Steel, gunpowder, and spellcasters

Chapter 551 Siege (Part 3)

[Kings' Castle]
[Jiang'an Fort]
Warrant Officer Chris Marlowe of the United Provinces Army walked carefully along the path between the embankment and the trench, bending over, holding his sword belt and adjusting his helmet, trying to make as little noise as possible.

To his left was a long slope that gently connected to the open space surrounding the fort.

To his right was a formidable trench, nearly four meters deep and wide, with wooden stakes and barbed wire planted at the bottom.

Lieutenant Marlowe stopped and looked around, and a sense of amusement arose in his heart as he looked at the completely different scenes on the left and right sides.

Because just beyond this slope, which even a cripple could easily climb, lies the enemy's controlled territory.

But the safe fortress was separated from him by an insurmountable trench.

……

After the end of the Sovereignty War, by summarizing the gains and losses of numerous urban offensive and defensive battles during the war, the Army Academy gradually formed a new theory that differed from the traditional fortress defense theory.

Compared to traditional defense theories that study "how not to be breached," the new theories are quite unorthodox. Academics firmly believe that "there is no fortress that will never fall," and take this as the premise of all discussions.

Traditional defense theory views fortifications as durable goods, while the Army College's new theory views fortified camps as consumables.

Having abandoned the obsession with "defending the city," the focus of defense shifted from defense itself to "delaying the enemy's siege progress" and "inflicting casualties on the enemy's manpower."

Tactically, the new theory emphasizes "defending the fortress requires defending the trench, and defending the trench requires defending the road." That is, if the enemy is allowed to occupy one side of the trench, the firepower on the wall will be greatly reduced, and the fall of the fortress will only be a matter of time.

The key to defense is not holding the trenches, but preventing the enemy from getting close to them.

Therefore, unlike the trenches that were just a ditch during the Sovereign Wars, the Kingsburg Fortress defenses, personally designed by Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Montecouccoli, the former head of the Artillery Department at the Army College, added a sunken causeway in front of the trenches.

Lieutenant Colonel Montecochli called it the concealed route and the firing route.

Because of its ingenious design, the slope of the sloping dike is just right, so that the defending soldiers can crouch inside the dike and be invisible to the attackers on the dike.

Conversely, by standing up, the defending musketeers can fire at the enemy climbing the slope from a low profile.

……

At this very moment, Warrant Officer Chris Marlowe was standing on the "hidden path" of the riverbank fort.

Rather than his official name, Warrant Officer Marlowe preferred to call the causeway beneath his feet by the nickname given to him by the veterans—Dead Man's Way.

The veterans gave this nickname for a simple reason: if the enemy wanted to break into the concealed route, they only needed to climb a gentle slope, but if the soldiers guarding the concealed route wanted to return to the fortress, they had to cross a trench.

Although the officers assured that if the situation became critical, the soldiers guarding the concealed routes could retreat back to the main fortress via the drawbridge.

But a suspension bridge?
Veterans who hear this word will smile knowingly.

Thus, the "hidden road" became the "path of the dead."

The nickname was so catchy that even lower-ranking officers started calling him that, infuriating Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Montecouccoli.

If he hadn't been unlucky enough to draw that short pick, Chris Marlowe would never have willingly chosen the dead man's path.

He slightly raised his head and peered into the causeway submerged in the pitch-black midnight, always feeling that something was stirring in the darkness, sending chills down his spine.

The war was different from what he had imagined, and even more different from the heroic stories he had heard since childhood.

There were no magnificent military formations, no stirring war drums, and no earth-shaking cheers—at least not yet. There was only digging, digging, and digging.

The enemy also made their appearance in a rather unremarkable manner. First, a few of the soldiers who went out to scout returned, then some unfamiliar riders occasionally appeared on the horizon, and finally General Cornelius declared martial law throughout the city. The whole process was uneventful and disappointing.

Chris Marlowe couldn't help but lament that the dramatic scenes he longed for could only be found in storybooks.

