Swords of Arabia: Warlord Read online

  He never got a chance. A fusillade of bullets answered his unspoken question and he fell forward, his head smashing against the boat's side, dead even before he hit the rough-planed planking of the deck.

  Screams of the attendants and children mingled with the cries of anger and outrage from the other guards, as they rapidly returned fire on what were now clearly enemy vessels. Their fire was ragged and unconcerted in their shock at losing their young commander. The attackers, as though sensing their disorganisation, moved in, pressing their advantage. Of the four boats defending her, Zahirah saw that all her men aboard the one nearest the attackers had been cut down in the first burst of devastating gunfire. Their boat now drifted aimlessly, mute witness to her party's growing plight.

  Anger at the attack, warred with her concern for the children as she gazed, outwardly impassive, as her guards, momentarily lost without leadership, continued to fire wildly and with little success.

  “Hold your fire! I said, hold your fire!” Zahirah turned quickly, startled by the voice of command immediately behind her. It was Fahad; but a boy who'd suddenly put on five years and become a man.

  Zahirah saw that some of the guard instinctively responded to the note of command in the young voice, but more hesitated. They seemed unwilling to follow the lead of one who, minutes before, had been little more than a laughing boy.

  She spoke quickly, but tactfully, saying simply, “Well said, Nephew.” Her quiet words carried and they reinforced Fahad's still shaky authority, and the unwilling, or hesitant, amongst the men quickly obeyed.

  “They are more heavily armed than us, so we must be careful with what bullets we have,” he explained quickly. He was right, they could all see the men massed thickly on the attacking vessels, all with rifles and many also holding pistols.

  “Shoot only enough to keep them away from the boat. We need time,” he added, visibly growing in confidence.

  Seeing that the trio of attacking boats were still trying to encircle and isolate them from their defending craft, he quickly shouted an order to their own three remaining vessels. He had each mark one of the enemy boats, keeping between it and the embattled ghanjah. Zahirah, her gaze watching the conflict develop into a nightmare, suddenly thought that what had, that morning, seemed an overly large force to guard her, now, suddenly, seemed scarcely enough.

  She tensed, as another heavy fusillade raked the ghanjah, bullets thudding into its decks. The chunks and splinters of flying wood from its planking soon proved as much a risk to the defenders as the bullets themselves. One of the attacking craft suddenly raced in, apparently trying to break through her encircling defences and reach her boat. The fearsome noise from dozens of men's throats added to the growing uproar.

  The attacker veered suddenly towards one of her outlying boats, seemingly intent on forcing it to either move aside or ram it if it didn't. The defenders fired frantically at the rapidly approaching vessel and, seemingly in response to their defence, it swerved and moved quickly back out of range of the gunfire. All the while the attackers were, if anything, shouting even louder.

  “The stupid sons of camels! They couldn't shoot worse, even if they tried! They should shout less and aim more!” snorted Fahad derisively.

  Zahirah nodded in agreement. Warriors often shouted out during any battle, as much to keep their own spirits up as to unnerve their opponents. Even so, the yelling and screaming erupting from their enemies’ throats was much more than she'd ever heard before.

  In truth though, she only half-heard what Fahad was saying. Her attention was increasingly focused on watching for any sign that the outposts on the fortified headlands had heard the rifle-fire, seen it was her boats under attack and were swiftly launching other boats in her support.

  A sudden cry made her turn swiftly, as one of her close-standing guards crashed onto the deck, his head pouring blood. Seeing he was still breathing, she had him quickly carried to the well of the boat, where her servants were already administering to other wounded; of which, already, there were many.

  They must be dull-witted indeed, she thought contemptuously, as, with their boats circling and trying to get through her defensive cordon, the yelling from the throats of the hostile force reached new heights. Then, the men aboard still shouting fiercely, the enemy boats pulled away, seemingly driven off by the defensive fire from Zahirah's forces.

