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Chapter CLIII – I will put enmity between thee and the flank.
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 17:52:47 +0000 UTC
55th of Spring 5860
Forest on the outskirts of Karabush, State of Karabush
On the low ground, Ayomide and co. were prowling. Not out in the open of course, that’d be akin to suicide with a larger enemy army and its cavalry around, but in the forests that abruptly started around Karabush where the farmland ended.
“They’re moving so slowly… come on, be faster.”
Ayomide, for her part, was perched atop the tallest tree in the area. Just like a cat, if she or anyone else around her knew what a cat was. Her eyes are sharp, able to see far, and so the captain of the regiment also acts as a scout. A scout watching the enemy army and its many, many banners fluttering in the wind.
It was clearly a diverse coalition on the enemy side judging from the variety in equipment and heraldry, with a whole load of angry men coming to take them down. Fifteen thousand of them left, with the retreat of one mayor combined with attrition taking its toll on the besiegers. Still triple the amount of men that the Republic had, but it was a better than the octuple amounts of men initially promised to be coming to take them down.
The men of the 1st Ranger Regiment fell completely silent, as the enemy approached closer and closer. Around a thousand men, in a loose formation, hiding amongst the countless trees of the forest. Passing in front of them, the left flank of the enemy army. Leading in front a unit of mercenary crossbowmen, still too far from the main body of the Republic’s forces to effectively open fire. At their back the melee component of their unit, marching in a square formation ten-men deep with their polearms. Both are very well-armored, all supporting steel cuirasses and helmets at the least, professional warriors they are. Nothing that could be easily penetrated by the copper javelins thrown by yesteryear’s atlatls.
Thankfully, Ayomide and her regiment are not from yesteryear. They stand at a ninety-degree angle to the men passing them by, muskets raised, waiting for the order to fire. Silence, except for the rustling of leaves nearby and the stomp of boots far away.
“…fire!”
Before anyone in the mercenary unit can even process what the shout from the forest means, they are given a practical demonstration. Thunder strikes, a thousand times over. There and then, half of the mercenary battalion is wiped out. More than a five hundred man, lay dead and wounded – mostly dead. There isn’t much chance of survival after being hit by a lead ball travelling somewhere around 200-300 meters (650-1000 feet) per second. Muskets are also infamously inaccurate, but, when there’s so many men packed tightly in a formation from such a short distance… it’s more shooting fish in a barrel rather than warfare at that point. The random deviation that a musket ball takes after it leaves the barrel doesn’t matter when it’ll hit no matter where it swerves to.
Second one. Men fall on the ground dead. Second two. Their comrades realize they are dead, and stop. Second three. They realize they have been attacked. Second four. They look around them. Second five, six, seven. Smoke rises out of the forest where the gunfire came from. Second eight. They realize that a unit of firearms have shot at them. Second nine. Panic, there’s a whole unit of infantry that just ambushed them. Second ten. Their captain comes back to his sense. Second eleven. “Back into formation!” Second twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, a frontline of infantry has started heading towards the forest, and the crossbowmen draw their weapons to fire. Second nineteen. The crossbowmen try and spot their enemy in the forest.
Second twenty.
“Fire!”
Most of the muskets have reloaded and are ready to fire again.
Another shower of lead, this time coming as a slow trickle in the next ten seconds as the musketeers fire at will. The mercenary battalion has lost its tight formation, so, not as many of the shots land at them this time. Not to mention their own gunpowder smoke hindering vision for the musketeers. Another half of them die, the rest of the bullets either landing harmlessly on the ground or hitting the formation behind them.
With only a quarter of them remaining, their officer shot, and more shots incoming, the mercenary unit breaks and its men flee. A thousand men, and a few more from a nearby unit, defeated and broken in under a minute. The other unit that was just shot at begins maneuvering towards the muskets, breaking formation and rushing over to the forest to overwhelm their ambushers with numbers, or at least scare them into a retreat so that the ambushers won’t hurt any other of their allies.
“Break off, retreat!”
That they succeed at long before they make it anywhere near the forest, as Ayomide sounds the horns for retreat. Her battalion dissolves into the forest, heading towards the main line of Brown’s troops set atop the hill. Her job here is done. Now it’s the turn of the…
“Cavalry!” as exclaimed by one of the enemy soldiers, one of many which just broke formation to chase off the muskets. They’re a unit of lightly-armed levied soldiers, mostly holding shorter spears and swords normally meant for their self-defense back home. Not suitable for holding off cavalry, especially when they’ve spread out of formation. The 3rd Cavalry Regiment, formerly the Casamonu Host, flies down from the hill for a devastating charge. Most of the levy breaks off and retreats before the cavalry makes contact with them. The brave few who stand, and the cowardly few who are too paralyzed to move quickly enough, are cut down by lances.
Before any response from nearby, more well-armed units can be formulated, the cavalry retreats back towards the camp of the Republic as fast as it rode down from it. The left flank of the enemy army has completely dissolved before it’s seen any combat, seeing as the corpses of its dead men cannot hope to maintain it.
Twelve thousand men remain, versus five thousand.
