Time Commander (The First Admiral Series) (36 page)

Watching through his field glasses, Billy could already see individual Zulus starting to fall as the rifles fired all along the north face of the barricade.

Not many, at first, Billy considered, but as the Zulus started to move closer to the British positions, he started to see more and more black shapes falling to the ground. Some of them, he saw, were still moving. There would be some horrendous injuries out there amongst the Zulu wounded. Well, perhaps, it was a good thing he considered, if enough Zulus saw their comrades horribly maimed, it might curb their enthusiasm to attack the British position.

As Billy continued to watch, he noticed that the enthusiasm and determination of the Zulu warriors appeared to be wholly intact. To the west, on the Zulu right, the warriors were just reaching the foot of the ridge. The seven-pounder cannon on the British left was keeping up a steady rate of fire, and causing steady casualties amongst the Zulus. It would be another few minutes until these Zulus were within the one thousand yard perimeter, and the rifles could be unleashed upon them.

On the British right, the other cannon was also keeping up a good rate of fire. With the support of the riflemen, the Zulu bodies were starting to accumulate along the line of their advance. The problem on the right wing, however, was the feature in the terrain called the Conical Kop. The small, almost perfectly hemispherical hillock was providing the advanced units of the Zulu left “Horn” with a degree of protection as they tried to outflank the British position. For Billy Caudwell, there was nothing he could do about the Kop, except to pray that some cunning Zulu regiment commander didn’t try to sneak some of his warriors across the donga behind the cover of the Kop.

To the north, the main Zulu attack; the “Chest”, was struggling to negotiate the maze of dry stream beds that fed into the dongas that protected the British flank. The rifles were also taking a steady toll of the attackers, but still, the determined warriors pressed on with their advance.

Trotting forward with a long, loping stride, the Zulu warriors were quickly eating up the ground between the ridge and the British position. It still amazed Billy how supremely fit the Zulu warriors were. The Zulus were continuing to advance on his position, and at this range, he could do little more than inflict nuisance casualties upon the enemy. It would be when the Zulus came into range for volley fire that he would be able to inflict significant and serious damage upon his enemies, but that point in time was still some minutes away from being able to happen. The riflemen were steadily picking off warriors in the centre of the Zulu formation as they struggled through the stream beds and rocks on the approach to the barricade. Billy Caudwell was aware that this broken ground was a double-edged sword. The broken ground and shallow stream beds could also provide precious life-saving cover for the Zulus if they were driven back. From there, they could also mount fresh attacks on the British position.

Until then, the two seven-pounder cannon and the riflemen were still taking their toll of the advancing Zulus. Looking through the field glasses, Billy estimated that maybe one in every four or five shots from the riflemen was finding a target. With around eight hundred rifles able to bear on the enemy. That meant two hundred less Zulus in the time that it took all eight hundred men to fire. Still peering through the field glasses, Billy was also searching for the tell-tale signs of an enemy under stress and pressure. On battlefields where soldiers wanted to escape the ongoing carnage, one good excuse was to help evacuate wounded comrades. However, as Billy watched a steady stream of Zulu warriors falling to the riflemen and cannon, it annoyed him that very few warriors stopped to help their fallen comrades.

Meanwhile, behind the British barricade, the riflemen were keeping up a steady rate of fire at the approaching Zulus. The red-coats and the other riflemen were practicing the often repeated pattern of loading and firing, loading and firing. Standing two rows deep along the north face of the barricade and part way down the east and west flanks, the riflemen were taking their steady toll on the enemy.

The dull, flat reports of the Martini-Henry rifles were interspersed with the impressive BOOM of the two cannon, which was leaving an impressive slew of dead and wounded Zulus on the ground in the wake of their attacking comrades.

However, the Zulus had successfully managed to make ground. The warriors in the centre were rapidly approaching the six hundred yard markers, whilst those on the flanks with further to travel still had some distance to make up.

“
Sir, they’re almost at the markers,” Major Pulleine said.

