Dubious Allegiance Read Online Free PDF

down.
    â€œI’m all right. We need to get the wounded back in here.”
    Sergeant Ogletree and three others managed to haul them into cover, protected by several volleys from the fellow troop next to them, which had also been strafed and had retreated to the safety of the evergreens. Captain Riddell’s voice could now be heard hollering orders, encouragement, or castigation above the crackling of the gunfire, the fast-falling snow, and the smothering spruce boughs. Heavy fighting seemed to be going on over by the cowshed on their right. The odour of cordite was thickening the air around them.
    Marc’s squad was commanded to provide covering volleys for a full-company attack on the log-rampart. But the poor visibility—intermittent as a north wind gusted and died—made it difficult to see whether their volleys were having any effect, while the assault itself quickly bogged down before the rampart was reached. The ground was again littered with the wounded and those pinned there by the enemy, who seemed able to shoot from spots both hidden and implausible. Marc was surprised, and more than a little disappointed, that the lives of hismen would be put at such risk in an assault carried out without the aid of maps, advance scouting, or any real knowledge of the rebels’ terrain, battle strength, or opportunities for defence.
    When the snow let up briefly, it was evident that the frontal attack on the rampart had failed. Men were being dragged back to the copse by their comrades, one of them an ensign with his arm swinging loosely, like the empty sleeve of a jacket. Then, without warning, a dozen rebels rose up above the rampart and aimed their ragtag weapons at the retreating and wholly vulnerable redcoats. Marc screamed the order for a full volley, but the rebels had figured out the timing between volleys and knew they had twenty seconds to inflict severe damage on the exposed British.
    Suddenly, before the rebels had time to begin firing, the pounding of hoofbeats shook the ground nearby, and a troop of Montreal cavalry burst around the northern end of the copse and made a thunderous charge at the rampart. Several of them were now firing their pistols, so that between the shock of seeing horses charging out of the snowy squalls like beasts from the Apocalypse and the deadly snap of pistol fire, the rebels balked momentarily, then dropped out of sight behind their barricade. Meanwhile, the wounded infantrymen and their rescuers made it back to the shelter of the trees.
    Before the Montreal volunteers could reach the rampart and bring their swords into play, the rebels had regained their gun-slits and begun firing, desperately and blindly. But a horse is a large target, and here there was no respect for the martial animal, no code of conduct to be recognized and honoured. Half a dozen of the noble creatures collapsed in undignifiedheaps, tossing their riders awry and shrieking piteously. Dazed, with limbs bruised or broken, the Montrealers staggered away in several directions. Only a series of sharp volleys from the riflemen in the copse kept the enemy at bay long enough for those unhorsed volunteers to find their way back. Those who managed to remain mounted had to veer around their fallen comrades or their dying beasts. They broke apart and scattered. But foolishly brave though they might have been, they had saved perhaps a dozen lives by their impetuous gambit.
    â€œChrist, Marc. I thought these Frenchies would be a bunch of yokels and misfits,” Hilliard said.
    â€œThey may well be,” Marc said, “but we’ve chosen to fight them on their home ground. They’ve got muskets, rifles, ammo . . . and a cause.”
    Sergeant Ogletree arrived to inform Marc that the captain had decided to try to clear the rebels from the rampart by attempting to encircle it from both sides. Marc’s troop was again to provide covering fire until the flanking movements were well under way, then