Chapter 25

Shouting so that his voice would carry, Dragos said, “Keep your positions, men. Don’t follow them.”

Watching the last of the enemy retreat down the valley, Dragos stepped back and wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his left arm. Rather than ridding his forehead of sweat, he had just smeared more blood across it. He blinked his eyes hoping to clear them of the sweat that had dripped into them.

Much to his relief, his men did not purse the retreating enemy. Exhausted beyond belief, he turned to the man beside him and asked, “Was that the sixth or seventh time they charged us?”

“That was the eighth,” the man answered looking down at the body of the slaver at his feet. He kicked the body out of the way and then squatted down to recover his energy. He fell back on his butt with a groan. Not having the energy, he didn’t try to rise.

“I can’t feel my arms any more,” Dragos said. It took the last bit of energy to put his sword into its scabbard. He blew air out of his mouth. His nose was stuffed with blood and snot. It had been broken by a lucky thrust of a slaver’s shield. The incident would have killed him except for the intervention of the man beside him.

“What happened on the hill over there?” the man asked pointing to a hill overlooking the valley. In the middle of the last charge, he had noticed that fighting had broken out on the hill that was held by Jameson’s forces.

Spitting on the ground, Dragos answered, “I don’t know. I hope that Gregor got tired of trying to talk Jameson into attacking the slavers.”

“Do you think they’ll charge against our position again?” the man asked.

Nodding his head, Dragos said, “We’re the plug that is holding this pass. They’ll attack again and again, until their leadership is killed.”

The man snorted and looked around the area in front of them. There wasn’t a body with an officer’s insignia anywhere. Shaking his head, he said, “We’ll be here all damned month at this rate.”

“I’ve got to check my men,” Dragos said feeling the full weight of the responsibility that came with leading men into battle. He couldn’t believe how heavy his arms and legs felt. He looked up and down the line with a frown. There were a dozen of his men dead on the ground and another three dozen who were wounded. Their losses had been light considering the intensity of the fighting that had taken place on that last charge. It was still too many men.

Dragos forced himself to move, and stepped over the enemy body on the ground, the same one that the man beside him had moved out from under foot. His men were exhausted with most of them sitting on the ground trying to catch their breaths. If they felt half as exhausted as he, then they weren’t in any shape to function. A very few men were trying to comfort their wounded compatriots.

With a sigh, he realized that no one had prepared him for the aftermath of a battle. Kneeling down beside a group of wounded men, he said, “I’ll get the healers over here when I find them.”

“Some of the supply men have been pulling the wounded out, throughout the battle,” one of the men said.

Another of the wounded men nodded his head and said, “They’ve been taking the worst of us first to be treated by the healers away from the battle.”

“Good,” Dragos said looking over the head of the wounded man. A dozen men were headed towards him carrying stretchers. Most of them were covered with blood. He watched as they loaded six men who were too wounded to move onto a their stretchers. The men looked as tired as those who had fought. He wondered how many trips they had made so far.

Dragos looked over at a couple of men standing nearby. One of the men had a gash along his side. Another was holding a hand over a cut in his thigh. Although they were wounded, they were still able to move around on their own. He gestured to them and said, “You men should go with them.”

“We’ll go when the others have been treated,” one of the men answered.

“You’ll go now,” Dragos said forcefully. He knew that if they didn’t get sewed up soon they’d bleed to death.

“We’ll go after the worst have been treated.”

“You can help some of these other men get to the healers. You can wait to be treated there. At least this way, you and your friends will have a chance at medical care before it’s is too late,” Dragos said.

“Yes, Sir,” the man answered. He and the rest of the walking wounded went over to the more seriously wounded men, and helped them to stand. Together, pairs of men made their way to where the healers were taking care of the wounded. Dragos didn’t want to even speculate on what things were like where the healers were working.

Dragos continued down the line sending wounded back to where they could be treated. After dealing with a third group of wounded men, one of the walking wounded objected to being sent back to the healers. “You need us to fill out the ranks in case there is another attack.”

Dragos looked at the man taking in the scars around his neck that marked him as a former slave. He said, “That may be true, but I want our wounded to be taken away from here so that they can be treated. There’s been enough men who’ve died here, today.”

