I, the prince in distress, send money

Chapter 326 Wild Advice

At exactly 10:00 a.m., Major General Marlowe received a letter from His Highness Chris.

After receiving the letter, he did not rush to open the outer seal and check the contents of the letter. Instead, he looked up at the messenger in front of him.

Olaf, this heavily armored Nordic warrior, looks so terrifying that anyone who sees him for the first time will gasp in horror.

The heavy plate and chainmail armor that covered his entire body should have been a symbol of cleanliness and shine, but now it was covered with dust and dirt left by the long march. There were even some bits of unbroken flesh embedded in the gaps between the armor plates, which gave off a foul stench of decomposed protein in the closed command room.

His armor was covered with scratches and dents of varying depths, and there was even a distinct, inward-denting, terrible impact mark on his left shoulder armor, with the edges rolled up as if it had been ripped apart by the claws of a giant beast.

At the center of the breastplate, the axe emblem symbolizing the loyalty of a northern tribe to His Highness Chris's warband has become blurred from repeated chopping.

Olaf's typical northern face, with its sharp, chiseled features, now betrayed an undeniable weariness. His thick, light-gold beard and hair, like a lion's mane, were tangled and stained with the salt of dust and sweat.

A fresh, not yet fully scabbed-over, narrow wound slanted down his left temple, narrowly avoiding his eye, ending above his cheekbone, the dark red scab a stark contrast to his bronze skin.

His nose was high and straight, but there was a noticeable bruise next to his nostril. His lips were dry and cracked, and tightly pressed together, as if he was enduring some kind of pain or suppressing some intense emotion.

What's most unsettling is Olaf's eyes, those icy blue pupils that should resemble a frozen Scandinavian lake in winter, yet now burn with an almost wild, still-burning flame.

The flames contained the hardship of a long journey and the ferocity of someone who had just survived a life-or-death battle.

Under Major General Marlowe's scrutinizing gaze, those eyes did not flinch. Instead, they met the high-ranking general's gaze with a beast-like frankness and stubbornness, as if silently declaring that the message had been delivered and that he had crawled back from the brink of hell.

Heavy breaths rose and fell from Olaf's broad chest, carrying white vapor, each breath causing the heavy breastplate to tremble slightly and produce a dull metallic scraping sound.

The berserker stood there like a mobile fortress that had just emerged from a blizzard and a bloody battle, silent yet exuding a crushing, mountain-like oppressive aura. Even the morning air seemed heavy and stagnant because of his presence.

Major General Marlowe admired Olaf. He could tell from just one glance at the latter and his injuries what kind of grueling battle he had endured so far.

The bits of flesh burrowed under the nails and the pungent stench, the grotesque dents on the shoulder armor, and the fresh wounds on the face all silently tell the story of a blood-stained road.

"Olav, leader of the Varangian Chapter."

The major general pronounced his name and title accurately to show respect and importance.

"Your Highness Chris's letter is of utmost importance. Tell me, what have you encountered on your journey?"

Upon hearing the question, Olaf's tired yet still upright spine seemed to tense up even more, and a sneer, almost contemptuous, appeared on his lips.

He didn't pat his battered armor or wave his arms excitedly; he simply stared calmly at Major General Marlowe with his eyes burning with icy flames, as if discussing a trivial hunt.

"encounter?"

Olaf's voice was deep and hoarse, yet carried a strange sense of relaxation, creating a stark contrast to his tragic circumstances.

"General, it was just that we were bumped a few times by a few riding Leterian lads on the road."

Olaf tilted his head slightly, the movement aggravating the wound on his forehead, causing a trickle of fresh blood to seep out and slide down the dark red scab, but he seemed oblivious.

He seemed oblivious. With his hand, clad in a heavy iron glove and stained with black and red dirt, he casually brushed away the indistinct battle axe emblem on his breastplate, as if flicking away non-existent dust.

"When I led my men away from Anvil Fortress, more than an hour away from Tavitsky, after crossing a wheat field, a group of unlucky Retalians on horseback crashed into us."

His tone was as calm as if he were recalling a picnic.

