Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 439 The Great Alliance Marches Forward (Part Twelve)

Like their enemies, the musketeers of White Mountain County would receive some long timbers as thick as the shafts of their muskets before they received their matchlock muskets.

The new recruits were required to shorten the long sticks themselves, drill holes in the shortened sticks with a red-hot iron rod, and carve lids of the appropriate size. The final product was a small wooden bottle that hung on the musketeer's chest.

On the eve of battle, the musketeer would fill a wooden bottle with just enough gunpowder for one shot, tighten the cap, and place it next to his pillow along with his musket.

Musketeers cherished and loved these small canisters of gunpowder, not only because they were useful, but also because they were the only canisters they could take with them when they left the army. So, in their spare time, musketeers would decorate their canisters to pass the time: those skilled in carpentry would paint and varnish the wooden canisters, those who enjoyed drawing would paint on them, and veterans would polish the inside of the canisters as smooth as possible.

The small wooden bottles actually have a formal name, but the musketeers found the name too cumbersome. Since they were usually sold in groups of twelve, the soldiers preferred to jokingly call them the "Twelve Apostles."

Elnor also had "twelve disciples".

In repelling the enemy's first attack, he used "Peter", "Andrew" and "Jacob".

Next, Erno exchanged fire with the enemy musketeers on the opposite bank of the river, using up John, Philip, Baromais, Thomas, Thaddeus, Matthew, James the Less, and Simon.

Therefore, when the light brown figure shouted again as he crossed the nameless stream, Erno had only one "disciple" left who hadn't been used yet.

During the Sovereign War, the generals of the Senas coalition unanimously believed that if the musketeers assigned to the phalanx could complete twelve volleys, they would win any battle, regardless of its size—and if they didn't, it would be the fault of the pikemen and swordsmen.

This is the view held by the alliance's military theorists, who have incorporated related theories into textbooks and manuals.

However, that was thirty years ago.

Regardless of whether the theories of the previous generation of military strategists were correct, at least today, Erno has used up the eleven pre-prepared gunpowder, and victory is still a long way off.

Elno unscrewed the cap of the "Matthia" and poured the black powder inside into the gunpowder bath and chamber. Then he spat out the lead bullet he had been holding in his mouth, wrapped it in a rag, and stuffed it into the chamber.

After using up the last "Apostle," Erno had no choice but to fill the gun barrel directly with gunpowder from the powder canister. According to the veterans, that was when things were most likely to go wrong.

Gunshots, roars, screams, the sound of war drums, the muffled thud of the wall being hit, the whistling of lead bullets flying through the air... all sorts of sounds were turning Elno's brain into mush. He felt as if he had been put into a boiling pot, and outside the pot, someone was frantically smashing the lid.

Fortunately, his hands were very steady, and not a single grain of gunpowder spilled outside the muzzle.

But as he hung the matchlock, Erno suddenly felt a chill of fear; he remembered the gossip circulating among the musketeers:
The musketeer who uses the twelfth bottle will inevitably encounter an accident... a misfire, a barrel explosion, or even a friendly fire; the twelfth apostle is destined to betray his master, because before Matthias was chosen, the position of the twelfth apostle belonged to another person—Judas.

Elno nervously hung up the matchlock and rested the gun barrel on the wall, but dared not lean out to fire. He turned to look at Lieutenant Woods beside him and saw the lieutenant bravely pushing aside the ladder that had been placed on the fort.

With a shout, Erno stood up as if in great pain, closed his eyes, and fired a shot at the enemy on the riverbank.

To his surprise, his matchlock musket had neither misfired nor exploded. However, he had just closed his eyes and didn't know where the lead bullet had gone.

But Erno didn't need to worry about missing his shots, because the narrow riverbed below the highlands was already crowded with light brown humanoid figures—the sight even reminded Erno of the large clumps of wriggling insects that he could sometimes see on tree roots in the summer.

Parliamentarian soldiers, dressed in light brown shirts, surged onto the riverbank and crossed the trenches. Every now and then, someone would fall down without warning, either hit by lead bullets or have barbed wire pierce their feet.