  Watching closely, however, Zahirah suddenly knew something was dreadfully wrong with what seemed to be unfolding before her. But what? Her eyes quickly scanned the murderous scene. Her defending boats were holding fast to their protective positioning, their crews always expertly keeping their boat between her ghanjah and each of the attacking vessels, from whichever angle they tried to swoop in. Her eyes swiftly looked over the men in her various boats. All were stoically kneeling at their posts, raising their heads to fire whenever it appeared safe to do so. Her eyes switched to the enemy boats, still being kept at bay, despite their superior fire-power.

  Everything was as was to be expected in such a skirmish; so why was her inner voice telling her otherwise? Telling her that things were not quite as they seemed? Impatiently, she turned to look at the harbour, so close, so tantalisingly close! Loyalist forces should have heard the fighting and, even now, be racing to crush her nameless enemy. She didn't waste time trying to work out who the attackers were, time enough for that when they were safely back in the town, within the palace. For now it was enough to keep the attackers at bay; to stay alive.

  The attackers' shouting reached new heights as, increasing their speed, each of the three boats raced round the ghanjah's defensive perimeter, keeping just out of range of the defenders' rifles. How Zahirah wished for just one of the new, very modern and very fast-firing rifles she'd heard rumours about! The jackals would then feel her bite, she reflected grimly as, hearing the children crying, she turned and went to them, reluctantly leaving her vantage point. Cradling Ahmad the youngest of her sons, and, with the child's nurse, holding onto Leila, whose curiosity was tempting her out of the safety of the central depression they were all crowded into, her mind raced. She became deaf to the continued gunfire and shrieking, both swirling around her like some scene from that hell she'd heard about from travellers who believed in the Nasarene.

  As another of her defenders was brought to the section of the boat set aside for the wounded and, she saw now, the dead, she hoped relief would arrive soon. Even the arrival of the few left on garrison duty would take some of the pressure off her forces. Allah knew that with the noise and the slow progress made by their attackers, they should be safe until help arrived. Had she been in charge of the enemy force she would have shot anyone making half their noise so near to the town. She would also have pressed home the attack with more vigour; swooped like a hawk with a fast, killing blow, not flutter around like so many noisy chickens.

  Suddenly she jerked upright. Of course! That was it! Hurriedly passing her infant son, startled by her abrupt movement, to his nurse, she moved quickly to where Fahad, now fully in charge, was directing their defence. The words of the troop commander came back to her. The attacker's boats! They'd been first seen this morning! They'd been seen following in their vicinity from soon after they left the harbour, hours, many hours, before they actually attacked them. It made no sense. Why wait until now? Why not attack them when they were more vulnerable, miles away down the coast, miles away from any hope of reinforcements from the town?

  Why wait, whether their purpose was to rob them, kidnap for a ransom or even kill them, until the quarry they'd been stalking for so many hours was so near imminent, inevitable, rescue? It was senseless, utterly senseless.

  Unless…

  Unless, as her coldly analytical mind had suddenly grasped, she and her party weren't the hunter's prey at all – they were the bait! Bait to get the reduced garrison to do exactly what she'd been hoping they'd do only moments before! Reaching Fahad's side she risked a look over the side, and then she saw what, only seconds previously, she
'd been praying for. Boats were indeed moving out from the harbour's mouth. The garrison had seen their plight and were rushing to help.

  *

  About to turn away and return to his apartments, Mohammed stopped suddenly in mid-stride as a noise under his feet caused his blood to turn to ice. The deep grating sound under his feet meant only one thing.

  “Merciful Allah! The gates! Daoud, the gates are being opened!” he yelled, turning back to his equally stunned second-in-command. Shouting orders to guards clustered below, they both ran down the steep steps, already drawing their swords.