"The sun had just climbed halfway up the sky, and it was quite dazzling. Then we heard a loud hoofbeat, and the ground was shaking."

His icy blue eyes narrowed slightly, as if recalling the blinding sunlight and the dust that rose up.

"First came a dozen or so tin cans, clattering and rattling as they rushed over, followed by a large swarm of brightly dressed, grumpy little hordes of bees, noisy and scrambling like a horde of wasps whose nest had been disturbed."

Major General Marlowe squinted, piecing together the general sequence of events from the former's brief description.

The "tin cans" Olaf refers to are undoubtedly the heavy knights that the Reteria Empire is proud of, while the "flashy followers" are the much larger light cavalry squires.

Led by a dozen or so heavy cavalrymen and accompanied by over a hundred cavalrymen, this was clearly a particularly elite interception force. With such a size of cavalry, they were capable of launching a devastating charge on the plains.

At this point, Olaf even let out a soft chuckle, which aggravated the bruise beside his nose.

"These kids are putting on quite a show, lining up and holding long poles, trying to skewer us like meat skewers."

The "long pole" he referred to was the knights' deadly lance.

"The one leading the group, dressed as flamboyantly as a peacock, with feathers stuck on his helmet like a peacock spreading its tail, is actually quite capable. He's good with a long pole, a hammer, and a sword."

He paused for a moment, seemingly savoring the pain of his injuries and the exhilarating battle he had just fought.

"He did leave a souvenir on me, but the men of Varangi are the least afraid of these self-important guys, because no matter how capable they are, they can't beat me."

"And then?" Major General Marlow's voice was deep. He had some recollection of the terrain Olaf had described; it was a flat killing field, conducive to cavalry charges but extremely disadvantageous to infantry defense.

"Then?"

Olaf shrugged his broad shoulders, which bore the dented shoulder armor, the heavy plate armor making a teeth-grinding scraping sound.

"And then we won... I admit those guys were really brave, like a bunch of crazy wild boars charging headfirst."

His tone carried a hint of playful helplessness.

"It was quite a commotion, with dust flying everywhere, and the Varangian men's shields were all pierced to pieces by them."

He raised his hand and tapped the area of ​​his left shoulder blade with his right knuckles. There was a clear white mark and dent left by a heavy object, and the surrounding plates were twisted and deformed.

"The leader, the 'Peacock,' was alright on his own, but when he slammed the hammer right here, it was quite powerful. It made my ears ring and my hand broke."

He described a fatal blow that could kill an ordinary infantryman as if he were talking about being hit by a pebble thrown by a mischievous child.

"pity,"

Olaf's contemptuous smile widened, revealing his gleaming white teeth.
“I can fight better and endure more pain. When that peacock died, they were afraid of me… Fighting the men of Varangi, being afraid is the same as being dead.”

In his icy blue pupils, the subsided flames suddenly leaped, flashing a fleeting yet chilling, predatory glint.

"In the clash, our courage was greater, our axes were sharper, and we won."

Behind his understated words lies the chilling counter-charge of the Varangian berserkers against the heavy cavalry charge, their flesh and blood and heavy battle axes braving the steel onslaught.

Olaf used his intact right hand to remove his helmet, revealing his sweat-soaked blond hair.

"General, have we completed our mission?"

"Completed? Of course."

Major General Mallow answered solemnly.

How many men are left in your battle group?

"Originally there were 200 people, now there are 75 who can continue to fight."

Major General Marlowe was not disappointed by what he heard; on the contrary, he was pleasantly surprised.

Even for elite heavy infantry like Varangi, to be able to defeat a dozen or so reckless Retalian heavy cavalrymen and over a hundred squire cavalrymen on an open plain and preserve the letter was a miraculous feat.

The victory of the Varangian Legion, achieved at the cost of 125 lives, was undoubtedly brutal.

To still manage to leave more than seventy people alive like that, their fighting strength and will to fight are impressive.

Because Bagnia is a notorious mercenary nation, Major General Marlo had heard from his family elders who had served in the military, as well as some veteran mercenaries who had worked in the Reteria Empire, about the style of Reteria Empire knights.