Those who fall have almost no chance of getting back up, because no one helps them. Anyone who falls is trampled on indiscriminately.

The drummer beat the drums with all his might, making them sound like a death knell. The soldiers in light brown shirts also charged toward the valley village with a fearsome, fanatical, and blind momentum, as if what awaited them on the high ground was not a formidable enemy, but salvation, home, and treasure.

The barbed wire laid by the defenders did not have the desired effect. It might have stopped a few unlucky scouts, but the soldiers of the Grand Council trampled them, flesh and metal, into the mud.

One after another, iron weights with trailing tails were hurled at the heads of the Grand Council soldiers. Most of the grenades that landed in the crowd were trampled out. But the grenades that exploded in mid-air invariably created a shower of blood.

However, despite the terrible damage caused by the grenades, they still could not thwart the large, light brown waves.

The parliamentary army truly moved like the tides, one wave crashing down before another surged in. Before one hundred men had even fully reached the shore, another hundred had already jumped into the river. People pushed and shoved each other, cursing each other, with not even a gap to turn and run away.

The spearmen of Baishan County, who had already switched to short swords, picked up their long polearms again. They stood behind the wall, holding their spears upside down, and desperately thrust them downwards.

The Grand Council soldiers below the high ground had nowhere to hide. The incredibly sharp spear tips first pierced the mouth, shoulders, and chest with a small gash, then slid into the body, piercing through flesh and blood.

A young soldier in brown uniform watched helplessly as he was impaled on a spear. With a wet, sliding sound, the spear shaft sank deeper into his body. The soldier didn't die immediately; his screams sent chills down everyone's spines.

The spearmen on the high ground were terrified by the horrific scene they had created and retreated, dropping their spears.

But the soldiers behind him immediately handed him a spear. He took the spear with tears in his eyes, and just as he turned around, a lead bullet hit his breastplate.

Gunfire from across the river never ceased, and had long since drowned out the gunfire on the high ground. The Grand Council's musketeers not only suppressed the two bulwarks on the high ground, but also fired at any White Mountain County soldier who dared to stand up.

The White Mountain spearmen, who wielded their spears upside down to kill the enemy, all wore at least plate breastplates; however, their armor was as fragile as parchment against lead bullets fired from heavy arquebuses.

Under the cover of musketeers, ladders from the Grand Council army were erected one after another on the high ground, and brown-clad soldiers climbed up on their hands and feet, shields in hand.

The soldiers of Baishan County on the high ground tried desperately to pry the ladders out, but they couldn't budge them.

The light brown waves slammed the ladder against the high ground, and even when the stone wall that served as the fulcrum collapsed, the ladder remained motionless.

The temporary fortified position at the bend in the river was a key attack point for the Grand Council forces, and Woods Frank held his ground in the northern fort.

The first brown-clad swordsman to climb the northern bulge was knocked down by Woods and another soldier using a thick, long roof beam.

Before the two could catch their breath, another lean swordsman and shieldman climbed up.

The lean swordsman leaped over the wall through the mud and spotted the officer inside the fortress. He jumped up, screaming, and lunged at Woods.

Woods instinctively raised the roof beam to block, and with a "bang," a plume of white smoke billowed from the fort. The brown-clad soldier in mid-air seemed to have tripped and fell backward in front of Woods.

Elno, his fingers still gripping the launch lever tightly, was panting heavily as he stared blankly at the lieutenant.

Woods, without even offering thanks, turned and yelled at his men, "Distilled oil!"

The attack continued. The third brown-clad swordsman who climbed up the fortress had barely peeked out when he was smashed in the face by an axe, crushing his helmet and half his skull.

Woods, having scaled the wall, threw his axe back into the fort and smashed three distillation tanks down the ladder leading up the hill. Before the musketeers on the opposite bank could turn their guns around, he recklessly climbed back over the wall.

Two torches immediately flew out of the fortress, turning the ladder into a stake.

