Platoon, starts detailing who carries the hurt, who lays out the dead of the Line, and who gets water. Dead Reems guys are our problem, cleanup, everybody in Three’s getting checked for what they haven’t noticed.
The shouting’s about stopped; still a few screams. Hardly ever helps but it’s hard not to when the spear through your foot wobbles.
Halt is sending me a couple of stunned looking drovers with buckets. It’s a very good thing that bronze bulls don’t really breathe, so they don’t have to smell this, and that they all had their eyes wrapped. A stampede reaction wouldn’t have helped.
Stunned, or terrified.I stick both swords into the turf, one on either side of the standard. It might help the terrified, and it will for sure help the picking up a bucket part.
I get my head doused; no matter how carefully you bend, it sluices down your collar and moves the blood further down your armour coat. Never mind the coat, this one’s going to rot out the cuirass straps. Hand, other hand, drink the last halfbucket, hand it back. Still not looking too calm, either drover. See how much of the bloody hand prints on the first bucket will wipe off on the grass. Not as much as the drover wants, but they can hold it by the bail. Both of them head back.
The Master Gunner’s over at tube one. The other three tubes all have their gunners up and Radish’s guys are getting handed the non-walking down artilleristson stretchers. Not
enough
stretchers, the medics are putting pads down and sending the stretchers back.
Blossom is standing in the saddle to get the spear out of Eustace’s ear. Blossom gets a really heartfelt eyeroll, but Halt’s got Eustace by the nose. It takes more stupid than five tonnes of mutton can manage to try shaking Halt loose.
There’s a sparkle around the spearhead, and a wet pop likefailing cartilage. Most of the shine goes off the spearhead. Blossom grabs the thing by the socket, and the shaft crumbles into dust. Halt lets go, and Eustace’s head gets a good shake, ears flapping like tent canvas, horns sweeping like death. There’s not much blood at all, and what there is shines a deep shade of purple.
Blossom drops into the saddle only long enough to dismount. Halt takesthe spearhead and looks disapproving as Halt and Blossom start heading toward me. Eustace lies down, baas, something you can feel up through your boots, and starts cud-chewing again. Blossom’s horse-thing leans over, snorfles at the hurt ear, and then appears to go to sleep, one hind leg slack.
Down to the medics
. Radish has gone grim round the edges. Seeing to carrying sixty-odd comrades whowere hale and fine a quarter hour ago to where they might not die will do that.
Lay out our dead.
Stack theirs.
Sir
.
Twitch, you in there?
Captain
. Calmer, for sure.
Sort the colour party up and the up survivors of Four into a new colour party. Make sure they’re all clear on who’s a file closer and who’s senior and get them physically moved to around where I’m going to put the standard.
Sir
.
Two files from Two show up, look at the waist-high stack and the above shoulder-high stack — over my head is doing well to get over shoulder-high on Creeks — and have a very visible “why move
that
?” reaction.
It’s not hard to check. “There are four of our dead and seven of our down under the main pile.” Nobody even curses, they just start lifting bodies with a fair show of briskness. “The smallerpile’s all them.” Four was pretty much gone by then. Radish heard that, and has realised all the down aren’t to the medics yet. Another file trots over, and then another with stretchers.
I take up the standard, and nod toward the gap between the baggage and three. No piles of dead Reems infantry there, and none of ours, either. Halt and Blossom follow along.
Quietly, now.
“What was that?” SinceBlossom got rid of it, Blossom should at least have an idea.
Halt drops the spearhead point down in the turf,
The shouting’s about stopped; still a few screams. Hardly ever helps but it’s hard not to when the spear through your foot wobbles.
Halt is sending me a couple of stunned looking drovers with buckets. It’s a very good thing that bronze bulls don’t really breathe, so they don’t have to smell this, and that they all had their eyes wrapped. A stampede reaction wouldn’t have helped.
Stunned, or terrified.I stick both swords into the turf, one on either side of the standard. It might help the terrified, and it will for sure help the picking up a bucket part.
I get my head doused; no matter how carefully you bend, it sluices down your collar and moves the blood further down your armour coat. Never mind the coat, this one’s going to rot out the cuirass straps. Hand, other hand, drink the last halfbucket, hand it back. Still not looking too calm, either drover. See how much of the bloody hand prints on the first bucket will wipe off on the grass. Not as much as the drover wants, but they can hold it by the bail. Both of them head back.
The Master Gunner’s over at tube one. The other three tubes all have their gunners up and Radish’s guys are getting handed the non-walking down artilleristson stretchers. Not
enough
stretchers, the medics are putting pads down and sending the stretchers back.
Blossom is standing in the saddle to get the spear out of Eustace’s ear. Blossom gets a really heartfelt eyeroll, but Halt’s got Eustace by the nose. It takes more stupid than five tonnes of mutton can manage to try shaking Halt loose.
There’s a sparkle around the spearhead, and a wet pop likefailing cartilage. Most of the shine goes off the spearhead. Blossom grabs the thing by the socket, and the shaft crumbles into dust. Halt lets go, and Eustace’s head gets a good shake, ears flapping like tent canvas, horns sweeping like death. There’s not much blood at all, and what there is shines a deep shade of purple.
Blossom drops into the saddle only long enough to dismount. Halt takesthe spearhead and looks disapproving as Halt and Blossom start heading toward me. Eustace lies down, baas, something you can feel up through your boots, and starts cud-chewing again. Blossom’s horse-thing leans over, snorfles at the hurt ear, and then appears to go to sleep, one hind leg slack.
Down to the medics
. Radish has gone grim round the edges. Seeing to carrying sixty-odd comrades whowere hale and fine a quarter hour ago to where they might not die will do that.
Lay out our dead.
Stack theirs.
Sir
.
Twitch, you in there?
Captain
. Calmer, for sure.
Sort the colour party up and the up survivors of Four into a new colour party. Make sure they’re all clear on who’s a file closer and who’s senior and get them physically moved to around where I’m going to put the standard.
Sir
.
Two files from Two show up, look at the waist-high stack and the above shoulder-high stack — over my head is doing well to get over shoulder-high on Creeks — and have a very visible “why move
that
?” reaction.
It’s not hard to check. “There are four of our dead and seven of our down under the main pile.” Nobody even curses, they just start lifting bodies with a fair show of briskness. “The smallerpile’s all them.” Four was pretty much gone by then. Radish heard that, and has realised all the down aren’t to the medics yet. Another file trots over, and then another with stretchers.
I take up the standard, and nod toward the gap between the baggage and three. No piles of dead Reems infantry there, and none of ours, either. Halt and Blossom follow along.
Quietly, now.
“What was that?” SinceBlossom got rid of it, Blossom should at least have an idea.
Halt drops the spearhead point down in the turf,
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