Chapter 18
March 23rd, 1665. Bvarian mountains.
Gaius was displeased with their progress in the Bvarian campaign. They had been fighting nonstop for a little over a month, and they had only made it about a quarter of the way through.
The Brayherd-Waffenstadt forces had been constantly pushing forwards, but the Bvarian jaegers knew the land like the back of their hand, and their skill with a musket was unparalleled in the Empire.
Brayherd velites couldn’t hit them with javelins, and their marksmanship with the rifles could use a lot of work. The Waffenstadters were doing relatively well, with their familiarity with rifles and rocky terrain, but the Bvarians were still killing more and more men every day.
The only reason they had gained ground was that the Bvarian jaegers were not a traditional field army, they knew they would lose a pitched battle, so they had allowed the coalition forces to simply take territory, though they made them pay for it with blood. It was a good tactic, Bvaria doesn't actually have much useful land, mostly just winding mountain passes and rocky valleys, so they could afford to give up ground in exchange for time and dead coalition members.
Gaius stood tall and overlooked the valley his men were marching through. It was the perfect place for an ambush, so they were marching in their testudo, with the Waffenstadt troops in the middle for safety.
Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past Gaius’s head, and he saw puffs of smoke off in the distance.
Another attack. Fututus.
He ducked and aimed his rifle at the smoke, watching for any movement. At the slightest fluctuation in the grass he fired, unable to tell if he had hit at the great distance between them. Waffenstadters popped out of formation and fired into the mountain side, possibly hitting some shots, but also unable to tell.
They waited for another volley to come, but it never did. Gaius chuffed angrily and ordered the men to continue moving. He was incredibly annoyed. The Bvarians refused to meet him in the field at all, using only hit and run tactics. He knew it was the only way they could win, but it was still incredibly frustrating.
Gaius sighed and turned to Von Puckelsmark.
“This campaign is going to be extremely painful, isn’t it?”
His Waffenstadt ally nodded.
“Yes. I really cannot see a way to reach Grindelburg without taking horrific casualties.”
“Well, such is the way of things, I suppose.”
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March 29th, 1665. Bickenstadt.
The Grand Imperial Army and Bickenstadt Liberation Forces hadn’t had a major engagement in a month. It had been nothing but small skirmishes, most of which favored the Bickenstadt forces. The Orkney Berzerkeri were a force to be reckoned with, there was very little the Imperials could do to effectively deal with them, even the famous Bvarian Jaegers had trouble finding them, let alone hitting them.
Over the course of nearly two years of constant skirmishing and sabotage missions, the Orkniers had only lost five men. Their expertise was unmatched world wide, and any of the Orkney trackers who had worked for the Grand Imperial Army had deserted the moment they had heard that Fergus Ulpaghain was opposing them, leaving the Imperials Orkneyless.
The Baron had refrained from skirmishing with his men. He had learnt his lesson in the Holenstadt campaign nearly six years ago, a mistake that cost the real Baron his life. He was itching for battle, though, and he had been denied one for the aforementioned month.
He was leaning back on two legs in his chair, feet up on his desk, drinking brandy. He sighed annoyedly. He was extremely bored. Then, the flap of his tent opened.
“Sir! The Grand Imperial Army are marching towards us now!”
The Baron nearly jumped out of his chair.
“Excellent! Ready the men, I want to meet them wherever we can!”
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The Baron’s army marched to meet the Grand Imperial Army. He had split up his inner circle around the other armies, concentrating them in a single army meant that the others were weaker.
He had decided to command the men, not to lead a dragoon regiment. He had sent Ludwin off to the eastern army, and Helmut to the west. Fergus was bouncing between the armies, keeping them informed about enemy movements. Udo was with the Baron’s army, leading a dragoon company of his own.
Fergus had informed him that the Imperials were just ten miles away, and they were approaching fast. The place they would meet would be in a particularly thin area of the Dunkwald, rocky with sparse trees and a few creeks with ankle deep water.
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Bvarian Jaegers tore through Bickenstadt skirmishers, their expertise and experience simply insurmountable. The Bvarian and Grössenstadt mountain range was famous for being very rough terrain. The Dunkwald, while particularly dense as far as forests go, was nothing special for them.
