The tactic was the same one she’d employed at Jirdos, but she could already see it wasn’t going to be necessary here. Having to negotiate the barricade had broken up the mass of militia into a steady dribble of small groups, each of which fought without coordinating with the others. Each would break into a run, attracting more and more fire from the Girls’ Own as they came closer, and dribbling dead and wounded like bloody footprints in their wake. Before they got close enough to use their makeshift weapons, the cohesion of the group would break under the shattering fire of the skirmish line, and the survivors would run back to the shelter of the barricade.

After three or four such sorties broke in bloody ruin without getting in fifty yards of her line, Winter nearly found herself feeling sorry for them. Each new group emerged from the smoke without knowing what had happened to the others, and each was shot down in turn. Wounded men and those whose courage had broken were trying to force their way back through the barricade now, clogging up the gaps and creating a mass of shoving, struggling men, those pushing their way forward trapped by those trying to get back. Archer, unprompted, directed his fire at these clots of humanity, bowling solid shot through the press and flailing the edges with canister. Soon bodies were heaped so thick at the choke points that even those militia who wanted to press forward found themselves trapped behind drifts of corpses.

The Patriot Guards, more disciplined, kept loading and firing, though one by one they were deciding the fleeing militia had the right idea and throwing down their weapons. Muzzle flashes from inside the bank of powder smoke that hung over the barricade were increasingly erratic, and it was as much from sympathy as anything else that Winter decided the time had come to finish it.

“Abby!” She had to shout to be heard over the thunder of the guns. “Fix bayonets and charge! Take prisoner anyone who throws down their weapon.”

“Sir!”

Winter sent Bobby to make sure Archer ceased fire before the Girls’ Own surged forward. Their loose line lacked the shock impact of a formed body of troops, but by this point it was hardly necessary. At the first sign of their opponent’s approach, Patriots and militia alike began throwing away their weapons, either redoubling their efforts to flee or raising their hands in surrender.