Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 447 The Great Alliance Marches Forward (Part 20)

[River Valley Village]
“[There is no fortress that will never fall],” Lieutenant Woods thought.

This proverb is usually quoted as a metaphor, but for Woods at this moment, "There is no fortress that will never fall" means "There is no fortress that will never fall."

As Woods pondered the source of this strange sense of absurdity, he pressed his cheek and shoulder against the butt of his rifle and aimed at the enemy on the rooftop not far away.

The lieutenant's shoulder was swollen from the impact, and it hurt terribly every time he hit the butt of his rifle.

But he remained motionless, holding the gun steady, breathing calmly, until the interval between two heartbeats before gently pressing the firing lever.

The red flames from the gun barrel briefly illuminated the church's main hall. The enemy the lieutenant was aiming at raised his hands, and his body leaned backward, rolling down the roof, which was now nothing but charred wood and black mud.

Woods felt no pity for the other man, nor did he feel any satisfaction. He simply handed his musket to the wounded soldier beside him and waited for the latter to hand him another musket that was already loaded with ammunition.

The lieutenant's shooting efficiency was so high that even if the four wounded soldiers did nothing but pour gunpowder and fill lead bullets, they still couldn't keep up with the lieutenant's needs.

While waiting for the next musket to be handed to him, Woods suddenly realized where the absurdity of the adage "[There is no fortress that never falls]" came from.

The contrast between everyday life and this moment.

On the battlefield, the rules of daily life seamlessly transition into a completely different set of rules, making many things that don't seem funny in normal times become ridiculous.

Woods thought to himself as he looked toward the altar at the far end of the main hall.

Behind the altar, the silent Holy Son lowered his eyes, avoiding the lieutenant's gaze; below the altar, the ritual implements that the priest hadn't had time to take were roughly swept into a corner, ignored by everyone; the silk that had been laid on the altar and used for worship by believers had been torn down and turned into bandages for wounds... and scraps of cloth were being stuffed into the muzzle of a gun.

Woods didn't understand why he had the leisure to think about such nonsense.

Even though their church was surrounded by enemy troops, even though enemy musketeers had begun climbing onto the rooftops to suppress their men, even though the enemy would soon be bringing ladders from the east bank...

But the reality is that the more critical the situation and the more urgent the circumstances, the more active Woods' mind becomes.

The situation was all too obvious: the village square was too small to even be called a square; it was merely an open space around the church, offering almost no room for advance or retreat. As long as the attackers continued to commit troops, the fall of this makeshift fortress, cobbled together from wooden fences, wagons, and corpses, was only a matter of time.

Lieutenant Woods' overactive mind, faced with an overly simplistic situation, could only exhaust his excess "brainpower" through instinctive wild speculation.

As Woods pondered this, he took another flintlock musket that already had a matchlock attached.

This time, his luck wasn't so good. The shot rang out, but the enemy he was aiming at remained unharmed, crouching behind the chimney, head down, loading his weapon, completely unaware that the scythe of death had just brushed past him.

Woods didn't feel any regret. He simply handed the musket in his hand to the wounded soldier behind him and calmly told him, "This gun is a bit too heavy. Get a gun that hasn't been used much."

Then it was time to wait again.

While waiting, Woods Frank examined the walls surrounding the church, and a strange sense of regret welled up in his heart—regret for not practicing swordsmanship diligently when he was at the Army Academy.

Most artillery cadets viewed sword fighting as a game for barbarians and scoffed at the longsword technique that was a compulsory course for everyone at the Army Academy.

How much of that was the schadenfreude of a defeated dog is unknown. The result, however, is clear—from cadets to graduates, the artillery department's swordsmanship was utterly terrible; not a single one of them was presentable.

Woods himself was very interested in swordsmanship, but unfortunately, the artillery coursework was too demanding, so he had to follow the crowd.

Looking around the battlefield, Lieutenant Woods couldn't help but regret that if he had spent more time practicing swordsmanship back then, it might have come in handy today.

However, another voice immediately retorted coldly in his mind: even if Woods Frank spent more time practicing swordsmanship back then, for Woods Frank at this moment and in this place, it would at most be the difference between living a little longer and living a little shorter.

Woods shook his head, his gaze inadvertently falling on the bloodstains on his clothes. He immediately looked away, forcing himself not to look at the bloodstains, forcing himself not to think about where the bloodstains came from.

Just then, a terrified shout rang out from the watchtower on the clock tower: "They're here! They're here!"

Immediately afterwards, the sound of attacking war drums came from outside the walls surrounding the church.

Soldiers from the newly established settlement expedition carried long ladders up to the high ground where the valley village was located. Several hundred-man squads, each carrying two or three siege ladders, simultaneously attacked the church located in the center of the village along the main roads and alleys.

"Get up the wall!" Woods cleared his mind of all distractions, drew his rarely used sword, and was the first to rush out of the church: "Get up the wall!"

Previously, Woods had personally set fire to the village to delay the enemy. The enemy commander, while organizing firefighting efforts, also sent musketeers to occupy the rooftops around the church square. The makeshift "fortress" that Woods and his men had built lacked cover, and the brown-clad musketeers, positioned on higher ground, could easily fire at the defenders, as if they were shooting at targets.

The remaining Allied forces, who had retreated to the square, had no choice but to give up the open space and take refuge in buildings.