Bickenstadt skirmishers crouched and hid behind trees as bullets whizzed past their heads. The Bvarians were firing with smoothbore muskets from rifle ranges, and they were far more accurate than the Bickenstadters.
The Orkney berzerkeri were elsewhere, so the Bickenstadters had nothing going for them. An officer raised his rifle and ordered a retreat, and the men were more than happy to oblige. The Bvarian Jaegers cheered and began advance through the thin thicket of trees and rocks.
Jaegers pushed forward and fired at the approaching regulars, cheering as men began to drop in formation. Behind them the Imperial regulars slowly began to march into position, and a few jaegers began to run back to relay intelligence to their commander.
The Bickenstadt coalition forces marched hard to get to advantageous positions before the Imperials. A column of elves ran in formation, only breaking to move around trees and rocks. The largest stream cut through the valley and had a few large boulders in it, providing a decent amount of cover for entire companies.
The Imperials were also moving fast, and the two sides would come to collide in the stream itself at the center of the valley. An elven officer looked to his left and saw some companies of Imperial light cavalry riding back to their lines, each one bloodied and battered.
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As the two sides got within 75 yards they both stopped in place and battalion fired, the long formations snaking up and down the creek bed erupting into a single massive wall of smoke, the wind whipping it up and dispersing it in the air. Men dropped left and right, rolling down the slight hill and stopping in the stream, the water becoming dirtied with the blood which seeped out of their wounds.
Both sides filled their gaps and the elves began to load as the Imperials charged. After just ten seconds the entire elven battalion again erupted in smoke, downing dozens of Imperials as they crossed the stream. The elves screamed their war cries and sprinted at the scattered Imperials.
The two sides smashed into each other, the strong, unitary wall of elven warriors easily scattering the mauled Imperial companies. A few seconds into the wild melee hoofbeats could be heard from the left. Elven hussars dashed through the scattered men, sabers flashing and blood and body parts flying through the air.
On the left flank, janissaries and Imperials sprinted around large boulders in their path as the two sides attempted to take the hill nearby which overlooked the large, mostly clear of trees and at center of their battlefield.
Janissaries lit grenades and chucked them at the approaching Imperials. Most fell short before rolling into the creek and being extinguished by the water, but others landed in the midst of Imperial companies and exploded with violent force, killing a couple of men with each detonation.
The Imperials and janissaries stopped in place and fired, though a few janissary regiments, eager for battle, ignored their orders and continued to charge. They had grown overconfident, and only time would tell if that was warranted or not.
Dozens fell on both sides and the few still advancing columns of janissaries crashed into the stationary Imperials, laying into them with the signature weapon of the janissary corps, the inverse curved yataghan. A janissary wrenched his wrist down then flicked it forward, chopping an Imperial’s armpit and severing the major artery there.
Before Imperials could get around and flank those who ran ahead, the rest of the janissaries charged, forcing them to counter-charge. They raced ahead of their engaged allies and slammed into the oncoming Ottomans near the top of the hill, slightly slowed by the slope. They thrust bayonets forward and janissaries dropped yataghans down into Imperial helmets.
The Imperials pushed the janissaries up the hill through grit, determination, and experience, covering their comrades near perfectly. A janissary slashed down at a man and one comrade blocked with his bayonet while another thrust his own into the janisssary’s guts. The man had no time to thank his friends as he thrust his bayonet forward, displacing another slash aimed at his comrade’s head.
Yataghans glanced off Imperial kettelhelms and bounced off jackchains as Imperial bayonets pierced the lightly armored janissaries with ease. They stepped forward and thrust as a single unit, steadily pushing the janissaries back nearly to the other side of the hill.
“Push men! Push!”
The Imperials cheered and redoubled their efforts, putting every ounce of focus they had into driving their enemy from the field. However, this turned out to be a poor idea. The janissaries who had advanced past their comrades had won their fight, and their companies were wheeling around to charge up the hill.
Suddenly, the Imperials had to fight two enemies at once, front and back. Many Imperial companies were completely surrounded, and the ones who weren’t were in no position to assist. The flanking janissaries made light work of the Imperials they had sandwiched between their allies.