  Even by the time they ran that short distance, it was almost too late. At the same time as the guards who'd gone out through the small side gate were being slaughtered, the massive cross-beam, holding the city gates themselves secure, had been removed. They were now being pulled open by armed men. Yet other fighters, also heavily armed, had formed a defensive ring in front of the widening opening and were fighting off loyalist troops desperate to re-take and shut the massive gates. Yet more men were starting to race into the city through the opening; many men. Some came from the caravan itself, others, recently disguised as beggars or cripples crouching outside the town walls, had thrown off their disguises and quickly joined them. Even more armed men, hidden supporters inside the town itself, had also suddenly appeared and were attacking the defenders from behind.

  By the time Mohammed and Daoud reached ground level, the situation was already desperate and almost beyond saving. Mohammed's experienced eye swiftly assessed the one chance the defenders had to reverse the flow of the fight before even more enemy fighters got through the rapidly opening gates and the attack became unstoppable. He shouted an order to Daoud, and they both, with a handful of men from the fringes of the defence, quickly moved, each to one side of the defenders and the bulk of the attacking force.

  Their surprise move caught the enemy force off-balance and outflanked; only for a few seconds, but, for the moment, it was enough. Keeping their backs to the walls of the entranceway, the two groups moved behind the insurgents in a rapid pincer movement, slithering and hacking their way towards the gates, now more than half open and allowing many more men to pour inside and throw their strength against the defenders. Alert for any further show of treachery from within his own force, Mohammed slashed and hacked a way through to one side of the gates. Then Daoud burst through on the other, which meant that they now had a slim chance of shutting the gates and stemming the flow into the town. Suddenly, however, more enemy reinforcements arrived and, vastly strengthened, pushed them back. The attackers still outside the town made a savage new push towards the still half-open gates. At the same moment, a breathless messenger pushed through to Mohammed, and told him that Zahirah's boats were under attack.

  Chapter 17

  Zahirah was coldly aware that her analysis of what was needed, finished even as she hurried over to Fahad, was correct. She was equally coldly aware that her main problem was making Fahad see and do as she suggested. There remained little time to indulge in the face-saving politeness she was so often compelled to use, not if they were to outwit their attackers. The town's remaining loyalist troops must be stopped from rushing to their aid, dangerously further weakening their own defence.

  Fortunately for her, though considerably less so for Fahad, fortune took a hand in events. Even as she reached his shoulder and started talking urgently to him, his body jolted and he collapsed against her, his chest pouring blood. Horrified, she called for her attendants to help him, as she lowered him gently to the deck. Even with her careful handling, his face spasmed with pain. Seeing the agony on the young face, cold fury poured through her and, almost without thinking, she picked up the old revolver, dropped when he fell. Driven by that same fury, she looked over the gunwale and saw that one of the boats had drawn much nearer to them. It was so close that she could clearly make out the individual faces of her attackers; see also their jubilation at seeing Fahad fall.

  Without conscious thought, she pulled back the hammer and pressed the trigger. Ignoring the unexpected recoil, as she'd ignored its equally unexpected weight, and, holding the heavy gun with both hands, she repeated the action twice more. She felt a blaze of savage satisfaction as she saw two men crash to the floor; the crowding of the enemy decks making it difficult for any to avoid her unexpected counter-attack. Whether any of them would have moved was a moot point, anyway; their shock at seeing a woman handling a gun, slowed their reflexes and cost one man his life and another both an eye and the lifelong ridicule of having been shot by a woman.

  “Captain!” she called, her mind now back to its usual ice-like clarity.

  Swiftly covering the surprise he'd felt as he'd watched her shooting, he hurried up to to her.

  “We must carry out the Lord Fahad's instructions,” she said.

  “Instructions, Lady?” the old man stammered, well aware she'd only had seconds, if that, with Fahad before the bullet had hit him.

  “Yes, he was informing me of his plans, when those jackals shot him,” she lied, refusing to waste precious time playing to male pride. She quickly outlined her own insights and then outlined her ‘young kinsman’s’ solution.