Thinking of this, Warrant Officer Marlowe just wanted to finish tonight's patrol as soon as possible, return to the barracks, sip some wine, crawl into bed, and continue reading the tragedy that was just getting to the climax.

……

If it weren't for this war, Chris Marlowe would probably still be with the Swan Theatre Company in Guido, continuing to write his scripts.

Conversely, without this war, Chris Marlowe would not have had the opportunity to become an officer.

Like most Army Officer School dropouts, after graduating from the preparatory school at Blacklinburg, Chris Marlowe first joined the National Guard, working as a clerk for several years.

After finally becoming a sergeant, he grew tired of the monotonous clerical work and voluntarily retired. After several twists and turns, he finally joined the Swan Theatre Company.

Following the April 1st coup, the United Provinces Army began intensively expanding its military and preparing for war.

Veterans like Chris Marlowe, who had military school education and had earned the rank of sergeant, were approached by recruiters from the United Provincial Army.

Chris Marlowe accepted the invitation without hesitation, not only to make up for his previous failure to be admitted to the Army Officer School, but also because he was naturally eager for the unknown and had begun to feel bored with the life of a playwright.

So playwright Chris Marlowe became an unremarkable warrant officer in the United States Army National Guard, commanding a hundred-man squad.

Then, like a dandelion in a storm, someone in the office casually wrote a sentence and he was shoved into the so-called Southern Army. Finally, by a twist of fate, he was chosen by Jason Cornelius and accompanied the brigadier general to the Land of the Galloping Horses.

……

Thinking about his experiences since his second enlistment, Marlowe couldn't help but sigh.

“Compared to this dull war,” he thought, looking at the dead bodies at his feet, “my experience is perhaps more interesting.”

He couldn't help but wonder, "Would soldiers in the old marshal's era give fortifications such nicknames?"

“No,” Marlowe shook his head firmly, “People in the era of the Sovereign Wars would only call this path the Hero’s Road.”

Where did the problem lie? Marlowe didn't want to think about it.

Out of pride as a member of the United Provinces, he was unwilling to admit that he did not know why he had come to Kingsburg.

A sense of despair, of not knowing why they were fighting, permeated the entire army, from soldiers to lower-ranking officers—Chris Marlowe had no idea what the higher-ups were like.

Marlow didn't want to think about it anymore. "It'll be over soon," he muttered to himself. "I'll go back after the patrol."

Just as Marlowe was regaining his spirits, he suddenly caught a faint smell of tobacco.

He turned to the soldier behind him and asked reproachfully, "You brought a pipe out with you?"

"A pipe?" The musketeer, being stared at by the warrant officer, looked bewildered. "What pipe?"

"Who's smoking?" Marlowe turned to the main bunker on the other side of the trench and shouted, "Hey! No pipes allowed on night watch!"

The musketeer's hesitant voice rang out behind Marlowe, "Warrant Officer! The smoke's coming from outside!"

Marlowe was startled and peered out toward the embankment, only to see the darkness seem to have taken shape, rolling and surging toward him.

The pungent smell reminded him that this was not night, but smoke.

"Enemy attack!" Marlow frantically pulled a whistle from his clothes and blew it with all his might.

A piercing whistle broke the night sky. After a brief delay, the riverbank fort erupted in chaos. One piercing whistle after another rang out, and shouts of "Enemy attack!" rose and fell. The soldiers from the United Provinces, awakened by the commotion, grabbed their weapons and stumbled toward their firing positions.

Hearing the commotion coming from the gun emplacement, the enemy below the sloping embankment no longer took cover.

Marlowe heard a loud shout from outside the causeway: "All—mount your horses!"

Then, from outside the darkness came the sounds of fabric rubbing and metal scraping.

"Charge—" a loud voice rang out, "Forward!"

The strange yet familiar battle cry sent a shiver down the spines of everyone in the United Provinces:
Uukhai!

