Chapter 11
March 10th, 1664. Leibenstadt. 2:58 AM
Tlanzoman warriors drank their ritual concoctions, a mixture of cacao, hot peppers, water, and a dash of blood from fallen comrades. It was believed to imbue them with the fury of those killed in battle, and the heat was said to heighten their senses.
They listened to the rhythmic booming of explosive ordinance impacting the courtyard of the second layer and they began to dance around a great bonfire. The Baron nodded to Yaotl, who raised his macuahuitl high in the air.
“Tonight, we bathe in the blood of our enemies! We shall spill their vital fluid on the ground, so that Huitzilopochtli may drink!”
His men cheered and cried their warcalls before forming neat columns. One hundred and fifty Jaguar warriors readied themselves, gripping their macuahuitl with fervor and determination. The barrage near the gatehouse began to weaken, and the Tlanzoman warriors rushed over in silence.
Behind them ran dozens of men with lit brasiers who set them down near the gatehouse. The Jaguar warriors' eyes began to glow a smokey gray, a color which the Baron, observing from a distance, had never seen before.
They began to perform a ritualistic dance, walking in a circle with complex footwork and rhymically tapping their shields with macuahuitl to create the sound of a heartbeat. Soon, the brasiers began to smolder and die, and the Jaguar warriors began to envelop themselves in smoke.
The smoke traveled upwards, leaving behind nothing on the ground. The Baron’s eyes widened with surprise.
“That’s…possible?”
Yaotl laughed raucously.
“Yes! It is something which only we Tlanzomans are able to do. It is a technique which requires complete faith in our gods, as well as the capture and sacrifice of four enemy warriors.”
The Baron scruffed his chin as he watched the smoke coalesce on the top of the walls.
I doubt they're the only people who can do it. More like the first to discover it.
“That is absolutely fascinating. How do you even defend against that?”
Yaotl smiled and checked around to make sure no one else could hear him.
“You are my ally, so I share this with you in confidence. Our bodies are transformed into the smoke, so if you scatter the smoke it will take some time to reform. You cannot breathe or see when you are smoke, so if you maintain that form for too long you will suffocate and stay smoke forever. And if you fire into the smoke, it will still kill any man.”
The smoke began to dissipate and wooden helmets in the likeness of a Jaguar could be seen on top of the walls. An Imperial opened the gatehouse door to see what the tapping sound was and found obsidian blades screaming down at him.
The Jaguar warriors flooded into the gatehouse, swiftly chopping the garrison there into so many bits of meat and puddles of blood. A Jaguar warrior deflected a strike from a Katzbalger with his shield and slashed the man’s extended arm with his macuahuitl, pulling back and and sawing through his arm, leaving it connected only by a small strip of flesh.
An enchanted macuahuitl crashed straight through the mundane steel of the Imperial garrison and into his helmet, the shards of obsidian, sharper than any razor and enchanted to never break, slicing clean through the unenchanted metal and into the man’s skull, bisecting it and sending a massive torrent of blood flying into the air, as well as covering the jaguar in the man's brains.
They tore through the surprised defenders in a matter of seconds, attacking them from both sides. Men were slaughtered before they even had the time to scream, and many more without even drawing their swords. The Tlanzomans knew they were not at home, and so no prisoners would be taken tonight, much to their chagrin. An important aspect of Tlanzoman warfare was the capture prisoners to sacrifice to the gods. Capturing prisoners was also how Tlanzoman warriors rose in the ranks, so unfortunately none of these men would be rising above jaguar today.
A Tlanzoman captain looked around and found the gate controls. He wasn’t entirely sure what did what, but he pulled the largest and most important looking lever he could find. He saw chains rising, and soon enough the gate itself coming up into view. He took out his rocket and ran outside, lighting it using fire magic and raising it high in the air. It shot upwards and burst in a glow of green light, sending beautiful green sparks flittering down.
The Baron put on his helmet and drew his saber. He looked to his side and saw his fellow commanders doing the same. Tiberius Craccus put on his centurion helm, it’s great red horizontal plume fluttering in the wind. Yaotl Cocolotl beat his shield rhythmically, riling up his remaining, more mundane conscripted forces.
After the allied guns had fully gone quiet, Eyman Küçük laughed loudly and drew his Yataghan.
“İlk biz gidiyoruz! Tanrı bizim tarafımızda!”
The Janissaries cheered and charged through the raising gate, followed soon after by their coalition allies, Brayherds first, then Bickenstadt, then Waffenstadt, then the Tlanzoman conscripts. They rushed into the courtyard and spread out, moving in small squads inside the various buildings which dotted the second layer of defenses. Others grabbed whatever they could and began to barricade the staircases and other entrances and exits between the third and second layer.
