Flinching, Quade felt the wind of a ball as it winnowed past his left ear.

“Back!” he yelled. “Fall back!

The bulk of the troops coming up behind him were quick to obey, though a handful, ignoring the orders and the risk, broke ranks to run forward and help drag their injured comrades to safety. Another volley sounded, this time from the southern side of the bridge. Troops from the column had formed a defensive line along the creek and were returning fire, although there was little to aim at beyond fog, shadows and smoke.

Quade, anxious to present a less conspicuous target, dismounted quickly. As Captain Carradine’s riderless horse cantered past him, he spied the corporal from the vanguard and pulled him close. “Report! What did you see?”

Not yet recovered from the shock of the attack and from the effort of helping his wounded comrade to safety, the corporal blinked. “Savages, Major! They came out of nowhere.”

“I know that, damn it – I saw them! How many?”

The corporal blanched, his breath clouding. “Can’t rightly say, sir. Never got a chance to count. Seven or eight maybe. Not many, but they were on us before we knew they were there. We got off a round or two, but …” The corporal shook his head helplessly before casting a terrified eye towards the forest over his shoulder.

Quade looked back across the bridge. The smoke was dissipating fast. The bodies of the dead were coming to light. They were sprawled across the snow like piles of empty sacking, the majority of them on the north side of the creek. A couple lay on the bridge, while both the trooper shot by an arrow and Captain Carradine had ended up face down on the bank. Of the attackers there was no sign. Presumably, they were back in the woods, reloading, and waiting.

But who in God’s name were they?

There had been nothing from the scouts to warn that the enemy had been primed. All the signs had indicated that the redcoats were still a-bed. But, then, the attackers hadn’t been redcoats, they’d been Indians, which was even more confusing. Where had they come from? Were they scouts for a bigger party, perhaps?

Quade was considering that possibility when a fresh outburst of musketfire came from the other side of the bridge. Ordinarily, given the range, the shots might have gone wide or dropped short, but a couple had found their targets due to the troopers being closely packed together. The reports were followed by a chorus of triumphant yelps, answered immediately by a retaliatory fusillade.

“Hold your fire!” a sergeant roared as he looked for an officer and fresh orders. “Wait till you can see the bastards!”