The Last Sunset (35 page)

“There’s no point,” said Sam. “Not while we got
Andy’s elephant gun.”

“Yes, but if they launch an infantry attack first
we can’t let them know we have anything out of the ordinary here, not until
Andy and myself have disabled their artillery.”

“Now, hold on there just one minute, fella,” Sam
protested. “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying…”

“For God’s sake, Sam, listen to the guy!”
exclaimed Shawnee. “What Alistair’s saying makes perfect sense to me…”

“…Goddamnit, Shawnee, you don’t even know what
this is all about!”

“I do too!” she yelled back. “Alistair’s saying
we’re gonna have to fire muskets…”

“Alistair’s saying we’re gonna have to fire
muskets? Goddamn it to hell, lady, you shouldn’t even be here…”

“Ishbel was taught from an early age how to load
and fire a musket,” Achnacon put in. “What kind of soldiers are yourselfs, that
you must take lessons from an old man, or a slip of a lassie?”

Andy treated the question as rhetorical.

“Alistair’s right. We have tae use muskets, at
least until they’re so close nobody’ll know the difference. Perhaps Ishbel
could show the restae us how to load and fire, while Achnacon keeps watch.”

The old Highlander nodded, and translated the
message. Ishbel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. She smiled coyly as she replied to
her father.

“Herself will do as you ask,” he told them. “In
return she asks that young Andy teach herself how to load and fire
his
musket.”

The line of infantry was no more than four
hundred yards away now. Andy could see no movement in the other strongpoint. He
wondered what they thought of the noisy chaos coming from his location.

He nodded at Ishbel. “Tell her she drives a hard
bargain.”

She was certainly the prettiest weapons
instructor Andy had ever known. She showed them how to tear open the cartridges
of powder and ball with her teeth. How to sprinkle a few grains of the black
dust onto the pan, before ramming the remainder of the cartridge into the
barrel of the weapon.

An experienced soldier could load and fire his
musket four times a minute. After sixty seconds Andy’s ramrod was jammed in the
barrel, and Shawnee was still coughing up the black powder she’d inhaled after
tearing open her first cartridge. Andy kept his side of the bargain, and
briefly showed Ishbel how to load and fire the S.L.R. Her face lit up as she
peered down the sights of the weapon.

There was no time for any more lessons. The
wagons and horsemen had halted, but the infantry were no more than two hundred
yards away now. While Achnacon freed the trapped ramrod, the remaining muskets
were made ready. As they waited, hidden behind the wall, Andy caught Ishbel’s
eye and winked at her, recalling the last time they’d crouched together like
this. She smiled back, her mouth smeared with black powder, her face flushed
with excitement.

The soldiers were so close now that Andy could
hear them talking to each other. His blood froze as he recognised the accent;
they were Lowland Scots like himself. In that instant he understood yet another
tragic aspect of Prince Charlie’s rebellion. He also understood it could make
no difference to the business in hand. He longed for Alistair or Achnacon to
end this torment and give the word to open fire. Maybe they were waiting until
Longholme’s men fired first. He could hear N.C.O.s growling at their men:

“Close up! Keep in line there, damn yer hides!”

His hands were trembling. What the hell was
going on? The soldiers were surely so close they’d be climbing over the wall
any moment. His mind began to race: Longholme had no intention of turning his
coat, he’d simply been waiting for the chance to spring his trap… Another five
seconds and he’d let them have it with the S.L.R. The first shot would be for
that devious…

Andy was deafened by the blast of eighteen
muskets being fired simultaneously. An instant later Achnacon, Ishbel and
Alistair leapt up and added their fire to Longholme’s. Andy and Sam sat
stupefied for a moment before they jumped to their feet. Andy was amazed to
find the redcoats still a hundred yards away. Two men were down, the rest
rooted to the spot. Sam and Andy pointed their muskets and yanked on the
triggers. More noisy clouds of smoke added to the uproar.