Janissaries burst into barracks and began to slaughter the unprepared men with their yataghans, hacking off limbs and heads with practiced efficiency. An Imperial grenadier drew his Katzbalger and blocked the slash of a janissary, but found his arm hacked off by another enemy he couldn't have possibly seen. He tried to scream but could not as the janissary delivered a single chop to his throat, moving on to the next man as the grenadier bled out.
Grenadiers drew pistols and fired at the janissaries, nailing a few dead in the chest or head. More janissaries flooded in behind them, and pistols were swiftly ditched for Katzbalger or bayoneted musket.
The well drilled grenadiers of the Grand Imperial Army desperately parried and slashed as they retreated deeper into the complex, protecting each other as best they could with light armor and small swords. A janissary raised his yataghan and was run through by two men, who then worked together to shove him back as hard as they could, sending him crashing back into his allies.
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Back in the courtyard the Brayherds, utilizing their massive frames, stacked massive blocks of stone in front of the wide stairways which connected the second and third layers of Bergzitadelle Freiderick. They piled the stones in thick layers, impossible for men on the other side to simply push out of the way, unless they were gravity or earth mages.
Klarwasser engineers, trained by the Ottoman engineers, hammered blockers into place in doorways, completely cutting off the smaller entrances. They layered the blockers three deep and moved on to reinforcing everything that needed reinforcing.
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In the barracks the Imperials had rallied and organized. They stood tall in their long hallways, firing at the charging defenders and cycling to load and fire, sending a constant hail of lead down the hall. Men bit their cartridges and poured the powder in before shoving the ball down, tapping the butt of their gun against the floor a good few times.
While the bullet wouldn’t be as snugly fit in the barrel, leading to lower accuracy, this type of loading was leagues faster than the traditional way. Plus, they weren’t exactly concerned with accuracy at the moment, simply volume of fire.
This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Janissaries dropped as bullets tore through their bodies, and soon enough the hallway was covered in dead men. They stopped rushing down, as it was nothing short of suicide to run into such a place. The Imperials began to retake ground, one group firing, then the next group advancing past them and firing.
Soon, Imperials burst through the doorway, pushing the janissaries back through sheer grit and determination. An Imperial thrust his bayonet into the guts of a janissary, firing his shot through the man into the one behind him. A group of grenadiers slammed their shoulders into the janissary’s line, knocking over a good dozen or so men, swiftly rushing to finish them off with bayonet and Katzbalger.
They chewed through their attackers with speed and efficiency, the training and experience of the grenadiers of the Grand Imperial Army showing through their exceptional bravery and skill. The janissaries were pushed fully out of the barracks and the Imperials hunkered down. Men at the door kept the enemy at bay while their comrades behind them set up makeshift barricades and ran to get reinforcements from the third layer.
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The other barracks were fairing less well for the defenders, however they still made the attackers pay for every inch with blood. A Brayherd slammed into a soldier, sending him flying into a knot of his comrades, spreading them all out. More Brayherds rushed from behind him, thrusting gladius into their guts before the men could fully stand.
A Brayherd thrust his horns forward and a group of Imperials simultaneously slammed their gunbutts into it, knocking his head to the side but not stunning him. An Imperial jumped on him and stuck a dagger in his throat, ripping it out and stabbing it back in over and over again until he slowly collapsed and stopped moving.
A Brayherd thrust his gladius into the guts of a man when a bullet tore a massive hole in his neck. His comrade roared and rushed at the Imperial, jumping into him horns first, breaking ribs as he connected with the man’s chest and smashing him into a wall.
Brayherds pushed through the hallway, bullets bouncing harmlessly off of enchanted scutum as they moved in formation at a near sprint. Imperials, seeing the massive, bulletproof, caprine wall bearing down on them, broke, running for the stairs. Some of them were cut down or captured before they could get to safety, and soon the entire barracks was clear of Imperials.
The Brayherds immediately started to block the stairwells with whatever they could find, bookshelves, beds, muskets, anything within arms reach. And when their work was done, they let loose a deafening, victorious, caprine bray.
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In the courtyard, Waffenstadt engineers were already setting up mortars, bolting them to the ground with massive iron spikes. More of them continued the work of the janissaries and Brayherds, strengthening the barricades which kept the men from the third layer from reinforcing the second.
An engineer heard footfalls on the other side of his barricade and looked up, spotting a small gap between the barricade and the ceiling. He smiled and retrieved a grenade from the pouch on his hip, pulling the cord and tossing it through the gap.
After a few seconds it exploded, and he laughed as he heard Imperials scream and scraping of bodies on stone as soldiers dragged their comrades back up the stairs.
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Imperials screamed as grenades burst their eardrums and killed their comrades. The men of the Klarwasser battalion’s grenadier corps rushed inside, sabers flashing and biting into the unarmored defenders.