“
Yes, Major.” Billy stared intently into the field glasses. “Time for some volley fire, and instruct the Quartermaster to issue the additional thirty rounds per man.”

“
Yes,sir.”

Looking down from the wagon onto the interior of the position, Billy could see the officers and NCOs shaking the loose two lines of riflemen at the barricade wall back into their two rank company formations.

With shouts and yells, along with the occasional threat from a stick, the red-coats, the rag-tag mix of volunteers, plus) the few dozen rifle-armed Natal Native Infantrymen fell into lines behind the north face of the barricade, and part of the east and west flank. Behind the riflemen, six groups of one hundred and fifty men stood as Billy’s “Spear Companies”. Consisting mainly of the Natal Native Infantry, Billy had, at first, considered dismissing them from the position. However, having seen them parade with their long, sharp, tribal spears, Billy changed his mind.

“
Major Pulleine, you may commence firing when ready!” Billy said.

“
Very good, sir! Right! Company officers, make sure your men are loaded!”

All down the line on the north face of the barricade, the order to “Load” was being issued. All along the two lines, soldiers were deftly slotting cartridges into the breeches of their rifles and snapping back the levers that would close the breech with a resounding CLICK.

“
Battalion, ’SHUN!” Pulleine ordered.

All eighteen hundred men within the position lifted the right knee to ninety degrees before slamming the right boot to the ground and drawing their weapons, in their right hand to the vertical position.

“
Volley fire, by ranks…front rank…present!” Pulleine barked.

In one smooth movement, nine hundred men lifted their rifles to their shoulders, and took a half turn to the right.

“Take aim…!” Pulleine counted to three under his breath for the riflemen to select and draw a bead on their chosen targets.

“
FIRE!” Major Pulleine bellowed.

In the first rank, over four hundred trigger fingers gently squeezed the triggers of their rifles.

In that instant, those rifles bellowed a deafening roar, which was accompanied by a great bank of dirty grey smoke, obscuring the vision of the riflemen for a few brief seconds.

For Billy Caudwell, up on the water supply wagon, the great fog of gun smoke presented no problem. Through the field glasses, he watched the result of over four hundred point-four-five calibre projectiles being fired at the unprotected and unwary Zulu warriors. Over four hundred projectiles slashed downrange, and a fraction of a second later, smashed into the front ranks of Zulu warriors. To Billy, it looked as if large numbers of Zulu warriors had just found a hidden trip-wire and had fallen over it.

All along the Zulu front ranks, men fell; cut down by the heavy soft-nosed bullets. And, unlike many of the Hollywood movies he had seen, the volley had been effective in hitting large numbers of Zulus. Often, in the movies, Billy had seen huge ranks of soldiers fire an enormous volley and knock over maybe half a dozen opponents. From the carnage that this volley had wreaked amongst the Zulu front ranks, Billy estimated that maybe three out of every five rounds had found a target. And, according to Billy, he speculated, that as the Zulus drew closer to the barricade that ratio would increase. The attacking Zulus who brandished clubs, shields, and short stabbing spears had simply fallen over as if they had been scythed down by a huge harvesting machine.

No sooner had the smoke cleared from the first volley, than Major Pulleine let loose the volley from the second rank. Once more, the heavy calibre projectiles smashed into unprotected Zulu flesh and bone. Again, Billy saw the carnage through his field glasses. Zulu warriors were flung back by the momentum of the British bullets striking them, sending many sprawling onto their backs, never to get up again. One specific warrior caught Billy’s eye. He was a tall man who was only equipped with a white loin cloth and shield, with no form of headgear. The bullet must have struck him in the abdomen, as he folded over as if someone had punched him heavily in the midriff. The Zulu then fell sprawling to the ground, shield and weapons falling from his lifeless hands. The first ranks of Zulu warriors, charging at full pelt towards the British line, were simply smashed to the ground. As they fell, Billy’s soldiers brought down many more from the ranks that followed them, in a melee of flailing and fracturing arms and legs.

