Chapter 4
September 13th, 1663. Leibenstadt.
An Ottoman engineer placed his ear to the stone wall and tapped it a few times, his eyes flashing dark green for a few seconds. He turned to his partner and smiled.
“We are around eighty yards away from our objective.”
His partner smiled and turned to tell the Baron. He saluted the Baron, who returned the gesture.
“Sir! We’re eighty yards from the citadel!”
The Baron smiled brightly.
“Excellent! God above is shining down upon us, even those in the tunnel.”
The engineer nodded sagely.
“Yes sir, Allah has a plan for us, I can feel it!”
The Baron signed the cross on his chest and put his hands together to pray.
“Thank you, Lord, for giving us the opportunity to do your holy work. We are one step closer to freeing your beloved children. Amen.”
The Baron immediately ran off to begin organizing the attack. It would happen within a few days, and he was very excited for it. He hadn’t fought anyone in months, he learned his lesson about engaging in skirmishing actions in Holenstadt.
|
“...we will need to move swiftly and act decisively if we are going to make this work. We must secure the entrances before they can bring reinforcements. So, we are going to do it at night. Three in the morning, when the garrison is most sleepy.”
The men surrounding him vocalized their agreements.
“Then all we need to do is brief the men, prepair, and wait. We will commence the attack in three days.”
The Baron grinned.
“So let’s get to it!”
|
|
|
|
September 16th, 1663. 0300 hours.
After heavy debate the coalition had decided the Brayherds would lead the charge. They were, physically, the strongest soldiers in the coalition, and they were a martial culture obsessed with the glory of battle. Brayherds quietly chuffed and shifted around their columns, readying themselves for battle, but displeased that they had to do so silently.
The Ottoman engineers performed what looked like a traditional Ottoman dance, leaving behind long streaks of green in the air, creating a mesmerizing, sparkle, slithering serpentine line through the air. After dancing for a few seconds they slowly chopped at the rock with their right hands, near silently gouging out massive chunks of earth.
The torches in the tunnel began to slowly smolder and die, darkening the tunnel over the course of a few seconds.
The Baron dropped into a deep horse-stance and his eyes began to glow a bright yellow. He stepped forward and thrust his first upwards, the intense glow lighting up the faces of the Brayherds near the front.
He made a slow pulling motion and the chunk began to float gently over to him. He created channels of gravity to pull the rock to a cart, gingerly setting it down as quietly as possible. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he released the magic and the boulder got slowly carted out of the tunnel.
The Ottoman engineers gestured for him to come over.
“This next chunk will be the last, we will be inside the first layer of defense.”
The Baron nodded his head and gestured for them to wait. He walked over to the Brayherds and spoke quietly.
“This is it, it’s time. Until you get out of the tunnel, just keep moving when there is space in front of you. When you get out of the tunnels, listen to your officers. Spread the word down the line.”
The Brayherds nodded and swiftly began to spread the word. Brayherds fussed with the straps on their shields, Waffenstadt and Bickenstadt, collectively referred to by their brayherd allies as the Imperial Republicans, gripped their muskets tightly, made sure they were loaded, and affixed bayonets.
The Baron took a deep breath, turned back to the Ottomans, and nodded. Their eyes began to glow green, and they began to dance. Then, light began to enter the tunnel, and the sound of campfires crackling could be faintly heard.
The Baron lifted the stone with his magic and the Brayherds got their first look at their objective. The tunnel brought them up into a massive courtyard, with hundreds of tents in neat lines, and dozens of large campfires.
An Imperial took a bite of his potato and scratched his back with a stick, walking to his tent after sneaking a late night snack. He turned into row F and saw something peculiar. There was a hole in the mountain, and a bunch of red squares coming out of it.
He spit out his potato and screamed at the top of his lungs.
“BRAYHERDS!”
Soldiers jerked awake and began to stir. They looked over at the screaming man, then to what he was pointing at. The courtyard was being flooded by Brayherds, and men were already beginning to cry out in pain.
The Imperial grabbed nearby pots and pans and began to smash them together.
“GRAB YOUR WEAPONS! THE REBELS ARE HERE!”
Imperial soldiers grabbed the muskets stored near to their beds and immediately began to find their companies, as no human wanted to fight a Brayherd alone. A Brayherd sprinted forward and jumped headfirst into a running soldier’s stomach, crumbling him under the weight of the legionary. The legionary was carried forward by his momentum and slammed back down into the man, cracking his skull with sheer mass.