“Freakin useless piece of crap.” Sam struggled
to reload the weapon. “I told you we shoulda used those rifles when we had the
chance!”

Now that battle had been joined the N.C.O.s
began to bellow out the drill:

“Company… present… fire! Load…”

The returning fusillade was terrifying. Some of
the balls whizzed overhead, others crashed against the protective wall. Unable
to help, Shawnee crouched against the wall, her hands over her ears. Andy heard
a second booming volley from Longholme’s position. Someone was screaming in the
distance. Achnacon leapt to his feet again, braving the fusillade. The ramrod
jammed again in Andy’s musket. He saw Ishbel rise to her feet, and grabbed her
weapon. He thrust his own useless musket at her, then bobbed up to send his
second shot at the massed ranks. Dimly Andy realised the screaming was coming
from the other fortress.

Ishbel had freed the barrel of Andy’s weapon by
the time he’d ducked down. Once again he wrenched the loaded musket from her,
and saw outrage in her eyes. Her father shouted something, and she glowered at
him instead. Andy took aim at the nearest soldier and squeezed the trigger. The
soldier was still there when the smoke cleared. Achnacon was now on his feet
again. Sam and Alistair leapt up to join him. The three men fired together. A
roar from Achnacon indicated a shot had found its target.

Suddenly Sam tumbled to the ground, clutching
his face. Blood oozed through his fingers.

“Oh dear God, Sam, not you…” yelled Shawnee.

He seemed to be in shock. “I’m okay I’m not hit!
The sonofabitch missed!”

She tried to stem the flow of blood. “I know,
honey. Everything’s gonna be all right… Aw Jesus, Sam…”

The redcoat fire was incessant now. Lead balls
peppered the walls of the cottage or whispered viciously overhead. From Longholme’s
position regular volleys thundered in reply. The screaming from over there had
stopped. Alistair, Achnacon and Andy did their best to maintain a running fire
on the troops facing them. All the while Ishbel scowled at her father as she
loaded the muskets.

Sam pulled himself free of Shawnee and struggled
to his feet. She rose with him, her face smeared with blood and tears. Sam took
his hand away from his face. The blood was seeping from a number of lacerations
in his left cheek.

“…Trying to tell yuh! Just splinters. Freakin
bullet hit the top of the wall!”

Shawnee threw a couple of wild punches at Sam,
and then buried her face in his chest.

“You idiot! You scared the hell outta me…”

Alistair pointed at the soldiers facing
Longholme’s cottage. “Look! Some of them are pulling back! We have them on the
run!”

Everyone peered over the barricade. Redcoats
were withdrawing from Longholme’s sector. But far from retreating they were
moving to their left, reinforcing the troops in front of Achnacon’s position.

“Oh hell,” said Alistair, the first time anyone
had heard him swear.

“They are concentrating themselfs here, at our
weakest point,” Achnacon realised. He hurried to help his daughter load the
muskets. “I fear we are about to be stormed. Those in front will occupy
ourselfs while others turn our flank. We must alert Larachmor.”

“I’ll go!” yelled Shawnee. “I’m doing nothing
here!”

Before anyone could stop her she was off, head
bobbing precariously up and down above the wall as she ran towards the other
fortress.

The red-coated soldiers were on the move again.
A large group advanced towards the storehouse, while others peeled away to
their right. Achnacon made everybody wait until the enemy was less than fifty
yards away, before allowing them to open fire. Smoke and flame roared from five
barrels, instantly dropping two men and drawing a return fire from the others.
N.C.O.s bellowed at their men. In the confusion some stopped to reload, others
advanced, bayonets at the ready.

Andy left the reloading of the muskets to the
others. He picked up his rifle and pulled it into his shoulder. It had the feel
of a prosthetic limb being reattached to his body. His trembling had now
vanished. He felt calm and detached, as if something artificial had taken over
from his sense of self. The ferocious crack of the first 7.62mm round lifted
the nearest redcoat off his feet. Before he’d hit the ground Andy’s second shot
had felled his comrade. The van of the attack was so close now he could hardly
miss. Again and again the rifle butt recoiled savagely against his shoulder as
high-velocity bullets smashed into anything in red. N.C.O.s screamed at their
men, apparently incensed that so many were dropping. Andy searched them out.
One grotesquely large individual seemed to explode as the bullet impacted his
breastbone.