However, destroying just one ladder was of no consequence to the brown-clad soldiers swarming up the fortress.

What happens next is no longer the lieutenant's concern. Covered in mud, Woods personally chopped open the wooden barrel bearing the seal of the Alliance Magic Operations Bureau and dumped the precious alchemical artifacts inside.

The area beneath the northern fortress instantly turned into a sea of ​​fire, with the burning alchemical artifacts releasing thick black smoke that blotted out the sky, and the rolling heat waves even igniting the dry grass covering the fortress's roof.

Several fire-breathing figures screamed as they fled into the river, desperately trying to extinguish the flames on their bodies. However, the alchemical artifacts produced by the Magic Operations Bureau not only wouldn't be extinguished by water, but instead would float on the surface and continue burning.

The fire-man who jumped into the river was burned beyond recognition, and many more soldiers in brown uniforms collapsed to the ground before they could even escape the fire.

The blazing flames not only drove back the Grand Council's army, but also drove Woods and his men out of the fortified outpost they had been holding out for so long, due to the thick smoke and heat.

From the northernmost to the southernmost point of the zigzag-shaped river, brown-clad soldiers and gray-clad soldiers engaged in a fierce battle around the walls along the riverbank.

In order to carry out Colonel Gaisa’s order to hold the riverbank, every soldier of the White Mountain County First Infantry Battalion was filled into the front line by Lieutenant Woods, and the grenadier squads personally selected by the lieutenant ran between the defense zones to put out fires.

Even so, under the relentless onslaught of wave after wave of brown waves, the White Mountain County forces' defenses inevitably began to crumble.

In contrast, the riverbanks to the south and north of the village appeared eerily calm. Musketeers knelt behind the paddy field ridges, everything on the opposite bank still shrouded in smoke. There was no fighting, no encounter with the enemy; it was as if the village itself were a completely different world from the one engulfed in flames.

Captain Hudson rushed to Colonel Gaissa and asked anxiously, "The fighting over there is fierce. Should we send a battalion to provide support?"

Colonel Gaisa, who had been listening intently to the distant explosions and screams, turned around and asked coldly, "Does Colonel Bode want us to go and provide support?"

"No...no."

Gaisa stopped talking, only giving Captain Hudson a quick glance.

The captain immediately saluted and rode back to his post.

On the fields north of the village, the officers of Thundercrow County were equally horrified as they watched the corpses floating down from upstream.

Colonel Skull ordered all the bodies to be dragged ashore. After personally examining several of the corpses, the colonel concluded: "The New Reclamation Expeditionary Force... Sanel's soldiers, remnants of General Sackler's troops."

Another lieutenant was puzzled. He squatted down next to the corpse and picked up the light brown linen coat that was soaked in blood: "But they were wearing the uniforms of the Legion's direct troops."

“They changed into new clothes.” Skul tapped the spiked boots on the corpse’s feet with his scabbard. “But they didn’t change their shoes.” The lieutenant suddenly realized, and as he continued to think, a look of surprise crossed his face. “The New Reclamation Expeditionary Force should be the enemy’s most powerful unit. To deploy their own elite troops after just one round of probing, Colonel, that guy Sanel is probably serious!”

Skul shook his head: "No rush."

The colonel squinted, looking at another mound on the opposite bank of the river, where everything was hidden behind a veil of smoke. Yet, from the wind, Skul could faintly hear a deep, powerful heartbeat coming from the other side.

"Has the scouts sent to the other side not returned yet?" Colonel Skul asked his subordinates without turning his head.

"not yet."

The colonel turned around, his gaze sharp enough to kill: "Then send more!"

Right in the eye of the storm, Colonel Bode keenly noticed a change—the smoke covering the battlefield was thinning.

"It's about time." Colonel Bode calculated the time and made an assessment in his mind: "If it were Kings, it could probably be even faster."

The fact that the wind speed remained unchanged but the smoke screen became shallower can only mean that the Grand Council forces, who were occupying the upwind position, had voluntarily stopped deploying the smoke screen.

