NationStates Jolt Archive

[Posting as Khurzav] Victory is not a name strong enough for such a scene.
- Admiral Nelson, Surveying the field the day after the Battle of the Nile.

His coat shifted in the breeze, which brought with it fine dust. This infiltrated the carriage through the window, and caked the front of the black jacket. An aide took the jacket down from its peg and began brushing it obsessively, until the heavy silver fastenings and the marks of rank shone bright against the serge. More dust filtered in on another vagary of the breeze, and the Frenchman Durand shut the window.

"Cut it off at the legs, Anatoly," he observed, "don't just keep bashing the head." General - Major General to be precise - Zhadanets, who had been feigning sleep, opened an eye. Out of the moving air, the dust hung like a haze inside the carriage. It was pulverized by the hooves of cavalry horses and the wheels of gun-carriages, limbers, and caissons. It raised itself in a low fog to ensconce the Infantry, turned their throats and mouths bone dry and drifted back to the well-sprung enclosed carriages that served as a sort of command vehicle, loaded with maps in carefully labeled containers and laden with signaling apparati. Other carriages were enclosed ambulances that seated two and had room for two litters, manned by a medical orderly and a driver. These last vehicles were taken directly from a French design, with a bench and handholds added onto the back beside the doors for wounded who did not need to be supine but could not move under their own power.

The Fourth Brigade marched in dispersed order, Zhadanets and Durand with the headquarters group that also contained his batteries of horse artillery, a battalion of Grenadiers, and two squadrons of his Chevau-Léger Lancier. The remainder of the five-squadron Regiment of Lancers was back with the Cuirassier Regiment, riding in a cloud of sharpened steel and coloured cloth around the supply trains. For the Fourth Brigade was a flying column, which meant all supplies were carried with it. Zhadanets shook his head in wonderment: The column had enough remounts for half his cavalry, though some of these horses were too small to carry the Cuirassiers. A careful program had allowed him to mount his Cavalry Regiments well, but stripped the rest of Khurzav of suitable horses for heavy cavalry. The remounts carried massive nets of forage, one on each side, and then mules carried yet more forage. Some dragged artillery caissons and limbers loaded with spare shot, for Zhadanets had decreed that no animal slower than a mule in perfect condition would accompany him on this mission. The cavalry alone required vast amounts of food, much of which had to be carried because it was never known if an area that a unit would camp in would have sufficient forage after this many weeks of the blistering summer heat.

Out to the left and the right of the central battalion group were two battalions apiece of Infantry, accompanied by more Horse Artillery and thus requiring even more forage, some of which they carried themselves and the rest of which was strapped to remounts, mules, and the outside of carriages. The mules themselves required more forage, so there were mules carrying forage for mules who were carrying forage for the cavalry. Then there were mules carrying barrels of salt beef, twice-baked round loaves of black bread, and U-shaped metal tins with a spigot at the bottom of each leg of the U, which were carried on a mule so that it resembled a saddle and saddlebags. These tins were filled with clean water, replenished as frequently as possible, and tasted faintly of rum. The alcohol kept the water from spoiling. To the front of the headquarters group two battalions marched and one Regiment rode, while Hussars surged on ahead on each of the three paths the Brigade was taking towards its objective. All of the units were four hours' quick-march from one another, allowing them to coalesce into the required mass to bring victory quickly while not jamming the few roads in the area with that selfsame mass.

The Infantry made good time. They were happy, because many of their officers now came from the ranks rather than the landed aristocracy. As a result, their officers understood some of their complaints and allowed them a greater degree of comfort when on route marches like this. This was one more piece of innovation that the European advisors had brought the Khurzav Kingdom, along with modern artillery of standardized calibers on standardized carriages, modern tactics and grand strategy, and new weapons such as the now-umbiquitous "Firelock" which equipped the entirety of the Khurzav Royal Army. The KRA was a conservative organization, but placed high hopes in the Fourth Brigade, a uniquely trained organization that had been given to Zhadanets because of his training in European schools and experience as an observer on European battlefields. The Infantry wore heavy packs, with brown greatcoats rolled and lashed to the top of the pack. Many wore their shako hung from their belt by its chinstrap, grey serge jackets open to alleviate the brutal heat. Muskets hung off one shoulder, long spike bayonets hung from the left hip, a waterproofed leather-and-wood cartridge box sat on the right hip. Their canteens hung from their crossbelt.

As they marched across the border they encountered no resistance. Hussars, each with a tall fur busby over queued hair, ranged ahead. Every two hours, one returned to the reconnaissance screen, having ridden back up from the headquarters group. When he returned, another began to ride back. By this means, Zhadanets knew what was happening many kilometers ahead of him. Because of this, Zhadanets let himself fall into a sleep marred only by summer's heat.

"Brazen bastards ... what the hell are they wearing?"

Several kilometers away from the lead element of the central Khurzav formation, four men dressed lightly in dark greens and greys with long dark green cloaks stood dismounted next to their horses in a small cropse of trees atop a slight rise. Lightly armed and armoured, their protection consisted simply of leather jerkins and bracers, while for weaponry they carried axes and one meter tall composite bows.

Lowering his own small spyglass, Peter turned his head to look at his comrade who had spoken, who himself looked through an identical spyglass, "I don't know, but there's only one target the Khurzav could be moving to raid along this road," he paused only long enough to raise his spyglass once more before addressing his other comrades without looking at them, "Anton, Alexej, inform Commander Korovin to expect company, Arkhip and I will try and get a closer look and bring a more detailed report."

Without a word the two men quickly turned to lead their horsed down the opposite side of the rise before mounting their horses starting off at a trot back North.

As their hoofbeats began to fade, Arkhip addressed Peter, "I suppose it was too much to ask that they'd manage to build that fortress before the Khurzav got word of it. Right then, shall we try and get a closer look."

"By all means."

With that said, the two returned their spyglasses to a pouch attached to their belt and mounted their own horses, kicking them forward at a slight trot to move themselves into a better position."

-----

Nearly half a day later and many kilometers farther North, Commander Viktor Korovin had quickly called together his various field commanders to prepare for the coming Khurzav raid after receiving the bad news from the two initial scouts. Among them was one Konstantin Aygi, who commanded a contingent of calvary from the White Tigers, who would one day be known as the 3rd Division of the Kilrany Imperial Guard.

Using a crude map of the area that sat between them, Korovin laid out his plan, working off the assumption for the moment that the Khurzav forces would outnumber his own, he intended to let them come to him, "If they plan to disrupt construction of the fortress without an extended siege, they'll have to breach through this area, so we will use these sections of the wall to help negate any numerical advantage they have. I want the infantry to form along this position near this completed wall, and here, we'll have the workers bring our cannons up atop these two walls, allowing them to fire upon the Khurzav safely."

Pausing for a moment, he considered the exact positioning, "I want the Halberds on the flanks of the line here and here, with the majority of the axemen in between. If they attempt to take a longer route to attack from this direction here, we'll still be in a position to move our forces here to maintain a defensive line."

Again he paused, this time to take a breath, but before he could continue, Aygi spoke up, "And where would you like me to position my cavalry Korovin?"

Looking towards the Imperial Guardsmen, Korovin barely held back his frustration at the hint of contempt in the man's voice, "I want your cavalry to take up positions here and here Aygi to protect the line's flanks, and I don't want you going anywhere without my order."

Aygi replied drily, "Of course Korovin, we wouldn't want anyone to take away your glory in order to exploit the enemy lines."

Korovin narrowed his eyes at Aygi, with unclear chains of command between the regular forces and those of the Imperial Guard, small conflicts between them were common when lower ranks of the IG were 'supposed' to be subordinate, "Just carry out your orders."

[Posting as Khurzav]

The importance of some of these roads could not be measured. Strategically, it was absolutely critical that the KRA have full use of the surfaced roads that led in this direction, as traffic could move over them in all weather without fear of bogging down. There were only two surfaced roads though, laid with rammed flint bases, and deep grooves had been cut in them from the passage of wagons and now the passage of the vehicles of the Horse Artillery. The use of a Flying Column let the KRA deploy a force that would knock out the fortress before it was completed and then return to rejoin the bulk of the Army, which still operated by outmoded doctrines. It wasn't believed that these doctrines were outmoded by anybody but the Fourth Brigade, because only they knew what they were capable of. If nothing else, the KRA as a whole had adopted the new pattern "firelock" and that at least standardized the parts required to keep small arms operating.

For safety's sake, the Infantry stepped off the road and began climbing the shallow rise of the hills basing the plateau that fronted the ridge housing the fortress that was their objective. If a horse slipped, an entire team could go down and that would cause a caisson, limber, and multi-ton gun to hurtle down the roadway uncontrollably and swat all from its path, for basic physics could not be denied their due. Once they were over the steepest parts, the marching units reformed into marching order and carried on over onto the plateau as the sun dropped below the horizon. A few soldiers groused about how they should have left in the middle of the night and marched until two hours before noon, then set up bivouac for the night. Still a dozen kilometers from their objective, they sat on the rim of the gently rolling grass fields and cut firewood. The troops would sleep in their greatcoats, heads resting on packs and muskets laid beside them, for a night attack on the approach march was a risk to be taken seriously.

Zhadanets reviewed his Brigade's papers by the light of a beeswax taper, the fingertips of his left hand drumming absently on the table as he added the ready ammunition stocks in the limbers of his Horse Artillery and then multiplied it by four for the number of rounds in the caisson. The major downside of his block-trail gun carriages was that they had no ready ammunition box, but the carefully designed trail absorbed downwards as well as backwards recoil force, reducing the amount of manhandling required to move the gun back to its firing position. His gunners assured him that this made up for the lack of ammunition immediately on the gun, and he had been impressed by the small turning radius of the linked limber and caisson, which could also be used as seating for the gun crew who didn't ride the linked horses that provided mobility to the weapons. All of his guns were twelve-pounder fieldpieces and represented the conservatism of his Crown. Whilst they were entirely new, mounted on new carriages with standardized parts and had the clean lines of modern guns - no weight-adding and ineffective reinforcing bands - they were also of a calibre that had been in use for the past hundred years. The Frenchman, Chef du Battalion Durand, had at least made sure that the vehicles were loaded with good quality ammunition and not the drivel that the guilded artillerymen that serviced the rest of the Army used.

The Major General was proud of his Gunners. One of his crews, upon out-shooting the King's favourite Guild crew in the Royal Yards had quipped, far too loudly: "Just gelded the guild with that shot!" To be fair though, it had been a good shot. Zhadanets ate well, roasted fresh-shot quail with garlic and onion with a light white wine. His Hussars reported the objective was within easy sight and the enemy was as they expected, though numbers were difficult to ascertain in the failing light that had allowed for their last reconnaissance.

Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow. Zhadanets tugged off his boots and laid back on his campaign cot.

As the sun was dropping below the horizon, Peter took his last look towards the enemy encampment some distance off before turning to head back towards Arkhip, who kept control of their horses a short distance off behind some concealment. Cautiously he moved, doing his best to make as little noise as he could on the chance a Khurzav scout had slipped unseen up near him.

As much as he tried to focus on his movement, he couldn't help but feel slightly distracted by his confusion over the Khurzav, namely as a result of the appearance of their forces, and the relatively small number. They had already stayed closer to them far longer then they would have normally, as both of them had been certain there had to be more of their Southern enemy then they had seen, but their encampment, and the lack of any sign on the horizon seemed to confirm the original numbers.

