Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 442 The Great Alliance Marches Forward (XV)

[Southern Battlefield]
Gaisa Adonis hugged his arms tightly, listening intently to the faint gunshots coming from the riverbank. His scalp was covered in fresh, bleeding scratches, a gruesome sight.

Whenever Gaisa is thinking, he unconsciously scratches his head. But this is the first time he's ever made himself look like this.

Gaisa's nails weren't long, but he had no idea how much force he was using—or perhaps he needed some pain.

The area around the colonel was anything but quiet; it was so oppressive it made one want to vomit. The messenger closest to the colonel did his utmost to remain silent, because no one wanted to be noticed by the colonel.

Five battalions of soldiers from Baishan County lined up in the wheat fields, with the battle line stretching from the ford outside the valley village all the way to the edge of the farm.

Their enemies were also arrayed on the opposite bank, looking north, where the tips of their guns could be faintly seen floating in the white smoke.

In front of the spearmen and swordsmen of the two armies, the musketeers seemed to be engaged in a never-ending contest of wasting gunpowder.

Unrifled matchlock muskets have limited accuracy, so musketeers using flood control dikes as cover have a hard time finding fleeting firing opportunities to hit enemy musketeers who are also hiding behind the dikes.

Not to mention, the constant gunfire and the acrid smoke filling their nostrils made the new recruits unconsciously panic.

Most of them were musketeers from Baishan County who were going to the battlefield for the first time. They only wanted to get the lead bullets to the other side as quickly as possible and didn't have time to aim carefully.

So much so that the area upstream of the river valley village, where the gunfire was most intense, was actually the most passive and stalemated area of ​​the entire battlefield.

A rider galloped from a distance and was intercepted by sentries patrolling the perimeter of the farm. The rider ripped off the red ribbon tied to his arm, removed his helmet to reveal his identity, shouted anxiously a few times, and was then allowed to pass.

The riders who had returned from scouting across the river went straight to Colonel Geza, dismounted, and reported in a hurried, low voice: "It is the 'Seven Former Kings Banner'."

"You're not mistaken?" Gaisa stared into the rider's eyes.

“No mistake, white flags with round stripes, five fully equipped infantry battalions.” The rider met the colonel’s gaze without fear: “It must be the outflanking enemy force that Captain Loson discovered earlier.”

Gesa remained noncommittal and then asked, "Who is the commander?"

"The enemy hasn't displayed their commander's personal flag, but judging from their formation, they seem to be trying to cower in fear." The rider hesitated for a moment, then turned to look at the still unclear situation on the northern battlefield, finally gritting his teeth as he spoke:

"Sir, Colonel Bode is wrong. The main force of the puppet troops is not on the left flank, but on the right! The enemy on the other side is clearly trying to hold us back, waiting for their right flank to defeat Colonel Skull's troops. Since they are determined not to cross the river, we have no choice but to fight our way across! Either way, it's better than sitting here like this!"

Gaisa glanced at his impatient subordinate: "Have some patience, Lieutenant Worthington."

"Yes." Worthington forced himself not to show his disappointment and raised his hand in salute.

Just as Gaisa was about to ask for more details, he suddenly spotted a lieutenant accompanied by a messenger cavalryman in a dark green coat galloping down the hills of the valley village, heading straight for his location.

The messenger cavalry brought the long-awaited message from the officers of White Mountain County: "Sir, Colonel Bode orders you to cross the river and launch an attack with three battalions."

Lieutenant Worthington clenched his fist, growled, and then looked expectantly at Colonel Gaisa—regardless of what orders Bode gave, the final command of the White Mountain County army still rested with Colonel Gaisa.

Gaisa's gaze was uncertain. He turned to look at the White Mountain County Commandant who had returned with the messenger and asked in a deep voice, "Only three battalions?"

“Yes,” the lieutenant said firmly. “I heard Colonel Bode give the order with my own ears.”

Gaisa was silent for a moment, then slapped his head hard: "Fine! Three it is!"

The colonel seemed like a different person, regaining his fierce, bull-like spirit. He issued a series of orders in a rough voice, instructing each officer on what to do and adjusting the positions of each battalion and even each hundred-man squad.

The headquarters staff, who had just been too afraid to even breathe loudly, were suddenly invigorated. As the Baishan County command system began to operate, the behemoth that had been lying dormant on the southern battlefield gradually awoke.

The Grand Council musketeers on the opposite bank of the river were the first to notice something amiss: the sound of hooves on the other side suddenly became more frequent; many figures in dark green coats moved between the squares; and behind the trekking ground at the edge of the village, a forest of spears floating in the smoke began to move slowly.

The Grand Council's army commander then changed the deployment, transferring most of the soldiers to the Tushechang direction.

However, the White Mountain County troops did not launch their attack from Tushechang—the easiest place to cross the river upstream of the village.

Without bugle calls or drumbeats, while the Grand Council's army was making tense preparations, the Baeksan County troops, located in the center of the Southern Front, broke through the smoke and landed on the east bank.

……

[Northern Battlefield]
When the troops of Baishan County finally broke the stalemate, the battle on the Northern Front entered its most critical moment.

