Finally the two howitzers, looking like nothing so much as fat-bellied kettles on wheels, pulled into position. Unlike the other cannon, they were designed to fire black powder bombs in high, arcing trajectories, reaching out over the barricade and into the square beyond, where the militia were sheltering. One of Archer’s officers, from the rooftop vantage, waved semaphore flags down at his companions on the ground, and the two guns were soon belching fire. The spotter watched the fall of the shot and flagged corrections, and the gunners adjusted their aim.

“Right on target,” Archer said, watching the flags waggle.

Winter imagined the bombs bursting among the tight-packed militia, spraying them with ruptured metal. She bared her teeth in a vicious grin.

“Abby!” she said. “Get ready.”

“For what?” Bobby said.

“They can’t just sit there and take it forever,” Winter said. “Sooner or later they’ll either break and run or come after us. My bet is on the latter.” Being under fire without an effective way to fight back was every soldier’s worst nightmare, and when it had happened to her, Winter remembered, she wanted nothing more than to get to grips with her tormentors.

As though they’d been listening to her conversation, the men behind the crumbling barricade chose that moment to surge forward. Musket-armed Patriots came first, dashing across the shot-pocked earth of the square to shoulder their weapons and fire. Judging distances in the heat of battle was notoriously difficult, and for the most part this wild fire accomplished little. The Girls’ Own, spread across the square in loose ranks, let loose with a ragged volley, delivered at the very edge of their weapons’ range, and a few Patriots fell. One of Archer’s cannon belched and delivered a load of canister with considerably more effect, cutting a swath through the disorganized enemy.

“Hold,” Winter said, seeing the Girls’ Own start to edge forward again, eager to close the range. “There’s more coming.” Abby repeated the command, echoed by officers up and down the line.

Soon the militia started to appear, pushing through gaps in the devastated barricade and the clouds of drifting smoke from the ongoing firefight. They paused behind the loose line of Patriots, gathering in tight knots. Then, at some signal from their leaders, they charged with hoarse shouts, pikes and clubs waving.

“Ready to fall back if they get too close,” Winter said to Abby. “We’ve got the Royals formed up behind us.”