He just hoped he would be the one singing them.
"Before you start, you should know: I've had a really, really bad day."
Jack ducked back inside the stables a fraction of a second before he heard the first bang.
His reactions were definitely slower than usual, because a bullet nicked his arm. Compared with everything else he'd been through, it felt like a gnat bite. And it made him angrier than ever.
"Right," he said, taking hold of his machine gun. Reaching across himself, he poked the end out and treated the soldiers to a blast. After the first burst, the weapon clicked — either empty or jammed. "Goddamn!" shouted Jack, tossing the gun away.
He looked around desperately for something, anything to use in its place. Then he saw it: there was an old broom over in the corner. He edged sideways and grabbed it — pulling off the head and testing its weight. It was a far cry from his staff, but it would have to do.
Jack crouched and rounded the corner, this time holding his makeshift staff out in front of him — charging at any of the soldiers still standing and slamming the wood against their knees, bowling them over.
He stabbed the handle left and right, hitting one soldier in the temple and smashing another one's front teeth in. Jack let adrenalin take over, just like he used to in the ring.
One soldier attempted to get up, and Jack jumped on him. Another was running off back down the slope towards the tunnel. Jack struggled to his feet, hefting the stick like a javelin, and threw it. The end of the wooden pole struck the fleeing man in the back of the head and he went down.
Jack moaned, only now feeling the mounting pain. He made his way down to the tunnel himself, willing his exhausted body onwards.
Picking up the staff, he checked the tunnel for the approach of any more soldiers — knowing that somebody must surely have heard the gunfire. But if they had, they'd be coming down the steps above him, not up the path, and so he was shielded for the moment.
Jack made his way down through the tunnel, pressing himself against the side when he got to the other end, seeing the armoured vehicles still on the castle grounds near the gatehouse. There were also clumps of troops — not as many as he'd been expecting (not as many as when they took the castle from De Falaise) but enough to cause him to groan in frustration. Not all were in uniform, some he recognised from the hotel prison — heck, some he'd even apprehended himself! They'd been given weapons as well, it seemed, drafted into The Tsar's employ. What he didn't see this time, strangely, were any of the cultists.
Suddenly there was shouting and Jack saw one of the troopers point up the slope in his direction. Then a squadron was heading his way, hefting their rifles.
They hadn't got halfway up the drive before they opened fire. Jack squashed himself flat against the wall, expecting bullets to spark off the stone. They didn't. And he could hear more gunfire, coming from another part of the castle, up and over to his right, over near the cliffside.
Jack looked again, and the group he thought were coming after him had veered off to the left, towards the gate. Then one of them was suddenly on fire. It was like he had spontaneously combusted, the flames spreading outwards from his chest to consume him. When he turned sideways, just before falling over in a blazing ball of orange, Jack saw the arrow sticking out of him.
Robbie! It had to be. The very thought that The Hooded Man had returned from fighting The Tsar's forces filled him with new energy.
More flaming arrows struck home, the soldiers they were hitting running this way and that, firing indiscriminately at shadows. That's because his men were following their training, sticking to the darkness where they wouldn't be seen; hitting their opponents hard and then retreating.
It was time Jack joined them.
He came out of the tunnel, just as a Russian soldier was running past him. Jack swung his staff, connecting with the man's face, knocking him flat on his back. Jack trod on him to get to the next soldier, hitting that one in the stomach as the man swung his rifle in Jack's direction. Jack struck the soldier's temple and he fell on top of his companion.
As he cleared the tunnel Jack looked up and saw other soldiers running from the castle, jumping down from the Middle Bailey, joining their comrades in the struggle. This time they were on the receiving end, but it was a stealth attack — not a show of force. And they'd been caught on the back foot.
Nevertheless, it was still machine guns against bows and arrows. And if they brought some of that other heavy weaponry into play… Jack had no idea how many allies he had out there — it was difficult to tell with a flash here, a flash there — but they had to cripple as many of The Tsar's men as they could, or this would be over as quickly as it had been the first time around.
More flaming arrows whizzed by ahead of him, but as he watched Jack saw these exploding in the grounds, flinging bunches of soldiers into the air as effectively as if someone had just tossed a grenade into their midst.
Soldiers ran around the grounds, confused. Nobody seemed to be in charge, and no-one apparently wanted the job. Jack guessed Tanek and Adele must have gone after Mark, Tate and Sophie at Sherwood. But where was The Tsar himself? Where were his bodyguards? Surely he wasn't so stupid — or overly confident — that he'd leave his castle with just his foot soldiers looking after it?
Somehow, over the top of all the gunfire, Jack heard the clack of a rifle being primed behind him. He turned, expecting to have his head blown off. What he saw when he made it round was one of the men he'd imprisoned in the hotel. Jack couldn't remember his name, but recognised him from his patchy beard. He'd caught him a few months ago picking on a group of teenagers who'd banded together, threatening them with a pickaxe if they didn't hand over their food. Now the man was out for revenge.
"Just wanted you to see who it was who offed you," said the man, venom in every word. He put the rifle to his shoulder.
"If you're going to do it, get on with it. Won't be the worst thing that's happened today, fella."
"Fair enough."
Jack waited for the bullets to hit home — with no archway to duck into, what choice did he have? But they didn't. Instead, the man's body jerked, his whole frame dancing like he was being electrocuted. His eyes went wide and he let go of his weapon, following it to the ground moments later.
Behind him stood a young man, his sword dripping with the bearded man's blood — which looked oddly black in this light. The youth beamed when he saw him. "Jack! You're alive."
Jack laughed, rushing up to Dale and clapping him on the arms. They didn't have time for a proper reunion though, as more soldiers happened across them.
Dale was on one of them in a flash, his blade slicing left and right. Jack handled another with the makeshift staff, forcing himself to ignore the tremendous pain he was still in.
More explosions nearby, and more gunfire. Jack's eyes flicked up to the castle again and saw troops being hit by arrows up there. "Your doing?" he asked quickly.
"Azhar," was all Dale needed to say.
As Jack's gaze was drawn towards the wall in front of him, he saw the black shapes of more Rangers clambering over. Some were immediately sprayed with bullets, tumbling over onto the top of the walclass="underline" dangling like lifeless marionettes. Others managed to get a foothold at the top, targeting the shooters with yet more arrows.
The grounds reflected how Jack's body both looked and felt; it had seen better days. But there wasn't an end in sight. Another wave of soldiers were coming from above, leaping down and firing into the dark recesses, covering any inch of ground their enemies might be hiding in. This lot seemed more together, and had obviously hung back to get a handle on the situation before rushing in.