Chapter 22
March 25th, 1663. Leibenstadt.
A soldier yawned as he walked over to the well at the center of camp. It was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t quite sleep, so he was wandering around until he felt tired again. He sipped from the well and sighed.
“Why can’t I sleep?”
He rubbed his eyes and shook his head as he realized he was still wide awake. Something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, the light in a watchtower extinguished. He squinted his eyes at the tower and observed for a moment. A few seconds later, he saw a man tumble out and smash into the ground.
He immediately turned and ran towards the garrison commander’s room, practically kicking down the door as soon as he got there.
“Sir! I think we’re under…”
He stared at the commander’s bed in horror. There he was, laying there motionless, his throat opened up from one side to another, his chest completely soaked in blood. A loud clamber began in the fort proper, with men beginning to yell, and the sounds of steel on steel ringing out.
The soldier stumbled as he turned to run and get a better look at the fort. It was in complete chaos, men running around and getting cut down by massive, seven foot tall goatmen. A soldier screamed in agony as he was lifted up using the gladius in his chest.
Another soldier yelled as hard as he could as he pushed against a Brayherd, getting steadily shoved back as his feet dug into the earth. A few seconds later the Brayherd grabbed both of his arms and reeled back, headbutting him with the force of a freight train. The man went limp, then began to convulse as the Brayherd dropped him to the ground.
The door to his side was kicked down and before he could turn to address the threat it was already upon him, seven feet of muscle bearing down on him all at once, sprinting forwards and slamming head first into the man’s chest. He flew back, gasping for air as his back crashed into the wall behind him.
Less than a second later the man found an arm around his neck, and another pushing his head forward, cutting off his windpipe. The soldier struggled to break free of the vice-like grip of the Brayherd, but it was no use. He was simply too large.
Soon, his vision began to fade, and he began to accept the inky blackness which enveloped him.
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Tiberius Craccus looked down upon the fort he had just taken ownership of.
“The fort is too small, it will not fit all of us.”
The man next to him, a black human man from the Assai’id, nodded his head. He was wearing a white toga, contrasting Craccus's red Iorica Segmentata.
“Yes, to be expected. This fort is not made to house twenty five thousand men, let alone that many Brayherds.”
Tiberius nodded.
“Agreed Daudi. Still, it is a shame this fort is only useful for the auxiliaries.”
He looked over the bed of the former garrison commander, a fairly simple looking piece of furniture.
“His bed is far too small for me.”
Daudi nodded.
“Too bad. I imagine you will find the mountain citadel of Frederick about as cramped and uncomfortable.”
Tiberius’s lips pulled up into a caprine smile as he gazed upon the columns of the Brayherd legions marching through the mountain pass. The smiles of the Brayherds used to greatly unnerve Daudi, but he had gotten used to it over the decades he’s been surrounded by them.
“Well, it should not be too much of an issue. We are a hardy people.”
Daudi nodded.
“Yes, it is something that I have noticed over the years.”
Daudi turned to face Tiberius.
“More importantly, the Imperials are sure to respond to this. Where will we meet them?”
Tiberius scruffed his chin.
“There is a place around ten miles west of here. The pass opens up into a valley of boulders, perfect for us. Provides cover for the men’s approach, and flat enough for easy formation march. It’s also a good place for them as the sightlines are long, so they should be willing to engage.”
Daudi nodded.
“Good. We have to be careful of their artillery. The testudo is no match for a six pound cannonball.”
“Yes, I am aware. It should be fine, none approach the enemy as swiftly as we.”
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March 29th, 1663.
Tiberius watched the battle with his arms crossed across his chest. Daudi watched in a parade rest, his hands politely at the small of his back.
Ten thousand Brayherds were about to engage with six thousand men from the Grand Imperial Army. Tiberius was greatly interested in the outcome of this battle, beyond the obvious reason. This would be a test of the Brayherds against the Empire, a matchup which had not occurred for nearly seventy five years.