The two armies, organized according to the same version of the Legion Code, each had no more than one-third of their total strength in musketeers.

This means that no matter how much time is spent in the shooting phase, they must ultimately defeat their opponent through hand-to-hand combat.

Therefore, no matter how unwilling or resentful they were, the soldiers of both armies could only march towards each other with great fear, following the beat of the drums.

The first three ranks of soldiers had already placed their spears at shoulder height, while the soldiers behind them, holding spears and waiting for orders, ensured that they could not retreat.

Like two comb teeth being squeezed together, the spearhead, gleaming with a cold light, slowly penetrated the gaps in the enemy's forest of spears, and the spear shafts began to clash with each other.

Like the trembling of an extra-long spear, the soldiers holding it also trembled. They stared wide-eyed at the enemy's features, which were also distorted with fear, and tentatively moved their feet, bringing their spear tips closer and closer to their opponents.

When the spearhead was less than an arm's length from the chest of the front-line soldier, one soldier could no longer bear it and roared as he pushed his extra-long spear toward the neck of the enemy in front of him.

The roar triggered an avalanche, and in an instant, the battlefield erupted in wild howls like those of wild beasts, with soldiers on both sides yelling and stabbing their weapons into the enemy's face, neck, and thighs.

Their formation was so tight that everyone had nowhere to hide or retreat; if one person fell, another would immediately take their place.

When the gleaming spearheads thrust forward, the only way for the front-line soldiers to retaliate against their cruel fate is to raise their spears and thrust them back without hesitation.

Using the same version of the "Regulations" also had another unexpected consequence: the extra-long rifles issued to both armies were exactly the same in shape, and neither side could gain an advantage in the length of the rifle.

Regardless of which side's spearman can pierce the enemy, the enemy's spear tip will also be able to pierce him.

Some soldiers, unable to accept such a tragic death, resolutely abandoned their spears, drew their short swords, and crawled from under the canopy of spears toward the enemy, risking their lives to stab the enemy in the front row, only to be stabbed to death by the enemy with their short swords.

At the same time, a few heavily armed swordsmen broke away from their main formation and engaged in fierce fighting with enemy swordsmen who were also trying to attack the enemy's flank at the edge of the square formation.

The musketeers who had retreated into the square formation also joined the melee, placing their matchlock muskets directly on the shoulders of the spearmen in the front ranks and firing.

At such close range, with so many enemies, it was impossible to miss; every shot was accompanied by an enemy falling to the ground. The deafening gunfire made the spearmen acting as support soldiers see stars and feel dizzy. Some cursed, some cursed the gods, some wept bitterly, some suffered mental breakdowns... but no one cared.

Lead bullets flew from the muzzle with a terrifying thunderous roar; sharp blades sliced ​​through iron armor with a teeth-grinding screech.

These sounds were immediately drowned out by countless other sounds, and the battlefield seemed to be swallowed by a huge vortex, both bustling and extremely "quiet".

Because everyone can only hear one sound—the sound of death.

The humans disappeared, leaving only wild beasts to kill each other.

This is the battle of phalanxes, a foolish yet ingenious tactic that minimizes uncertainty, turns combat into pure attrition, and reduces human lives to mere numbers.

Once the battle enters this phase, the outcome will be decided within minutes. Even disregarding morale, if this phase lasts any longer, one side will be wiped out, while the other side will have very few soldiers left.

Until the very moment before the goddess of victory draws the curtain, no one knows which side will collapse first.

At the very center of the Allied left-wing central formation, Colonel Skull, mounted on horseback, intently observed the bloody battle that was right before his eyes.

Lead bullets kept whizzing past him, and four mounted swordsmen with steel-coated round shields protected the colonel, but they still couldn't help but expose weaknesses.

The phalanx commander repeatedly pleaded with the colonel to dismount, because even in the center of the phalanx, the distance to the enemy musketeers would not exceed thirty paces, but Skull refused each time.

Through the smoke, Skul saw a soldier with a horrifying gash cut open on his face, his bloodied teeth exposed; he saw an old soldier with a white beard kneeling on the ground, stuffing his protruding intestines back into his stomach; he also saw a boy soldier, only fifteen or sixteen years old, dragging blood and crying as he crawled toward the inside of the formation, only to be mercilessly trampled by the soldiers in the back row, and finally stopped moving.

However, none of these horrific scenes concerned Skul Mechren.

Colonel Skulel hardened his heart and coldly surveyed the enemy's depth, judging who was advancing and who was retreating.

The two colliding formations are like two gears, swallowing living people and spitting out shattered, mangled flesh.

The incredibly brutal war of attrition lasted only a short time; the armored spearmen in the front ranks on both sides were almost wiped out. Reserve spearmen were pushed to the front lines, but those without even a suit of armor died even faster.

Skull keenly noticed a detail: the breastplates of the enemy's front-line double-pay soldiers mostly had unrepaired dents or bullet holes—these were not newly added, but existed before the phalanx battle began.

This means that this batch of weapons had just left one battlefield and had not yet had time to be repaired before being immediately deployed to another.

