The nomad brought the tulwar up and down again, striking hard into the bastard sword. McGurk felt the jarring strike all the way up to both shoulders, and he tried to get his blade back in line so he could get in the next hit. The nomad, for all his bulk, was quick as a cat. If he wasn't a chief, he was definitely a chief's guard, and he might be too much for the colonel, who had not picked up anything but a West Point ceremonial sword until a couple of years ago. The nomad brought his tulwar up again, a cruel smile on his face.
The warhorse struck again, rearing up on its hind legs and driving its hooves into the chest of the nomad, knocking him from his saddle to land on his back with a huff of air. Now it was his turn to try to get his wind back, but a bruised sternum and broken ribs made that more difficult. He was almost ready to try when an armored figure loomed over him and the point of a sword came down on his throat, making breathing completely impossible.
Antwoine walked up to his horse, which nuzzled him with his nose as he snorted in greeting. He rubbed an armored hand gently over the nose. I'm glad I had you today, and not a tank, he thought. It wouldn't have come to my rescue on its own if I was dismounted.
[Where do we stand,] he transmitted to the hawk rider.
[You troopers have cut more than halfway through the enemy,] sent the rider, showing him the image through her eyes. It looked like most of his cavalry was still mounted, and the enemy was melting away under the onslaught. [The enemy is trying to get away, and the Ellala suppliers are whipping their wagons to retreat.]
McGurk smiled. It was looking like some of the enemy was going to escape, and the servants of the bastard emperor were going to get away with them. But he knew something they did not. He continued to look through the eyes of the rider as she circled lower, no longer worried about being spotted.
The fleeing nomads were riding hell bent for leather across the grasslands, unable to see what was waiting for them. The colonel could see them; two regiments of light cavalry in their six separate squadrons, off their horses, on the ground and holding their mounts down with them. On a signal they were on their feet, pulling the horses up and mounting, then riding toward the enemy. The light cavalry had almost as much armor as the barbarians, similar but more finely made weapons, and powerful horsebows. The nomads were still in a panic, and not well organized, heading into groups of seven hundred or so disciplined troops who knew how to fight as a unit.
In another half hour, it was over. Only a few hundred of the nomads made it into the forest, where other hunters would go to work. None of the wagons or their drovers made it out.
"Good job, Colonel," said Kurt, riding up to the dismounted McGurk. "I don't think we have much to worry about with that group anymore."
"No, sir. And I hope we can get a break after this fight."
"I'm sure you understand we're going to have to keep the cavalry deployed," said Jackie, the other immortal. "Sorry, but we need to have you out there protecting our flanks, and scouting the front. And preparing to take on more of these criminals."
"I understand," said McGurk, not liking it, but understanding it. When he had been an armored cav officer, the same had held true. As long as they had fuel and ammo, they were at work. Their rest and recuperation were secondary to the mission. It was the same here.
"How bad were your losses?" asked Kurt, putting a hand on the colonel's shoulder.
"We lost some good people. But not as many as I would have feared. Maybe four hundred dead, with the same number wounded. We should get most of those back, eventually."
"And you killed over fourteen thousand barbarians," said a surprised Jackie. "Unbelievable."
"Hell, ma'am," said Antwoine, even though the woman was the same rank as he. He had no illusions as to who was the higher ranking in this assembly. "They were good fighters, real warriors. But we're soldiers, and that makes all the difference.”
Chapter Eighteen
The river was wide and deep, but not very fast. The remains of the bridge was ahead, the pylons still rising above the water, jagged at their ends. The fort at their end was still intact, but the entire roadway was gone, and no one would be crossing without boats. Which was something the alliance army was prepared to do. The enemy had truly hurt himself more taking down the bridges, since their troops in the city could sally against the rearward forces on this side of the river.
The enemy had dug in on the banks of the far side, before the walls of the great city. The high walls of the capital blocked fifteen kilometers of the river bank;, the river to the north flowing into the larger had another twenty kilometers of wall. To the south were the cliffs of the mountain range, and any landing below that would be forced to march through the alpine country. That left seven kilometers of bank that could be landed on, and the enemy had fortified that stretch with earthworks and machines, backed by thousands of archers. They might be able to take that part of the bank, though some had argued at making a landing north of the other river. The argument against that was they would still have to cross that river, and two river crossings, followed by moving an army and its supplies, might not be possible.
So the army had boats assembled, brought from up and down the river. There were hundreds of river vessels, canoes, fishing boats, and barges. Enough to carry thousands of men across in an assault wave. Maybe not enough, as the enemy would be launching rocks and arrows at those boats, and would inevitably send many to the bottom along with their armored troops. Their own dragons and hawks could work over those banks, but probably not to the complete extermination of the defenders and their engines. They had already lost nearly a dozen dragons to their defensive weapons.
Dragons were fantastic weapons, but the Earthers had come to the conclusion that they were better for hit and run, or raiding. They were too valuable to risk attacking fortified positions since it took hundreds of years for one to reach a large enough size to be used for war. Any that died could not be replaced for quite some time.