As he reached Arkhip, his comrade addressed him with a whisper, "Still the same?"

Peter responded with a slight nod of his head and a quiet whisper, "Yes. There must be more, but we've stayed long enough as it is, lets walk them out a bit before we mount."

Arkhip said nothing, but acknowledged with a nod of his head before they promptly took their horses' reigns and led them away from the Khurzav.

-----

Night had fallen by the time they had returned to the main Kilrany encampment outside the fortress, and after being challenged by the outlying sentries, they made their way in towards the fortress itself, where Korovin kept his headquarters. It was here they now found themselves, reporting to an almost amused superior.

"Are you certain? A mere Four thousand strong?"

Peter grimaced slightly at Korovin's words, as his tone held none of the concern he had hoped to hear, "That's right, though there could be another five hundred or so, it was but a rough count."

Korovin grunted in amusement, "The fools have gone mad - or desperate, to send such a small force here," then paused for a moment before quickly continuing after noticing the look upon Peter's face, "Of course we will check that again in the morning, so get some rest and be ready to leave at first light."

Seemingly content with the report for the moment, Korovin dismised the pair with a wave of his hand before turning around to think over this new information. Only the guard by the tent's flap noticed the look of concern both scouts gave each other before quickly leaving the tent to try and get some sleep.

For several moments after they left, Korovin continued to stare off into space before he turned around once more and called out towards the flap, "Gavrila, get in here!"

With all due haste, the military commander's aide came quickly into the tent; a short man, he clearly didn't look like the fighting sort, "What do you need sir?"

"I want you to send another messenger to Commander Gippius, inform him that initial reports on the Khurzav raiding force were incorrect, they are ... no more then five thousand strong, and that we can handle the meeting engagement, he need not force march his men, that way he can save the strength of his cavalry for mopping up."

The aide gave a quick nod of his head in acknowledgement, then ducked back out of the tent."

[Posting as Khurzav]

Dawn broke over the plateau, rousing every Infantryman, Gunner, Trooper, and Officer with the gentle light that glimmered on the dew. The Infantry shook out their greatcoats and changed their socks, stamping their feet to warm up in the predawn chill. Sentries pulled flints back to full cock, shouldered their muskets and let off in the direction of the enemy to clear their weapons of the charge loaded as they went on duty, that might have been dampened by the dew.

Fires were lit at five separate encampments; for there was the headquarters group in the centre, the leading battalions, the two flanking battalions, and the supply train. On the plateau, towards the horizon, the brown Khurzav greatcoats stood out against the grass, horses were given lead to crop the areas around the campsite, and smoke rose into the lightening sky as massive pots of coffee were prepared. Soldiers filed by with mugs in their hands, dipping them into the scalding liquid and then receiving a quarter of a wheel of bread, a chunk of cheese, and a piece of salt beef the size of the mess attendant's hand. As the other ranks breakfasted, officers gathered together to eat more refined fare and began their day with a toast to the King.

It seemed unfair that the officers should eat better than their subordinates, but from their pay the automatic deduction of mess dues was made and so officers elected to eat this better fare anyways. It served a useful purpose, setting them apart from the troops, for in this day and age education was hardly universal and most societies were still climbing out of the rot of the Mediaeval and the lopsided glut of the Enlightenment. At least in the Fourth Brigade's officers messes the men there had distinguished themselves by capability, had earned their seat at that table. One small piece of recompense was that the other ranks were not charged mess dues at all, their food provided by the same commissariat that prepared the officer's meals. Overall the fare was basic but always nourishing.

Zhadanets stood, lifting his cup. "To the King, gentlemen, a long life."
Durand and the other officers gathered at the table in the centre group raised their cups as one and echoed: "A long life to him!"
Then the Major General paused and made eye contact slowly and deliberately with every officer around the rough-hewn plank table.

"And to our enemy, may he die quickly and well."
"To our enemy."

Their breakfast complete, the Fourth Brigade resolved to be in position before the sun rose to its heights and began baking the plateau as it had the roads on the approach march. It didn't take long, for the ground was quite good on this plateau: Firm and dry. Infantry officers trotted forward with the Hussar screen, reconnoitring positions. They were accompanied by Artillery officers, and the Cavalry officers on scene discussed the pros and contras of each position. Eventually a gently sloping rise, barely half of a man's height was selected. It was flat topped, ran for half a kilometre perpendicular to the fortress five kilometers away, and then sloped gently down onto more flat ground. The area to its front was flat and filled with knee high grass, the occassional shrub, and rose to meet with the rise gently. A lightly loaded man could run it easily. The road ran straight, stark as a hard-shot painted arrow to the fortress's incomplete bulk and then climbed the ridge. Officers raised their telescopes and spyglasses, sighting on the distant enemy. They trotted back to report to their superiors.
As all of this was carried out, the soldiers rolled their greatcoats into a thick tube and fastened it by their left hip, the haft of the bayonet jutting out from underneath it. The bulk of the greatcoat, where the cuffs had been turned back and the sleeves carefully folded before the jacket was folded over onto itself to form this tube, rested on the join of their right shoulder and neck. It would provide a measure of protection from sabre blows and the other cold steel that the Kilrany were so skilled in the use of. Canteens were fully filled, some partially filled with coarse liquor before they walked to the U-shaped tins to fill up.

Cartridges were counted and nestled securely in cartridge boxes. Bayonets were sharpened, muskets disassembled and locks meticulously cleaned. One soldier watched sparks fly from the treadlewheel of a Cavalry armourer like livefire. It stopped for a moment as the sword was handed back, honed to a sharpness beyond that of a razor's edge, and started again as the armourer laid another blade to the oiled stone. The soldier half-wrapped his flint in leather and seated it firmly in the jaws of the striker, then did it three more times until he found the perfect fit. He found his platoon officer, a young Lieutenant barely twenty-two and asked for a flint. Redirected to the Platoon's Officer Cadet, what would be termed an Ensign in many other armies, the soldier asked for again and received a spare flint. This he tucked into his pocket. Because the soldier was nearly thirty and because the Officer Cadet was all of fifteen years old, the young ensign stopped the soldier nervously.

"Do you think this is seated right? It's new, and I only ever fired hunting rifles."

The rich gleam of polished wood disappeared in the soldier's hand as he took the proffered grip of the pistol. He examined the lock, his musket leaning against his torso. "I should think so, Mister Atayev. It'll serve you well today." He smiled, friendly, though this revealed the lack of teeth on the left side of his grin. Offering the pistol back to Ensign Atayev, the soldier noted the half-inch bore that would chuck a lead ball at respectable speed into the Officer Cadet's opponent. Atayev seemed relieved, because his Lieutenant was busy and he needed reassurance, and these soldiers seemed so confident. He was happy to have gained their trust during training, but he wondered how many of them seemed as confident as they were: he knew only a handful had seen combat before as was bound to happen on this field, and the tactics they were now relying upon weren't what he'd read about in his uncle's study. Atayev tried to smile brightly. "Bayonet sharp, Private?"
"It is sir. Fit to shave with, sir."
"Very good, Private Tarakan. I suspect we'll have to resharpen them at nightfall."
"I should think so, sir." The soldier smiled again, powder stains on his cheek twisting upwards with the corner of his mouth. It was not the line itself, the Lieutenant could be trusted on to trot it out every time he felt the soldiers needed pre-combat encouragement, but the manner in which the young Atayev had delivered it. It was a textbook example of the confidence officers were meant to display, bordering on a disinterest in the enemy so as to set an example for the soldiers who stood in their formation. This need to set the example, of course, was how many young officers died. But that was in Europe on faraway battlefields, not here beyond the Khurzav border on this warming plateau that belonged to their ancestral enemy.

Breakfast had been cleared away long ago and now Zhadanets made use of the table to hold a map, the corners anchored against the gentlest of breezes with items ranging from a Cuirassier's straight sword to a dish of partridgeberry jam. As he talked, his hands illustrated.

"Machek, you will command our centre. I give you the First and Second Regiments of the Line, to maintain position on this rise here." His finger traced the outline of a rise that had been penciled in less than a quarter hour before. "Third of the Line will be here, behind the rise, in reserve. Keep Numbers Six and Seven batteries, positioned as you see fit. On the flanks, perhaps."

"Yes sir, that would be my intent."

"Very good, Brigadier. Now, Prach, your Lancers and one squadron of Khorolev's Hussars are to form here on our extreme left flank." The finger stabbed down to a spot away from the rise's left slope. "Major Khorolev, your remaining squadrons are to protect the Brigade Train. Ambulances not to be in operation during the fighting, gentlemen. Colonel Prach, I retain Eleven Battery in reserve. If the enemy threatens this flank it will fire in support of your Lancers. Durand, you will cooperate with Colonel Ilyukin's First Grenadiers, here on our right flank. Behind them, Boyarsyn, I want your Cuirassiers. Formations to be selected at your discretion, based on the situation. Do not advance within artillery range of the fortress. As you well know we have only twelve pounder guns and insufficient stores to conduct a siege. They come to us."

He gestured across the plateau, and the fingers of his left hand traced down from the fortress towards the rise. His right hand gripped his fingers tightly. Zhadanets looked at his assembled commanders again, searching faces for questions. Boyarsyn rubbed the side of his hooked nose, and save for that there was no movement.
"Our first time like this, gentlemen, and their first as well. That is our advantage, why we are this flying column. It may be tight, but they're the virgin who'll bleed, not us. Bolshaya palka."

Boyarsyn and Prach, massively tall at six feet two inches apiece, straightened. "Ochen bolshaya palka. They'll get used to it." A quiet laugh went around the table at this off colour joke and Zhadanets smiled wolfishly. He couldn't ask for higher morale from his soldiers.

In the pre-dawn light, Peter passed by the outer sentries of the camp, his horse at a light trot, and his three comrades close behind. He hoped to cut to the East before heading South again to get around to the flank of the Khurzav camp to se if they had received any reinforcements under the cover of night.

Paranoid by nature; a job requirement perhaps, doubts continued to nag at him from the night before, along with a feeling that something just wasn't quite right, regardless of how hard he tried to push them from his mind. This was by far not the first Khurzav raid; they'd been raiding each other for centuries, and while he didn't exactly hold the Khurzav in high regard, he'd seen enough to know they weren't idiots, most of the time at least.

Roughly an hour and a half later, he and Arkhip were slowly crawling forward across the grass, opposite a small, two or three meter rise of ground, roughly a kilometer and a half from the Khurzav battle line. Behind them, Anton and Alexej kept careful hold of their horses, doing their best to remain unseen by the no doubt wary Khurzav soldiers.

Pulling up their spyglasses, they both took another look at their long time enemies and attempted to get a rough count of their number, and perhaps try to guess their intent, both tasks easier said then done.

Quietly to his right, Arkhip whispered to Peter, "Am I going blind here Peter? Are their men not wearing any armour?"

After a second of silence, Peter replied in kind, "No, because then I must be too. Only those cavalry there seem to have any at all ... what are they thinking? They can't seriously be planning to cause any harm with this force can they?"

"They must have more forces somewhere nearby."

"It's an open field, if it weren't for these odd rises, we'd likely be able to see them all clearly from the fortress, they're fucking bright enough ... what do you figure those are? Hand Gunners or Arquebusiers?"

"Must be Arquebusiers, I can't see them still using those old things, more likely to blow up in your hands then actually hit someone with it."

"Right then, no point dallying about, let's head back."