This means that the Grand Council forces have completed their pre-war deployments, and Sanel is not prepared to conduct any more long-distance, large-scale maneuvers.

As the battle progresses to this stage, smoke screens not only lose their protective function but also reduce command efficiency, so it is better to simply deploy troops and engage in open combat.

Colonel Bode shouted, "Tell Colonel Geza and Colonel Skul that the next two hours are the real critical moment! They must keep a close watch on the enemy on the other side and not allow any enemy troops to break through the riverbank in an organized manner!"

The messenger, waiting in the stairwell, shouted "Yes!" and ran down the stairs as fast as he could.

The fighting was fierce outside the village. Although Colonel Bode's view was obscured by the smoke, he could tell how intense the battle was just by listening.

The squires and adjutants sent by the three counties to Colonel Bode went upstairs several times to plead with him to evacuate to a safe area as soon as possible, but Colonel Bode waved them off.

Colonel Bode dismissed the officers' exaggerated requests for instructions—no matter how intense the fighting was now, it was just an appetizer.

“Come on, Sanel.” Bode Gates stared intently at the dissipating mist. “Let me see how much you’ve improved.”

Meanwhile, the "appetizer" in Colonel Bode's eyes had reached the point where the winner had to be decided.

“The riverbank defenses can’t hold,” Lieutenant Woods told Captain Paradis succinctly. “But I’m sure the enemy commander is acting recklessly.”

Captain Paradis commands the reserve force for the River Valley defense zone—the 1st Infantry Battalion of the Redfield County. His troops are stationed at the buildings on the west side of River Valley, awaiting orders to engage in combat.

Woods' face was covered in a black smudge of sweat and soot. He spoke rapidly, explaining to himself, "The commander on the other side is acting recklessly. Fighting head-on like this is counterproductive! He's sending all his troops up at once, and even sent 'Red Arrow' to oversee the battle, determined to crush us with sheer numbers. I can't carry out the colonel's orders; I can't hold the riverbank..."

“Lieutenant.” Captain Paradis patted Woods on the shoulder. Although he was of higher rank, he did not treat Woods with arrogance. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”

"Follow my orders." Woods' Adam's apple bobbed. "Riverdale can only be defended the way I do."

……

The bloody tug-of-war came to a close, with the White Mountain County garrison pushing the enemy off the high ground one less time than the Grand Council army climbed it.

After climbing the earthen slope once again, the Grand Council forces occupied a small section of the wall on the east side of the river bend, and the defenders were no longer able to drive them out of the defensive line.

Due to the cutting action of the river, the terrain to the south and north of the valley village is steep, with slopes that plunge directly into the river, making it difficult to deploy siege equipment; while the high ground to the east is below a silted riverbed, which is the easiest part to capture among the three directions, and also the part where the Grand Council army has deployed the most troops.

Upon learning that progress had been made on the eastern river bend, the Grand Council forces deployed in the other two directions immediately moved towards the breakthrough point. The pressure on the south and north sides of the river valley village was also suddenly relieved.

Brown-clad soldiers climbed ladders and poured into the defensive line through the breach. The White Mountain soldiers, who had shown remarkable resilience in the tug-of-war, also reached their limit and began to flee.

Ultimately, the wall between the two fortresses was completely captured by the Grand Council's army, leaving only a few remnants to put up a stubborn resistance in the houses and courtyards around the corner.

Watching the enemy soldiers flee into the village in disarray, the victorious soldiers in brown uniforms erupted in cheers.

However, their commander was not satisfied with this. He had his sights set on the sweetest strawberry on the cake, the reddest apple on the fruit tree, and the most valuable spoils of the battle.

The clock tower, adorned with the four-quadrant military flag, was within reach, and the commander of the brown-clad soldiers ordered a pursuit.

After turning a corner, the church came into view.

Then, the soldiers of the Grand Council heard gunfire from all directions and the deafening sound of horses' hooves.

The officer, lost in his dream of achieving great deeds, was suddenly jolted awake: his troops were out of the cover of the musketeers on the opposite bank of the river and had not brought any weapons to counter the cavalry.