Uukhai!!
“Uukhai!!!”

The next moment, the rolling hoofbeats pushed the smoke billowing toward the gun emplacement.

Marlowe realized something was terribly wrong—if a lame human could walk on a sloping causeway, there was no reason why a warhorse with all four hooves couldn't.

"Retreat!" Marlowe turned and shoved the soldiers behind him. "Retreat!"

The Dead Man's Path was a loop, and their only hope was to turn back the way they came. However, the accompanying musketeer was somewhat bewildered; his eyes widened, and he kept asking, "The drawbridge? Where's the drawbridge?"

Marlowe broke out in a sweat: "At a time like this, who has time to lower the drawbridge for us?!"

Just then, a series of sharp blasts came from behind the gun emplacement.

With each bang, a red meteor was launched into the sky.

However, the meteor neither shattered nor vanished; instead, after reaching its highest point, it slowly descended, emitting a red light like a blazing furnace.

"A star has fallen!" The musketeer was terrified.

"What's the panic?" Marlowe exclaimed angrily. "It's an illumination rocket!"

The causeway in front of the fort was barely illuminated by the light emitted by the red star suspended in mid-air. A net-like smoke screen had completely enveloped the fort, and many hazy figures could be seen below the causeway.

At the same time, the sound of horses' hooves had already reached the front of the trench.

A jet-black horse leaped high out of the smoke, and the rider on its back immediately spotted the provincial officer on the causeway and the ashen-faced musketeer beside him.

He pulled on the reins and charged straight at the two of them.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Marlowe wanted to move, but his body wouldn't obey him. He stared blankly at the Paratul cavalry rushing towards him.

Upon seeing the scholarly face of the provincial officer, the Palatine cavalryman hesitated for a moment, but gritted his teeth and swung his saber.

As his head was severed from his body, Marlowe suddenly remembered a line from a movie:
"I shed my first drop of blood, in a place where no one knows."

Subsequently, the consciousness of Chris Marlowe, the first true victim of the Cynas Alliance civil war, vanished completely from the world.

The musketeer who accompanied the warrant officer on his patrol of the fort only blinked once, and the warrant officer, who had been perfectly healthy just moments before, was now nothing but a headless corpse, slumped limply into his arms.

The honest tenant farmer at the foot of the mountain was on the verge of collapse. He screamed and pushed aside the warrant officer's body, scrambling and crawling towards the gun emplacement, only to step into the trench and fall heavily onto the barbed wire and bamboo spikes.

Fortunately, he died soon after.

The soldiers from the United Provinces on the fort finally reacted and, using the light from the illumination rockets, began firing at the Palatine cavalry at the front of the trench.

On the other side, the Platonic cavalry, having cleared the sentries from the causeway, quickly withdrew, while the Platonic infantry, carrying long ladders, charged up the causeway with shouts.

"Go and get reinforcements!" Captain Daly Brand, in charge of defending the riverbank fort, gripped the messenger's collar tightly, his eyes red, and roared the order, "Go and get reinforcements!"

……

Meanwhile, at the command post inside the new city, Major Fritz, on night shift, was assessing the situation.

Chaos reigned in the command post, with messengers running around the courtyard, some going to inquire about the situation and others coming to ask questions.

No matter how high the self-expectations of the soldiers in the United Provinces are, tonight is, for many of them, their first real combat experience.

Many officers in the command were in a state of feeling that they should do something, but not knowing what to do.

Fortunately, it was Major Fritz's turn to be on duty tonight. As the one who formulated the operational plan, no one knew the plan better than him.

"Have the fifth and sixth hundredth squads assembled?" Fritz asked, his brow furrowed as he looked at the map on the table.

"Ready to go!" someone answered loudly.

Fritz did not immediately issue a support order, but instead asked, "Have the messengers who went to inquire about the situation at the other forts returned?"

After a moment of silence, someone whispered, "Not yet."

Fritz slammed his fist on the table in anger: "Send someone else!"