Those knights of noble birth, who called themselves the flowers of war, acted with courage bordering on recklessness, and were so proud that they despised death. Their actions, driven by a sense of honor, often superseded cold tactical rationality.

They were like a group of war fanatics wrapped in magnificent armor and heraldry. When they charged, their formations were deliberately arranged in neat rows, gleaming with the light of steel and silk. Their warhorses were adorned with splendid armor, their lances were raised high like a forest, and their horns blared deafeningly. Their imposing presence was enough to terrify the cowardly.

The scene itself resembled a grand procession dedicated to the goddess of war.

However, their core tactics are simple to the point of being brutal: spot the enemy, form ranks, and then launch a massive, one-off, devastating charge with little chance of a second turn.

Don't say that charging into a group of heavily infantry in formation is a reckless and unwise tactic.

Major General Marlowe had even heard of the knights of Leteria who, in a battle, charged towards the city gates on tall horses and wielding heavy lances on orders from their superior lord.

The result was that the closed city gate was smashed open by this group of reckless iron lumps, but of the fifteen knights who launched the charge, only three survived. They then felt honored and often tried to replicate the event.

This is one of the reasons why Major General Malo broke out in a cold sweat after discovering the presence of Leterians in Tavitsky.

On the plains, caught completely off guard, an army marching in formation would be struck by a massive charge from a large group of Leterian knights—it would be like swallowing poison in silence… certain death.

“Go and rest. I will record the honors of the Varangi Legion. His Highness Chris will know all about it.” Major General Marlow did not think Olaf would lie to him. There was no way to lie about a battle of a hundred men. By questioning the other soldiers and scouting the battlefield ruins, the lies would be exposed.

Therefore, Major General Marlow, who was quite fond of Olaf, wanted to win over the Varangian Warband and make it work for him... first give them honor, then give them supplies.

Even though they don't have many members now, it's not a problem; their battle group's membership will automatically recover later.

Major General Marlowe didn't know the specific reason either.

Olaf nodded slightly. As he turned around, his heavy boots left several dark red marks on the floor, marks of blood mixed with dirt that had not yet dried.

After Olaf, the mobile human fortress, left, Major General Marlowe still did not open the envelope. Instead, he rang the doorbell, let his adjutant in, and arranged for people to scout out the battle location Olaf had mentioned. Only after everything was arranged did he begin to open the envelope.

The letter contained little information. After being decrypted, Major General Malow saw what he had guessed beforehand: hold the city of Tavitsky, await reinforcements from the rear, and do not act rashly.

Just as Chris could guess Marlowe's recklessness and knew that he would take risks whenever he saw an opportunity, the latter could also deduce the former's unusually steady character and style of doing things from His Highness's past decisions.

Now that they have received intelligence that the army of the Leterian Empire is suspected to be nearby, Prince Chris will definitely order him to hold the fort. Then he will lead the First Legion to hold the Anvil Fortress and keep sending fresh troops and supplies to Tavitsky.

Given Marlowe's temperament, he preferred to lead his troops in an offensive rather than hold a defensive position, launching an attack while the enemy, having traveled a long way and not yet had time to rest, was still at large.

But if Marlowe wants to do this, he will encounter two problems... The major general does not yet know how much tolerance Prince Chris has for him, and whether disobeying his steady and methodical orders will bring punishment.

Secondly, and most importantly... he didn't know where the main force of the Leterians was.
The vast plains provided fertile land, allowing the enemy to set up camp at will. Water sources and flat land were everywhere, making it easy for large armies to conceal themselves during their marches.

Both the Bagnians and the Retalians were invaders on this land, so neither side had geographical or human advantages, and everyone was treated fairly.

After much deliberation, Major General Marlow sighed and decided to obey Prince Chris's orders to hold Tavitsky.

However, defending the city presents several challenges.

Food and military supplies were not a problem. Prince Chris's generosity towards the army was something Major General Marlowe had never seen before. Tavitsky's armory and granaries were overflowing.

The grain supply was enough to feed 10,000 soldiers and horses for six months without any problem. The gunpowder, spare muskets, grenades, and other miscellaneous explosive and non-explosive weapons were enough for two infantry regiments and one artillery regiment to fight at least five large-scale battles involving more than 10,000 soldiers each.

