Free Crusade by Taylor Anderson

people, you have acted wisely.” King Fet-Alcas could no longer bellow, but his tone was imperious. “You have not.”
    “In what way have I not acted wisely, that you did not recognize before our allies committed themselves?” Rolak felt a tension building within him, a tension bordering on rage. He had given his word to the Amer-i-caan leader and even now the sea folk were fighting and dying outside these walls based upon his word. Soon the moment to strike would pass and whatever they did would be too late. Queen Maraan stirred beside him, a small growl deep in her throat. She hadn’t been party to the agreement, but she too recognized the opportunity that was being squandered.
    The king waved his hand again and glanced at his son. “That is not your concern.”
    “It is my concern if my honor is at stake, Lord King. I beg you to satisfy my honor and that of your people by telling us what your plan might be.”
    “That is simple. The strangers refused your offer of honor to join us within these walls and fight at our side. They chose instead to fight alone. It is my order that we let them! They came here unasked for and without my permission—”
    “To save us!” Rolak interrupted.
    “—with fanciful plans to continue this war far from here. They did not come here to save us, and if they did, what is their price? That we should fight for them as their slaves? No! We will let them fight they had. No choice. “Forget the ‘no shooting’ order. I want one of you to each regiment, ready to pour fire into any breakthroughs if they occur. We’ve got to keep this line together at all costs. If it breaks, we’re dead. Conserve your ammunition and don’t get trigger-happy, but use it if you have to. Now go!”
    They all hurried off except Silva, who stood rooted with a worried expression on his face. “But what about you, Skipper?”
    “Never fear, Mr. Silva. I have my pistol. If that fails, the Bosun will protect me.”
    Silva arched an eyebrow and a grin crept across his face. “But who’s gonna protect him?”
    Gray’s face turned purple with rage. “Buzz off, you goddamn weedchewin’ ape! Or I’ll let that crazy cook use you for fish bait!”
    “Just worried about you, is all,” shouted Silva as he loped off down the line. Gray shook his head and stifled a grin. They were standing right behind the rear rank of the Second Marine Regiment. The Second was near the center of the line and it was spear-heavy, all of its members being large and strong enough to stand in the front rank. Those at the rear were methodically shooting arrows over the heads of those in front, and periodically they’d move forward and take the place of an exhausted comrade. It was a good drill and Matt wished the Guard regiments had learned to do the same. Many of those who came to the rear were wounded, some badly, and an increasing number of them were pushed or dragged out of the ranks as the fighting continued. A growing number of bodies, some moving, others not, were gathering behind the lines, waiting to be carried back to the barricade on stretchers to be tended in the field hospital.
    “There ain’t enough stretcher bearers,” Gray observed grimly. “When we start to pull back, things could go bad in a hurry.”
    Matt recognized one of the wounded Lemurians as he was tossed roughly on a litter. It was that runner of Shinya’s he’d spoken to before. He had a terrible slash across his chest and blood-soaked bandages were heaped high upon him. Matt hurried to his side. “Do you understand me?” he asked urgently. The young Lemurian nodded, his teeth clenched with pain. “The hospital must evacuate! Get the wounded to safety.” He grasped the runner’s hand in his. “Tell Lieutenant Tucker . . .” He paused. He didn’t know what to say. “Tell her to pull out now. That’s an order.” He squeezed the hand.
    “I will tell her, Cap-i-taan,” the runner replied with a strained voice. Matt nodded and the