Crack! Crack!
The two sentries were hit and fell from the ten-meter-high watchtower.
Henry then began shooting out the gas lamps, starting with the two closest to him. The sound of his rifle shots roused the entire manor, and a chorus of panicked shouts rose into the night.
In three seconds, the five nearest lamps were extinguished, and the sentries could no longer see his position.
"The devil is back!"
"Robert and Lampard are down!"
"Get on the machine gun, now!"
"My God, we can't see anything!"
"What do we do? He's going to shoot them all out!"
Their frantic cries drifted down on the wind.
Henry aimed with a steady hand. Ten seconds later, all eighteen gas lamps were dark.
The shooting stopped. The final 400-meter approach was now a pitch-black abyss, a hunting ground for ghosts. To the eight remaining sentries, it felt as if the darkness was filled with a thousand monsters, ready to charge out and devour them.
Henry slipped back behind the corner and quietly reloaded. It was only 5 AM. He had time.
Dak-dak-dak-dak-dak!
The frantic roar of a Gatling gun shattered the silence, followed by a deranged scream. "Come on out, you bastard! I'm not afraid of you!"
The second machine gun joined in. A minute later, the firing stopped, replaced by the faint sound of a commander's angry shouts.
Henry remained still.
A few moments later, a dozen new gas lamps were lit inside the manor grounds. Four of them were quickly moved to the main gate, hung behind the iron bars for protection.
Commander Sam's heart was a lump of ice, but he quickly ordered the remaining sixteen guards into defensive positions, ready to ambush any enemy who breached the gate.
Fabio was already dressed, sitting on the sofa in the main hall, praying. But he knew, with a sickening certainty, that if the enemy had returned, it was because they already had a way to deal with his machine guns.
Ten minutes passed. A faint, milky-white line appeared on the eastern horizon. For Henry, it was enough light to see.
He stepped out from behind the corner and began to run, hugging the rock face to his left. The two German Shepherds at the gate exploded into a fresh frenzy of barking. The sentries tensed, but they could see nothing in the gloom.
After a few seconds, the dogs suddenly ran to the right side of the gate, barking at the cliff face. The machine gun crews, assuming that's where the threat was, opened fire, raking the area a hundred meters out.
By now, Henry had already covered a hundred meters on the left. Seeing the angle of the machine gun's fire, he continued to run at a steady pace. A dozen seconds later, he veered to his right, sprinting diagonally toward the gate, now just over a hundred meters away.
The two dogs, sensing his new position, ran back to the center of the gate, barking wildly. The other machine gun crew opened fire as well, spraying the center of the road.
Henry ignored them and charged, his shields absorbing the hits. He could cover ten meters in a second.
He burst through the storm of lead and reached the twenty-meter mark. He threw a 5-pound TNT charge toward the first watchtower, then a second charge toward the other.
Two revolvers appeared in his hands. Bang! Bang! The two German Shepherds yelped and fell silent.
Henry immediately turned and ran. He had only gone a few meters when the first charge detonated.
BOOM!
The top of the watchtower disintegrated in a storm of fire, shrapnel, and gore. He kept running. A few meters later, the second tower was likewise annihilated.
He stopped, turned, and ran back to within ten meters of the gate. He threw a 20-pound charge, then turned and sprinted away. After four seconds, he summoned the granite block from his storage and ducked behind it.
An instant later, a massive explosion tore the gate apart.
Just as he'd planned.
BOOM!
A red flare shot into the sky, illuminating the battlefield in a ghastly light.
At the same time, the factory doors burst open and a tide of cavalry—thirty-six riders and two more dogs—charged out. Behind them, another sixty riders were pouring out of the factory.
Henry was waiting. Crack! Crack! Crack! His rifle began to sing, and a rider fell with every shot.
Dak-dak-dak-dak-dak!
The machine guns from the ruined towers opened up. Henry stood his ground and kept firing.
He fired twenty-seven shots, dropping twenty-seven riders. The last seven riders and two dogs closed to within fifty meters, their faces twisted in masks of pure rage.
The machine guns fell silent, afraid of hitting their own men.
Henry instantly swapped his rifle for two double-action revolvers.
BANG-BANG-BANG!
In one second, twelve bullets left the barrels, and the last seven riders and two dogs collapsed in a heap. The vanguard was annihilated.
But the second wave of sixty riders was now within a hundred meters. They would be on him in five seconds.
He threw a 5-pound bomb high over their heads and another onto the ground in front of them. Then he raised two fresh revolvers and opened fire.
Another second, another twelve riders down.
A second flare lit up the sky as the two bombs detonated. The airburst charge shredded the men within a five-meter radius. The ground charge shattered the legs of the horses in the front rank, creating a horrific pile-up.
The charge was broken. Henry swapped to two more revolvers and, over the next four seconds, fired thirty-six more rounds, methodically executing every rider within fifty meters.
Only the last eight riders remained, fighting to control their screaming, rearing horses.
Henry switched back to his Winchester and finished the job.
He ducked back behind the corner as the machine guns roared to life again, their bullets sparking off his granite shield. Fifteen seconds later, the flare died, and the guns fell silent.
The entire battle had been a brutal exchange. He had been hit nine times by the first wave, three times by the machine guns, and eighteen times by the second. Three green husks and twenty-seven white ones had shattered.
On the slope, aside from the faint groans of the dying, nothing moved.
Inside the factory, Tom and Fabio were frozen in shock. Tom, like a gambler who had just lost everything on a single, desperate bet, could only stare with wide, bloodshot eyes.
He had seen it with his own eyes. One man had just held off a charge of nearly a hundred cavalry. The 350-meter slope had become a meat grinder.
He's a devil, Tom thought, the idea taking root in his mind. He's not human.
He ordered his last ten men to barricade the gate.
Fabio, the factory manager, just stared at him. You useless fool! he thought, his mind screaming with rage. You let him bait you twice! You've doomed us all!