Chapter 24
January 12th, 1667. Grössenburg.
After months of largely unsuccessful sabotage attempts and dozens of collapsed tunnels, the Bszerci had decided they would lead an all out assault. Their plan was to use siege towers created from the enchanted war barges. They were impervious to cannonfire, but the Baron still didn’t like it. He felt they were antiquated and inelegant, and he couldn't help but remember the disasterous usage of them by the Yorksburg forces in Orcland.
Krysia didn’t care about that sort of thing. The towers would get her men to the walls, and from there it was simply a matter of taking the gates and opening the city for the rest of her forces. The Bszerci made up a good half of the Bickenstadt coalition now, so Krysia had a lot of say in how things were done.
Dozens of siege towers were slowly being pushed towards the walls of Grössenburg. Cannons bombarded them constantly, shaking the massive structures but not damaging them at all. Men were thrown around as the towers shook violently, however there were no injuries of note.
Men marched behind the towers in small, compact columns, using them for cover. Cannonballs ripped through the side of their column, taking off an arm or leg of nearly a dozen men as the balls skipped along the ground.
A cannonball smashed into the wheel of a tower, and slowly it began to grind to a halt. The unenchanted axel had broken, and engineers quickly worked to replace it. The Baron watched from a distance and shook his head disappointedly, squashing his feelings of smugness down by looking at the screaming men being placed on stretchers and taken to be worked on by Geidpfeld, which the Baron now realized could definitely use a raise.
The rest of the towers continued on, mostly unaffected by the artillery bombardment.
Bszerci fired rifles out of small openings in the tower, downing men on the great black walls of Grössenburg from just outside of the Imperial’s effective range. As the towers drew closer, Bvarian jaegers fired, dropping riflemen in the towers with unfathomably precise shots, especially for smoothbore muskets.
The rest of the Imperials held their fire, which the Bszerci did not like, and soon the towers began to dock on the walls. The massive doors swung open, and Bszerci began to flood out. The walls erupted in smoke and the first two rows of men dropped onto the wooden floor, dozens of men and women killed or wounded in an instant.
Bszerci clambered over the bodies and their comrades and the walls erupted again, killing more and more warriors. Bszerci fell over the side, and injured men either attempted to crawl to the safety of the tower, or push forward, undaunted by their horrific injuries, carried entirely by righteous anger from decades of mistreatment.
Bszerci fired at will at the Imperials from the towers, very slowly withering their defenses. More Bszerci began to leave the tower and the walls erupted in even more smoke, killing so many more men. Over a hundred Bszerci had been killed or horrifically wounded in less than two minutes, but there were always more from the Empires (former) most populous province.
They jumped down onto the walls, many impaled by bayonets before even getting a chance to properly defend themselves, and a wild melee began. Sabers scraped against muskets and bit into flesh, sending blood gushing out in all directions. Blood spattered against a Bszerci's face, blinding him just long enough for an Imperial to thrust a bayonet through his throat.
Imperial grenadiers threw iron balls into the towers, killing and deafening men as they burst. Men screamed as jagged shrapnel tore through their flesh, and comrades dragged wounded men to safety, or pushed dead bodies over the side to clear the way for more men.
In less than thirty minutes of fighting, nearly five hundred Bszerci had been killed, and less than one hundred and fifty Imperial defenders had fallen. The Bszerci’s will was beginning to falter, and soon officers ordered their men back into the towers. Imperials fired into the backs of the retreating men, and Bvarian jaegers picked off anyone who looked important with incredible ease.
The assault was a complete failure, and Krysia scratched her scar aggressively. She grunted angrily as she spoke absentmindedly to her aide.
“The towers became nothing more than coffins for our men. The Baron was right, they are less than useless. Kurwa! Cholernie bezużyteczne wieże!”
“Ma’am, language.”
Krysia looked at her aide annoyedly.
“Don’t ‘language’ me, boy, I’ve earned those obscenities.”
The boy spoke, his face completely serious.
