Chapter 1133: Chapter 5 Confrontation_2
He didn’t bring any guards—that would have been too conspicuous. To be cautious, he also didn’t dare to get too close.
Botar maintained a calculated distance, riding his warhorse along the edge of the effective range of the firearms. Seeing the enemy didn’t open fire, he turned his warhorse and passed by again—just like he used to do years ago while serving as reconnaissance cavalry under the old duke.
On his third close-range reconnaissance, two rebel light cavalry intercepted him, closing in from the left and right.
The experienced Botar wasn’t about to let himself be pinned down. He yanked the reins and retreated decisively toward his own formation. The two rebel light cavalry chased him briefly but soon withdrew.
Skirmishes between light cavalry often preluded major battles. When two armies had already set their formations but hadn’t engaged fully, light cavalry from both sides would do their utmost to scout enemy movents, while simultaneously driving away enemy scouts sharing the sa mission.
The return to real combat made Botar’s blood boil—he had almost forgotten what it felt like to chase and clash with enemy light cavalry at full gallop.
However, no matter how hot the blood runs, it cannot lt cold steel.
“Approximately seven to eight hundred n, no more than nine hundred at the max. And at least half of them are musketeers; the rest are probably spearn. But…” Botar thought as he galloped back toward his own lines, inwardly stunned: “Since when did they get equipnt this good?!”
Botar couldn’t see the rear ranks of the rebel soldiers, but he was certain—the rebels’ frontline spearn were all clad in half-plate armor with iron skirts, and even their designs were uniform.
The number of firearms possessed by the rebels was astonishingly high—and they weren’t the archaic matchlocks, but heavy matchlock guns across the board.
The enemy’s exceptional equipnt sent a chill down Botar’s spine. He couldn’t comprehend how the rebels had managed to acquire so much plate armor and firearms.
Botar’s own troops couldn’t compare to the rebels’ wealth—not by a long shot. Most of his soldiers carried only spears and sword-shields; there were few firearms, with varying calibers and ages; and armor was almost a nonexistent luxury.
Botar’s mouth felt dry, as he finally realized he had mistakenly assud the rebels’ equipnt was on the sa level as his own militia, resulting in a grievous underestimation of their combat power.
But the armies were already in formation, poised for battle—regrets weren’t an option now. The source of the rebels’ equipnt didn’t matter anymore; the only imperative was determining how to defeat them.
Botar forced his racing heart to calm, weighing the strengths and weaknesses of both sides:
The clear advantage of his forces was manpower—this was undisputed. The rebels numbered around eight hundred, while Botar’s all-or-nothing gamble had brought over thirteen hundred soldiers to the field.
Although the rebels’ equipnt was superior, their commander had brought too many musketeers, which would limit their mobility—a vulnerability Botar aid to exploit.
“Once the battle starts, we must close in imdiately,” Botar thought through gritted teeth, resolute: “Don’t let them capitalize on their firearms! Close the gap! Encircle them! Engage them in lee!”
Even so, the formation of the rebels looked odd, although Botar couldn’t make sense of it.
For a retired Dusack like him, he had stretched his thinking to the limits he had. But analyzing tactics as a true commander wasn’t Botar’s strong suit.
“If only Alpha were here,” Botar thought with frustration. “If only he were here!”
Though his troops held an advantage in lee combat, the rebels had positioned themselves with their backs against the wall. Even Botar could guess: the rebel commander must have stationed a large number of musketeers atop the wall.
Rushing into an attack would undoubtedly result in a bloody disaster. Botar decided to maintain the standoff, waiting for the right opportunity.
And then, he heard the sound of thunder.
…
On the wall, a group of artilleryn tracked the trajectory of the cannonball as it sliced through the sky. When they saw the black iron sphere sweep past the enemy’s heads, they sighed in unison, disappointed.
Only Captain Moro remained unmoved. Observing the landing point of the cannonball, he scribbled a set of numbers on a sheet of paper before calmly issuing an order: “Battery Two, decrease elevation by three marks.”
“Lower by three marks!” The artilleryn bellowed the command back—there wasn’t an urgent need for shouting at the mont, but during sustained rapid cannon fire, anything less would struggle to convey ssages effectively.
The wedge blocks beneath the cannon barrel were adjusted downward by three incrents. The artilleryman shouted again: “Two degrees lowered! Ready!”
Moro gave the faintest nod—a gesture barely perceptible. Richard Mason had trained these artilleryn well; how he had transford a bunch of peasants and accounting apprentices into competent gunners was anyone’s guess. Yet the icy mask on Moro’s face concealed all emotion, and in its place ca a cold command: “Fire.”
In the first salvo, the rest of the artillery personnel had stepped back to a safe distance as per standard protocol. A man with a large red birthmark on his face stepped forward, personally lighting the gunpowder with a taper: “Fire!”
A flash of fla. The cannon recoiled sharply. The cannonball roared through the air toward the enemy.
This ti, Captain Mason’s “daughters” didn’t disappoint their crew—the cannonball struck dead center of the enemy’s square formation, felling several soldiers in an instant.
The enemy soldiers surrounding the impact zone scattered like startled fish, darting away in all directions. For a mont, not a single soldier dared to reach out and aid the wounded.
The scene resembled a giant swinging a heavy hamr down upon a group of frozen, helpless mannequins made of flesh and bone.
The artilleryn felt chills across their scalps—a mix of exhilaration and grim discomfort. But there was no ti for sentint. Battery Two’s crew rushed back to their cannon, repositioning it and starting the reload process imdiately.
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