As for clothing, each person had three sets of clothes, and there were plenty of sleeping bags and cloaks. In Major General Malo's view, even in winter, these clothes would be enough for the extremely resilient Bagnians to get through the cold winter.

In other words, even without any reinforcements, Major General Marlowe can lead his men to fight until next spring.

With ample food, clothing, and supplies, the soldiers under Major General Marlowe were naturally in high spirits. Even the civilian laborers and militiamen who were not professional soldiers were full of confidence in the war.

Here comes the horseman who likes to ride tall, arrogant horses?

It's alright, we have muskets, cannons, and armor, we're not afraid of them!
The soldiers below were not afraid, and Major General Marlow was naturally not afraid either. His only worry was Tavitsky.

This ancient city is not suited to the modern era.

Going back a hundred years, or even fifty years, Tavitsky could still be considered a fortified city. With its high walls, large population, and numerous wells, as long as food supplies were plentiful and the defenders remained steadfast, it would have been an impregnable fortress.

However, what were once advantages are now all disadvantages.

Although the walls of Tavitsky are thick, they retain an ancient vertical design. The walls, built of gray-white megaliths, gleam with a cold luster in the sunlight, like a stubborn old man who refuses to adapt to the changes of the times.

Major General Marlowe's fingers tapped unconsciously on the table. Due to his limited knowledge of firearms and the era, he couldn't explain what was wrong with the straight city wall. He simply felt that such a wall was dangerous.

Such a structure is practically a sitting duck in the face of heavy artillery; enemy heavy artillery could easily bombard the upper half of the city wall.

It was very dangerous for the defenders to stand on the city wall at this time, but it was also not safe for them to hide under the city wall, because the city wall might collapse.

Worse still, the city's designers seem to have a morbid obsession with "symmetrical beauty."

The four main city gates stand like twin brothers in the four directions of east, west, south, and north, each equipped with a magnificent arrow tower and drawbridge.

What might have been a fortified defensive structure in the era of cold weapons has now become a nightmare for dispersing troops.

Marlow could almost picture the sneer of the Leterian artillery commanders upon seeing this formation… They could simply choose a direction, concentrate their fire to create an opening, and launch a probing charge with their cavalry, keeping the defenders constantly on the run.

The layout of the city was even more disastrous.

Those winding, narrow streets, originally intended to slow down the invaders, have now become labyrinths hindering the movement of the defending troops.

A few days earlier, Marlowe had witnessed a house on fire in the city. A team of volunteer firefighters rushed to the scene, but the crowded alleyways blocked their way, and the house burned down before they arrived.

Even the city's outer defenses are riddled with problems. The moat has been in disrepair for years, and some sections are so silted up that even children can wade across it.

The houses and orchards outside the city that should have been cleared have now become the best cover for the enemy... The Leterian skirmishers can use these covers to sneak all the way to the base of the city walls.

Major General Marlowe gets a headache just thinking about these issues.

How to do?
There was no other way but to eliminate all these potential threats before the enemy arrived.

With this in mind, Major General Marlowe immediately summoned all officers of captain rank and above from the infantry and artillery regiments to the conference room for a combat meeting.

Out of respect, Major General Marlowe also sent messengers to find the respected head of the Prince's Guard in the city and invite them to the meeting.

To date, Major General Marlowe still has no idea what the Prince's Guard is all about, their organization, their preferences, their way of doing things, and their loyalty... he knows nothing about any of it.

However, this did not prevent Major General Marlowe from knowing that the most ornately dressed and decorated member of the Prince's Guard was the most capable fighter and leader among them.

Even such leaders are not always reliable, and they occasionally lose members, causing familiar faces to disappear.

Then some unfamiliar faces will appear, taking the place and wealth of the deceased prince's guards, and continuing to issue orders arrogantly.

Major General Marlowe felt strange and curious about the situation, but dared not delve any deeper... The court appeared, with a mad judge and ubiquitous acolytes and followers, making it impossible to pursue Prince Chris's secrets.