“It’s a bad influence on me, ma’am.”
Krysia stared at the boy for a few seconds before scowling and waving her hand dismissively.
“Whatever, boy, you win. No more cursing. For now.”
Krysia heard a voice from behind, the one she least wanted to hear.
“Looks like I was right, Krysia!”
Krysia groaned.
“Baron, it had to be tried.”
The Baron nodded.
“Yes, I agree. I am glad you tested it. Now we know for sure.”
Krysia raised an eyebrow.
“Well, you are less smug than I had thought you’d be.”
The Baron nodded solemnly.
“Well, I don’t want to be smug about allies dying. This rebellion is for your people just as much as it is for the elves.”
Krysia crossed her arms and nodded her head.
“Fair enough, I appreciate your care for our fallen. What are we going to do next, Baron?”
“Well, we are going to wait until sabotage or tunnels work.”
Krysia nodded.
“Fair enough.”
She sighed heavily.
“We will do it your way.”
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The Baron nodded.
“Excellent. I appreciate your cooperation. Now, we leave it up to the Ottomans. The better they do, the better your casualty ratio will be.”
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May 9th, 1667.
A Bickenstadt saboteur entered a gatehouse. He was wearing a guard uniform, and he addressed the man closest to the gate controls.
“‘Bout time for a shift change, you’re relieved.”
The guard squinted his eyes at the man.
“I don’t recognize you.”
“What?”
The guards around the saboteur began to stir, and a knot formed in the man’s stomach.
“They send the same guys to relieve us every time. What’s your unit?”
“Uh, the 105th, sir.”
The guard drew a pistol and aimed it at the saboteur.
“Sir?”
He tapped his rank insignia on his chest with his other hand.
“You’re a rank above me, dumbass.”
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July 6th, 1668. Three in the morning.
A squad of four Bickenstadters snuck towards a gatehouse. They readied their flash grenades and pulled the tabs, opening the door and tossing them in. They heard a few shouts before the grenades burst, and the squad rushed in.
The first man thrust his saber through the exposed neck of a guard, and a second later he dropped as a pistol shot punched a hole through his head. Another Bickenstadter slashed at the nearest man, his saber bouncing off the man’s jackchains.
Another Bickenstadter drew a pistol and fired, killing a guard. He turned and watched as his comrade was run through by a katzbalger. He roared and rushed forward when suddenly he felt himself falling on his back, and a searing pain in his shoulder. He raised his arms and screamed, being cut off as a sword pierced his throat.
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February 9th, 1669.
An Ottoman engineer worked tirelessly to dig his tunnel. He gouged out a massive chunk with magic and passed it down his line. If his calculations were correct, he was still twenty yards away from the walls.
He cut out another chunk of rock and cursed under his breath as it tapped against the side of the walls. He passed it down the line and turned back, coming face to face with a surprised Imperial, also sending rock down his line. The two men stared at each other dumbly for a few seconds before jumping into action. The Imperial drew a pistol and fired as the engineer thrust his fist forward. A bullet ripped through the engineer’s chest as a spike of earth pierced the underside of the Imperial’s jaw.
Another Imperial squeezed through the gap and aimed a massive gun down the tunnel. He erupted in smoke and a deafening boom echoed down the tunnel as he fired his blunderbuss. Pellets tore through the next couple of men and the Imperial continued forward, discarding his gun and drawing two pistols.
He fired both down the tunnel, killing and downing two more men. His comrades surged forth and their eyes began to glow red. They sent jets of flames down the tunnel, engulfing engineers and supports in flame. They retreated as the posts caught, and after just a few seconds the tunnel began to collapse. The men cheered as they retreated back down their tunnel, collapsing it behind them.
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February 10th, 1669.
It was the sixth anniversary of the start of the Imperial civil war, and the Baron wanted to attack the city on this special day. He had sent out nearly fifty engineer crews to tunnel under the walls. He had gotten word that many of them had already been collapsed, but that was fine.