"Yes, sir!" A junior officer slunk out of the operations room.

"Has General Cornelius not arrived yet?" Fritz couldn't help but become impatient. "Send someone to wake the general again."

"Do we even need to wake them?" A neatly dressed Jason Cornelius, accompanied by several attendants, strode into the operations room and said in a booming voice, "The entire Kingsburg Castle is probably already awake—"

Fritz immediately gave up his spot at the map table, and Cornelius unceremoniously took center stage.

Cornelius surveyed the operations room and chuckled, "The Paratul are all watching how we're doing!"

A low chuckle rippled through the operations room, instantly easing the tense atmosphere.

"Knightsburg is currently engaged in combat; two hundred-man squads are ready and can be deployed at any time," Fritz reported succinctly. "Two more hundred-man squads are currently assembling."

“Send a hundred men as a token gesture,” Cornelius calmly ordered. “Have Lieutenant Colonel Lordwijk’s troops assemble and prepare the barges!”

The junior officers in the operations room were somewhat bewildered by what the chief had said.

Fritz paused for a moment, then quickly recovered: "You think Knightsburg is just a feint? The rebels actually intend to attack Magitek Island?"

“Don’t think I don’t know how you’ve been talking about me,” Cornelius said, looking at the young faces in the operations room and mimicking the cadets’ tone.

"The infantry tactics course only teaches four things: deploying reserves on the reverse slope, flanking from the flank if the front cannot be penetrated, the backup plan will come in handy sooner or later, and..."

Cornelius gestured with his eyes and hands for the officers to continue his sentence.

The officers present, all with formal training, looked at each other. None of them had ever seen their commander so cheerful and amiable, and none of them dared to speak.

Fritz tentatively asked, "Is it necessary to launch a feint attack in another direction before the real attack is launched?"

“Yes,” Cornelius nodded and gave a soft hum, “Looks like you’re the only one who’s doing pretty well.”

Fritz didn't know how to respond.

“Don’t worry about Knightsburg. Gaisa Adonis isn’t stupid enough to headbutt our cannons,” Cornelius said with a sneer. “If he were that stupid, this battle would be easier.”

The officers present could not refute it, nor did they dare to.

“Signal for Margit Island,” Cornelius ordered. “Get Lordwik ready as quickly as possible—if he’s slow, we’ll be collecting Lieutenant Colonel Montacucoli’s body. And…”

Cornelius scanned the operations room. "Who's in charge of the barges tonight?"

“Reporting, it’s me,” a lieutenant timidly raised his hand.

"Then what are you still doing here?" Cornelius asked coldly.

The officer snapped out of his daze, stamped his foot to attention, raised his hand in salute, and dashed out.

“Tell me what happened,” Cornelius said, looking at Fritz. “I don’t know.”

Fritz felt immense pressure, yet inexplicably at ease.

As Jason Cornelius issued one order after another, the city defense command center gradually began to operate.

……

Meanwhile, upstream on Margit Island, about a hundred naked White Mountain soldiers were pushing rafts loaded with weapons and ammunition into the river as quietly as possible.

Compared to the fierce fighting at the riverside forts, the area around Margit Island was unusually quiet.

On the riverbank, Woods pulled a capable young man along, patiently instructing him, "Once you get ashore, immediately send someone back to bring the rafts back. Don't forget! We only have these few rafts now. Only if you bring them back can I get you reinforcements."

"Don't worry," the young man replied with a smile. He was covered in black paint from head to toe, revealing only his white teeth.

Woods originally wanted to lead the landing operation himself, but General Gaza strictly forbade him from going to the island, so he had to suppress his anxiety and entrust the mission to others.

Looking at his junior's still somewhat immature face, Woods suddenly felt a pang of pity.

"Take care," Woods said, gripping his junior's hand tightly.

The young man nodded, smiled and said goodbye to his senior, then resolutely walked towards the Ten Arrows River.

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