On the left wing of the British barricade, the Zulu warriors were nowhere near the dongas that they would have to cross to reach the barricade and bring the soldiers to hand-to-hand combat. The left wing was reasonably safe in comparison to the right wing and front face of their position. To the front face of the barricade, the Zulu were still moving forwards relentlessly, despite several volleys tearing huge gaps in their numbers. To Billy Caudwell, the rifle fire from the British soldiers didn’t seem to be slowing down the Zulu advance.

That realisation began to make Billy suspicious. The scrubby grass and rocks of the battlefield wouldn’t stop many bullets, but what a soldier couldn’t see, he couldn’t shoot at directly. Even in the historical battle, many Zulu regiments took what any cover they could from the heavy British fire. This was just simply not happening here. The Zulu did have suicide warriors in their ranks; hyped up by the snuffs, powders, and mushrooms of their witch doctors, but it appeared as if the entire Zulu army was made up of suicide warriors at this point.

As one volley smashed down the ranks of leading warriors, the survivors barely broke stride to continue their attack. In history, the Zulu warriors had been incredibly brave to stand up to the British rifle fire, but this was courage way beyond anything human that Billy Caudwell could imagine.
Was this another glitch in the Time Warrior Ritual’s programming?

Billy dismissed the idea almost immediately. If the programme had been tampered with so badly, then someone would have spotted it before it had been allowed to run.

“Major Pulleine, continue with the volleys!” Billy began to scan the lines of fallen Zulu warriors with the heavy field binoculars, looking for further clues.

If the Zulu were programmed not to regard their losses as they attacked, then what was likely to stop a programmer from making the dead and injured warriors get up and rejoin the attack,
Billy considered.

Scanning the row and heaps of fallen bodies strewn across the ground in front, and to the right of the barricade, Billy could see wounded warriors limping to the rear of the Zulu position. Many figures lay on the ground, writhing in their personal agonies, and many of the figures on the ground made no movement at all.

For several seconds, as Billy Caudwell scrutinised them, they remained motionless on the ground. Whatever the programmers had done to the Time Warrior computers, the miraculous raising from the dead of his enemies was not one of the surprises they had left for him.

The two cannon bellowed once again, as Major Pulleine released another volley. This time the combination of the smoke from the artillery and the rifles did partly obscure Billy’s view. However, his eye was caught by a small wiry Zulu, in a brown loin cloth and zebra-skin shield, who sustained a direct hit to the head. In one grisly moment the man was running forward brandishing the spherical-topped war club, when his head seemed to disintegrate in a fine mist of blood and white bone fragments. His body still managed to take two steps before collapsing onto his front.

Leaving command to the Company commanders, Major Pulleine returned to his position beside Billy Caudwell on the water supply wagon.

“
Well, you can’t fault them for lack of courage, can you, sir?” Pulleine asked.

“
No, Major, that you cannot.” Another volley slashed downrange. “They’ll be hard ones to beat, Major.”

“
Most of the Natives I’ve ever fought have run away after one or two volleys,” Pulleine watched as another volley was blasted away from the north face of the barricade.

“
Yes, but Zulus are used to winning, they won’t back down until we’ve shot them bloody,” Billy said.

“
They’ve reached the five hundred yard markers on the north wall, sir,” Pulleine announced.

“
Yes, very good, Major,” Billy said, “keep the volleys and artillery going.” Billy turned to the right to see what was happening on the west face of the position.

On the right flank, the Zulus were advancing down the opposite side of the deep wide donga that protected the position. The Natal Native cavalrymen had started to open fire when the riflemen on the north wall had begun their volleys, and despite a considerable distance to their targets, there were still several hundred Zulu figures lying on the ground. As the Zulus advanced to outflank the position, the cavalrymen began to spread out along the length of the barricade. Their officers, not as formal as their red-coated comrades, were adding their contributions with carbine fire, as well as directing the fire of the cavalrymen. Looking at the situation, Billy concluded that the right flank was safe for the time being. However, if the Zulus could get large numbers across that donga, then it would be an entirely different matter.