Cora, part 3:
On her way to the coast, and much-needed reinforcements for the fight against the French Frontier, Cora soon found
her suspicions confirmed. During her absence in the wilderness, that had led to the successful capture of forts Necessity and Duquesne, the war did not seem to have been conducted with proper vigour and diligence by some of the
other lords. War-weariness after the heavy fighting against France may have played its part, as might have the
relative unfamiliarity of many of them with the unconventional tactics of the French Frontier and their many native
allies, but whatever the cause, the frontier was left wide open to attacks by the savages.
More than once, Cora and her small band helped defend villages and homesteads against attack by raiders. However,
while her help was welcome and appreciated, and she did not wish for there to be even more burnt out houses and
ravaged settlements, Cora could not help but feel that these were mere distractions, and preventing her from
establishing communications with Marshal James Wolfe to coordinate the war effort.
The full scale of the crisis became evident on the way to Baltimore, when, near Winchester, Cora's trackers found all
the signs of the passing of a large army. Using the raids by their savage allies as a distraction and to conceal
their movements, the generals of the French Frontier had succeeded in moving their main army through the wilderness
deep into British territory, and now stood ready to lay siege to Baltimore.
They could not have picked a better target, for at this time, was Baltimore garrisoned weakly by only about 100 men
and thus vulnerable while most of the British forces were concentrated much further north. Additionally, any sign of
British weakness might very well entice the British Frontier to take up arms against the mother country again, as the
truce that had ended the last such conflict was now about to expire.
As she absorbed these dire news, she knew that she must act, and could but act alone. Baltimore could not be allowed
to fall, yet all that she could muster to face the besiegers, whom, from a quick observation of their lines, she
estimated to be 700-800 strong at the least was her own garrison in Milford, which, even together with her rangers,
would not come to much more than 450 men. This would leave the village itself dangerously exposed to attack by
raiders, but it was a small risk she had to take as part of a much larger and more desperate gamble.
Just as the French Frontier forces had made their way to Baltimore unobserved, Cora's own arrival had so far in turn
be hidden from them, and if she could strike a vicious first blow with the element of surprise on her sight, maybe
she could panic the enemy into raising the siege.
Hurrying towards Milford to gather her troops, she constantly had to weigh the necessity of stealth against moving as
quickly as possible - she could not hope to win without surprise on her side, yet she also knew that the besiegers'
lines were well advanced, and she did not have much time until they would be ready to assault Baltimore, which,
despite any heroic resistance its garrison might offer, must then inevitably fall.
These troubling thoughts and fears that she might be too late already weighed heavy on her mind as she arrived at
Milford, thankfully having avoided detection by French Frontier scouts along the way.
Then she saw the mast, and the cross of St George flying from it, in the bay near the village, and she allowed
herself to breathe a sigh of relief. Fortune had not yet abandoned the British cause, and while the crisis was far
from over, and bloody and desperate fighting lay ahead, the prospects of success now were much improved.
The ship, a transport carrying mostly provisions and stores, as well as a few reinforcements for the Highlanders, had
only recently arrived, and its Captain, upon hearing of the critical situation at Baltimore, at once offered all the
help he could, and put himself and his ship at Cora's disposal. Truly, it was a rare, and much-needed stroke of good
fortune.
Not only would transport by sea allow them to come to the relief of Baltimore much quicker, but it coulld also serve
as a powerful deception - after all, the French Frontier generals knew that most of the British forces were in the
northern parts of the colonies, and while they confidently expected any relief force to arrive too late, they would
also expect it to arrive by sea. Could they not, then, be panicked into thinking that a single ship was but the
vanguard of a larger fleet, particularly if it undertook an immediate landing and assault upon their lines as if sure
of swift reinforcement, that somehow, their deception had failed, that the whole British army was bearing down on
them?
Setting sail as soon as all the troops had boarded, Cora set out towards Baltimore, and while spirits had been raised
by this unexpected events, everyone also knew of the desperate business that lay ahead, that they must conquer or
die, and the mood among the men soon turned sour again, while the sheer audacity of the undertaking made Cora fret
with countless doubts, as she, along with everyone else, sailed over the waters of the Chesapeake towards an
uncertain fate.
