Drums beat and their rhythms echoed as footsteps followed the pace quickening into double time. The march became a marathon over the ground which softened as the soil was struck by the soles of boots. The life that was once there became nothing and the meadow had been transformed into an unrecognizable field covered by a haze of death. Escaping the safety of the walls, the gateway and the guards disappearing behind them, they swept around the foot of the hill where it widened into a narrow stretch of a plain. With rifles at arms and sabers on their hips, the century stayed attentive to their major at their head, dismounted and leading the column around the corner. From unseeing and unknowing, only storied to them as children, the field evolved into a sight that fed their eyes with awe. Two years ago, the number of three hundred seemed too vast to comprehend that filled the parade square where they pledged themselves and were graduated from. That thought was quickly dwarfed by the army then which gave rise to a dream of becoming their general and to command such force. Stretching into nowhere but the distant end of the world, ranks of regiments stationed themselves, divided into the glorious vanguard, the core middle guard, and the decisive rear guard. Each body of the formation was separated by stakes like a phalanx and war wagons which were manned by four gunners and their bronze hand cannons each. In the shape of a crescent, the fielded army laid just off the headquarters’ ridge, warped to appear like a bowl which hugged the center of the enemy’s front. Thousands of colors flew with centuries bearing a banner each. It gave the impression that nothing could put a blockage on this army’s capabilities if only that was the truth. The ranks were a mirage of strength, formed with homesick levies, prisoners and slave conscripts, and young, naive, and inexperienced volunteers. Armed with standardly issued broadswords and rifles, only some were wealthy enough to afford helmets and shields for themselves. Although even then, they were barely half battle-ready. Most confronted the battle in their everyday attires and nearer as the century marched, the army appeared to be but a group of militias glued together by hot wax. Even if the sprawl of troops could scare off a small patrol, it spelled ill-fortune that the century of mere children were the most professionally trained out of the tens of thousands deployed. The hundred youths realized that they could not do much but put a microscopic dent in the Confederate lines when they saw what lined the earth beneath the heavens ahead.
Running down the middle ranks of the vanguard as they filled in the last holes of the army, the century caught knowing through the clear air that day. There were the Rus, standing a hundred paces away, with much of their force blended into the forest behind them. No one knew exactly how many more lurked but it was more demoralizing that the gods were on their side. A church stuck out of the canopy that plated the sky blue heavens. There was not a dash of clouds that shadowed them, bathing in a sea of light that shone over their shining helmets and monotonal hats. Only the first few ranks of the Confederate army laid exposed, whose colors were matching without signs of disunity. In a show of respect, the general of the opposition had chosen to display their total strength along the straight front, a length that was over double the Aelon’s. Even from afar, clad in gold, the commander that they spotted bore a frightening grin of confidence, daringly leading and unafraid, much unlike the Bohemer who cowered away after a defeat or two. But most dismaying of all were the barrels which were positioned at increments between the regiments of their adversary. Batteries of field cannons, too many to count, were more like bombards with thick iron-cast barrels whose single rounds could fell a wall. Within a wall of flesh, they did not know how to defend themselves from this instrument of death, only that they were sure that they could not.
Blending themselves into the body of a regiment worth a thousand, a century stood aghast. Even those who were least worried and were seemingly unwaverable suddenly understood themselves to be mortal like every other.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPRPblUO2D5
“Fuck, they’ve got a whole town of artilleries.” Arber spoke for his closest comrades who felt no different.
“H-How’re we gonna fight that?” Lev stammered.
All could not believe it. The thought that they, as an army without any means to battle, would have to face off an army without a single flaw. It was almost suicidal. As Arminius looked behind to the top of the ridge where the north face of the headquarters sat, the extent of their own guns was less reassuring. Half a battery of six guns could hardly be compared to the dozens that the Confederates had, and if not for its numbers, its models were likely to be outdated too. Saved from a prison of doubts, the hooves of a rider broke his focus that came galloping down the strait of no man’s land. Ahead of his troops whose eyes all turned to address him, a young lieutenant general showed himself who appeared not the fool his compatriots were.
Reeling in his reins and rearing his horse, he raised his palm as he stood on his stirrups so that every regiment could see him. “All troops, load!” His command boomed with the will and his belief in the gods in his heart that hoped to ignite their forgotten fervor. “Give no sanctuary to those hounds of hell who have come to devour us all!”
The army began to load with tens of thousands pairs of hands working on their rifles, a gift of music to those who enjoyed the opening and pinging of bolts. Unbuttoning their pouches, the Bohemers revealed to the century a peculiar ammunition that they had not seen before. They were unlike the brass rounds that most great powers shared that was thought to be the pinnacle of modern warfare. What more was their instrument that, side by side, comrades loaded their shots into. Taking their cartridges wrapped in a coat of paper, the levies loaded the powder and lead into the breeches and locked down their bolts. Though, there was feeling that however similar the tool appeared to the hundred, the machine seemed inherently slackishly made.
“Century, load, damn it!” An irritated Codrington reminded his troops.