This would also be a test of the new Imperial way of war, as well as if the Brayherds had to adapt to this newfangled linear warfare, something which Tiberius was loathed to do.
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A cannonball flew through the air and skipped off the top of a Brayherd’s testudo, harmlessly crashing into a boulder behind them. Another ripped through the lines of their human auxiliaries, the hole getting closed fairly quickly.
An onager loosed a small boulder and it flew through the air in a great arc, crashing down near a stationary line of Imperials, causing the men nearby to jump and throw themselves away from it. The crews of the onager and the cannons both adjusted and loaded. Another boulder was set in the bucket and a few seconds later it was lobbed through the air.
The rock crashed into enemy lines, crushing a handful of men. A few seconds later a few cannonballs skipped by the onager, missing by a few feet at most. The onager loosed more projectiles, dropping massive rocks onto the lines of puny Imperials.
As a Brayherd lifted a stone for the onager a deafening crash occurred next to him, causing him to flinch and drop his rock. When he looked up the weapon was completely destroyed, a cannonball smashing straight through the middle of it.
A cannon crew aimed at a massive boulder a block of Brayherds took refuge behind and waited for them to emerge. Another crew aimed at the approaching human infantry and fired, killing a handful at once.
The human auxiliaries approached the enemy, shields raised and gladius ready. There were three thousand of them moving towards the lines, nervously shouting encouragement to each other as they got closer.
At three hundred yards Imperials fired on the approaching men, dropping just a handful despite the massive volume of fire. A musket ball crashed into the shield of an auxiliary, piercing through the top but missing the wielder and killing the man behind him.
They got closer and closer, absorbing more and more volleys the entire way. While not many men were injured with each individual hail of bullets, casualties were still casualties, and the volleys got more devastating as the enemy got within range.
The Imperials were ordered to hold fire until they were within seventy five yards, officers holding their sabers high ready to swing them down and order iron hail to rip through their enemy. The enemy began to charge and sabers flashed, a deafening roar of over a thousand men firing at once echoing around the valley.
Over a hundred auxiliaries at once fell from the devastating close range volley. The Caprae Loco forces screamed at the top of their lungs as they charged, and soon enough they smashed into the enemy.
Bayonets scraped against shield and gladius against gun butt as their lines met, the whirlwind of carnage creating a wind of death that tore through the auxiliaries. Even though they were armed and armored, they took far too many casualties on the approach, and soon enough men began to break.
The Imperials fired into their backs as the men ran, and they cheered and shouted insults at the retreating forces in a victorious fervor.
A horn was sounded and a formation began to move from their position behind a large boulder. A crewman touched the linstock to the borehole and the cannon erupted with noise. The projectile flew in a great arc and crashed amongst the brayherds, tearing a hole straight through the middle of their dense formation.
More horns sounded and more massive blocks of Brayherds began to approach, fast. They were in testudo formation, shields held out in front, to the side, and above, nearly impervious to small arms fire, especially with their enchanted Scutum. Each of the sixty blocks of Centuria kicking up plumes of dust as their cloven hooves tore up the ground.
Thousands of Brayherds, massive seven foot tall goatmen decked out in full lorica segmentata chanting war cries approached at a speed which shocked the Imperials. They moved in such neat formations that one could hardly believe they were moving at a near run, at least by human standards of speed.
A volley of cannonballs tore a channel of gore through the approaching Brayherds, killing dozens of goatmen as six pound balls of iron were sent careening into massive hunks of meat. The gap was swiftly filled, and the formation’s pace never faltered.
Imperials fired and their bullets bounced off of the shields harmlessly. The Brayherds cheered and continued their approach, shrugging off everything except cannon fire with ease. Imperials on the frontline shook with anticipation and fear. At one hundred yards they fired, not even injuring a single brayherd.
The massive blocks of Brayherds covered the distance in mere seconds, and soon they were upon their enemy, pushing with shield, gladius, and pure muscle. Each of the Centuria smashed through the Imperial lines, physically pushing their formations apart.