  “A brave plan, Lady, and clever, and from such a young man!” he responded, with a quick, strained, smile. Knowing better than to say more, he quickly gave orders to the sailors. A young officer, also quickly told, carried out ‘Fahad's’ instructions for the guards.

  Her plan was dangerous, but very simple, and it was based on her realisation that the attackers wanted troops to come to their aid and thus out of the town. Why, she didn't yet know, but her logic was simple; if they wanted the garrison out, it must be for some treachery inside, so she'd outflank them, if her plan worked.

  From the uncertain glances of some of the guards, they obviously also had their doubts. She was absolutely clear, however, that in her plan lay the only hope of rescuing a dangerous situation. She was equally certain that, despite any doubts felt, her orders would be obeyed, and she watched impassively as the oars were unbanked and made ready for use the instant the word was given. The fighter in charge of the boat on the side away from the fort was signalled over and given his orders. The remaining two boats were simply signalled to pull alongside the bigger boat, near the back away from the oar ports and to do it slowly, to arouse less suspicion.

  Meanwhile, the captain let the ghanjah appear to drift a little, slowly edging closer to the one boat of the three that, whatever the other two did, always kept between them and the harbour mouth. The slow movement allowed the 'drift' of the ghanjah to appear accidental, helping disguise its intent, until its prow was pointing directly at the harbour mouth – and the third boat blocking their way through to it. At the same time, a group of the defenders on one of the outlying boats started shouting, and moved as if to take over the ghanjah. Simultaneously, another of the outlying craft started to move fast towards the enemy, keeping to the left side of the ghanjah.

  The attention of all the attacking dhows was now on this latter craft, apparently either fleeing the fight, or attempting to break through the cordon. The ghanjah's captain, using the distraction, quietly gave swift orders, and his rowers quickly positioned their oars. The remaining boat of Zahirah's small fleet pulled alongside and the warriors swiftly jumped aboard the larger vessel. At the same time, the captain quickly adjusted the sails, and when, on his order, the oars, were swept into the waters, the ghanjah suddenly surged forward, straight towards the enemy boat lying broadside onto them.

  Initially caught unawares by the large craft's swift approach, most of their attention being on the confusing and apparently contradictory activity of Zahirah's smaller force, the enemy quickly re-grouped. As its sailors tried to turn the boat away from the now swiftly moving ghanjah, its prow aimed threateningly at the midships of their own craft, the warriors started pouring a hail of bullets onto it. Zahirah's men, strengthened by the reinforcements from the second boat, returned fire from the prow of their spee
ding craft.

  The heavy fire of Zahirah's men couldn't, however, stop the other craft slowly turning its own prow towards them. Along with the attacker's initial, crucial, few seconds of confusion, however, their heavy gunfire was more than enough to keep the blocking vessel still almost broadside as they raced towards it. The enemy helmsman, seeing the huge boat bearing rapidly down onto them, panicked and swung the rudder two far and too quickly over. As a result, their boat wallowed and dipped hard over to one side, leaving it dangerously exposed to the huge, curved, prow of the ghanjah scything through the churning waters, apparently determined to ram and sink them.

  Many of the attacking force on the enemy craft, already stunned by the rapid turnaround of events, seemed transfixed on the imminent collision. Others on the floundering vessel jumped overboard, the water suddenly appearing the safer option. Then, with less than two ships' length before they hit, Zahirah's boat, still at full speed, swerved sharply to its right and swept past the stern of the still wallowing craft.

  Suddenly there was nothing between Zahirah and the harbour mouth. The manoeuvre’s success was greeted with a roar of anger from the enemy craft, as it, in turn, started to swing round to pursue them. Sluggishly at first, then with increasing speed, it completed its turn and raced after them. The ghanjah's lead was slight and Zahirah knew they were still in danger, more so, as she saw the other two craft abandon their attacks on her remaining boats and swiftly turn and race to cut her off. It would be close, she saw, peering ahead toward the longed for safety of the harbour.