They had been tunneling under the city for nearly two years now. The area underneath the walls was filled with collapsed tunnels, making the area very unstable. Even if they couldn’t pack underneath the walls with explosives, if they dug enough tunnels it may just collapse outright, at least according to the Ottoman engineers.
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After hours of waiting, the Baron noticed something. The center of the wall had sunk somewhat, it was no longer level at the top. He smiled and immediately ordered more crews to dig towards the center.
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The Baron fiddled with his wedding ring as he stared at the walls. They were looking close to collapsing, it was only a matter of time. They were quickly losing steam, as revolutionary fervor could only take you so far. He needed to make this assault count.
And, finally, after hours and hours of waiting, he saw the center portion of the wall beginning to sink further, and fast. He ordered his men forward, and they watched in awe as the massive black walls of Grössenburg, the invincible defender of the Imperial captial, slowly, began to come crashing down.
The earth shook as the wall collapsed, massive blocks of black stone slamming into the ground and scattering around, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and dirt. The earth continued to shake for a while, finally stopping as the mass of rubble began to settle. The wall fell slow enough for the defenders to evacuate, so there were no casualties, however, there was now a massive gap in their defenses.
Men ran along the remaining wall, readying themselves for the coming attack, and they heard a cacophony of dull booms off in the distance. They saw dozens of black balls fly up in the air from the Bickenstadt camp, and men began to run for cover. When the mortar rounds were above the walls they burst, showering the area with massive, jagged shrapnel. A handful of unlucky men were torn apart, but the majority had managed to avoid the blast.
Mortars continued to fire as the Bickenstadt coalition marched forward, led by the Brayherds with their running testudo. Howitzer and mortar rounds burst in the air, keeping Imperial heads down as the Brayherds ran. Another round of airbursts flew in a great arc, and after the final barrage burst in the air the Brayherds were already climbing the rubble.
Imperials immediately got out of their cover and fired down at their caprine foes, bullets pinging harmlessly off of their massive shields. The Brayherds had become experts in this kind of thing, able to climb over the fallen stones with their shields held high. A grenade rolled down amongst the group and a Brayherd snatched it off the ground, throwing it straight up just a second before it burst, the shower of shrapnel bouncing harmlessly off of their shields and armor. The formation slowed slightly as Brayherds were rattled by the explosion. Rattled, but alive.
Soon they were at the top of the walls, and their allies were close behind. The Brayherds rushed at the defenders, attacking with wild abandon to keep the Imperials from firing at their squishier allies. An Imperial tumbled back as a shield crashed into him. The breath was forced out of his lungs as his back hit the stone, and he attempted to cry out breathlessly as a gladius pierced his chest.
Brayherds pushed hard against the Imperials, bowling over them with ease as they made their way to the gatehouse. Gladius flashed and Imperials began to choke on their own blood, lying on the ground, sputtering as they tried to stand back up. The Brayherds walked past fearlessly, confident that the men would not be able to get up and attack them.
A Brayherd crashed through the door and hunkered down as a pistol firing line aimed at him. The bullets smashed into his shield, one of them tagging his foot, forcing it back and making him fall on his stomach. His allies rushed to cover him and plowed into the line, scattering and killing them with practiced efficiency.
A Brayherd stared at the gate controls, not entirely sure what he was looking at. One of his Bickenstadter comrades pushed him out of the way and began to pull levels until they heard chains being pulled and saw the massive gates of Grössenburg begin to lift.
The Bickenstadt coalition began to rush towards the opening gates and Imperials formed firing lines. The front row of Bickenstadters fired while marching, and Imperials fell. The remaining Imperials fired and readied themselves to meet their attackers.
They presented their bayonets forward and steeled themselves when suddenly the Bickenstadters stopped. Every other man stepped aside and from the gaps came elves, who swiftly formed a line three men deep and fired. Dozens more Imperials fell before the elves let out a battle cry, and the entire Bickenstadt coalition began to charge forward into Grössenburg slums, the outermost layer of the city.