I wonder how those things are going to work, thought Lt. General Walter Delgado, looking at the three smoke spitting vessels that were maneuvering toward the far side of the river. They weren't the only steamships on the river this day. A dozen smaller ships that had been hastily cobbled together were loaded up with soldiers on their side of the river, waiting to cross, faster than the other boats. They would continue to wait until the engines on the other side had been neutralized, lest they sink some of the precious steam-powered ships.
The engines on the other side opened fire first, dropping rocks into the river short of the ships that continued to move toward them. Delgado kept waiting for them to open fire, even though he knew they would wait until they had the range to get consistent hits.
"I wish we could see what's going on," said one of the aides.
Delgado nodded. Unfortunately, they didn't have the angle to see the battle, only the off side of the ships and the parts of the bank they were not blocking was visible. Then the loud hisses of cannon sounded, and they knew he battle was on.
* * *
The large rock flew into the side of New Berlin, bouncing off the armor with a clang.
Commodore Steffan Hauser watched the bank through his binoculars through the slit of the shutters over the windows. It wasn't a very good view, but the risk of the storm of potential arrows was too great. Even the upper decks were abandoned. If dragons appeared, the machines would be manned. Until then, there was no need to expose those men to arrows.
The seven kilometers of bank that were deemed suitable for a landing had been fortified, to a point. There was no way they could make the entire length of it impassible without using the entire garrison of the city, and there was no way the enemy was going to do that. So they had established a thick earthwork, a number of stakes out in the water to impede a landing, and strong-points every couple of hundred meters.
The strongpoints were the true threat. Mostly earthworks, held in with palisades of logs, each with over a score of machines, catapults and ballistae, and
many hundreds of archers, backed up by hundreds more swordsmen. Hauser didn't have to take out all the strongpoints, but he did have to destroy their center.
More rocks bounced from the armor, followed by a couple of mage-launched fireballs that splashed off the Mithril covered armor. It didn't look like the rocks were going to be much of a problem, but enough might do some damage. He would take damage, as long as his ships stayed afloat and could continue to fight.
"We're getting ready to open fire, sir," said the captain over the speaking tube. "We will continue to fire until you order otherwise."
"Very well. Just take out those strongpoints."
They didn't have unlimited ammo. The solid shot was fairly easy to make. The cannon not so much, but once forged they would last forever, or so it was hoped. However, the magic gems couldn’t be produced by just any worker. They had to be made by a combination of Dwarven master forgers and fire mages, and only so many could be made by each pair in a given time.
The first gun fired, the crack of the magical jewel muted through the decks, followed by the deep hiss of steam pushing the shot from the barrel. Within seconds, all ten of the guns had fired, and a wall of steam projected out from the gun ports and rose into the air. Clouds of steam flew out of the ports from the other vessels, until all thirty weapons had fired.
The first ball hit the water in front of the strongpoint and skipped into the mud. The other nine came closer: three hitting the dirt, one flying over the earthworks, and five hitting the strongpoint and flinging dirt into the air. Thirty seconds later the guns spoke again, this time eight of the shot hitting the strongpoint, and the cloud of steam thickened. Another volley, more hits, and this time two of the balls penetrated the parapets and flew into the stockade beyond.
The bombardment went on for ten minutes, the cloud of steam growing and spreading across the water, until they had no view of the shore,
"We need to switch over, Commodore," came the voice through the speaking tube. "The guns are too hot to continue."
"Proceed," said Hauser.
A moment later, he felt the thrum of the engines, the clanking of chains as the anchors were raised, and the movement of the ship as it started to swing around. When it passed a point where the forward guns were bearing, they fired. When the ship was arrayed for a broadside for the starboard guns, the anchors were again dropped and they opened fire.
The bombardment went on for hours, and the ships switched orientations every ten minutes or so. They couldn't get a good look at their targets, and the gunners had no way of knowing how accurate their shooting was. Hauser thought this might be similar to what the wooden ships had experienced, when they put out clouds of smoke they couldn't see through. All they could do was stay set with their pair of anchors and keep pouring fire into where they thought the target was.
"Cease fire," called Hauser over the speaking tube. As far as his calculations were concerned they had gone through almost half of their propellant gems, and he had no idea what they had done so far. "What is your scrying mage seeing?"
There was a moment of silence, while the mage looked through her ball to see what had transpired through the bombardment.
"It looks like those three strongpoints are gone, sir," said the captain.
"Then let’s move on to the next," he ordered.
The ships raised anchors, moved to their next firing point in front of three more strongpoints, and continued their attack.
* * *
Captain Ellisara Kellisa looked down from her battlehawk, wheeling over the enemy fortifications. A hawk further up screeched out its war cry, flying overwatch against anything that might try to surprise them from above. Kellisa was able to look over the cloud of steam that was still obscuring the view from the river or the far riverbank.
The six strong points that had been hit looked like complete wrecks. Every machine down there had been hit, multiple times, and many of them had been turned into splinters. Bodies of crew lay around the machines, some still whole, struck through with wood splinters. Others had been pulped or shattered, hit by the balls that flew through the earthworks.