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Within mere moment the frontline of the Imperials was shattered as the Brayherd’s momentum carried them straight through their lines, thousands of infantrymen impacting with the force of cavalry. The Brayherds fanned out and began to do what they do best: slaughter.
An Imperial officer shouted orders to hold at his men, desperately trying to keep them together against the caprine onslaught. His men redoubled their efforts, but it was all in vain. The Brayherds were too large, too numerous, and too strong.
A block of Brayherds pushed back their enemy, thrusting at any opening they saw and covering each other with enchanted shield in a near flawless manner. A bayonet scraped against a shield and a second later the soldier’s guts were covering the ground. An Imperial was shoved to the ground and trampled to death as the Centuria pushed forward.
Soon the Brayherds were engaging with the Imperial reserves and destroying artillery emplacements, flooding their positions with determined goatmen. All of the training of the Grand Imperial Army could not prepare men for the hell on earth that was battling Brayherds in melee. Each and every soldier swiftly learned why Caprae Loco was left alone by the Empire: The Brayherds were unstoppable when the momentum shifted in their favor.
The Imperials broke and soon the official retreat signal was given, the various experienced and grenadier companies tasked with protecting their allies as they retreated. A grenadier thrust his bayonet between a gap in their lines and pierced a Brayherd’s massive neck, twisting and ripping it out a second later.
A Brayherd slammed his shield into a soldier and less than a second later three gladius found their ways into his unprotected flesh. A soldier went limp as he was headbutt, and the comrades all around him struggled as hard as they could to not end up like him.
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Tiberius laughed raucously.
“It seems the Imperials were not ready for the might of the Brayherds!”
Daudi nodded.
“Yes, but let us not get overconfident. We need to learn from this. What did you observe?”
Tiberius smiled.
“Well, firstly that we need to invest in cannons.”
Daudi nodded his head and Tiberius continued.
“Secondly, we need to figure out what to do about Imperial artillery.”
He shook his head as he watched injured humans hobbling back to their camp.
“The auxiliaries took quite the beating, and they only had six cannons! Imagine what would happen if they had more.”
“Good. How do you want to proceed?”
Tiberius looked up at the sky in thought.
“Well…we need to link up with Baronis and his forces. Hopefully their artillery will make up for our lack.”
“Perhaps the Waffenstadt forces would be willing to part with some. I hear they make a large portion of Imperial cannons.”
Tiberius nodded.
“Maybe. That would be ideal. Aside from that, ideally we would be used to mop up weakened enemies.”
Daudi nodded.
“Yes, no weakened position can take on a Brayherd charge.”
Tiberius guffawed.
“Too true! Too true my friend!”
His face dropped, looking far more serious.
“Now, let us get marching. We have rebels to assist.”
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April 2nd, 1663. Nordsee, around the Holenstadt-Grössenstadt sea border.
Cannons boomed and men screamed as ships fired at each other in their massive lines. A cannonball ripped across the deck of a ship of the line, killing a sailor and knocking another overboard.
Admiral Erik von Balensburg involuntarily ducked as a shot whizzed over his head. The Imperials were trying to break the rebel blockade, and they had sent a good number of ships there to try and make it happen.
The ships were inching closer and closer to each other as they fired massive broadsides into each other, the cannonballs bouncing off of the enchanted hulls harmlessly or tearing through the upper decks of the ships. Soon enough, there would be boarding action, as sinking an enchanted warship was next to impossible, even for another enchanted warship.
He steadied himself and took a deep breath. He drew his saber and breathed out. He was not much of a fighter, so he just had to focus on giving orders and staying alive. He looked out at the enemy and concluded they would be within boarding range within a few minutes. He raised his saber high in the air.
“Everyone ready for boarding action! I want men formed and ready to drive them into the sea!”
The sailors and marines acknowledged his orders and a flurry of activity followed. Men climbed ropes, soldiers closed ranks, and everyone made sure they were cocked and loaded.