Based on the previously obtained intelligence that "a siege of Bazenaul has broken out," Skul judged that the troops of the newly reorganized New Reclamation Army must have participated in the siege of Bazenaul.

However, his judgment immediately raised another question in his mind.

After the smoke cleared, Skull counted the number of soldiers in each of the enemy's formations. He was certain that he was facing six fully equipped infantry battalions.

How could a unit that had just gone through a siege have suffered no casualties?

Skull had a guess in his mind, and his guess was quickly confirmed by the course of the battle:

After the front rank of armored soldiers was exhausted, the enemy formation, which was filling the battle line with more and more reserve spearmen, quickly fell into a state of decline.

The brown-clad soldiers' formation began to waver. At first, only one soldier moved backward, but soon the soldiers of Redfield County realized that the enemy was retreating.

When one person's movement turns into a group's retreat, the collapse of morale becomes as unstoppable as a flood breaking through a dam.

With a desperate cry of "Run for your lives!", Colonel Skull's enemy formation crumbled instantly.

The brown-clad soldiers abandoned their weapons and fled to the other side of the river, and even the soldiers supervising the battle with red arrows could not stop them.

The collapse of one formation means that a gap has been created in the entire battle line.

The sound of the retreat bugle call reached the ears of everyone on the Northern Division battlefield. In order to avoid being surrounded, the other four Grand Council army formations that were still fighting broke away from the battle and retreated to the riverbank.

During the retreat, another phalanx collapsed. The fear of death outweighed the awe of punishment, and the soldiers scrambled to escape.

A deafening cheer erupted from the left flank of the Allied forces as the surviving soldiers from Leiqun County and Bianjiang County celebrated, vented their frustrations, and shouted meaninglessly.

Skul was frantic, almost going mad. He unusually roared, "Fools! Beat the drums! Chase them! Don't let the enemy get out of range! Beat the drums and advance!!!"

The colonel knew very well that the eight cannons on the opposite hill had remained silent not because they hadn't been loaded with ammunition, but because the two armies' battle lines had been entangled, making friendly fire unavoidable. If they opened fire, the shells would carve a bloody path between the soldiers of both armies, and the enemy soldiers acting as human shields would suffer even heavier casualties.

Skul had previously ordered his troops to retreat and then advance, with the aim of taking advantage of the intervals between artillery fire to close the distance with the enemy and limit the effectiveness of the enemy's artillery.

The sound of war drums rang in Skul's ears, and soon the rapid drumbeats came from all the squares on the left flank of the Allied forces, urging the soldiers to advance.

There was no time to treat the wounded. The various formations of Leiqun County and Bianjiang County briefly regrouped and began to advance.

However, their advance was not fast, because the Grand Council's cavalry had not yet been driven out of the battlefield, and the commanders of each formation dared not easily order the disbandment of their formations.

Skul stared at the artillery positions on the opposite bank of the river, his lips pressed tightly together, his hand gripping the saddle handle, which had lost all color.

The messenger from River Valley Village fought desperately to break through the enemy's light cavalry blockade, and with great effort, finally found Colonel Skull's square formation in the chaotic battlefield.

After his identity was verified, the messenger was let into the hail of gunfire; he brought Colonel Bode's orders.

"Sir." The experienced messenger saluted quickly and got straight to the point: "Colonel Bode orders you to pursue the enemy across the river."

“I know! I will!” Skul’s gaze never left the low hill on the opposite bank of the river as he calmly replied, “But the enemy still has reserves. If I cross the river, the enemy in front of the valley village may also attack my flank. I need the cover of the cavalry.”

Skull turned to the messenger, his gaze sharp as a hawk's: "Also, go back and report to the colonel that the enemy has replenished a large number of new recruits after the siege of Bazenauer. They appear to be fully equipped, but in reality, they are all bark and no bite! Sanel is playing tricks! I don't know exactly what tricks he's playing, but he's definitely playing tricks! Definitely! Go tell the colonel!"

"Sir." The messenger swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Colonel Bode also instructed me to tell you that the cavalry cannot provide cover for you. Instead, you must tie down the six enemy battalions that have already been committed to the battle, while forcing the enemy to commit the two battalions that have not yet entered the fray, creating opportunities for the cavalry."

Skull's eyebrows shot up sharply, and he asked in a stern voice, "What fighter jet?"

"The opportunity to seize enemy artillery."

Just then, the cannons on the opposite bank of the river roared once again.

[Apologies again]
[Lately, I've been focusing my time and energy on work, and I'm trying to write in my spare moments, and almost every day. But as a working adult, work still comes first. Don't worry, though, things will get better eventually.]
[This chapter should be the first time the story directly depicts phalanx warfare.]
[The first volume focuses on the Venetia standing army's battles against the archipelago mercenaries, primarily involving siege warfare.]
[Volume Two focuses on Plato's standing army against the tribes of Hart, primarily in open field battles.]
[Volume 3 depicts Winters' forces battling various factions, rarely engaging in open, battle-hardened engagements; most are small-scale skirmishes involving hundreds of soldiers.]
[Finally, a true phalanx battle appears in this volume, though it will likely be short-lived, but I'm already satisfied to have written about it at all.]
(End of this chapter)