“Qui êtes-vous? Parlez, maintenant!” growled the sergeant threateningly, insisting they speak.

Caldwell was just about to feign a weak answer when a volley of musketry crackled from a nearby alleyway. Five of the French soldiers immediately crumpled to the ground, while the sergeant and the one remaining foot soldier wheeled around to face whatever it was that just surprised them. All at once a group of yelling, shadowy forms charged through the floating cloud of smoke left by the musket discharge. Seen in the guttering light of the lanterns which had been dropped to the ground, the last standing soldier uttered a disgusting gurgle as the blood-soaked point of a bayonet protruded through the back of his neck. At the same time, two attackers grabbed the reins of the sergeant’s horse while a third pinned the man’s sword arm and pulled him down bodily from the saddle. The third assailant then brandished his own sword and slammed the point into the sergeant’s chest several times before dr