“But...”

Interrupting the man’s objection, Dragos said, “We can move back a little and close ranks if there is another attack. You men have fought nd bravely and well. Get your injuries treated, and rest.”

“Yes, Sir,” the man said with a frown. He felt like he was abandoning his fellow soldiers.

Seeing the expression on the man’s face, Dragos knew that his order was not being taken with the appropriate positive spirit. He noticed that some of the men who had been wounded in the first engagement were returning with buckets of water. Using that as inspiration, he said, “If you really feel that bad about my orders, then help one of the men who was hurt more than you to get back to the healers. Those of you who want to help can patch each other up and come back here with some food and water.”

“Yes, Sir,” the man replied with much more energy. He looked around and said, “What are you waiting for? We’ve got folks to get treated and work to do.”

Dragos watched the men hobble off.p; Pairs of walking wounded were supporting a man between them. One of the three captains under his command spotted him. The Captain was one of the men who had been in his original command, before their ranks grew with the freed men. He came over to Dragos and said, “We’ve lost a lot of men, sir. Half of my men have been wounded or killed.”

“I know. It is the same along the whole line, Captain.”

“I’ve got my squad leaders trying to get the men organized. What do you want me to do?”

“Right now I want you and your men to rest. The men are too tired to put up an effective defense. I’ll try to get some food and water to you as soon as I can manage it,” Dragos answered.

“My men will fetch the food and water, sir,” the young captain replied.

“Derrick,” Dragos said, “you and your men need rest, as much as they need food. I’ll find others to fetch food and water for them.”

“But...”

“You need to take care of your men, Captain. One aspect of that, is recognizing when they are too exhausted to function. All of our men are on the point of collapse. Let them rest,” Dragos said.

“Yes, Sir.”

Dragos headed down the line to see how the rest of his men were faring. The casualties were lighter as he walked further from the center of the line. He stopped in front of a squad that hadn’t suffered a single wound. There were very few enemy bodies on the ground. Gesturing to the local area, he turned to the squad leader and asked, “Jack, what happened here?”

“Only a couple dozen of the enemy showed up here. We fought them off,” Jack answered.

The twenty men in the squad would help shore up the center. “We need some reinforcements in the center of the line. I want you to take your squad to there. Eric is in charge, there, and he’ll tell you where to put your men.”

“Yes, Sir,” Jack answered.

Looking over at next squad, Dragos said, “Mike, I want you and your men to go back to camp and get some food for the rest of the men.”

Mike looked over at Dragos and said, “Sure.”

“Don’t let anyone eat too much,” Dragos warned.

“I know that,” Mike said. It was well known that eating too much food right before a battle could cause all kinds of problems, including vomiting and cramps. A man who is fighting to keep his stomach down is at a disadvantage when fighting to stay alive.

“Some of the men don’t know that. Don’t let your men eat until everyone else has been fed,” Dragos said. One of the men in Mike’s squad frowned at the order. Dragos looked at the man and said, “Don’t complain until you see what the others look like!.”

“Yes, Sir,” the man answered. It was clear that he was not happy about having to wait before he was allowed to eat.

Irritated at the man’s attitude, Dragos said, “Mike, take your men to camp, now. I’ll expect to see you and your men back at the line in fifteen minutes ... with food.”

“Yes, Sir,” Mike answered glaring at the man who had provoked Dragos’ ire.

Without saying another word, Dragos turned and headed towards the center of the line. In the few minutes that had passed since he had walked this way, the number of wounded still waiting to be treated had been significantly reduced. There were a few faces that he didn’t recognize and wondered if he was more tired than he thought. After watching Sid, he had made it a point to get to know the names of the men he was commanding.

Dragos reached the center of the line and found that Sid was waiting for him. Looking up at Sid, who was still mounted on his horse, he said, “We held them.”

“I saw that. The fighting over here was pretty intense,” Sid said nodding his head. He was pretty sure that Dragos wouldn’t be all that excited about having to lead an army into battle ever again.

“You can say that again,” Dragos said.

“I’ve brought two hundred men to reinforce your position. I sent them to fill in some of the squads that were undermanned,” Sid said.