A round skipped across the deck, leaving a crack on the unenchanted boards up top. Marines formed a line at the edge of the ship and took aim. The ships were less than a hundred yards away, so each man chose an individual target. They fired, the singular, accurate volley ripping through any sailors standing tall.
They ducked as they took return fire, a few of the slower and taller men catching bullets and dropping to the deck. A loud boom rocked the ship back and forth as the hull absorbed another volley. It tilted, causing men to slip and stumble all around.
Grappling hooks flew across the distance between the two ships and caught on railings and anything around the deck. Men began to smash the grappling hooks as hard as they could to dislodge them as their comrades covered them. The crack of muskets constantly echoed around the deck as men tried to keep the hooks clear, coming out in individual shots instead of massed volleys.
Slowly but surely the ships began to careen closer to each other as men pulled as hard as they could on the hooks. Soon enough, men began to cross, weapons held in teeth and pistols in holsters, swinging over on ropes and clinging to the rigging as soon as they made it.
Individual sailors began to engage each other as soon as they could. A man threw himself on top of the mast and drew his pistol, firing and killing the man up there with him. A second later he was shot himself and sent tumbling down onto the deck below, landing with a loud thud and a sqwelch.
Men wrestled for control, knives and daggers digging into flesh when they could, greedily drawing forth fountains of red ichor, staining the hardwood of the deck. Men were shot down as they swung across the distance, sent tumbling down into the cold waters below.
Then, hull crashed against hull, and men began to board en masse. Blocks of soldiers and sailors fired onto the enemy and ran onto the opposing ship, trying to maintain formation as much as possible as they climbed over railings and jumped the small gap.
The enemy filled the gaps created, aimed, and fired at near point blank, devastating the enemy with a volley of extreme accuracy. The two sides screamed and charged at each other, bayonets presented forward. They crashed into each other, a writhing mass of flesh and steel spreading out into a hundred tiny engagements.
An Imperial with a boarding ax hooked a gun and ripped it from a soldier’s hands, wrenching his ax upwards and driving the spike through the bottom of the man’s jaw. Another aimed his blunderbuss from the hip and fired, small balls of lead tearing through two men at once.
A grenade fell between the feet of two Bickenstadt sailors and blew them both over the side, one man leaving his leg behind, severed at the knee. They crashed into the waters below, sinking like rocks down into the drink.
Balensburg raised his saber and ordered Bickenstadt marines to form a firing line. They aimed and blew away the men charging at them, rushing forwards and scattering the rest with saber and bayonet.
An Imperial fired point blank at a sailor, killing him on the spot. A second later a few shots ripped through his chest, throwing him down onto the deck to groan and swiftly bleed out. An Imperial pushed gun against gun with a Bickenstadt marine, slamming him back first into the railing. He kneed the man in the chest over and over, breaking a few ribs.
The Bickenstadter wailed in pain before he was silenced with a bayonet to the throat from a different Imperial. The two men nodded to each other and turned, finding another Bickenstadter firing line aiming directly at them. The last thing they saw was a flash and gouts of smoke before they were overtaken by the inky blackness of death.
Slowly but surely the enemy was pushed back onto their own ships as the Bickenstadt Marines pushed and thrust. They drilled every day so that they could perfect their craft, only the tallest and strongest men passed their selection trials. They fought hard and moved fast to destroy the enemies of Bickenstadt.
All around the same story was being repeated: Ships were boarded by Imperials, and they were driven back by Bickenstadters. A marine beat an enemy sailor with the butt of his musket, finishing him off with a thrust to the heart.
A marine threw a grenade into a knot of soldiers, killing and wounding them all with the blast and shrapnel. A cannonball took off the head of a marine and the man next to him barely even flinched. He thrust his bayonet forward, feeling steel pierce all the way through flesh and come out the other side.