Nodding instinctively, Arkhip returned his spyglass to his pouch, as did Peter, before they both slowly backed down the rise. Regrouping with their comrades, they took off back towards the fortress at a greater speed then they left, feeling confident they could push their horses harder, and following a more direct path, it took them less then twenty minutes to begin their approach to the fortress once more.

With the sun now well clear of the horizon, they could easily see Korovin's infantry gathered in formation and forming the battle line in front of the Southern face of the fortress. It was here that Peter's doubts came crashing back to the for-front of his mind as he as he mentally compared the Khurzav infantry, to that of his countrymen before him.

Standing in ranks four men deep, and fifty men wide, the scouts could only see the first line of what was nearly seven thousand men and women, all of whom were now fully dressed in their mail and lamellar armour; an imposing sight as far as most Kilrany would be concerned. Their armament varied based on their formation, but among them were soldiers carrying berdiche style axes, halberds, meter long composite bows, and a relative handful armed with the arquebus, which they would fire using a berdiche as a stabilizer.

A more impressive sight to Peter’s eyes though were the White Tigers, who were similarly dressed in mail and high quality lamellar, which also covered their horses. Numbering nearly fifteen hundred strong, and split to the flanks of the infantrymen, Peter could readily imagine the fear they usually inspired in their adversaries.

-----

Korovin let out a short laugh, "The fools! I wont even need Commander Gippius and his men at all, I can teach these uppity Khurzav a lesson all on my own. What were they thinking?"

Recognizing the rhetorical question, Peter remained quiet for a moment until Aygi spoke to him, disbelief in his voice, "And you saw no pikemen whatsoever?"

Peter nodded his head slightly, "That's right. Nothing but Arquebusiers from the look of them, no visible armour, save for some on their cavalry, though they seemed to be armed only with sword."

Korovin sounded almost astonished, "Unbelievable. We'll have to advance immediately before they realize their mistake, they must have under-estimated our number."

A short distance away, Peter heard Korovin's aide speak up, "It will take several hours for the workers to bring the cannons back down from the walls for travel sir."

Korovin scoffed, "Pah, the Serpentines shall serve us well enough, leave the cannons where they are, and leave four columns of infantry behind in case they try to raid the fortress with cavalry."

Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw Gravila nod his head slightly before taking note of the order to leave behind nearly eight hundred men before he spoke again, "They had many cannons themselves sir, at least thirty that I saw."

Peter felt slightly unnerved when Korovin seemed almost happy with that news, "All the better, then we shall outnumber them in manpower and artillery, it will be a slaughter most grand."

-----

The sound of thousands of feet and hooves mingled together to assault Marius Katchaturian’s ears through his helmet as he rod atop his horse, his position near the right flank of his column, third rank in. A member of the prestigious White Tigers, he felt superbly protected by his armour despite the added heat from the sun, which only spurned on the confidence in him as he saw the reportedly unarmoured foes over the heads of the infantry, nearly two and a half kilometers to his front.

Sensing an easy victory, Korovin chose to march his infantry straight out towards the Khurzav line from their original positions over the open, and nearly flat ground that separated them, covering a kilometer every ten to fifteen minutes at a casual pace to limit fatigue. As a result, the Kilrany infantry were spread out from left to right over three hundred and fifty meters, seemingly thirteen columns wide and four deep.

From his mounted position behind them; as the White Tigers followed parallel to the infantry to more readily shift their positions as needed, Marius could easily see the swaying weapons and standards of the infantry. Organized slightly differently then the infantry, who operated in columns two hundred men strong, the columns of the White Tigers operated two hundred and fifty strong.

The arrangement of the infantry was rather simple, with the first two ranks of the line being comprised of the halberd equipped soldiers four columns by two on either flank, and the berdiche equipped soldiers five columns by two between them. Though as a result of one column of their column being left at the fortress, the center most column in the second rank was comprised of the arquebus and berdiche equipped soldiers.

Though perhaps difficult to see from the Khurzav line, the last two ranks of Kilrany infantry were not in fact uniform with the front two. Located on either flank were the remaining four columns of arquebus and berdiche equipped infantrymen, and between them were eight columns of Kilrany archers, four by two deep, each equipped with a meter tall composite bow, a teardrop-shaped shield, and; in comparison to the berdiche, a small axe.

Marius couldn’t however see the four, ten gun batteries of Serpentine being lugged along behind their columns, followed closely by Korovin, his bodyguards, and the signalers. Nor could Marius see how Aygi almost greedily looked upon the Khurzav right flank, which was to their left as they approached.

In his mind, Aygi pictured a thunderous charge into the Khurzav flank, sweeping aside their lightly armoured cavalry with their lances and swords, then rolling up their flank and butchering the unprepared infantry; no one ever said he was a modest man.

Before they had even closed to two kilometers, he could take the thought no longer, and called out to his column officers who currently followed near him, “Aram, your column shall hold on the right, Anna, yours will hold on the left, the rest of you will take your columns with me, we shall flank to the left and assault them from there.”

Not a one of them said a word to try and dissuade Aygi, not out of fear, but instead in anticipation, as they themselves eagerly wished to crush the Khurzav beneath them, and technically they would still be defending the flanks as per Korovin’s order, just with fewer numbers then he expected.

-----

It didn’t take Korovin long to notice that Aygi was up to something, especially given nearly one thousand of his cavalry were suddenly breaking off to the far left at a light trot.

Grimacing, he first spoke to no one in particular, “God damn that man, where the hell does he think he’s going,” then twisting upon his horse to look towards Peter, he jutted his hand out towards the nearby scout, “You, get over to Aygi and tell him to his columns back in the formation, now!”

Given the anger in Korovin’s voice, Peter chose not to pass this task along to one of his scouts; some of whom were already out keeping an eye out for more Khurzav, and instead kicked his horse up to gallop immediately.

-----

Located in the third rank near the center of her column, which was in turn at the center of the front most line, Sasha Katina held her berdiche axe loosely in her hands as she marched in close formation. Behind their formation their column officer followed for the moment, keeping an eye to the left and right to ensure the entire formation was still in place with the next, while also allowing him the ability to glance behind every so often to watch for any flag signals from Commander Korovin.

At roughly a kilometer and a half from the Khurzav line on the rise, she saw the first sign of fire erupt from the enemy cannons, and before their officers could scream out, "Loose formation!" the first rounds came whistling in at knee and waist level, tearing through several sections of the line like a sadistic game of lawn bowling. The heavy six kilogram shot ripped through limb and armour with unnerving ease, but as horrifying as that was, the Kilrany were well aware of the dangers of artillery, they simply just did not expect such accuracy at range from the Khurzav.

As the first salvo passed them by, and the Khurzav gunners waited for the smoke to clear to re-adjust their aim and fire again, the officers once again called out, "Loose formation!" for those that had missed it over the sound of the six kilo shots and the screams of those now laying upon the ground and missing a limb.

Around her, Sasha's formation dispersed slightly, putting a meter and a half to a full meter between each other, the usual hope with such a formation being the reduced risk of a single shot taking down an entire row. With the positioning of the Khurzav guns however, this was dubious at best.

Regardless, they continued their march, and took another such salvo shortly there after, this one coming close enough to Sasha that she heard the screams of those hit as though they had been standing beside her, but she could not see who it was, and dared not take her eyes off the Khurzav line to her front, forcing herself to focus on them, and what she would do to them when she reached them with her berdiche.

Beyond her sight somewhere to her left, Aygi continued to lead his main force to the East, before cutting South in a hope to come in on the Khurzav line in such a way as to put the screening cavalry between them and their artillery.

As they passed what was roughly the one kilometer mark, the Khurzav guns seemed to double their rate of fire, the solid shots once more ripping into the columns with impunity. One round in particular, coming in at an angle, hit a slight rise in the ground and soared into the air to smash through the chest of the soldier directly in front of Sasha, sending him sailing out of her view along with the heavy round. Though blood splattered across her front, she had no time to notice it, as their officers called out to quicken their pace faster walk, and she had to jog forward a moment to take the position of her now dead comrade.

While the six kilogram solid shots were devastating enough as they were against the approaching Kilrany infantry, they knew it was only going to get worse, and it did. At about four hundred meters the Khurzav guns oppened up with grapeshot, peppering the front line with their loosely packed metal bearings, causing numerous injuries and deaths.

In spite of this withering fire, the Kilrany line continued forward, as while they may have been technologically inferior to this new Khurzav formation as as result of centuries of isolation, they still had their discipline, and their hatred for the Khurzav. It perhaps didn't hurt that they had such large numbers available to absorb the damage from the Khurzav guns as they fired at an average rate of a round a minute.

At two hundred and fifty meters, the Khurzav gunners shifted to a double load with both a canister and a solid shot within. During this salvo the attrition was starting to take its toll, and one forward column alone had suffered over fifty percent casaulties, but forced forward anyway with their comrades fast on their heels.

Behind the main line of infantry, the Kilrany gunners began to hurredly set up their own lighter cannons some four hundred meters from the Khurzav line, spreading themselves out with their forty guns and preparing to engage the enemy guns. Armed only with solid shot, it was thought they would do better in counter-battery work.

Passing by the one hundred and fifty meter mark, the Khurzav gunners were quickly loading another brace of canister shot when the first Kilrany guns opened fire upon their positions, the smaller solid shot flashing over the heads of the Kilrany. This proved insufficient to distract the Khurzav gunners and they fired their next load of canister.

Around her, the shrapnel tore through her unit, devastating the column in one quick, brutal salvo. Daring to glance to her left and right, she could see that less then half her column remained.

At that point she hear the officers all along the front columns call out, "Tighten formation, double time!"

Those who remained alive and mobile in the front line quickly re-formed together and quickened their pace to a full jog towards main enemy line on the rise while the second, third and fourth lines were ordered to halt with the second less then one hundred meters from the Khurzav. Here the officers had seen the signals given by Korovin's men, and the Kilrany archers notched their first arrows and quickly aimed skyward. After cauldron they had walked through, there were just under sixteen hundred of them left, and without hesitation they unleashed their first storm upon the Khurzav lines, including their guns located on the flanks of the rise.

Closing the range all the faster as the Khurzav gunners worked to reload, the order to fully charge came at roughly the fifty meter mark. A great roar rose across the surviving front line of Kilrany infantry as they screamed in fury and charged the Khurzav infantry and guns across the entire three hundred and fifty meter wide front.

[Posting as Khurzav]

Brigadier Machek walked his roan thoroughbred across the front of the rise. The troops who had been in relaxed order eyed him curiously, their attention long since drawn to the front by the evolutions of their enemy. Machek filled his lungs.

"Battalions will form line of two ranks!" His voice was huge. To their credit, the troops had already stood to in four ranks and it was a simple matter for the front two ranks to step to the left and the rear two ranks to step to the right. They did it with a precision that raised polite applause from bored Horse Artillery crews.
"Battalions will align!"
Colonel Elyev bellowed his orders, competing with Machek for volume. "First of the Line will dress on Number Ten Company!"

His soldiers stepped forward, shifted their muskets to their left shoulder, and raised their right arm out straight from the shoulder. Heads snapped to the right and they shuffled, the men in the second rank dressing on the man infront of them. Colonel Pyotrov waited for the First to complete their dressing. "Second of the Line will dress on Number One Company, on my command!" A pause as the Light Company shuffled to line up with the tall soldiers who formed the Grenadier Company of the First of the Line.