There was still movement below, of people staggering in shock, others hurrying up to reinforce the devastated strongpoints. A couple of archers looked up and pulled back on their bows, and Kellisa pulled the reins of her bird making it claw for altitude. Arrows came up, only to fall back before they reached her. She knew that someone with an enchanted bow might still hit her, but not an ordinary archer with an ordinary weapon.
[They look like they've been hit hard,] she sent over mindspeak. [I think it's time for the landing.]
The acknowledgment came back, with the order that she and her squadron continue to fly over the field, to report back on anything that might cause concern for the landing.
* * *
"Go, go," yelled the brigade commander, Colonel Jonathan Wainwright, pulling his own paddle through the water, making the war canoe leap through and across the river. It was almost two kilometers across the river at this point, and the canoes would be among the first to reach the other bank.
The low crack of the artillery on the ironclads sounded across the water. They were going into slow fire mode, a shot a minute, trying to keep the enemy busy and unable to concentrate on the landing that was coming their way.
A dozen steamboats, all capable of holding about a hundred troopers, started churning across the water. Other boats, fishers, river cargo, even pleasure craft, started loading up and moving across under sail. Barges were lined up, waiting for steamboats to come free so they could load up with cavalry and be carried across. Another division was crossing the river forty kilometers downstream at the intact bridge. They would march up to the cross-river and set up on that bank, cutting the city off from that avenue.
The war canoe carried twelve armored men and their shields. One would not have a chance in the assault, but the hundred that were crossing would put twelve hundred men on the other bank. How it went from there was anyone's guess. The steamships throttled back to stay behind the canoes, as did the sailing craft. The canoes would go in first, since they could beach and unload in an instant.
The ironclads came up on either side of the colonel's canoe. The guns fell silent, now as much of a risk to their own as the enemy. The decks of the ships swarmed with archers, all with huge siege quivers. Pulling arrows and sending them on arcing paths to the shore. They couldn't see targets, of course, and their accuracy had to be poor. That was not the point. It was intended to keep the enemy from making a coordinated response to the landing.
"Get ready, boys." The canoe sliced through the steam, men cursing as the hot mist burned their skin. It was diffuse enough that it did not burn deep, only on the surface. A couple of the canoes collided, more cursing and untangling of paddles, but the boats and their crews got it together and continued on.
The first canoe hit the bank, riding up on the sand from its momentum. The first four men in the front jumped out of the canoe, two grabbing the bow to pull it up while the other two covered them with their shields. Six of the men in the boat had crossbows, and they aimed and fired at the most likely targets.
"Form up," the colonel yelled, and everyone bailed from the boat.
One went down with an arrow through the throat while the other ten formed a shield wall, the colonel falling in behind and looking up and down the beach. The earthworks ahead were a mess, in places still intact, in other blown down, the dirt forming ramps.
"Form up," the colonel yelled to the men to either side. They ran over and added to the wall, making it two deep. "Forward," he yelled.
They had to get off the beach and into the enemy rear as fast as they could. He glanced to the north to see another group running toward the ramp in front of them. Arrows came in, mostly bouncing off shields or penetrating and sticking. Several archers went for the lower legs of the legionnaires, and bounced arrows from their greaves. One man took an arrow through the face and fell back. The other troopers
ignored the wounded man and forged forward. They would lose more men if they didn't get off the beach, so wounded were left where they fell.
The first four men in the colonel's formation ran up the earth ramp, feet churning in the dirt. Ellala appeared at the top, males in chain, holding small shields, longswords in their hands. The strength of the legion had always been formation fighting, and they hadn't fared well in the past when fighting in the open. They had learned some lessons, and all four of the leading legionnaires ran into their closest opponent and smashed their shield bosses into them. The stronger humans lifted the lighter Ellala off their feet and flung them back, then continued their rush into the next bunch, while the rest of the formation came up behind them.
"Form a line," yelled the colonel as they reached the top, stopping his men from continuing on, TO where they were in danger of being surrounded.
A little under a hundred men formed up, and then the groups to the north and south side stepped to join up with them. Now he had almost three hundred men in a formation three deep, the ends bending around to protect the flanks. This was the danger point, since the enemy had to realize that they needed to break his formation and push his men back into the river if they were to win this fight.
A thousand Ellala and their Grogatha minions charged. The Ellala were no threat to the shield wall, but the massively muscled Grogatha were. The men behind the front line positioned themselves to push back on the front line so that they weren't knocked over. The enemy tried to deploy their swords against the shields, swinging hard, mostly contacting the shields and accomplishing nothing. The Grogatha carried shorter, heavier blades, and they tried to jab. The front rank had the better blades for jabbing, and they worked a slaughter on the front line of the enemy. Not every jab was successful, and many times the tips of the gladius hit the armor and slid away. But the troops kept it up, taking down scores every minute. Some of the enemy killed men on the front, bringing swords down on helmets, or slipping a blade between the shields.
Refuge: Book 5: Angels & Demons Page 21