Gladius thrust down into the stomachs of Imperials, and cloven hoof stomped out the screaming men as they lie on the ground. Soon, the air filled with the sound of gunfire and the tink of bullets off enchanted scutum. Brave Imperials formed lines and charged their enemy, while others sprinted as fast as they could to the second layer of defense.
Soon janissaries began to enter, and the crack of muskets again echoed throughout the mountain. Unarmored Imperials dropped like rocks as bullets ripped through their bodies, punching out massive, horrific wounds in heads and chests.
The Ottoman engineers came, carrying wooden palisades instead of muskets. They rushed over to the staircases and entrances to the second layer and began to do their work. They pulled pistols and fired up staircases, mostly just to keep heads down while they set up.
They set down palisades in doorways and hammered nails into them using gravity enforced strikes, rooting them down solidly. Behind them more soldiers, a mix of janissary and republicans, ran behind them through the hall carrying various things, mostly guns, grenades, and yataghans, with a few palisades in the mix.
The gate was wide enough for three companies to pass through, and the portcullis and stone around it was enchanted with strengthening magic. Soldiers rushed towards the gatehouse, now locked shut and reinforced. They could hold up to a hundred men inside the safety of their enchanted stone, it would need to be brought under their control.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Protecting the backs of their comrades at the gatehouse were the Brayherds, mopping up any Imperials still resisting. The Baron emerged from the hole with his Klarwasser Grenadiers, the strongest and most experienced men in the entire Bickenstadt army.
Bayonets scraped off of Bickenstadt cuirasses and gunbutts smashed into the faces of Imperials. The entire courtyard had been overwhelmed quickly, now they just had to test how much farther they could get. The Baron’s eyes began to glow red as he blew a plume of fire up a hallway, covering men in a substance similar to a magical napalm.
Grenadiers pushed up stairs wide enough for six men across. They aimed and fired, obliterating the next few rows of defenders in less than a second before charging forward past the pinned down Ottoman janissaries. They moved as one, near perfectly in sync as they thrust and shoved, leaving the dead and dying in their wake, crawling over bodies of the fallen with reckless abandon.
The Baron gazed over the heads of the defenders, trying to get an idea of the organization of the second gate. It was closed, and he could see men forming blocks. The Baron raised his saber.
“Fighting retreat, men! One step at a time boys!”
His grenadiers shouted as one and began to step back, perfectly covering each other’s weak points with their bayonets. The Imperial defenders formed a line and fired, killing two grenadiers, the rest either missing or pinging off enchanted cuirass or chausses.
As soon as they backed fully through the staircases Ottoman engineers closed them off using palisades and calling up stone from the ground. Now, the only way in or out of the first layer was the gatehouse.
A janissary rolled a glass grenade into the doorway of the gatehouse. After a few seconds it exploded, and men screamed. More grenades bounced in, being rolled or thrown by various different people.
A loud BOOM shook the earth, and suddenly, everything was still. Two teams of four Ottomans walked over to the doorways, all wearing red janissary uniforms with white börk and flame shaped kaşıklık. They began to perform a martial dance together, all of their eyes glowing red. The Republicans watched in wonder as the surroundings were lit up with red light.
The four men dropped into a deep stance and thrust their fists in the direction of the door. Gigantic, bright orange bouts of flame erupted from their fists, flooding into the gatehouse with a terrifying roar. Men screamed at the top of their lungs, but not for very long. The inferno continued to flow for the next ten or so seconds as they strained against the force of it, completely filling the gatehouse with flame that could melt steel with ease.
Anything in the gatehouse was likely reduced to a homogeneous ash, and after allowing the flames to magically extinguish with time, the mages entered the gatehouse. They smiled as they entered a scene straight from hell, room scorched black from floor to ceiling, covered in a layer of soot, with molten metal flowing freely around. Dozens of blackened skeletons littered the room, falling apart as molten steel consumed their bones.
The mages cheered, causing the men outside to cheer as well. The first layer of the defenses of Bergzitadelle Freiderick had been taken by the coalition forces with only a few dozen casualties, an overwhelming victory and an amazing feat of military planning that could only have come from experts drawing on collective decades of experience from all over the world.
|
|
|
The Baron smiled as he watched mortars being rolled up the fairly steep slope of their tunnel. He would rain holy hell down upon the minions of slavers, the minions of the devil. He called over a man who came with the Ottomans at request of the Baron, a friar from the province of Dominica named Father Zera who had moved to the Ottoman Empire.