"Battalion, dress!" Pyotrov's voice carried far and clearly. With a military precision to match that of the First of the Line, the Second of the Line dressed themselves to form one unbroken front, two ranks deep, across the rise. Every Company and Battalion officer raised their spyglass to survey the Kilrany's movements as Aygi's cavalry changed position. Machek, supremely confident and appearing to be totally unconcerned with the heavily armoured warriors descending upon his position, turned his horse to face his Regiments.

"Battalions will stand at ease!" Sixteen hundred and fifty musket butts went from calloused palms to soft grass in a single motion. A staff officer cantered along the rise, standing in his stirrups. He reined in next to the Brigadier and Colonel Pytorov. "Compliments of the General, Brigadier, and will you deploy your batteries on the left?"
"They are, Major."
"Begging the Brigadier's pardon, sir, but I'm fairly certain the General means to deploy both batteries on the left."
"Has the General ordered such?"
"No sir."
"Then go and politely tell him he's beginning to worry too much."

The Major opened his mouth to object when Pyotrov jerked his chin in the direction the courier had ridden from. Another rider approached.

"Begging your gentlemen's pardon, but the General rescinds his earlier order and directs Brigadier Machek to deploy his batteries as he sees fit." The Captain sent an apologetic glance in the Major's direction. "He also says, sir, that in his anticipation he's beginning to act like a woman."

Pyotrov and Machek chuckled simultaneously. "Brigadier?"
"Yes Colonel?"
"I'm beginning to think our General has the Sight."

The staff officers smiled and looked towards the enemy to hide their expressions from the Second of the Line. Machek unholstered one of his pistols and handed it grip-first to the Major. He raised his voice so that the nearest Companies could hear. "Go and store this with my valise, and if the General asks you why you've got it tell him I won't be needing it today." Grins flickered up the lines of both battalions as the comment was passed man to man. Just then, the twelve pounders bucked back on their carriages and the sound of their firing punched the air.

On the right flank, Colonel Ilyukin's Grenadiers stood at attention with their brass-bound musket butts gripped in their right hand, the length of the weapon resting against their shoulders. Cuirassiers sat high in their saddles, formed into a double column of squadrons. The breeze stirred the plumes of their helmets and a few of their huge mounts smelt the smoke of the field guns and tossed their heads impatiently. Still, solid shot whistled into the enemy formation, striking down Cavalry and Infantry with equal ease. As each gun loaded the first round of quilted grapeshot, the Colonels of each Regiment bellowed at their battalions to stand ready, then to load.

Behind the smoke of the field guns, each Infantryman, Grenadier, Skirmisher, and Fusilier's right hand went to the cartridge box at his hip and took hold of a waxed paper cartridge. His hand, still holding the cartridge, brought the cock back to half ready and opened the frizzen cover. He bit the bullet off the cartridge in order to open it, and poured a pinch of powder into the frizzen. He closed the frizzen cover and upended the musket, pouring the remainder down the barrel, followed by the waxed paper. Finally he spat the bullet into the muzzle and covered it with his thumb. Without having to look, the right hand withdrew the ramrod from its hoops, spun it in the air, and placed the wide end down on his thumbnail. He moved his thumb to one side and rammed down twice, returning the ramrod to its hoops. Finally, he lifted the butt from the ground and stood ready, brass butt in the palm of his hand again. The entire process had taken just over twenty seconds.

On the left flank, the Hussars and Lancers walked their horses backwards as Aygi's formation kept riding. They were clear of the smoke of the guns and thus could cleary see the enemy. Certainly, they had no intention of shielding the heavily armoured Kilrany riders from the ruination that the twelve pounders could unleash on tightly packed cavalry. Colonel Prach ordered his Regiment into line and then held back a squadron as a reserve. The Hussars formed up with the reserve and drew their sabres, both Chevau-Léger Lancier in their plumed Kiwer shakos and the Hussars in their fur busbies serving to menace Aygi's riders. The fieldguns switched to canister and solid shot, punching out a six kilogram ball surrounded by a cloud of metal debris, ranging from broken nails to musket balls. Canister was an inexpensive munition to make, all things considered.

As the gunners loaded canister only, Machek began breathing deeply. He rode back a few paces to ensure his officers could hear and echo his orders over the noise of battle, and waited. Serpentines began firing at his gunners, who ignored them long enough to fire another blast of canister at the fast-approaching Kilrany. They loaded grapeshot and serviced the Serpentines next, aiming to liberally sprinkle the twenty quarter-pound balls of each quilted grapeshot round over the area occupied by the Kilrany gunners. This shot completed, the Gunners sweated as they shoved another canister into the barrel, atop a propellant charge.

"Regiments of the Line, present arms!"

A shower of arrows fell, slamming into the ground and some unfortunate flesh. The artillery seemed to attract the worst of this fire, as did the mounted officers, and more than a few Company officers were replaced by their subalterns. "Close up! Close up!" Corporals rushed behind the ranks, dragging wounded and dead men back so the lines could contract inwards, keeping the formation together. The men shouldered their muskets, and to the Kilrany who screamed hellishly and began running headlong at them, it must have seemed as if the entire line took a quarter turn to the right.

"You will aim low! Aim at their balls!" Machek drew his sword with his right and jerked an arrow out of his saddle with his left, ignoring the cut that stung so sharply on his left forearm. He held the steel up to the sun and let it flash. He looked down the length of the formation, ensuring all of his officers were to the sides or the rear, and slashed down violently as the first of the Kilrany ran to forty meter's distance from his two Regiments.

"Fire!" Elyev and Pyotrov watched as fifteen hundred and seventy-odd muskets flamed. They could see over the smoke, and this was why Infantry officers were mounted. "Platoon fire!" Company officers echoed this order, screaming for their men to begin firing by platoon. The volleys rippled down the length of the formation, each half-company firing as one. Then the one beside it fired, and the reloading was fuelled by adrenaline. Private Tarakan shouldered his musket with the rest of his unit and dropped the muzzle down to what he estimated to be about crotch height, waited for the command, and fired with his fellows into the smoke. The twelve pounder guns smashed another load of canister into the enemy, alternating between the Kilrany Infantry and their Serpentines, switching between canister for the nearer target and grapeshot for the further.

On the right flank, with Aygi's cavalry force a half-kilometre away, Colonel Ilyukin was keeping watch in that direction. His second in command watched the enemy Infantry hurl themselves against the line on the rise, and Ilyukin dispatched a member of his battalion staff to ensure that Durand and the gunners knew about the enemy Heavy Cavalry sitting within roundshot or perhaps even grapeshot range. A Twelve Pounder fieldpiece slammed back and was immediately sponged out and reloaded.

Somewhere near the center of the Kilrany line, Sasha’s vision was so locked upon the Khurzav line directly in front of her that she was completely unaware of the full extent that her own line had been diminished. What had been a force of nearly two thousand men and women had been whittled down to less then a thousand by cannon fire, and in the space a few seconds more, would be all but annihilated.

She was familiar with firearms, at least to the extent that they were available to Kilrany forces, and she had never had reason to truly fear them until now; it was perhaps fortunate then she would not live to have memory of it. Having survived up to this point through the Khurzav bombardment of their line with solid shot, grapeshot, and even canister rounds fired upon her, her luck finally ran out just over forty meters from Khurzav infantry line.

Two rounds struck her near instantaneously, one to her stomach, punching through her armour just under her ribcage, and the second into her neck, tearing through her throat before smashing into her spine and lodging there. Her momentum managed to carry her forward another half meter before she thumped unceremoniously to the ground.

Only a bare handful of Kilrany managed to actually approach the Khurzav line, proving to be of limited threat to their still organized opponents despite their better protection and melee weaponry. The largest of these was a mere thirteen men from a column of two hundred, and armed with halberds, they charged in at an angle towards the Khurzav guns on the right flank of the main formation on the rise.

Their officers dead though, they were disorganized and lacked any semblance of a formation, something they only made up for by sticking together as best they could.

-----

As the fire erupted along the Khurzav front line, Korovin looked on in frustration, still unable to fathom the reality of the situation and the true threat of the smaller Khurzav force. Quickly though his dream of an easy victory was shattered as he saw the distant shape of his men falling to the ground, or disappearing into clouds of smoke in far too few a number.

Still under the impression that the Khurzav were carrying naught but the arquebus, he made a sweeping gesture across his front with his right hand, and barked out loudly, “Order the second line of axemen to attack now before they can reload, and have the archers fire at will.”

No one questioned the order from their commander, and it was quickly passed along to the nearby signalmen who quickly raised the proper flags.

-----

Where as those infantry in the first line of the Kilrany formation had been able to act ignorant of the situation, the second line was no longer under any such illusion. Thus when the order came to advance, there was a slight hesitation from several of the officers, but only for a moment before they screamed out the order to advance. As the columns armed with berdiche axes moved up, the four remaining halberd equipped columns spread out into three ranks, rather then their previous four.

Behind them the order passed to the archers and they took aim towards the sky once more before unleashing their storm of arrows towards the primary Khurzav line on the rise. They would manage this once more before the second line of infantry was close enough to sprint forward and there would be too much risk in hitting their own men.

This didn't stop them from letting loose with their arrows completely though, and their officers shifted their focus now that thay could engage at will. The four columns on the right of the Kilrany line began to direct their fire towards the Khurzav Lancers and Hussars while the four columns on the left unleashed upon cannon crews and infantry that made up the left side of the Khurzav right flank.

-----

As his own formation wheeled about nearly four hundred meters from the Khurzav right flank, Marius glanced over with concern as the first line of infantry was decimated by gunfire. Several ranks to his front though, Aygi seemed to share no such concern, and in fact, seemed to see this as an opportunity, as like Korovin, he still thought the Khurzav infantry had nothing but the arquebus, which would take time to reload, and be little more then a club when they closed the range.

Spurring them onwards, the standards of the White Tigers fluttered as the cavalry thundered in towards the Khurzav flank from almost due East. Spread out with a full meter between each cavalrymen, they charged in to close the distance as quickly as possible with each of the four columns four ranks deep in wedge formations.

The two formations on the right aimed to strike at the enemy guns in an attempt to trample the gunners, thus they would keep their loose formation to allow freedom of movement around the heavy weapons before moving coming together and moving on the enemy Grenadiers. The two on the left, one led by Aygi, aimed to strike at the enemy cavalry, and would keep their loose formation up until the last hundred meters, where they would then close together and attempt to strike them with their wall of lances.

[Posting as Khurzav]

As the Kilrany continued to pour fresh troops into the meatgrinder, the Khurzav commanders were amazed at the slaughter. This had never happened before, not on this scale. Amazing. As the man to his left was jerked back by an arrow, Tarakan focused on reloading while shuffling slowly to the left. The Sergeants bellowed over the jarring scream of rapid musketry: "Close up! Close up!" A Corporal ran between the files and jerked the wounded man out of formation, placing him behind the line to die. His musket was snatched away, as was his ammunition, and the wounded man bit down on his crossbelt to keep from crying out as unsympathetic hands tore the cartridge box from his belt. Then, suddenly, the Kilrany were so close the archers had to lift their fire or risk slaughtering their own.

