This was much like that, but instead of three carriages, it was thousands and thousands of dragoons heading straight into his trench.
By the time the dragoons had managed to arrest their charge, the trench was nearly filled with screaming, thrashing horses and writhing men trying to escape the press. The line of Kez dragoons stared in horror at their fallen comrades.
Tamas shuddered at the thought of being at the bottom of that trench.
“Fire!” Tamas yelled.
The Seventh Brigade opened fire at the Kez dragoons. Their horses milled in panic at the edge of the trench, officers shouting and waving their swords, trying to get the horses at the rear of the column to back up so they could organize a withdrawal.
Tamas reloaded and fired again. The dragoons began to organize. If they were given a chance to disengage, they still had thousands left. They could reorganize and hound Tamas’s flank when he turned to deal with the cuirassiers.
“Bayonets!” Tamas ordered, lifting his rifle in the air.
Every forty paces of the trench, they’d left a ten-foot-wide path of solid ground. They were unmarked, and the way would be unsure in the fog, but Tamas had to counterattack.
Tamas headed across the closest of these paths, straight into the flank of the withdrawing Kez dragoons.
He reached out with his senses, taking in the closest powder charges and igniting them with his mind. The small explosions killed men and horse alike, rattling Tamas’s teeth from their proximity. His soldiers flooded around him, howling as they set upon the dragoons with their long-sword bayonets.
The melee erupted along the whole line as the five thousand men of the Seventh Brigade slammed into the Kez dragoons. Without the impact of their charge, and against the long reach of sword bayonets, the dragoons lost their advantage.
Tamas ran toward the closest dragoon. He thrust his bayonet up and into the man’s exposed side, then jerked his rifle savagely to tear open the wound. The man fell from his horse, and Tamas danced back out of the way as the animal panicked and bolted.
Something hit him hard from the side, knocking him off his feet. He landed on the ground, the breath knocked from him, and was immediately pushing himself back up.
“Sir!” Olem had lost his rifle and drawn his sword. He rammed it into the thigh of a dragoon and made a dash for Tamas.
Tamas got to his feet, only to have Olem hit him full on in the chest. They both went down as a straight cavalry sword whooshed through the air where Tamas’s head had been.
Olem rolled off of Tamas and helped him to his feet.
Tamas’s own rifle had disappeared in the melee. He drew his sword.
“Time to back off, sir,” Olem shouted over the din of gunfire.
“We’re not done here yet. Seventh!” Tamas slid his sword into its scabbard and pulled a rifle out of the mud. It still had its bayonet fixed. He pointed it at the closest dragoon and ran, hoping Olem was behind him.
He reached out, detonating more powder as he drew closer to the dragoons once more. On either side of him, his infantry pressed the attack.
Tamas felt a stinging breeze along the right side of his head, just above his ear. He felt suddenly dizzy, but charged on. Each step, however, the dragoons seemed to get farther away.
It took Olem yelling into his ear to bring him back to reality. “They’ve retreated, sir!”
Tamas stopped and looked about him, taking in the carnage. Thousands had died in that charge, and thousands more were stuck in that trench — broken men and horses dying a slow death. The screams rang in his ears. “Right. Back to the line.” He grabbed Olem’s arm to steady himself.
They took a safe path across the trench. The rest of the Seventh had turned away from the retreating dragoons and were making sure none of the rest would get out of the trench alive. Tamas saw one dragoon grab an Adran soldier’s foot and beg for mercy. The soldier put his bayonet through the dragoon’s eye.
Tamas felt Olem’s hand on his shoulder.
“You’ve taken a bullet along the side of your head, sir,” Olem said.
Tamas touched his head and his fingers came back crimson.
“A straight crease,” Olem said. “Bloody, but doesn’t look deep.”
Olem’s left arm hung at his side. His sleeve was in bloody tatters, nearly cut from him. He noted Tamas’s questioning gaze. “Just a flesh wound, sir.”
“Tamas, you bloody dog!” a voice bellowed. “The Ninth has crumbled! Our flank is lost!”
The words brought Tamas’s head up and around. Gavril rode by at full tilt, followed by the rest of his rangers heading to the west.
“Colonel Arbor!” Tamas cast about for the colonel, finding him near the edge of the trench, taking a pair of wounded Kez officers prisoner.
“Sir!”
“Hold this position.” Tamas waved his sword over his head. “Men of the Seventh, to me!”
