The Merchant’s War

On the other side of the wall between the worlds, the timer would be counting down towards zero. Martyn and Jorg had packed the pre-drilled holes with blocks of C4 strung together on detcord, plugged in the timer, and synchronized it with the stopwatch in Helmut's hand. In a few seconds time, the thin false wall would be blasted into splinters of stone, throwing a deadly rain of shrapnel across the guardroom. It was intended to kill anyone inside, clearing a path for the assault lance waiting on the siege tower above. Any second-

Helmut raised his hand. "Time!"

Twelve pairs of boots shuffled forward above his head. The rattle of Ml6s and M249s being cocked, like a junkyard spirit clearing his throat: Erik's lance flipping out the knotwork panels beside their sights, squinting along their barrels and shuffling forward.

"Plus five!" called Helmut. "Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!"

The platform juddered on its base as the soldiers flickered out of sight. Helmut took a deep breath and turned towards the map table where the duke was conferring with his officers. Raised voices, alarm. Helmut glanced at the sergeant standing with his men beside the ramp. "Frankl, you know the plan. When the eyeball reports, go if it's clear. I'm-"the duke's raised voice made up his mind"-checking something."

"Is this confirmed?" Angbard demanded: the signals officer hunched defensively before him. "Is it?"

"Sir, all I have is Eorl-Major Riordan's confirmed report on Lieutenant Menger's overflight. If you want I can put you through to Castle Hjorth, but he's already redeploying-"

"Never mind." Angbard cut him dead as he turned to face Helmut. "They've got M60s," he said conversationally, although his cheeks showed two spots of color. "Your men need to know."

"M60s?" Helmut blanked for a moment. "Shit! The gatehouse!"

"More than that," the duke added. "It sounds like they captured a stockpile from one of the strategic villages. Eorl Riordan is redeploying his company. They should be arriving here within the next three hours."

"Right, right." Helmut nodded. "Well, that puts a different picture on things." He glanced at Angbard, anticipating the duke's dismissal. "It" you'll excuse me, sir, my men need me?"

He turned and trotted back towards the siege tower. Overhead, on the platform, the first lance's messenger was shouting excitedly, something about the room being clear. "Listen up!" he called. "Change of plan. We're going in now. Housecleaning only, new plan is to secure the upper floors, strictly indoors. Anyone who goes outdoors gets their ass shot off: the bad guys have got their hands on a couple of M60s, and until we pinpoint them we're not going to be able to break out. Lance three, follow me in. Lance two, follow after."

He strode up the ramp as fast as he could, bringing his M16 down from his shoulder. The messenger was almost jumping from foot to foot. "It's clear, sir! It went really well. Erik said to tell you he's moving out into the upper gallery and will secure the roof line. Is that right?"

"It was." Five minutes ago, before we knew they had machine guns on the bastions. Helmut shook his head, an angry sense of injustice eating at his guts. Erik was probably already dead. "Okay, let's go to work." He glanced over his shoulder, at Irma and Martyn and the others in the lance he, personally, led: they were watching him, trusting him to lead them into the unknown. "For the glory of the Clan! Follow me..."

Chapter 14

DOPPELGANGERED

Otto nearly didn't make it out of the castle. He was in the courtyard with Sir Geraunt and his personal guards, supervising the withdrawal of the body of his forces to the gatehouse and the prepared positions outside the castle walls, when there was a deafeningly loud thud from inside the central keep. "What's that?" Geraunt asked, stupidly.

"Nothing I planned." Otto turned to Heidlor, who was waiting for further instructions: "Stations! As I ordered!" The hand-man hurried off, and Otto met Sir Geraunt's curious gaze. "It'll be the enemy. Too damned early, blast them. Quickly, this way." "But the lighting-"

Otto bit back his first response. "A commander who gets himself killed in the first engagement isn't terribly effective later in the battle," he muttered. "Come on." He hurried towards the gate tower's postern door. "You there! Stand by!"

A crackle of witch-gun fire echoed out of the central keep. On the top of the gate tower, and the tops of the four towers around the curtain wall, he saw the shields of the captured M60s swinging to bear on the keep.