Breaking the news to the General about his favourite Winstanley had been hard, and to have seen the wonderful Doctor go down beneath a tumult of Turks was no fun either. However things were looking up with the late arrival of Lord Chelting and his wonderful flying machine. He now felt an air of confidence as reports came in of a Turkish horde approaching the encampment.
So his first order had been to Lord Chelting - push forward on the right. "Take the fight to those damned Turks" he'd said. Lord Chelting had raised the corner of his right eyebrow, sucked in a breath through his teeth, and gone to object, but clearly thought better of it in front of subordinates.
Sommerville had struggled to hide his surprise when the Turkish hero had come right out and attacked Lord Chelting. Damnednably unsporting.
|The Turkish hero general attacks Lord Chelting, supported by the Turkish airboat|
|This certainly looked like it could all go horribly wrong.|
|This looked like it should go well for Chelting - his tactical manoeuvring had always been without peer.|
|Alas, Chelting's well planned attack was in its turn thwarted.|
The Turkish general called in additional support from his other flyer, and a unit of cyclist riders, and ...
|Ouch, Chelting was forced out of the fight|
|Sommerville now ordered his lancers forward against the Turkish blade, while his airboat attacked the Turkish artillery from the rear|
|The blade were forced back, and the artillery was destroyed|
|However the Turkish airboat, and riders came to their aid|
|The Turkish flyer is eliminated.. the y don't make those flying carpets the way they used to|
|The advancing British blade, lead by Sommerville, come under fire form Turkish shooters|
|But the British lancers are eliminated .. this isn't looking good|
Finally the Turkish airboat attacked the British artillery left unsupported.
|The victorious airboat gliding across where the British artillery had momentarily made its stand|
Caruthers lay the second despatch down on the table next to the now empty coffee cup and lowered his head into his left hand. He squeezed his thumb and forefinger across his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The brandy hadn't helped. He looked up into the faces of his waiting officers, their looks expectant and as yet unknowing.
"This looks grim, gentlemen" he whispered, his hand instinctively reaching for the brandy glass. "We have another fight on our hands."