There was a mound of dead and horribly wounded to the front. It wasn't a perfect line by any means, nor particularly high, but certainly enough to foul someone's footing. As more Kilrany walked towards and over the bodies of their fallen, they were thrown back by the crashing half-company volleys. They added their bodies to the growing pile and further hindered their comrade's advance. Ensign Atayev had his pistol out in his left hand and his sword in the other, walking up and down behind the line as was standard, doing his best to ignore the calls of the wounded and being sure to stay outside their reach so no hand could grasp his ankle. He just happened to be looking in the right direction when Ilyukin's First Grenadiers performed a gorgeous display of battlefield drill, the center companies suddenly marking time, the left-most companies swinging backwards from the line towards the center, the right-most companies mimicking this movement, and then a final company falling as securely as a stout barn door, hinging from the right to close the rear of the square. It was gorgeous, the high Kiwer shakos catching the light with their cap-plates, musket locks gleaming, every one of the tall men an imposing sight with expressionless faces.

Infantry officers glancing left saw the gaudy green plumes on the Regiment Chevau-Léger Lancier's shakos waving jauntily as the Lancers rode past, heading outside the effective range of the massed archers. Once their move was completed, they were in a position to screen the left flank as their orders required but this screening action would require them to ride into the arrows again. Surviving Hussars were dispatched to the far left flank to monitor the Kilrany actions, while remaining out of bowshot. They had left several dead on the field, along with a number of wounded horses who had a disturbing insistence on producing the most hair-raising scream heard on the battlefield so far. Riders without mounts remounted on the surviving horses of their dead comrades or started to make the long walk back to claim a remount from the ad-hoc Brigade Depot. One of the Lancer NCOs theorized that the hard-charging nature of the Hussars had driven them further out than the Lancers, requiring them to stay under the shower of arrows longer than the Lancers, despite being mounted on equally fast, sure-footed horses.

A moment later the reason for Ilyukin to have contracted into a square like that became horribly apparent. Nothing was yet visible, but the dull thudding of hooves could be heard, rumbling up through the soil. Nonchalantly, Elyev rode beside Atayev and handed the boy an arrow. One had bisected the corner of his tricorne hat, a non-uniform affection that Elyev had. Confused, Atayev looked up at his Colonel. Both officers ignored the sight of Cuirassiers riding back from their place on the right wing in good order, sun shining from burnished helmets and breastplates. They halted, officers carefully and apparently nervously watching their Kilrany counterparts.

"Tuck it behind your cap-plate. After all these arrows, I think I'll make it a style for the Regiment."
"Very good, sir," said Atayev, and he meant it. Just as nonchalantly as he had appeared, Elyev raised his voice over the combat's din. "First Regiment will form square and prepare to repulse cavalry!"
"First Regiment, form square!" His subordinate officers echoed the cry. With a snap that nearly matched that of the Grenadiers, the First Regiment of the Line formed into a square on the rise. A moment later, the Second Regiment of the Line did the same. Durand's gunners limbered and rode closer to the Grenadier's square, dismounting and bringing their fieldpieces back into action with all of the alacrity that wsa the purpose of the Horse Artillery's existence. Their stationary pieces would help break up the charge on the Grenadiers, and this function was mirrored on the rise by the location of the gunners and their support vehicles there. The limbers and cassions were ready to be rolled inside the squares to protect the ammunition from the Kilrany, while the guns themselves were quite safe. Nearly all of this was concealed from the Kilrany commanders by virtue of the fogbank that was constantly replenished by the gunfire issuing from the rise and Durand's guns.

Aygi's division of forces kept Chef du Battalion Durand's attention for some time, the French officer ignoring all else until he determined the composition and directionality of each element. Then he shouted orders and chivvied his gunners, even helping one crew force their piece around. Stepping clear of the carriage, he watched the incoming cavalry while the crew rammed a canister ontop of the quilted grapeshot nestled inside the twelve pounder's bore. The gunner sighted, allowed for lead, and stepped to the side as his portfire brushed the fuse in the touch-hole. The gun flung itself back in recoil and the rest of the doubleshotted guns under Durand's command likewise engaged the packed and galloping heavy cavalry attacking the Cuirassiers. The gunners unslung their carbines and ducked into the nearby square past their abandoned vehicles and guns, the Grenadiers closing up behind them. This left the more loosely ordered cavalry fast approaching.

Ramming down powder and ball, the gunners formed a reserve inside Ilyukin's square that would move to reinforce any side required. Durand stood near the huge Colonel of the Grenadier Regiment, making a quick headcount while his junior officers checked to see that all of the portfires, sponges, rammers, and buckets had been brought with the fleeing gunners. Not that anybody would be leaving the square to recover those crucial pieces of equipment as the sound of wounded horses was drowned by the war screams of the heavy cavalry, trying to manouvre around the guns. There had been no time to roll the limber-caisson combination into the square, but it was within easy musket range, barely ten meters away. It would serve as an impromptu barricade. Ilyukin, now wielding two pistols, screamed at his Grenadiers.

"How dare they! How dare they waste our ammunition! Men, you will stand firm and let the common Infanteers do the killing! These dogs are unworthy of our ammunition!" He took a deep breath and proceeded to contradict himself. "Battalion will fire by Companies! Company Officer's discretion!" Sergeants and Corporals were in the ranks now, their muskets ready, shouting words of encouragement.

"They're not worth our lead boys! Aim for their horses! They're worth more than those whoresons!"
"Front rank kneel!"

The other gunners with the Horse Artillery batteries deployed on the rise doubleshotted canister and grapeshot as well, aiming to fire on a shallow diagonal through the Kilrany that were hung up on the barricade of their dead and dying. Gunners waved portfires in the air, the tip of the slowmatch glowing cherry red, and touched them to fuses. The guns threw themselves back violently, and with just as much violence a crimson spray misted the air above the musket smoke. Each grapeshot could be expected to hit a man, keep going, hit another, touch the ground, and bounce up at crotch height to scythe more enemies down until finally the ball lodged in something or rolled to a benign stop. The lighter canister would simply kill the first man it hit and tear his insides to ruin, but stop there. As the cavalry threat loomed, these gunners abandoned their pieces and rolled their ammunition vehicles into the squares in good order. One gun crew was dangerously understrength, reduced by frantic halberds until carbines had forced a few agile attackers away from the gunline, throwing them down onto the grass with their half-inch balls.

As they burst through the smoke, some Kilrany riders were nearly thrown from rearing horses. This impacted negatively on the cohesion of the formation, the porous barricade of guns and artillery vehicles blocking some elements of the charge. It was not possible to evade them all as the screaming cavalry burst through the lingering smoke and made for the Grenadiers.

"By platoon! Fire!"

Rolling volleys rippled down one face of the square, smashing into the broad chests of cavalry horses and hurling them down violently onto the grass. This formed another barricade, rapidly filling in gaps between the guns, caissons, and limbers. The front rank saved their muskets to see what else would appear, maintaining the hedge of bayonets while the second rank reloaded. Cavalry had no option but to ride past the Grenadiers, being doused with more musketry as they did so, and attempt to attack two more squares on the rise and a third square, that of the Third Regiment of the Line, behind that rise. The heavy silk battle flags of the Khurzav Kingdom taunted the Kilrany from inside the squares of the First and Second Regiments. Frustratingly for the surviving cavalry blasted with Durand's last volley from his guns, the Cuirassiers were maintaining the distance between them and the pursuing force at a canter. Their line of movement was diagonal, edging close to the Third of the Line, their strategy not immediately apparent to the Infantry who jeered loudly and taunted the heavily armoured cavalry who had so arrogantly ridden to battle.

All along the main line of the engagement, Kilrany soldiers were falling to massed musket fire from the Khurzav infantry in a brutal, one sided slaughter. Already nearly three thousand men and women lay dead or dying on the field of battle, and more were joining them in quick order. Vadym Kuindzhi was one of those dying Kilrany, and from his position not thirty-five meters from the Khurzav line, his view was a good one.

Shot at least twice, he couldn’t feel his legs as he lie still on his back, his shoulders propped up slightly by the dead comrade he’d landed on when he went down. Gritting his teeth together, he fought back the urge to cry out and hoped he would not be trampled on by his own as his right hand still gripped the long handle of his axe.

Slowly turning his head to the right and left, he could see areas where remnants of the second charge were getting through the withering fire and over their fallen comrades. Much to his continued dismay however, their numbers were always small when they reached the Khurzav line, six here, eleven there, even one lone, crazed sounding Kilrany swinging his berdiche with a terrible rage.

As much as he quietly willed them on, he held no illusion that they could achieve a victory at this point; their numbers were simply too few, even if those that made it still moved and watched each other as a unit. All he could hope for at this point as he lay their slowly bleeding to death, was that the Khurzav line, or even a couple of their soldiers would advance, and he’d have one last chance to swing his axe and take one down at the knees before he died.

-----

Even though he was right in the thick of things, Marius could not understand how everything was going so wrong for them as their section of the charge ground to an immediate halt. Never before had the Khurzav shown such professionalism or determination to hold their ground against their cavalry charges, and their new firearms only made things all the worse.

Already half his column had been obliterated by the last ditch salvo from the Khurzav guns alone, sending man and beast to the ground with indifference, leaving some riders caught beneath their dead mounts. Aygi was among them; though he had the fortune to be killed outright rather then suffer slow death, which would also prevent him from having to explain the catastrophe he was a part of.

To his right, the columns assaulting towards the Khurzav guns fared slightly better, though the left most of the two found themselves caught up trying to maneuver around obstacles created by the guns, equipment, and their own dead. Much like his own column, they found they had nowhere to advance through without going around, leaving them hanging within musket range of the Khurzav infantry.

Without enough room for both columns attacking the guns to make it through, the right most column had angled out slightly to wheel back in towards the Grenadiers, their commander still under the belief that the Khurzav would break and run. Had it not been for the unwavering infantry, this column of two hundred and fifty cavalrymen might have been able to break though their line and cause untold havoc within, but they never got that chance.

Volleys of musket fire cut down the first rank of cavalry, and much like Marius’ group, prevented them from continuing their charge, forcing them to wheel back off in the direction of their own lines lest they be thrown from their horses.

-----

All throughout the remaining lines of Kilrany infantry, dismay filled the hearts of men and women as they watched as the White Tigers charge was easily brought to a halt. It had been devastating enough to see their own infantry lines obliterated under a hail of gunfire, but to see one of the most prestigious forces in the Kilrany Empire decimated so was a blow beyond words.

Riding back up towards Korovin, Peter looked over his shoulder to see the remnants of the White Tigers attempting to retreat back the way they’d come, with one column moving more directly towards their own left flank. He shook his head slowly as he estimated there to be less than four hundred among them all.

Bringing his horse to a halt near Korovin, he watched the Commander for several seconds as the man simply sat there on his horse, looking out across the carnage of the field. His face concealed behind some fabric and mail, Peter could not read any expression upon his face.

A glance back towards the Khurzav line made it clear to him the last of their infantry assaulting it were now dead, or wounded upon the ground, and a moment later he heard Korovin speak slowly, anger clearly evident in his voice, “Signal the withdraw.”

Looking back, Peter saw Korovin’s subordinate hesitate for a moment before moving to carry out the order. Quickly the signalmen shifted flags and waved them about from a nearby rise.

It took a few moments, but Peter eventually noticed the remaining lines of infantry about face, and begin marching back the way they’d come, still in their loose formations with the exception of the remaining halberd equipped men who stayed close together.

[Posting as Khurzav]

Because the Khurzav officers were mounted, they were able to see much more than the men under their command could. When the Kilrany finally broke - after taking more punishment than any other opponent would have tolerated, given the shock of the new Khurzav weapons and employment thereof - and began retreating, the officers were glad for the man-made fog that blocked their men's view of the battlefield.