Thus it came as a relief when Baltimore and the French Frontier camp were sighted, and preparations for the
disembarkation began - the endless anxiety of waiting now replaced by the equally dreadful and comforting certainty
of battle, the knowledge that one way or another, it would soon be over.
Cora and her rangers were in the first boat to land and immediately secured a beachhead, the few pickets they
encountered offering no prolonged resistance, but hurrying back to the main camp, where, she was sure, the alarm had
already been raised, and troops were being mustered to face the landing and throw her troops back into the sea. There
was no time to loose, then, and as soon as her main force landed, she pushed inland toward the French Frontier lines
with all haste.
Her troops had only marched for less than a quarter of an hour when some of her rangers, scouting ahead, brought word
that a sizeable French Force, some 500 men, was marching rapidly towards them, and that battle was imminent. And
while the swiftness of the enemy movement surprised her, this was as good news as she could hope for, for it
signalled that the French had indeed fallen for her deception, that they expected her to be reinforced soon, and
wanted to crush her with all possible speed. If she could but defeat this first enemy force, the remainder would
likely break off the siege and withdraw.
Halting her forces on what she deemed suitable terrain, she drew up her forces in order of battle, rangers in a
skirmish line to the front, highlanders and grenadiers in a solid line behind them. Her plan was to provoke a
precipitate attack - a tactic all the more likely to succeed given the large number of wild indians among the enemy
ranks - with the rifle fire from her rangers, who would then fall back towards the main line, partially concealed
behind a reverse slope, drawing the enemy onto the killing volleys of the British infantry.
Cora was still checking the alignment of some companies in her line when the first rifle shot rang out, and was soon
followed by many more as her rangers to the front engaged the enemy woodsmen and indian warriors, signalling the
start of the battle.
At first, it seemed to go well, and as parts of the French Frontier line started moving forwards, her rangers began
to fall back in pairs, one covering the other, with the savages rushing after them in rapid pursuit. However, the
enemy commander, seeing this breakdown in discipline and its potentially fatal consequences, proved his mettle and
reacted quickly, ordering all his colonials and regular troops to follow the indians, launching an all-out attack.
The first indians crested the rise in front of the infantry, hot on the heels of the remaining rangers, who threw
themselves flat to the ground just in time as the infantry openend fire. Smoke shrouded the British lines, and
turning back towards their pursuers, the rangers could see that the leading group had been obliterated by the massed
volley. Then their hearts froze, as instead of a few more indians, suddenly the enemy's whole force seemed to crest
the low rise, and made ready to fire. There was nothing they, or anyone else on the British side, could do, but to
put a brave face on it and dare them to do their worst.
The enemy volley crashed like thunder, and at such close range, did terrible damage. A hail of lead filled the air,
balls ripping through flesh and cloth alike, splintering bones, blood gushing from hideous wounds as men were cut
down and writhed on the ground, screaming in agony. The British line buckled under the vicious blow, and seemed about
to break, men looking left and right in sudden panic as their comrades were struck down around them, many not even
knowing what had hit them, for so dense had been the smoke from their own volley, and they so busy loading their
guns, that they had not noticed terrible danger they were in until hot lead tore and searing pain tore into them.
Cora's gut turned to ice at this sight, and for a moment, she was too shocked to do anything. Her plan, her desperate
gamble, had been undone, and was falling apart before her eyes. "Fall back and fire by platoons from the left wing",
a voice rang out from the ranks, an unknown officer - who it was, Cora would never know, as none of the survivors
would later claim to have given this order - having gathered his wits quicker than his commander, realizing that the
only way to prevent a complete breakdown was to reform and re-order the line, and to do that, they had to put more
distance between themselves and the enemy.
The familiar command had an immediate effect, as ingrained training and discipline took over, and the British line
began shuffling backwards, loading and firing as it went. The French were loading again as well, and this now proved
to be their undoing. Their men, many of them frontiersmen and colonial militia well-versed in forest fighting, were
excellent marksmen, but they lacked the drill, the proficiency gained through mind-numbing hours of repetitive
training, to stand against British infantry in a prolonged exchange of musketry. A charge after their first volley
might have won them the day, but by chosing to stand and fire again, they had entered into an unequal contest which
they must eventually lose.