Entirely distracted in the heat of preparations seeping into their skins, the century broke back into consciousness. Hurrying in no panic, they fitted their bullets into their rifles’ chambers which sound was faded by the slam of steel breech doors above. The chambers of the field guns shut close and their artillerists stood beside with the crew at the ready for the lieutenant general’s final command. But overseeing the regiments loading at a sluggish pace, he was least bothered by those who could heed his order. An anger ruined his handsome face, riled by allies and foes. The young and impatient shouted at his levies as if his voice would never break. His behavior was immature to say the least, like that of a spoiled son of an estate lord. It would be no surprise if that was the case since he would always dress immaculately in a uniform that spelled the word noble. Every inch of his wear was embroidered except the fur on his coat and the cap he adorned with his country folk’s colorful decorations that wrapped around a plume stamped in place with a medallion. If his use for his field uniform was to reel the interests of both fronts, he had succeeded.
Pointing his head in the direction of the general, Colt asked, unable to bear the pompous man any longer, “Who’s that fella?”
Some of his comrades turned their eyes, distracted again, resting their rifles on the ground as they wondered the same, at least in search for his name.
When none of the foreigners could provide an answer, a Bohemer soldier leaned in to reply, “Matyáš Žižka.” He seemed rather proud to tell his countryman’s name as if he was recalling a legendary hero of folklore. “Twenty years of age. Devout. Pious. Eccentric.”51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhsQ80zR74x
His attributes which may not at all seem worthy of noting was vastly veiled by his age who was but a few years older than the century yet had achieved the status of dreams.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTwfNI19j2D
“You have not heard of him, but in Bohemen,” said the soldier. “He’s a reminder to our glorious past.” With his head held high, he introduced his commander with respect.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡoKPt2GX5I5
The lancers and their comrades steered their heads towards the general to judge his qualities for themselves but as they did, one of the four struggled to concentrate. The adrenaline had yet to reach him and an extreme cold had overtaken his body. Shaking, Julien tried to hold himself still but everytime he attempted to load his round, it struck the corner or the chamber’s sides and slipped from his hand that could not tense from angst. Seeing his struggle, the squad knew not how to calm him when a hand wrapped around his wrist and helped draw his bullet into the breech. Arminius let go and allowed him to realize his orders alone.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPTfp60CD9M
As the last of his troops armed themselves, the lieutenant general faced the ridge and inhaled a great heap of air. “Howitzers!” Žižka transformed his breath into a speaker-like voice over the thousand whispers of his troops.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡeN7zfi1QuL
The battery commander heard and gave a firm nod and a salute. Spinning on his position, he turned to his bombardiers and marched behind each gun, checking for faults and making adjustments. Considering that there were only six pieces, his carrying out of duty was rather quick and had done so south of a minute.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2dNmTrfzJO
About, the commander turned, towards the Confederates and without any need to measure their distance from his guns again, he gave an estimation with a glance that was sufficient, “Eighty-five paces and five degrees north!”51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNYovcq93Sf
The captain briskly marched to the ridge’s edge and watched as his howitzers fixed their arches, and were pushed into position before their elevation cranks were spun. As the barrels raised ever so slightly, the Rus had begun to realign themselves in anticipation of the Aelon’s volley. However, they were most unconcerned. Ready in a moment, the last order remained as the only barricade that kept the hammers of the guns from striking. Looking down upon the army quietened, the captain saw his general unsheathe his sword who held it until the battery gave its gesture of confirmation. Then, did the blade swing down.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9srnPokUEO
With his palms cusped over his ears, the captain ushered the long awaited command loud enough that it could be heard clearly through his hands, “Fire!”51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡsM2JuMtvEl
The crewmen firmly tugged their lanyards and engaged the lever that set onward the mechanisms of the guns. The hammer pounded and ignited the charge, blasting a wave of fires that flinched the levies. Contained in the barrel, the brief inferno spat as the case and projectile separated and shot out. Flurries of smoke and embers formed flowers of clouds which bloomed from the muzzle. Six rounds whistled across the battlefield and burned through the winds. A trail of distorted air followed each shot which took a mere quarter of a second to traverse the battlefield. When they dropped and struck surface, the fuse detonated and exploded into a gust of flames swarming a radius with plumes of dark ash which shrouded regiments. Knowing that his targets had been met, Žižka squinted, to find that his enemies had been clouded by fumes, and bore a smirk. But when no panic came from his enemies nor from the devastation that he had gifted them, he realized that his soldiers knew not. His men were naive to think that all their shells had struck as intended until out of the clearing smoke, there were flashes and shrieks of missiles.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡFaWnY0mIqx
“Down—!” Žižka warned too late.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaxWvVcsMzH
Before half a word could be uttered, shells pummeled. The shockwaves of their attack that was hardly felt by the enemy was magnified by a hundred-fold, quaking the earth as the storm of lead balls blasted through the ranks. Shrapnel broke into a net of death and tore apart the tightly-packed regiments. Left and right, certainly in front, there was but a wave of flesh pulverized into a spread of blood jam. Remains of bodies, bisected, decapitated, dismembered, disemboweled, washed over and with every possible grueling way that was borrowed from hell, the army was tortured. The heat of the rounds seared as the late arrivals and second volleys ricocheted from the ground and the hillside and smashed into half of the Aelon’s battery. Within ten mad seconds, every diseased image that was ever produced by the century on hearing the word war had been mutilated into a complete horror.51Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGDiDMa7k5A