It prevented the Khurzav soldiers from seeing what they'd done to their ancestral enemy, which prevented them from breaking ranks and pursuing their enemy headlong across the field, into his reserves. Unarmoured and equipped with a bayonet rather than a polearm, the average Infanteer would fare poorly against the armoured axemen wielding the lengthy Berdiche. As soon as it became clear that the cavalry had been shattered, which took only moments, the men of the Horse Artillery were running back to their guns to fire more salvos and speed the Kilrany retreat.

As the batteries on the rise loaded grapeshot and solid shot, Durand watched his gunners slew their pieces onto the retreating White Tigers, picking the largest formations. Averting his eyes from the battlefield, he instead focused on a gun crew loading their twelve pounder. The gunner's leather-encased thumb went over the touch hole while the sponge was rammed down the barrel, then the powder bag was loaded and rammed, quilted grapeshot ontop of that, and a solid shot rammed in. The gunner turned the screw quoin, looking down his sights as the loaders busied themselves getting out of the way and one walked back the length of the barrel to push a needle through the touch hole. The gunner straightened and inserted the fuse, stepping away from the piece. As it jerked back on its carriage, a group of retreating cavalrymen received a blast of grapeshot, forming a devil's halo around the monolithic solid shot. It was just the artillery firing now, and a tremendous crack jerked heads around towards the rise.

There, one wheel missing, a fieldpiece had exploded. The overheated barrel had given way to a casting defect and the area just forward of the thickened breech had exploded, slaughtering half the gun crew and setting fire to the ready ammunition. These flames licked as high as a bonfire's for a scant few moments and then faded, a loader's blackened body smoldering by the broken gun carriage. Elyev and Pyotrov rode around to their soldier's front and bellowed orders, forcing their attention away from the destroyed gun and its crew. "Battalion will advance!" They stepped off, left foot leading.

"Skirmishers will deploy to the flanks!"
Running from their place in the line, the Light Companies of both the First and Second Regiments split in half, one half company going to the left and the other to the right. They formed a loose chain, men operating in pairs, running to put distance between themselves and the lines. Slowing to a walk as they reached the mound of dead, they picked their way across carefully. Musket stocks smashed down outstretched arms, knocked aside weakly held polearms, and the occassional shot put an end to the occassional defiant and wounded Kilrany soldier in that grotesque barricade.
Then the battalion lines were at the mound of dead and maimed. They marched over them, most bodies being dragged a few feet as soldiers stooped, searched pockets and cut seams open to search for hidden coins, then straightened up and resumed their place in formation.

Colonels Elyev and Pyotrov brandished their swords at the retreating enemy as the Hussars galloped in from the flank, Lancers following behind at a canter in squadron squares. They cheered themselves hoarse, and a massive noise rose from behind them as their Regiments did the same, taunting the retreating enemy just as the first Hussars reached the last of those who'd turned away from the carnage.
They slashed down, the better riders riding alongside a running Kilrany and back-swinging their sabres to cut at the face, slicing eyes into blindness and cutting deeply into the bone. When challenged, horses reared up and lashed out with a hoof, caving in helmets and skulls with equal ease.

Attacking the Kilrany, even when they were in flight like this, was a hazardous business. The Cuirassiers rode up at the trot keeping close formation to effect a formation-shattering charge if it was required, and watched the Hussars hack and slash through the fugitives. They wheeled away from knots of men who put themselves back to back with their comrades, forming groups that the horses would not ride through. Hussars fired pistols at them and rode on in search of easier prey, and eventually a knot of nearly fifty men had formed.

The Hussars, in total disorder, pushed their luck and rode screaming into the rear of the Kilrany lines. There was a flash of arqebus fire, the briefest of melees as the Kilrany professionally emptied saddles and butchered horses to the ground with long axes, avenging themselves on the Hussars, who quickly rode back towards the Lancers. Riding at the head of his men, Colonel Prach waved the Hussars off as they sought safety behind the Lancer's carefully ordered formations and detached two squadrons to charge the knot of Kilrany who had formed in the field between the two lines, where the cavalry roamed at will. The other squadrons screened the main enemy line, just out of bowshot.

Behind the cavalry, the Infantry marched back up onto the rise and began to replenish ammunition. Troops drank deeply from canteens, swilling their mouths with tepid water and spitting it out black. The ambulances were released to come up, loading the wounded and bringing them back to the rear.

Looking over the heads of the infantry in disgust as they all continued their orderly withdrawal back to the fortress, Anna Zel’dovicha led her horse at a trot to the left of her formation to better survey the field behind them. While her loathing was focused mainly on the Khurzav for forcing their retreat, she found a growing sense of animosity towards Korovin for leaving the surviving infantry from the last assault to fend for themselves upon the field.

It was not a scene she was fond of being forced to watch, and she greatly wished to wheel her column around the right flank to harass the Khurzav cavalry in order to buy time for the remaining infantry to reach the line. Orders relayed through the signalmen however prevented her from taking any action; at least that was what most in her column believed to be the case.

As far as she herself was concerned, the only thing holding her back was her own cowardice. Having watched Aygi’s main force be annihilated, the Khurzav suddenly seemed invulnerable with their new weapons and unusual uniforms, which brought feelings a shame and confusion in addition to her growing anger.

Slowing her horse to a walk and turning him to the right to keep ahead of the marching ranks of infantry, she twisted in her saddle to keep an eye upon the field behind them. As they had yet to travel more then a hundred meters from the point where they’d initiated their own attack, it was not all that hard for her to see most of what transpired there.

All about the field she could see the Khurzav cavalry moving to run down fleeing infantry men with more skill and discipline in their formations then she’d ever seen their cavalry show before. Certainly they’d suffered defeats at the hands of the Khurzav before, but never against such a small force within their own borders, making her one of many who simply could not seem to comprehend the day’s events, or the significance they would ultimately hold.

While lone infantrymen had little change of survival, she noted numerous acts of bravery; perhaps desperation to others, as many turned to face the oncoming riders in an attempt to take a Khurzav with them before they died. Those still carrying their berdiche axes or halberds who attempted this either tried to dodge the cavalry saber while swinging their weapon towards the horse’s legs, or swung their weapon into the rider’s own strike in order to win the game of ‘whose weapon has more mass’.

Despite these acts, the Khurzav cavalry did well to ensure that chaos reigned among the scattered infantry, preventing most from reforming in any serious manner with very few exceptions. A few small examples of these exceptions she could see, but the largest among them she estimated to have no more then fifty men, most armed with berdiche axes, though another smaller group of around ten to fifteen armed with halberds moved quickly to join them.

Turning her head forward towards the signalers, she missed something she perhaps would have found amusing at another time from this large group. As several of the Khurzav cavalry went charging past firing off their pistols, one Kilrany lifted his axe over his head in a rage as a comrade next to him was shot, and flung the axe with all his might at one of the trailing riders before quickly stooping to grab his fallen comrade’s weapon.

Just before she could look back though, she noticed the signalers sudden change, warning the line of cavalry moving towards them. Snapping her head back around, she saw the entire line come to an immediate halt and execute an about face, the threat of a cavalry charge overriding the order to retreat for the moment.

As the Hussars came screaming in towards what had been the rear of the line, a number of things happened at once in an attempt to protect it. As the only units holding a tight formation, the halberd infantry kneeled, allowing the archers behind them to fire directly over their heads at the incoming cavalry.

A practiced maneuver for the archers, the orders went swiftly from those officers who thought their formations had a line of fire, bellowing out for the first rank to aim and fire, then kneel. This was followed in quick succession by each rank of archers, going back even to the second line, unleashing a sudden, direct storm of arrows directly into the approaching horses.

Next to them on the flanks, the berdiche axe-men whom usually felt their arquebus a useless addition, moved into a tight formation quickly and easily by having the second rank step into the first, and the fourth rank into the third. Then using their axes as a brace, the first rank steadied their aim while the second angled theirs higher for the moment to avoid any friendly fire from a misfire.

As the Hussars closed to twenty meters, the first rank of arquebus unleashed their rounds in similar manner to the Khurzav infantry before them, though they had no illusions of reloading them before the cavalry could strike, so they quickly knelt for a moment. This allowed them to both easily drop their arquebus and let the second rank fire over their heads into the Hussars as well before coming back to a stand to briefly deal with those survivors who made it to their line.

As she witnessed the Hussars incur the wrath of the infantrymen, making it clear to her they had not in fact gained some new invulnerability, her fear and anger suddenly melted away in a moment of resolve. Spurring her horse onward, she shot forwards, aiming herself at the far left side of her column’s leading element.

The quick and sudden movement from their commander drew the gazes of many of the riders along the left side of the column who proceeded to watch curiously as she went speeding towards one of her banner carriers. Having no time to explain or plan things out thoroughly, she snapped the pole from her startled banner carrier’s hand without warning as she passed him by.

Raising the banner high above her head, she bellowed loudly as she wheeled back off towards her left, intent on taking her column around what was still their right flank. Failing to disappoint her, those along the left side of the formation immediately kicked their horses out of a walk and peeled off to follow her, leaving momentarily confused riders along the right, who followed suit a second later.

Far less ambitious then Aygi before her, she held no illusion that she would be able to assault either the Khurzav infantry, or their cavalry with her single column that now numbers around two hundred and thirty riders. Instead she envisioned a plan far more simple and straightforward, one that would use their own well-developed reputation against the Khurzav.

Slowing slightly as she rounded the flank past the berdiche axe-men stooping to pick up their arquebus, she allowed her column to catch up to her and reform. All she needed now as they came together was for the Khurzav cavalry to reform themselves out of concern that she might try to charge them now that their cannons were no longer in a position to support them, lest they hit their own.

What she didn’t count on though was for Aram Kassil, her double on the other side of the line, to suddenly bring his own column out from around the left flank after witnessing her actions. Fortunately though, since he was not sure of her intent, and was no less concerned about the change in Khurzav tactics and equipment, he chose to simply mirror her movement for the moment.

As an added surprise, he found his column bolstered as a number of riders from the column that had been closest to their line when they chose to retreat broke off to join his as they saw him moving forward again. This only spurred on several more to join, and brought Aram’s column up to three hundred and ten.

-----

Not terribly far away from the main line, Peter took a deep breath and looked towards Korovin with unease from his position several meters behind him. Once more the White Tigers had taken actions contrary to his orders and the anger this military Commander felt was almost palpable in the air to everyone around him.

As Peter released his breath into a quiet sigh, he thought he could hear Korovin speak under his breath, and guessing it to be a curse of some kind, he was unsurprised a moment later when Korovin spoke rather harshly towards one of his subordinates; not so much in his choice of words, but the anger that filled his tone, “Order the line to continue the withdrawal.”

Quickly the scout saw the order passed on and he momentarily glanced at the back of the subordinates head in sympathy, knowing full well the Commander would likely take out more of his frustration on the man later.

Shifting his attention back forwards, he watched the line already turn to continue the withdrawal, not needing the extra order from Korovin, but receiving it nonetheless. Just opposite the main line, he could see the remaining two columns of White Tigers moving in orderly formation and seemingly threatening to charge the Khurzav cavalry; at least that was the impression he got from the sight of them.

With a moment of hesitation, he then turned his attention towards the retreating White Tigers on to the East, who were now drastically reduced in number after the last parting shots from the Khurzav cannons. Like anyone else, the sight of them in full retreat was simply a shock, and did nothing to help his state of mind.