Suddenly, hoofbeats could be heard from behind, and when men briefly spared a glace they found companies of Imperial knights bearing down onto them, sun reflecting off of the polished surfaces of their plate. The janissaries didn’t have time to react before they were smashed by knights. The fighting quickly turned into an incredibly dirty, messy affair as men desperately fought for their lives from all angles.
The only men who were relatively safe were the Imperial knights, with their enchanted armor and position on top of horses. Janissaries and Imperials were slaughtered at an astounding rate, and men were beginning to exhaust all of their reserves simply to stay alive.
From the right, janissaries could see the elven line infantry screeching towards them in their neat columns, sprinting as hard as they could to relieve their allies. They did not bother firing, as the kicked up dust, smoke from muskets, and tightly packed men all but guaranteed friendly fire. The only option they had was to charge and save their allies.
They swiftly surrounded the Imperial knights, further crushing the men caught between, and started to rip riders off of their horses. A knight slammed into the ground, having the breath knocked out of his lungs as he landed on his back. An elf stepped on his face and tilted his head back, sticking his bayonet in the gap in his armor, jiggling and twisting it until the knight stopped moving.
Elves and janissaries worked together to kill their heavily armored foe, ripping off helmets and sticking weapons into joints and necks. Within a few minutes the knights began to pull back, trotting through the elven infantry like they were barely even there. The remaining Imperial infantry, having no other choice, began to surrender, which the Ottomans and elves obliged. The Ottomans generally took few prisoners, however, they were completely exhausted.
The rest of the Imperial army, the battalions on the right flank and their reserves, were ordered to retreat. Their center and left flank had completely crumbled, so it was either that, or have their remaining forces completely enveloped.
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The Baron sat on a log nearby. After listening to a messenger give his report he shot up.
“Pursue them for as far as you can! Send the elven hussars after them.”
He strapped on his saber and checked his pistols.
“My dragoons will assist them.”
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The Imperials were pursued nearly all the way to the river from whence they came, firing back at their enemy all the while. The Baron’s dragoons and the elven hussars were quickly becoming exhausted, so they decided to pull back and let the Imperials lick their wounds. They had their own wounds to lick anyway.
The Baron rode back to his men and ordered them to make camp, less than a dozen miles away from the Imperials. A bold and dangerous choice. There, he was informed that his other armies had done well, and the Imperial line had been near fully pushed back to the river.
The Baron met with his other commanders, Ludwin Albrecht and Helmut Freier.
“So, what do you suggest we do now?”
Ludwin spoke first.
“I suggest we rest for now, our men are tired from the constant fighting and skirmishing.”
Helmut nodded.
“Agreed, my men have taken heavy casualties, we need time to recover.”
The Baron nodded.
“That sounds reasonable. We will keep up the pressure, but we will not do anything large for the time being, unless they attack first. Understood?”
Ludwin and Helmut saluted the Baron.
“Yes sir!”
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April 3rd, 1665. Holenstadt.
Krysia watched a mountain pass warily. She had been getting reports of a growing Imperial force in the area, and this mountain pass was the most likely place they would come. It had a fort, Fort Kauber, that was on the smaller side, though still a good staging point for further operations in Holenstadt as it was close to other forts and was highly defensible from the Holenstadt side. Not so much on the Imperial side, by design.
They had done much to shore up the defenses facing Grössenstadt, layers of trenches to funnel men into killzones and various traps that would maim and maul whoever got unlucky enough to trip them, however, the Imperials were crafty, disciplined, and generally very motivated.
She thought she spotted movement off in the distance and took a telescope from her aide. Looking through she could see purple banners poking above the treeline.
“Boy! Tell everyone to man the defenses! The Imperials are finally coming!”
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Krysia watched as Imperials wheeled artillery into position. The walls of the fortress were not enchanted on the Imperial side, so they could be collapsed somewhat easily. She shook her head as she watched hundreds of banners flapping in the wind, moving towards their fort.
“We are going to lose this fort.”
She turned to her aide.
“Boy, tell the men that we are going to retreat, and we need some men to delay the Imperials for as long as possible. Find volunteers for the forelorn hope.”
Her aide nodded and ran off. She sighed heavily.
“It hurts my soul to give up Bszerci land, but I have no choice. This is untenable.”