Seeing the lieutenant charge toward the ramparts without hesitation, the soldiers from White Mountain County and Thunder Group County who were still able to fight poured out of the church, warehouses, and cemeteries.

Brown-clad soldiers trudged through the scorching mud, shouting as they propped the long ladder atop the barricade. "Refined oil!" Woods pointed his sword at the top of the ladder.

The Allied soldiers defending the church immediately hurled their last few jars filled with alchemical fuel, and a wave of heat instantly rose outside the ramparts. Even with their view obstructed by the walls, the defenders could clearly hear the heart-wrenching screams.

The enemy forces on one road were temporarily stopped by the wall of fire, but the enemy's offensive was not coming from just one direction, and the defenders had already used up all their refined oil.

As the brown-clad soldiers climbed ladders and jumped into the fortified walls, the hand-to-hand combat began.

The remnants of the Baishan and Leiqun counties used everything they could find: hoes used for weeding became halberds, muskets that had run out of ammunition became warhammers, stones were used when there were no weapons, and fingernails were used when there were no stones.

People tried every means to kill each other; you slashed at me, I smashed at you. Blood and flesh flew everywhere, brains splattered.

Woods was also hacking away wildly. He suddenly grasped the essence of swordsmanship: to strike another person without any mercy, cutting off their arms, shoulders, thighs, wherever they were soft.

Close combat is brutal and swift: a slit in an artery can quickly cause blood loss and shock; a stab to the heart and lungs can immediately render someone incapacitated.

Woods' back ached, his arms ached, every part of his body ached. Apart from a few scratches, he had no other more fatal wounds. But that wasn't because of his superior swordsmanship, nor because of good luck, but because his men had risked their lives to protect him.

But as the hand-to-hand combat continued, the number of his men around him dwindled, yet the brown-clad soldiers never retreated.

The enemy also noticed this exceptionally brave officer, and someone shouted orders, as more and more brown-clad soldiers charged at him.

By the time Woods came to his senses again, he was already subtly surrounded by three brown-clad soldiers.

The brown-clad soldiers hesitated, exchanging glances and swallowing hard, none daring to make the first move.

But Woods didn't care about anything anymore. He stiffly raised his sword, shouted, and was about to slash at the enemy directly in front of him.

Just then, a tremendous force came from behind the lieutenant, and someone grabbed his collar and forcibly lifted him back.

Woods saw a one-armed, gaunt figure brush past him, taking his place to face the enemy. With a block and a thrust, the brown-clad soldier at the forefront was brought down.

Two more soldiers in light green messenger uniforms met two other soldiers in brown uniforms. The thin, one-armed old soldier protected Woods and retreated to the church entrance.

“I thought,” Woods gasped for breath, “that you ordered me to hold out until I die.”

"We will all die, sooner or later, Lieutenant." Colonel Bode coldly surveyed the soldiers of both armies in the melee: "But not now."

Another round of deafening shouts and the sound of war drums echoed up the high ground where the river valley village was located.

The 2nd Infantry Battalion of Leiqun County, which had previously attacked the east bank but was repelled, and the 2nd Infantry Battalion of Baishan County, the northernmost unit on the right flank of the Allied front, simultaneously attacked the village from the northwest and southwest.

Sanel had withdrawn too many troops from the central army, leaving the parliamentary forces attacking River Valley with only two battalions remaining, no longer holding an overwhelming numerical advantage.

Caught off guard, the newly established expeditionary force besieging the church square was routed and pushed off the hill once again.

It took the church guards a moment to realize what was happening. A White Mountain County soldier suddenly cheered, and another Thundergroup County soldier joined in.

Immediately afterwards, all the Allied soldiers, regardless of whether they were from Leiqun County or Baishan County, cheered loudly, cheering with all their might and from the bottom of their hearts.

Even the fierce hand-to-hand combat that had just been raging came to an abrupt halt. The brown-clad soldiers who had stormed into the fortress were at a loss, instinctively huddling together. This time, they were the ones being besieged.

Woods Frank was also cheering, tears streaming uncontrollably from his eyes.

Colonel Bode walked toward the parliamentary soldiers trapped inside the fortress, and as if giving an order to his men, calmly said, "Surrender. You are lucky. This battle is over for you."

The parliamentary soldiers in brown uniforms looked at each other, unsure of what to do, and none of them made a move.

Only one middle-aged sergeant stared incredulously at Colonel Bode, looking him from head to toe and then from head to toe, finally fixing his gaze on the colonel's empty, severed arm.

As if suddenly awakened from a dream, the middle-aged soldier looked around in panic, at the dying man lying on the ground groaning, at the enemy and his comrades covered in blood. He wanted to say something, but it felt like a big stone was stuck in his throat.

The middle-aged soldier lowered his head and released his weapon.

With a clang, the bloodstained steel sword fell onto the stone slab.

After a brief silence, more sounds of metal hitting the stone slabs rang out, and the remaining brown-clad soldiers also dropped their weapons one after another.

Atop the church bell tower, the Bode Gates flag fluttered in the wind.

[There will be another chapter tonight!!! (referring to the evening of July 29, 2022)]
[Thank you to all the readers for your collections, reading, subscriptions, recommendations, monthly tickets, donations, and comments. Thank you everyone!]
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(End of this chapter)