Re: Steel and Gunpowder

"Damnit," Voss muttered. A disbelieving laugh escaped his lips. "It is who you think it is, Hans. The Maker must have a twisted sense of humor."

Brandt gripped his rifle tighter. "Who is it, General? Who commands this rebel fortress?"

"That stubborn old bastard riding the horse down there," Voss said. "That is Baron von Reischach."

Months ago, when Swabian forces took Vienna, not everyone surrendered.

Reischach caused an uproar in the royal court. He screamed that feudal honor was dying.

Soon after that argument, Reischach packed his gold with his most loyal knights and vanished into the night.

"I was entirely sure he went East," Voss said. He shook his head. "He told everyone he was riding toward Hungary to hire mercenaries the old-fashioned way. I thought he was either getting fat in a foreign palace or rotting in a dungeon by now."

"But looks like he is the one making all that noise right here," Hans grunted. "The sneaky bastard went South instead! He allied with the Spanish vanguard, bought our exported revolvers, and built his own little kingdom in the ice."

Brandt’s face hardened. "He has to die."

"Oh, I know," Voss smirked. "Apparently... he is just a frog in a well."

"A frog?" Brandt raised an eyebrow.

Down in the valley, the timber gates of the fortress were fully open. Baron von Reischach rode his warhorse back and forth along the edge of the frozen lake. He screamed orders to his men.

Thousands of soldiers poured out of the city. They carried heavy steel shields, long pikes, and broadswords.

They formed a traditional Spanish Tercio on the ice. It was a sprawling block of armored infantry.

Though the enemy army looked immense, Voss felt no fear.

"Brandt! Hans! Listen to me! We are going to hold the high ground on this ridge and let them exhaust themselves climbing up to us," Voss said. His voice dropped into a commanding tone.

Voss quickly laid out his plan. The Spanish vanguard heavily outnumbered them. A traditional clash of lines would be suicide.

"Brandt, I want the first three ranks of your battalions to put their rifles away!" Voss ordered. He pointed toward the edge of the snowy slope. "Tell the men to step up! They will draw their new steel maces and form a solid defensive wall right at the edge of the drop. Hans, you will take the center of that line."

The front line slung their rifles over their backs. They drew their maces and stood shoulder-to-shoulder.

Even without large wooden shields, their leather coats and heavy maces created a brutal defensive blockade.

Behind this wall of muscle, the rest of the Jaegers loosened their formation.

They spread out in a wide line. They left gaps so they had clear lines of sight.

When the enemy charged close, they would hit the crushing steel of the mace men. The shooters behind would keep pouring continuous fire and thunder right over their heads.

"And the rifles?" Brandt asked.

"The rifles loose in a line behind the maces!" Voss commanded. "I want them spread out across the ridge. Stagger their firing! Do not shoot all at once! I want a continuous rain of lead pouring down on that frozen lake!"

"You heard the General!" Brandt roared. His voice carried over the whistling wind. "Maces to the front! Shooters, loosen the line! Check your powder!"

Within moments, the edge of the snowy ridge was lined with hundreds of soldiers holding spiked steel maces.

Behind them, the rest of the army spread out loosely. They raised their rifles and took careful aim down into the valley.

Voss drew his own mace. He stepped right into the center of the mace wall next to Hans. He looked down at the sprawling army gathering on the ice.

Down below, Reischach finally stopped his horse. He looked up at the ridge. He squinted against the pale sunlight.

Even from this distance, Voss could see the confusion on the old noble’s face. Reischach saw a small line of men holding short iron sticks. He saw a scattered group of men behind them pointing metal tubes.

"Look at him," Hans chuckled. He rested his mace on his shoulder. "He probably thinks we forgot to bring our pikes and breastplates."

"He is going to learn a very loud lesson today," Voss grinned fiercely.

Suddenly, the booming sound of war drums echoed from the rebel city.

Baron von Reischach raised a heavy broadsword high into the air. He let out a roaring battle cry.

"FOR THE EMPEROR! KILL THE HERETICS!" Reischach’s voice echoed faintly up the mountain.

The enemy army responded with a deafening roar.

Thousands of men beat their swords against their steel shields. They created a rhythmic clatter.

Then, they charged. Like an uncontrollable wave of armored bodies, the army of Spaniards and exiles sprinted across the frozen lake. They headed straight for the snowy slope leading up to Voss’s position.

"Hold your fire!" Voss shouted. He paced slightly behind the mace wall. "Wait until they are halfway up the slope! I want every single bullet to rip through at least two men!"

The ground began to shake under the weight of thousands of charging men.

The rebels hit the edge of the frozen lake and started climbing the snowy hill. They held their steel shields up. They expected a rain of arrows to fall on them at any moment.

But no arrows came. The Swabian soldiers just stood there in silence.

"Hold," Brandt whispered. His hand was raised high in the air as he watched the enemy get closer.

He could see the wild, angry faces of the charging mercenaries. He could hear their heavy breathing.

The distance closed rapidly. Two hundred paces. One hundred paces. Fifty paces.

"They are getting awfully close, General," Hans muttered. He tightened his grip on his mace.

"Wait for it," Voss said calmly. A smile played on his lips.

When the first wave of screaming pikemen was just thirty paces away, entirely exposed on the steep snowy slope, Voss finally dropped his mace downward.

"FIRE!" Voss roared.

"FIRE!" Brandt echoed. He dropped his hand.

The entire ridge instantly erupted into blinding orange flame.

Hundreds of Pattern-3 rifles discharged at the exact same second.

A wall of smelly, white sulfur smoke instantly covered the top of the ridge.

The devastating power of the gunpowder shattered the Spanish charge. The heavy conical bullets easily punched right through the thick steel shields as if they were made of dry leaves.

Men screamed in horror. The unseen projectiles tore through their armor, shattering bones and tearing flesh.

The front line of Reischach’s army was literally swept off their feet. They tumbled backward down the snowy slope and crashed into the men running behind them.

"Reload! Second rank, fire!" Brandt ordered.

More lead poured down the hill. It cut bloody paths through the crowded attackers.

"Keep shooting!" Voss laughed. "Do not let them breathe! Turn the snow red!"

Down in the valley, the charging army stalled.

The traditional Spanish Tercio, a tactic that had won countless wars for decades, was rendered utterly useless in less than a minute.

Men dropped dead before they could even level their pikes. Panic began to spread like wildfire.

Reischach sat on his horse near the back of the charge. His mouth hung wide open.

He stared at the ridge. He watched the constant flashes of fire and the unnatural white smoke billowing into the sky.

Voss stepped to the very edge of the ridge. He ignored the smoke stinging his eyes.

He raised his bloody mace. A wild grin spread across his face.

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