Though unhappy, he had been calm throughout the battle, but seemingly all of a sudden he felt a surge of frustration course through his mind. With the benefit of hindsight and his own earlier misgivings, every little mistake made by his commanders suddenly seemed to hit him all at once, and glancing towards Kovovin, he gave the back of the man’s helmet a momentary look of disdain before catching himself and focusing his gaze forward once more.

[Posting as Khurzav]

Ride there. Ride back. Ride over here now. The movements of the Cuirassier and Lancer formations would from a bird's eye view look like the arbitrary manoeuvres of a child's tin soldier army, as if they and the White Tigers were connected by cord run through a series of pulleys. Each movement forward by one formation caused the other to move a reciprocal distance away, the ordered cavalry in no hurry to smash the weight of their warhorses against one another. The key factor in these actions is that they were only performed by organized, disciplined units.

This latter description the gaudy, spent Hussars could not fit. Reeling from the blows delivered during their failed charge of the Kilrany line, these riders were mounted on blown horses. It is a misconception that a horse can go on moving and fighting forever. Unlike a man, a horse will not summon inner reserves of strength for one last Herculean effort, motivated by the wonderous powers of the human psyche. No, rather, a blown horse will stand there shuddering with foaming sweat cascading off its sides until it regains enough energy to slowly begin stumbling in whatever direction it chooses - unless of course the rider is particularly cruel, sawing the bit in its mouth until it complies with his commands. If the horseman is lucky his mount may eventually evolve its stumble into a walk, and it is highly unlikely the animal will move any faster than that no matter the impetus.

Such exertion can and has killed horses in the past. The Hussars, themselves battered and wounded to a man, urged their horses together into a close formation. They did this knowing that the security afforded them by numbers would discourage a sweeping charge by the White Tigers. Unfortunately, their position - while out of bowshot of the Kilrany line - was to one side of and behind the rallied Kilrany men-of-foot just back from the centre of the field, and closer to the enemy's line than that of the First and Second Regiments of the Line. Roundshot from the rise would whip through a file in the Kilrany line, spraying blood into the air, and grazing through on the grass, tearing up divots as it went. This happened only occasionally, as the cavalry's odd dance on the battlefield impeded their lines of fire. It did serve to keep the enemy from counter-advancing, which provided Zhadanets with the opportunity to replenish the ammunition of his Line Infanteers.

Pots of boiling water were passed up and down the line, used to swill powder fouling out from musket barrels. Some soldiers opted to piss down the barrel instead, generally being careful to unfix their bayonet before doing so. Canteens were uncorked and the first dram was invariably spit out darker than ink, the powder residue causing a terrible thirst as the saltpetre coated the inside of each soldier's mouth, part of the loading drill: "Handle cartridge. Bite cartridge. Pour."
Durand ordered his gunners to replenish their ready ammunition stocks, and given the success of the last loading they had they simply repeated it - solid shot, quilted grape, and the deadly canister. The threat provided by the poised White Tigers prevented the Horse Artillery from deploying forward and shattering the resistance of the rally square, as the gunners would be tremendously vulnerable to a charge. Infantry was the crux of warfare: take them away and the cavalry and artillery had nowheres to hide when things weren't decidedly in their favour.

“Tyemniy take him,” muttering under her breath, Anna found herself once again quietly cursing Korovin as she slowly swept her gaze from the Khurzav cavalry to the last significant holdout of Kilrany soldiers upon the field. There she could see the mix of infantrymen who had come together in mutual protection, numbering nearly seventy men strong at that moment, and moving painfully slowly away from the Khurzav line.

Practically seething at this point, her anger was now nearly entirely focused on Korovin as the entire force continued the withdrawal under the now sporadic cannon fire. Though through her actions many had rejoined the line, she felt certain more would have made it; including the last holdout, had Korovin held the column longer, and left the field under the threat of the still significant number of archers in their force.

With a quiet sigh she tried to dismiss her anger; or at least push it aside for the moment, but it proved a task she simply could not seem to accomplish. How she wished then that Commander Gippius had come sooner, that he had not received the message that Korovin sent claiming they could handle the meeting engagement, of course this line of thought helped her no more than her last.

At this point the only thing she could even partially consider as going well, was the fact that Kassil kept his column mirroring her own in support rather than falling back behind the main line as Korovin continued to order. She figured at this point it was the only real reason the Khurzav could consider her actions as still threatening.

Paranoia initially made her wonder if the Khurzav had guessed her intent, and were baiting them with their Hussars, but squinting towards them she felt confident that their situation was genuine in that their horses were tired out. Still, she dared not charge them now, with the main line moving quickly, they were well on their way from the original engagement point.

As her column turned away from Khurzav to keep with the line, she thought for a moment about the anger she was going to face from Korovin when they were back at the fortress.

[Posting as Khurzav]

As the last of the Kilrany horse abandoned their broken colleagues, the Khurzav officers felt a figurative leash begin to slip from their hands. Soldiers were eager to pursue, particularly the cavalry, and the battalions advanced in bounds of twenty five yards as the Kilrany withdrew, maintaining the pressure.

Before two of these bounds could be completed, a young Horse Artillery Captain saluted Colonel - Chef du Battalion - Durand. He pointed out the knot of Kilrany holdouts and then requested permission to take forward his battery and blast them into oblivion at close range. Durand's answer was immediately to the point: "Go! One round and then back here, mind their cavalry!" Moments later, the four guns of a half-battery were hitched to their teams, bouncing over the battlefield and running over enemy corpses as they trotted. Unhitched, the guns were levered around to face the Kilrany Infantry, some sixty yards distant.

Things began to happen very quickly now. A powder charge was rammed down the barrel, followed by a quilted bag of grapeshot and a tin of canister. One gunner adjusted his thumbstall without taking his eyes from the sights, the four guns of the battery aiming at a quarter of the enemy formation, their arcs by necessity overlapping. Loader and rammer stepped aside smartly, as a fuse was inserted and the young Khurzav Captain held his sword in the air. He felt huge, heroic, slashing the sword down violently and screaming himself hoarse with one word: "Fire!"
The four guns crashed back in full recoil, were seized and hooked to their teams within moments, and with the gunners leaping aboard the gun carriage and the pull horses, began to move very quickly back towards Durand's flank force.

Wheeling in around the smoke of the Horse Artillery's salvo, a squadron of Lancers - some one hundred men - smashed into the few survivors. The lances dipped as they were lowered to the charge, horribly sharp skewers with tremendous force behind them. Some riders allowed their horse its head, wielding one of their two pistols in their free hand, blasting half-inch balls into any Kilrany soldier surviving the hunting lance-points. All the same, their bravery ruthlessly butchered two horses and three riders, and was reciprocated as the Lancers rode down the last of the survivors.

The sun was still hanging just above the Western horizon as Peter found himself standing once more within the unfinished fortress that had been his posting for the last six months, the central citadel of which loomed up to his right. While it still showed some dated design philosophy by contemporary European standards, it did share some aspects seen in proper Star Forts, namely the use of low, thick outer walls reinforced with earth.

A whiny from his horse drew Peter’s attention from the towering citadel, and though he tightened his grip on the reigns, he patted the large horse’s neck before scratching the appreciative animal behind the ear and speaking to it in a soft, soothing tone. This served not only to calm his horse, but also to distract himself from the frustration he was feeling towards Korovin.

Not far from Peter, Korovin remained seated upon his own horse alongside his unit of mounted bodyguards, refusing to believe the reports from several of Peter’s scouts that the Khurzav column had taken no action to follow them, and instead appeared to have withdrawn back to their camp. This left the remnants of the Kilrany column to maintain positions around the fortress in preparations for an attack that wasn’t coming, rather then resting after the day’s disastrous events.

Peter allowed himself a small semblance of hope that upon the return of his two most reliable scouts, Korovin would finally accept what they were reporting to him, but the pessimistic side of him continued to hold on to the belief he would mostly likely be sent out to confirm the situation himself given Korovin’s mood, wasting even more time.

The steady sound of hooves on stone snapped Peter out of his reverie and looking up he expected to see his two scouts coming towards him. Instead, he cocked his head to the side slightly as he saw a dozen mounted White Tigers guiding their horses slowly towards Korovin.

As had been the pattern for the day, Peter had once again seen these heavy cavalrymen disregard Korovin’s orders upon their return to the fortress, pulling the remainder of their forces inside and allowing both rider and horse time to rest when word first came that the Khurzav weren’t following. Needless to say this only served to aggravate the man even more, especially when a handful of the White Tigers went back out onto the field with fresh horses in an attempt to locate Aygi, who had not been seen since the opening charge.

Peter highly doubted that the White Tigers believed Aygi to still be alive, figuring instead that the search served as an excuse for Zel’dovicha to avoid Korovin, as she had gone out with them. He also held little doubt that it was now Anna who led the small number of riders towards Korovin.

The scout watched as the White Tigers halted their horses short of Korovin, allowing Anna to approach the man alone, clearly wanting no part of the coming conversation. Despite his own foul mood, Peter couldn’t help a small smile as he saw Korovin’s own bodyguards show a similar desire as they began nudging their horses backwards as the two started in at each other.

With an almost morbid fascination, Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the pair as he absently stroked the side of his horse’s neck; the beast didn’t seem to care though as it was satisfied with this limited attention for the moment.

It started quietly at first, Anna and Viktor kept to hushed tones and slight hand gestures to make their point, but even in this Peter could see the hostility that seemed to grow by the second. Eventually their voices had become loud and their gestures more abrupt and noticeable, though Peter still could not make out the content of their words, only the tone used.

A full minute into the confrontation, his horse suddenly grew unhappy with his inattention and gave a quick huff in displeasure before nudging Peter’s shoulder with its head, prompting him to brush the beast’s shoulder with his hand.

So intent had he become on the pair that he almost jumped in place when a fellow scout clasped him on his shoulder opposite his horse and addressed him as if the argument before him wasn’t even happening, “Can you believe this crap Peter? What the hell happened today anyway, and when the hell did ‘firearms’ get so God damned lethal?”

Snapping his head over towards Arkhip, Peter gave the man a nasty glare, but before he could express his renewed annoyance and tell his friend to be quiet, one of the two mounted Commanders bellowed something out loudly; who and what Peter could not say given his sudden distraction, and near absolute silence fell upon the area around them.

With the exception of the animals, there wasn’t a soul within shouting distance not staring at the two officers as they themselves stared back at each other, apparently paying no head to those around them.

After several moments of silence, Peter saw them renew their conversation, but it was one again quiet, and held something different in it then he had seen earlier, what exactly he wasn’t sure of until both suddenly moved to dismount their horses. Cursing under his breath, Peter watched as they both gave their horses a nudge away from them, sending them walking off towards a nearby wall before they both shifted their tear drop shaped shields off their backs and drew their swords.

No one made a move to stop them as they dropped into combat stances; everyone understood what had happened, even Peter, who had missed the rather colourful expression that had so decisively ended the verbal portion of their confrontation.

For several painfully long seconds, neither seemed willing to make the first strike and merely maintained their stances, holding their shield and slightly curved, single edged blades at the ready. Peter glanced back and forth between them, wondering whether this hesitation was a result of them being tired, or if they wished to judge the skill of the other before making any move.

Finally though, Anna made the first move, sending a thrust towards Korovin’s midsection that he easily deflected with his shield before sending his own sword cutting horizontally through the air towards Anna’s throat which she in turn easily avoided by taking a step backwards.

Though those watching couldn’t see their faces or make out their features, the distinctive colouring between the two made it easy to tell them apart as they fell into a pattern of strike, block, counterattack, dodge, thrust, parry, and counterattack. Peter saw no further hesitation in their movements, nor any attempt to be fanciful in their attacks, it was quite evident to him and those around them that they were out for blood, and neither would be happy without the death of the other.

