Chapter 1

Ian felt the shuddering blows strike his horse a tick after the two not-too-distant musket cracks. He heard the awful thwacking sounds as the lead balls hit flesh. The gallant animal collapsed on his left side, pulling Ian down with it, into the muddy ground below, pinning his left leg under hundreds of pounds of horse and a tangle of saddle and stirrups.

The pain was knife-sharp, deep, and unbending. Bloody hell, he thought, if its broken, Im a dead man. He struggled to free himself from the numbing weight, which pressed the leather straps and sharp brass buckles of the harness into his leg.

Ian stretched his neck to look over the dead horses back, through the mist and rain, saw them coming at him, fast. There were six riders thundering down, Cossacks by their long cherkeska coats, cartridge loops across the chest, and grey fur caps. Some carried long deadly lances pointed his way, others brandished large curved swords. Ian knew he hadnt long to live unless a miracle happened, knew these fearsome warriors would show little mercy.

The miracle was standing over him, preposterous in its elegance. He looked up and saw his friend, Captain Lewis Nolan, calmly and stylishly astride his mount, gazing with haughty distaste at the oncoming attackers.

Ian shouted, Lewis, for Gods sake, give me some help here. Im a bit stuck-in.

A moment, Ian, Nolan said, deliberately removing his huge Deane Adams .50-inch revolver from its holster. He carefully aimed at the charging, screaming Cossacks. Since it was not necessary to cock this revolver, he slowly pulled the trigger. The pistol bounced abruptly in his hand, firing with a distinctly loud bark.

Ian stretched his neck again, saw the lead Russians horse crumble to its front knees, the rider flying over its head, arms flailing wide apart, as though hed grown wings. He struck the ground face first, slid grotesquely in the mud and decay of the forest floor, then lay motionless.

The Cossack behind him, riding at full gallop, crashed into the stumbling lead horse. The second Cossack was thrown off his mount sideways, and trampled by the oncoming horsemen. Two were on the ground with one shot. Ian was amazed. Nolan looked decidedly amused by it all.

They were closer now, the other four, still coming. Ian could see their distorted faces. If he didnt free himself, hed risk capture and an unpleasant death.

Ian crawled, clawed, and kicked his way clear. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the fierce pain in his leg, and looked up again at the stoic Nolan sitting on his mount almost casually. Ian said, as calmly as he could manage, Lewis, I should think it time to leave, or we might be spending the rest of this war eating borscht in some filthy, rat-infested Ruskie prison.

Nolan would have none of it. Without looking at Ian he replied, Please, Ian, youre spoiling my sport. With that, he carefully placed the Adams long barrel in the crook of his left arm and aimed. The pistol bucked again, his horse moving ever so slightly at the piercing crack of the revolver, Nolan in complete control of weapon and animal. Ian saw a small black hole appear in the forehead of the closest Cossack, and watched as the dead Russian, feet rising in the air, rolled off the back of his horse.

Three were down now, three angry charging Russians left. The downed Cossacks were lancers. The three getting dangerously close were circling swords above their heads, screeching like banshees.

Ian jerked out his own smaller .36-inch American Colt 1851 Navy Model Revolver, wiping off the mud as best he could with a braided tab from his once blue, now ugly, wet-brown frock coat. The pistol remained by his side as he stared at the closing Cossacks. Its been a short war, Ian thought, with surprising calm.

Nolan said, I say, Ian, shall we leave here with a bit of dignity? He grabbed Ians arm, swung him onto the back of the saddle, and spurred away with ease. He almost lost Ian as he pulled effortlessly left, then right, in an agile zigzag pattern.

Ian was barely able to stick his pistol in his belt, as he hung on for his life. Nolan wove the mount skilfully around scrub bushes, trees, and large boulders. He was a magnificent horseman, but with two riders the borrowed mount was tiring. Ian looked back, saw the Cossacks gaining, heard the pounding of hooves getting closer.

Ians world seemed to move more slowly, as he realized the danger approaching. His mind flickered back to their landing, which had been a farce. The combined French and British armada boasted a fighting muscle of eight triple-decked ships of the line, twenty-two double-decked battleships, seven frigates, and thirty of the newer steam and paddle-driven warships. All of these were bristling with naval guns of every size. In addition, there were several hundred sail and steam transports, like so many lazy fat whales, ready to disgorge their men and supplies onto the hostile shore.

On the British side it was a mismanaged mess, the beach area a circus of misdirected supplies. Commissary and quartermaster personnel had been running around, bumping into each other. Soldiers wandered about searching for their companies, trying to form up.

Lord Raglan wanted a reconnaissance, and Lord Raglan would have what he wanted. Wishing to know if there were Russian infantry to their front, hed ordered Captains Ian Carlyle and Lewis Nolan of his staff to find out. Theyd just managed to stagger onto the beach south of Eupatoria, along the Crimean Peninsula, when His Lordship gave the order.

Nolans horses were not yet landed, and Ians were unsaddled. He and Nolan quickly borrowed two saddled cavalry mounts from a young, confused 11th Hussars cornet, and were off, moving inland down a dirt path to get His Lordships answers.

Now one of those borrowed horses was dead, the other exhausted, and the two young officers were in grave danger of being captured or killedor both.

Nolan shouted over his shoulder, Doesnt look good, old man. Horse wont last much longer.