of the knights or men were gentle with their weapons, throwing them down hard or far to land at the feet of the Thenns. Michael knew the hatred there would not disappear, but knew that the era of the Night's Watch being able to act on that hate was just about over. All that was left was the formality.
"On behalf of Her Majesty's Canadian Forces, I accept your surrender."