“Father Zera, it is so good to see you after all these years!”
Father Zera was a thin old man, an immaculate short gray beard on his face and a friar haircut on his head. He wore black monk’s robes, and on his wrist dangled a rosary necklace. He spoke with a medium pitch, and he had a spanish accent.
“Johan, the feeling is mutual. I am so glad you have finally decided to take up the holy work of ridding the world of slavery.”
The Baron chuckled.
“I have been against it for a while now, ever since learning from you and the others.”
Father Zera smiled.
“Good to hear we had such a positive influence on you. Now, what is it you need?”
The Baron walked over and embraced the friar.
“First, a gesture of brotherly love.”
He let the friar go and gestured for him to follow.
“Then, I would like you to bless my mortars.”
Father Zera smiled brightly.
“Yes, of course I can do that.”
He reached into his robes and withdrew a small glass bottle with a cork in it. He took the cork out and sprinkled some holy water on a nearby mortar. An artillery officer looked at Father Zera like he was a maniac and aggressively stomped towards him.
“Are you pouring something on my fucking mortar? Is this sabotage? Sir wha-”
The Baron quickly spoke over him.
“Don’t worry son, we’re blessing your guns.”
He smiled brightly.
“Soon, your aim will be supplemented by the Holy Spirit. It will guide you, just follow the signs.”
The artillery officer looked surprised.
“Oh…so the holy spirit is like, some Christian thing?”
The Baron crossed his arms and nodded sagely.
“Yes, exactly. Some Christian thing."
The artillerist stared at Father Zera as he whispered over the mortar.
“Blessed are you, Lord God, king of the universe: you have made all things for your glory. Bless this mortar, and for the good of all your people. Amen.”
The artillerist stared for a few seconds more before shrugging his shoulders.
“I guess it never hurts to have the blessings of a god.”
The Baron smiled brightly.
“And it’s even better to have the blessing of the Almighty above. The King of Kings. God Almighty.”
The Baron dropped his head in silent prayer before looking up again.
“Right, get back to your work soldier, your mortar is blessed. Use it wisely, and remember which God is granting you victory.”
The artillery office was pretty surprised. He didn’t realize the Baron was so religious. But, at the end of the day, the blessing of a god was the blessing of a god. It was always welcome. Imperials did not discriminate when it came to gods, they would take whatever favor they could get.
|
|
|
|
September 28th, 1663. Holenstadt.
A gang of twenty Bszerci traveled through a forest path to a homestead deep in the Dunkwald. None of them were talking or joking around, just walking in solemn silence. The men had heard that deep in the dense forest contained an Imperial family, a former soldier in the Grand Imperial Army, his wife, and children.
They were part of a faction of Bszerci that believed that Imperials were a blight upon their lands, and that their presence needed to be removed, by force if necessary. They were acting against the orders of Krysia Badeni, but they didn’t care. They were doing what they felt was right.
They found a clearing with a cabin in the center and a small plot of farmland to its side. Sitting on the porch was a little girl and boy, lounging around and drawing. The kids saw the men and ran inside. By the time the men reached the cabin a middle aged man came out.
“What do you want?”
The Bszerci men shouldered sabers and muskets.
“We want Imperials out of our lands.”
“I’ve pledged my support for your people, I have married a Bszerci woman. I just want live peacefully in your beautiful lands.”
The Bszerci scoffed.
“You’re an Imperial soldier.”
“Former Imperial soldier, a conscript, I had no choice. I left that life behind me years ago.”
The man’s wife and kids could be seen through the window of their cabin, curious and worried about what was going on. The Bszerci man smiled dangerously.
“It would be a shame if something were to happen to your family. These are dangerous times, I’d suggest you pack your things and leave.”
“I just want to li-”
“And we don’t care. We want you gone.”
“Please, be reasona-”
The Bszerci leveled his musket at the man.
“I’m not gonna ask again, Imperial dog.”
The man balled his fist and looked down at his feet. He glazed back at his family, then to the musket aimed at his chest.
“...fine. Just give us time to pack our things.”
The Bszerci smiled and shouldered his musket.
“Good. Get started.”
His face took on an angry frown.
“Now.”