Not understanding the situation doesn't prevent Major General Marlowe from maintaining due respect for the leaders of the Prince's Guard... because they are all capable of fighting inhumanly, just like Olaf of the Varangian Chapter.

Therefore, necessary respect is essential.

As it turned out, Major General Marlowe's respect for the Prince's Guard was necessary, because after the war council began, he was surprised to find that his officers, after he raised a question, stood by the map and stammered for a long time without being able to give a complete and feasible suggestion.

On the contrary, the prince's guards, whose leaders were not much of a hope for Major General Marlowe, put forward one suggestion after another to improve the defenses of Tavitsky after only a moment of contemplation.

First, abandon the city walls. These are products of the archery age and are not very effective against artillery. You can leave a small number of soldiers, muskets, and light artillery on the walls, but you shouldn't put too many people there.

The narrow streets within the city were of little use; aside from making things more difficult, they served no other purpose. If it really came down to the point of needing street fighting, our side would have been almost wiped out by then.

Secondly, the stinking ditch called the moat is meaningless and should be filled in as soon as possible to make room for soldiers and civilians.

All the houses outside the city walls should also be demolished. The bricks, stones and wood removed can be used to fill the stinking ditches.

There aren't many Minesian civilians in or around Tavitsky now. The rest are employed by the defense forces and paid to do their work. No one will stand up to stop the Bagnian soldiers' actions, and even if someone does, they can be sent away with some money and rice and won't get in the way.

Orchards and the like must be leveled, and all the fruit trees must be cut down. Wood is a good thing; it can be used as firewood and also to reinforce the city's defenses.

If you can't cut it down, then burn it. In any case, no large tree should be left within a ten-kilometer radius of Tavitsky for the enemy to use.

After filling in the moat and demolishing the houses, once the area is cleared, trenches need to be dug simultaneously. The trenches don't need to be too deep, about 1.6 meters is enough, which should be enough to avoid bullets and solid artillery fire.

The trenches can be straight and don't need to be too advanced, because the Bagnian musketeers don't have much education, and overly complex trenches would be impractical. In addition, solid shot won't explode; it will just be a solid iron ball when it falls into the trench, at most killing one person. However, the back of the trench must be a slope, and there can be no obstacles.

Even if the trenches were captured, the guards could simply retreat to the second trench and use muskets and cannons to fire at the undefended enemy occupying the trenches, killing them all.

There should be at least three trenches built around the city, giving the defenders inside a place to retreat and tactical depth. Losing one trench is not a fatal thing. By trading space for time, Bagnian soldiers can still recapture the trench.

Wooden barricades, barbed wire, and caltrops, as well as steel-wheeled fire mines, should be placed in front of the trenches to reduce the area available for the enemy to operate and utilize. This forces them to carry out engineering work before they can attack, thus wasting the enemy's time, energy, and lives.

However, four attack routes should be left open so that if the enemy collapses after the attack, our cavalry or light infantry can be sent out to finish off the fleeing enemy soldiers and effectively reduce their numbers.

The three trenches should be connected in a Z-shape, with a width of more than two meters, so that the soldiers inside can easily carry small field guns and other weapons when war breaks out.

Even when the enemy fired directly at their own positions, lead bullets and artillery were ineffective in killing Bagnya soldiers.

In addition, the layout of the trenches, including artillery positions, drainage systems, emergency toilets, guard rest areas, reinforcement routes, and field kitchens, is astonishingly detailed.

When the players made this series of suggestions, Major General Marlowe thought about it carefully and then felt dizzy.

These suggestions seemed crazy at first glance, but after thinking about them carefully, Major General Marlowe found them strangely reasonable. Although these theories completely overturned his understanding of city defense, he felt that following them would not be bad.

Even more strangely, when the prince's guards discussed "defense in depth" and "firepower density," their eyes gleamed with a kind of prophetic certainty.

Their confidence made Major General Marlowe suddenly realize that the way these guards talked about war was like recounting a nightmare they had experienced a thousand times.

The project is massive, but once completed, Tavitzky will truly become a meat grinder, and breaking through it will require a significant number of lives.

(End of this chapter)