Cora had by now resumed the command, halted her line at about 80 paces from the enemy, and ordered the men to keep
firing as fast as they could. Then, as if to make amends for her earlier inaction and lapse of composure, she sild
from the saddle of her horse, took her rifle and joined her rangers, who had attached themselves in a loose skirmish
line to the main force, firing and loading with her men. How long that fight lasted exactly, none of the men who
stood in that smoke-shrouded patch of hell on that field with death filling the air around them could later tell, but eventually,
the rapidity and weight of the British fire took its toll, at first the indians, who, savage as they were, could not
endure this cold-blooded butchery for long, took off, seeing their allies depart, the militia stood for a while
longer in defiance, but then, they too, began to withdraw. The firing slackened, then slowly died down completely as
officers ordered men to hold their fire, and began reorganizing the groups of survivors into units.
For the day was not won yet, and as much as they had already endured, more would be asked of them - they had beaten a
large portion of the French Frontier army, but now they had to keep them on the run, to prevent them from rallying
and reforming on those units that still held the siege lines outside Baltimore. So Cora ordered them forward again as
soon as they were reformed, and over a field were the fallen lay in thick heaps and the wounded cried out piteously
for succour, they set off after their enemy. Moving towards the siege lines, Cora could see that disorder had taken
hold of the enemy camp, and that it would take but a little to tip it over the edge, and into full-fledged panic. The
enemy commander must have realized the same, for he was quickly gathering as many troops as he could, and forming a
line to stop the approaching British, to buy time for the rest of his men to rally.
Having regained her composure, and determined to not let it slip again, Cora did not give him the time he needed. She
ordered a general advance, and her men strode towards the French, muskets on their shoulders, their powder-stained
faces set like granite masks, grim resolve in their eyes. Shots rang out from the French Frontier line, and men fell,
but the fire was ragged and inaccurate, and the British line came on, closing its ranks again as it went. Then, at a
command from Cora, they halted. Muskets were made ready, and a shudder could be seen running throught the French,
only 60 paces away, in anticipation of what they knew was to come. Another command, the muskets were levelled, then
Cora's sword swept down, and the whole British line fired as one, a devastating volley that tore the enemy ranks
ragged and stunned them with sudden thunder and violence.
Then, out of the smoke of their own volley, howling like fiends, the British charged. The wicked points of the bayonets and the savage broadswords raised high to strike promised bloody murder to all who would stand against them, and, predictably, the French Frontier line, still not recovered from the volley, did not. They broke and fled almost immediately, and swept the remaining besiegers away with them. It would be hours before their officers regained control, and by then, all they would be looking to do was to organize an orderly retreat.
Cora looked at her weary and exhausted men, then realized she herself was also shaking from exhaustion and nervous
energy. They had done it, they had broken the siege of Baltimore. Against the odds, persevering through all
adversity, they had won. But among the pitifully small groups of survivors, numbed by the carnage of the last few
hours, there was little elation, and the citizens and garrison of Baltimore that came out to greet their rescuers
felt as if they were walking among ghosts.
When the roll was called, the full scale of the slaughter became apparent - more than 200 men, over a third of her force, dead and wounded, almost half the officers dead, and most of the remainder also wounded with varying severity.
The French Frontier might have lost half as many men again, maybe even more, and more would surely desert on the
retreat, particularly among their indian allies, but to the survivors of this butcher's yard, there was no glory, no
joy in victory, just a numb and hollow awareness, that somehow, undeservedly, they were not among the dead themselves - yet.
Thus a heavy gloom settled on Cora's men as they camped in the former siege lines, staying apart and keeping to
themselves while the city and garrison celebrated behind them, and when, still during the night, she was woken from
fitful sleep by the commotion of a runner arriving outside her tent, Cora rose with a sick feeling in the pit of her
stomach that the last act of this tragedy was yet to be played out.
Naturally, the battle of Baltimore is fictionalized quite a bit, though I did try to make it follow the several
encounters the game had me fight as best as I could, and from which the following images were taken.
I have the beginnings of a further update, including some more images from a vicious fight, but I'm not sure where I'm going with the character/campaign - the second and third update came about pretty much by accident when I used Cora to show off 1755 OF, and I'm not sure if I'll continue with it further. Once I do, there'll either be another update, or a short epilogue.
and using the many sounds I sent to Dellivis and then Custer got them as well.