The men of the Klarwasser grenadier corps were highly trained, motivated, and experienced, and while the men of the Grand Imperial Army were as well, the Bickenstadt grenadiers were on a completely different level from the regular soldiers.
They flew through the barracks like a whirlwind of death, leaving nothing but blood and meat in their wake. Grenadiers pushed hard through the hallway, bullets bouncing off of enchanted cuirass, or punching through skulls and limbs. Even with the losses the charge never slowed, grenadiers hopping over the bodies of the fallen, and the Imperials swiftly broke.
Grenadiers followed after them, running up the stairs ready to fight. One of them was yanked back and tumbled head over foot. When he looked up he saw the massive frame of the Baron von Bickenstadt, trying to wrangle his men like a herd of cats.
“Don’t rush ahead you fucking idiots! Do you want to die?”
He grabbed a grenade out of his pouch and blew a small plume of fire onto the fuse. He tossed it through the doorway and a few seconds later it exploded, followed by the screams of dying and deafened men.
“Cover those fucking doors right now or so help me God I will cut you down where you stand!”
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The janissaries continued to struggle against the Imperial grenadiers, unlucky enough to have stumbled across the strongest, most motivated men. A janissary peaked around the corner and jerked back when a bullet crashed into the stone next to him.
“There’s more coming every second! Where are those fucking goatmen?!”
More bullets smashed into the stoneworks as a constant stream of lead flowed in their direction.
“We need those bulletproof shields NOW before they gather enough men to push us further back!”
Another janissary nodded and ran off to gather the Brayherds. A janissary lit his grenade and threw it down the hall. It rolled to a stop in front of the Imperial barricade and exploded, causing no serious damage to anything other than the dresser it blew the door off of.
The janissary was breathing hard. This was going very poorly.
“Can the Alev Askerleri reach them?”
Another janissary briefly peaked around the corner and shook his head. The man slammed his fist into the ground and groaned in frustration.
“Why do we not have our own enchanted shields? Someone tell Küçük he needs to treat us better!”
His comrades around him all nodded or shouted in agreement.
After waiting for a good ten minutes, firing blindly down the corridor and most likely missing every single shot, the Brayherds finally arrived. Four of them rushed over to the hallway and formed a mini-testudo, the janissaries falling in line behind them almost immediately, guns peaking out to take shots from the safety of their caprine helpers.
As soon as the Brayherds arrived, the grenadiers began to retreat. The Brayherds and janissaries rushed after them, covering the distance in mere moments. As soon as the Brayherds hopped the barricade a loud boom echoed through the hallway, and they slumped to the ground. The janissaries immediately behind them screamed as shrapnel from the grenade and barricade tore through them.
Their allies dragged them back while others rushed to barricade the doorway. More grenades rolled down, and more janissaries were killed by blasts and shrapnel. However, finally, they were able to cover the doorway, and soon the engineers came and bolted more reinforcements to the floor.
They stood knee deep in blood and fallen comrades, spattered and soaked with gore, completely exhausted, but victorious.
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The Baron stood out in the courtyard, standing tall and confident. He watched his men exchange fire with those in the third layer’s gatehouse. A janissary ran out of a barrack and saluted him in the Turkish fashion.
“Sir! Barracks secured!”
The Baron laughed heartily.
“Excellent! Then the second layer is ours!”
He turned to the mortar crews milling about, waiting for orders.
“Hey! Get those guns singing! Do not give the wretches even a second of peace!”
The crews gave him a salute and immediately got to work. After they fired the Baron took in a deep breath.
“I love the smell and sound of artillery.”
One of the artillerists yelled, not looking away from his work.
“Smells like victory, sir!”
The Baron laughed.
“Smells like victory, son!”
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March 15th, 1664. Bickenstadt.
The Empress smiled as she watched her men work. She took a deep breath and sighed contentedly. The smoke covered the surrounding area, slowly drifitng upwards and onwards with the wind, and the hammering of stakes and grunting of men could be heard all around.
The fortress town of Eildorf had fallen, and its inhabitants slaughtered without mercy. The Empress has ordered a sort of art project to be done, and she was enjoying watching her vision come to fruition.
“Excellent work men! Keep it up!”
A man drove a stake into the ground with a hammer. He grabbed a tool and set it over the top, cranking it around until it had shaved a spike into the top. Another man walked over and stuck something on the spike: the head of some poor woman who failed to escape.
All around more heads were mounted on stakes, and bodies were stacked and burned. They would not receive proper burials, at least not by the Grand Imperial Army. The stakes all surrounded a massive wooden board, which had a few men writing something on it with a dark red liquid.
The cost of rebellion,
Courtesy of the Baron