Suddenly the fury of the charge was spent. The
survivors began pulling back, like waves receding from a cliff. Through his
rifle sights Andy swept the area. At last he lowered the weapon and turned his
back on the carnage, unable to face what he’d done.

To his amazement he was completely alone.
Achnacon, Ishbel, Alistair and Sam had all disappeared. He was still trying to
fathom this out when he found himself sitting on the ground, his rifle lying
three feet away. He tried to retrieve the weapon, but for some reason he had no
control over his right arm. It was only when he saw the blood seeping through
his phillamhor that he realised he’d been shot.

He felt adrenalin surge through his veins,
followed by a wave of panic.

“Easy easy easy easy…. Remember yer training.
Don’t panic… Don’t let yerself go intae shock… easy now, easy…”

Where were the others? Oh God, maybe they’d all
legged it and left him here on his own. He could feel no pain, just a heavy,
numb sensation on the right side of his chest. What is it they say? You don’t
feel the bad ones, not the really bad ones. He felt another surge of panic. He
didn’t want to die here, not like this, not on his own…

People were running along the passageway,
approaching from behind. In an instant they were past him and away.

Someone else was approaching.

“Hey! Gonnae help here?”

He heard a muffled scream, then two small arms
were flung around his neck. He recognised Shawnee’s tiny hands, even before he
heard her voice.

“Oh God, Andy no, don’t do this to us…”

“Sorry about this,” he mumbled.

Shawnee did her best to take control of the
situation. “Oh God, Andy, don’t try to talk, just lie back… Everything’s gonna
be okay”

Gently she helped lower him to the ground. For
the first time her face came into view. Andy felt curiously gratified to see
fresh tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Where does it hurt, Andy? Tell me where it
hurts.”

Now that he was no longer on his own he felt
strangely light headed.

“Doesnae hurt,” he heard himself say. “Right
chest feels funny, but.”

She pulled back his blood-soaked phillamhor.
Whatever she saw drew a sharp intake of breath from her.

“You’re gonna be fine, Andy, you’re gonna be
just fine… but listen now, I gotta get some help. You lie still, I’ll be back before
y’know it.”

“No!” He grabbed hold of her arm. “Don’t leave
me alone, please…”

Shawnee knelt beside him and applied pressure to
his chest, where the blood was welling up into his plaid.

“Okay Andy I’m not going anywhere. You just lie
still now, the others’ll be back in a minute.”

He tried to thank her, but it was becoming
harder to talk. He just wanted to lie here and rest for a wee while. His chest
was beginning to hurt now. He couldn’t remember if that was a good or a bad
sign. He’d think about it later. Perhaps if he just closed his eyes for a few
seconds…

“Don’t you go to sleep on me!” Shawnee yelled.
“Y’hear me now? You stay awake, somebody’ll be along soon.”

She made him sit up, then knelt behind him to
support his weight. It was only then she discovered that Andy was bleeding from
his back as well as his chest.

“Oh God, where is everybody?” For the first time
the situation began to get the better of her. “Hey! We need help here! Sam!
Alistair! Heeeelp!”

She could feel Andy sagging heavily against her.

“You stay awake, soldier. D’y’hear me? Don’t you
die on me, Andy Macmillan. We can’t do this without you. Please, Andy, don’t do
this to me…”

But she knew by the way he’d slumped against her
he was no longer listening.

It was the sheer ferocity of the pain that
dragged Andy back to consciousness. He felt as if molten lead was being poured
over his chest. He was held in a sitting position between Alistair and Mary.
Alistair had one of Larachmor’s whisky jugs in his hand.