His opponents gave him no chance to correct his mistakes—the Grand Council soldiers who stormed into River Valley were already exhausted and their forces were limited, and they were overwhelmed in an instant; the Thundercrow infantry flanked the troops from both sides, cutting off their retreat.

The soldiers in brown uniforms were either killed, surrendered, or jumped into the riverbank in a panic.

After an initial victory, the newly established expeditionary force lost its former ferocity. They retreated to the east bank of the nameless stream and disappeared into the increasingly thinning mist.

The weary defenders did not pursue. The Baishan County flag was put back in its place, and the musketeers on both sides began firing at each other aimlessly again, but the gunfire sounded weaker and more feeble than before.

The defenders were also licking their wounds. The church, serving as a makeshift medical station, was overflowing with the wounded, and the cemetery was littered with more dead than buried. No one could perform a final rite for the critically wounded, so Colonel Bode descended the bell tower and closed the eyes of each of the dead.

While the Redfield County soldiers replaced the White Mountain County troops to repair the defensive line, Woods Frank returned to Fort Drum, located in the northeast corner of the river bend.

The air around Tubao was filled with the stench of burning flesh and the nauseating smell of human flesh. Some ladders and wooden shields piled up on the riverbank were still crackling and burning.

Gunshots were still ringing out, and Woods dared not show his face.

He peered through the gaps in the fence and saw the bodies of the Grand Council soldiers who hadn't been taken away scattered across the mudflats. They lay haphazardly on the ground like large patches of brown.

The poor fellow, impaled on the mudflat by the spear, still stood there in a bizarre posture, like a scarecrow bound by the devil. Just as Woods was looking at the poor creature, the corpse's left eyeball slowly slid out of its socket.

Woods' stomach suddenly clenched, and he could no longer hold back, so he leaned against the wall and vomited violently.

An hour may have passed, but that hour felt incredibly long, so long that Woods Frank felt as if an entire day had gone by, so long that he didn't know how to get through the rest of the time.

Elno rushed into the fortress and, bewildered, patted the lieutenant on the back.

To be honest, the few pats Elno gave Woods on the back didn't have much effect, but for some reason, when Woods realized there was someone else next to him, he didn't feel so bad.

"Is there any water?" Woods asked hoarsely.

"Water?" Erno was taken aback for a moment, then quickly pulled out his water bag: "Yes!"

Elno pulled the stopper and handed it to the lieutenant. Woods reached for it, but Elno took the water bag back.

Erno vigorously wiped the stopper of the water bag several times with a clean part of his clothes before handing it back to the lieutenant.

Woods Frank was moved. He took the water bag and took a small, precious sip. The water soothed his parched lips and sore throat, giving him a renewed sense of strength.

"Thank you," Woods whispered to Private Elnor.

Elno was so frightened that he couldn't utter a complete sentence; he was flattered and kept shaking his head.

Woods stood up, handed the water bag to Elno, and let out a sigh of relief: "This section of the wall is rudimentary, but there's room for improvement. If we added crenellations, our musketeers wouldn't have to live in such fear. Elno, you're a good soldier; don't stay here. Go to the rear defensive line; they'll need you more there."

Erno didn't quite understand what the lieutenant was saying. He scratched the back of his head and asked, "Sir, does this mean we're not fighting for now?"

“The enemy needs time to regroup.” Woods patted the wall. “I’ll use this opportunity to reinforce our defenses.”

“Oh, well…” Erno said softly, “I think the soup hasn’t boiled dry yet. I… I kept the heat very low.”

Woods chuckled, speechless: "You..."

Before he could finish speaking, the fortress on the northeast corner of the high ground was overturned by a 32-pound round cannonball.

Under the cover of smoke, eight heavy artillery pieces deployed on the hills on the opposite bank roared in succession.

The real attack has begun.

[The illustrations for the previous and current chapters were a bit tricky to create, so they'll be uploaded a little later. Sorry.] [Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, rewards, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
(End of this chapter)