Balensburg had a choice to make: He could either order his own boarding action, or he could try to consolidate his men and send the Imperial ships packing. He ducked a slash and thrust up through the man’s throat, lifting his chin by the blade and letting him slide off on his own.
He raised his saber and dropped it down towards a nearby grappling hook, severing the rope attached to it.
“Decouple our ships immediately! I want these Imperials to go back to Grössenburg with their tails between their legs!”
His men cheered and began to remove grappling hooks and cut the ropes binding the two ships together.
The ships were decoupled and it was becoming clear that the Imperial assault had failed. Imperial ships began to sail back to Grössenburg, cannonballs from the Bickenstadt ships bouncing off of their hulls harmlessly as they retreated.
The Bickenstadt navy cheered as they watched ships disappear off into the distance. Balensburg raised his saber in the air triumphantly.
“Men! You have just fought off the first assault by Grössenburg! Keep it up and they will never even DREAM of seeing Bickenstadt!”
His men roared in approval, hugging each other and doing various different handshakes that sailors were always fond of doing.
Balensburg looked around the deck at all the carnage. He was surrounded on all sides by dead men, both Bickenstadt and Imperial. A man lie at his feet, bleeding out and barely breathing. Balensburg kneeled down and lifted the man up to his feet, supporting him by throwing his arm over Balensburg’s shoulder.
“Don’t worry soldier, you’re gonna make it. I'll make sure of it.”
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April 5th, 1663. Grössenstadt.
An officer in the Grand Imperial Army stood amongst his fellow officers. He was from Bickenstadt originally, but he had lived in Grössenstadt for the past decade working for the Grand Imperial Army.
The officers were formed into neat columns in the courtyard of Castle Grössenburg. There were about fifty of them, and they were all wearing dress uniforms. They came from all over the Empire, from Bickenstadt to Ebenenstadt every province was represented here.
Today, some of them were to be promoted for their loyalty to the Empire. In front of them stood the Empress on a raised platform, flanked on either side by her honor guard, the Imperial Knights.
“I am pleased to see you all here, loyal sons and daughters of the Empire! Many of you have been with us for quite some time, and that sort of thing is to be rewarded handsomely!”
The officer smiled slightly. He had been with the Grand Imperial Army for a little over a decade now, he was getting older, and it was about time for a promotion.
“You represent the finest of the Empire, the best of the best, the leaders of our army which destroys the enemies of the Empire. And so, some amongst you will be promoted to commander!”
The officers clapped politely.
“I will read out the names of those who have earned such an honor…”
The Empress unscrolled a piece of paper and began to read. The officer waited for his name to be called, but as she continued to read names, a knot began to grow in his stomach. By the time she had called the last officer, he had still not been named.
“...you will be tasked with leading our armies against the seditious yolk of Bickenstadt, Waffenstadt, and Holenstadt! You will bring glory to the Empire!”
The officer balled his fists and tried desperately to not shake with rage. He knew exactly why he had been overlooked for promotion. He was a Bickenstadter, the province leading the revolt, and the Imperial bureaucracy would not abide one of their kind being in the upper ranks of the Grand Imperial Army, just in case they had dual loyalties.
He didn’t listen to the rest of the Empress’s speech. He was done with the Grand Imperial Army. He had served loyally for a decade, he had fought against the rebels in Holenstadt AND Leibenstadt during the prince’s rebellion. As soon as he had the opportunity, he was going to leave.
Do I defect? Or just leave?
“...you are dismissed. Glory to the Empire!”
The officers all repeated ‘glory to the Empire’ back to her, with the exception of the Bickenstadter, who, frankly, felt betrayed. He hadn’t betrayed the Empire, Bickenstadt had!
Why am I getting punished for something that I didn’t even do?!
He left Castle Grössenburg in a huff, completely ignoring anyone who attempted to speak to him. He wouldn't defect, but he was not staying with the Grand Imperial Army. Frankly, as far as he was concerned, their logistics and organization were a nightmare, so he was glad to not deal with it again.