Again time seemed to pass painfully slowly as the two clashed violently, but after just over a minute it was brought to an abrupt, and lethal end when Anna made a bold gamble.

Feinting a strike with her sword, she slammed her own shield and every last ounce of her weight into Korovin’s own shield when he brought it up to block. Taking him off guard, he toppled backwards with a surprised shout and they both went to the ground, landing next to each other with a pair of loud thumps and a clang as Korovin’s sword fell from his hand.

Korovin rolled and scrambled to his knees to reach his sword, but Anna was faster. Letting her left arm slide out from the straps on her shield, she came to her knees and pushed off towards him, slamming the blade down through the center of his lower back with both hands on the hilt and what weight she could put into her dive back to the ground.

Korovin fell back to the ground with a cry of pain and Peter watched as Anna shifted slightly and twisted the blade with all she could muster. No scream came from Korovin; instead the scout could hear an almost sickening gasp as his superior drew in a sudden breath.

Wasting no time though, Anna quickly pulled herself up using the sword still impaling Korovin as support before pulling it from his back. Though he made no further movement, she never took her eyes off him as she stepped around to deliver a final blow to ensure his death and put him out of his misery.

Turning away from the scene and leading his horse along with him, Peter walked away a short distance, unsure as to how he should feel over what he just saw. While he had developed a dislike for Korovin, he hadn’t exactly been to the point of wanting the man dead, and knowing little about Zel’dovicha, he wasn’t sure if she would make a better Commander for their remaining forces for the time being.

Arkhip seemed to notice his movement a few moments late and caught up to him a after he had come to a halt, “Something wrong Peter?”

Peter didn’t respond right away, leaving a few seconds of silence before he sighed, “No, I suppose not, but … I don’t know. This wasn’t exactly the best thing to happen right now with the damned Khurzav sitting out there.”

“Hmmm, I suppose I can agree with that, though you certainly can’t say you didn’t see this coming.”

“No, no I can’t.”

A few moments silence fell upon them again before the rapid sound of hooves drew their attention to a rider wearing the colours of the Hawks; another of the Royal Family’s favoured units. Coming from around the citadel and opposite where Anna and Korovin had fought not a minute early, he had a second horse tied to the one he was on that followed a short distance behind and to his left.

Abruptly the rider brought his horses to a stop a few meters from them and addressed them hurriedly, “Where is Commander Korovin? Commander Gippius will be here in an hour and he wishes to know the disposition of the Khurzav remnants.”

Peter and Arkhip shared a quick glance at each other before Peter tried to find the right words to address the messenger with.

[Posting as Khurzav]

While it wasn't a first in their history, it was the first time these Khurzav had seen their enemy in retreat. They jeered, screaming themselves hoarse as the Kilrany left their dead and their severely wounded on the field. Many of the soldiers lapsed into fits of dry coughing as a result, throats and mouths parched from the saltpeter in the gunpowder of the cartridges they'd been biting open. Most reached for their canteens afterward and many found them empty, as it wasn't the first time they'd tried to rehydrate. Gunners let their fieldpieces cool, well drilled by French gunners like Chef du Battalion Durand's band of artillerymen, and thus aware of the risk posed by overheating their guns.

"Skirmishers forward!" As the Light Companies went well forward to guard against a possible return of the Kilrany cavalry, they passed through the carnage on the field. This gave them the opportunity to slit pockets and check pouches for coins or anything valuable enough to filch. As was common when this sort of activity took place, the wounded were killed if they protested. The wounded who didn't protest were also killed when they were searched roughly just to silence them. Having enriched themselves, they made sure they were loaded and primed and spread into a very loose skirmish chain. In the distance, their objective was visible. As the light waned, it disappeared into the silhouette of the terrain it was sited on.

And as that light waned, the Khurzav were moving. Clearing the field could be left to the Kilrany. The Khurzav collected the muskets and ammunition of their fallen, carried their wounded with them, and left their dead in a mass grave. As a flying column, halting to clear away the enemy's dead couldn't be justified, and as they had just proven their weapons and tactics superior to the enemy's there was no need to scavenge new examples to ensure they maintained a rough technological parity, to ensure that the enemy hadn't come up with some new lighter design of armour that provided the same protection, because as the Khurzav commanders knew, the Kirany could be quite damnably clever. They moved in one huge column on to the plain before halting for the night. Zhadanets, in his carriage with Durand and Machek, realized just how tired his men were and how attempting an assault at first light on Kilrany fortifications, no matter how incomplete, would prove riskier than could be justified. Clear of the stench of the battlefield, they established neat rows of tents, large bonfires, spreading out over several acres.

The cavalry horses were neatly picketed and fed. The cavalrymen were in small tents near their mounts, preparing food and drink by large communal fires. Infantry broke into squads to erect ten man tents and prepared their own fires, one for every group of ten - sometimes an approximate number due to battle losses or illness. All were lethargic, even the sentries who every half hour called out from around the perimeter of the camp. They weren't careful to keep from silhouetting themselves in a fire's light, and few of them cared to look outwards all the time, risking night-blinding themselves on the fire's light. They were disciplined, though not to the degree they needed to be, and they were exhausted. Even the new way of war required effort, though perhaps less effort than hacking your enemy down with a sword. And it was like this that night fell, with as many Khurzav as possible attempting to rest, secure in the knowledge that the thrashing they'd given their enemy would leave him licking his wounds until the coming morning, when they'd renew their attack on the partial fortification that was their objective.

The still night air was pleasantly cool as Peter moved hunched over low to the ground, his pace quick but quiet as he followed a pair of unfamiliar scouts at a slight angle through the darkness towards a Khurzav made fire. Currently answering to them, both had arrived as part of a contingent of scouts attached to Commander Gippius’ forces, and beyond the fact that one was male and the other female, he knew nothing about them.

Though he would not readily admit it, the fact that he had been placed under their authority in spite of his experience and position as lead scout for the fortress, was partially responsible for a growing sense of frustration he felt as he found himself hard pressed to keep up with them. The additional fact that he could just barely hear three of his own scouts following closely behind him; including Arkhip, having just as difficult a time, did not help matters given the greater knowledge of the area the four had.

Forcing himself to mentally shrug the feeling aside, he was slightly surprised as he glanced skyward and guessed the time to be no more than two hours past midnight, far less time had passed since Commander Gippius had arrived as the sun disappeared fully behind the horizon then he had thought.

Up until his arrival at the fortress, Peter knew Commander Gippius only by name, having never met the man of average height and obvious Roman ancestry; as his name suggested, and much to his credit he had taken the news of the near catastrophic defeat and Korovin’s death far better then the scout had initially expected. Much like other Kilrany of Slavic descent, he held a certain prejudice against those like Gippius, for even after more then a millennia, the Kilrany seemed to retain a certain grudge against the long since collapsed empire.

Had he considered the fact that such a man had actually managed to rise to the command of a rather large detachment of one of the Royal Family’s favoured units though, the cavalry officer may not have surprised him as he did. Expecting more, Gippius had taken in the details of the defeat upon the field at the hands of the Khurzav and their previously unseen tactics and firearms of frightening quality calmly, with a minimum of visible surprise and anger.

Afterwards he took Zel’dovicha aside momentarily to quietly convey to her his disappointment that she and Korovin had allowed themselves to break down as they had in full view of the men, and conduct a challenge given the situation, but ultimately he took no action as it had been a legal challenge witnessed by many. Peter suspected there was more to it given the current, restrained tensions between the standing army and those favoured units, but he had been unable to hear the rest of their conversation as new reports on the Khurzav movements came to him.

Quickly after their conversation had ended, Gippius made it clear to all the gathered officers that he was not content to simply shore up the defenses with his men and wait for the Khurzav to renew their assault, instead, and in spite of the earlier events of the day, he announced his intent to immediately counter-attack during the night, regardless of the difficulties therein. Initially Peter had been hesitant as a result of what he’d seen the Khurzav accomplish, and quietly attempted to dissuade the cavalry officer, but Gippius would not relent on his plan.

It had not been a quick or easy task to rally those forces from the fortress still combat effective, but Gippius did have a number of volunteers form impromptu formations along with the four fresh columns originally ordered to remain behind when the main line had advanced. Combined, this brought their effective numbers back up considerably, and once again they outnumbered the Kurzav, but this did little at the time to dissuade Peter from a distinct sense of dread.

Spurred onwards by Gippius and assisted by the enlarged contingent of scouts, the lead elements of this combined force moved through the darkening night at a deliberately slow, but steady pace.

By midnight the lead elements had reached a point just under a third of a kilometer from the outer line of sentries unnoticed and from there began to spread out, using the many Khurzav fires as reference points. The fact that the over-confident Khurzav were still drunk off the exuberance of their unexpectedly swift victory made a considerable difference in the continued secrecy of their movement.

From there, a small group of scouts from Gippius’ command were sent forward to observe the area ahead of them.

During what Peter figured to be about an hour and a half, he went through a mix of foreboding and anticipation. Still fearful of what he had seen on the field, he couldn’t help but also feel his confidence grow the closer they approached the Khurzav without being noticed, doubly so after the scouts returned with what they had been able to glean about the position of sentries and the layout of the camp still lit by many fires.

Quickly the scouts were gathered and split into ten small groups of six, ordered to move forward and eliminate sentries along their avenue of approach after they started their next round of reports. Time would then become an even more crucial factor as they would both have to worry about the next round of reports, and the fact that Gippius would begin another much slower advance to get the men even closer. As a failsafe should they be spotted early, one scout in each group had the ability to signal the attack early should they lose the element of surprise.

By Peter’s reckoning, that last order had been given ten minutes earlier, and was why he now found himself about ready to hiss out to the pair of scouts slowly disappearing ahead of him to slow down only a moment before they came to an abrupt stop.

Granted this sudden chance to catch up, Peter forced back and exasperated huff and glanced off to his right to first ensure his own scouts were still present and accounted for, and to quickly take in the Khurzav sentry while being careful not to focus on the fire that silhouetted him.

As his own scouts rejoined the group, Peter looked back at the lead pair in time to catch the farther of the two making a few hand gestures he wasn’t familiar with before pointing off into the darkness to the left of the nearby fire. With a quick nod, the closer turned quickly to Peter, reminding him that this one was the male as he whispered to him, “She spotted a glint off to the left, suspects another sentry, she’ll deal with that one, ready an arrow.”

As he spoke, the other scout reached under her cloak and behind her back to pull free a Kilrany long knife from a sheath held horizontally by her belt. Typically associated with units favoured by the Kilrany Royal Family, this blade was dark in colour, and as she moved off into the darkness, she shifted it in her hand so as to have the blade concealed beneath her forearm.

Pushing his curiousity aside, he nodded to the scout who had spoken before making a sharp gesture to Arkhip. Slowly they both pulled an arrow free from their quivers and notched them to their composite bows.

Once more Peter felt a rush of anticipation, but this time it proved more powerful then his anxiety as now believed they might now have a genuine chance to avenge their fallen comrades.

Taking a deep breath to silence his mind, he allowed the string of his bow to slip into the notch made in the thumb of his leather glove. Supporting the tip of his thumb with his index finger, he pulled back on the string and took aim at the sentry’s chest as Arkhip did the same to his right, both aiming for the same sentry to increase their odds of a killing strike.

Quietly a moment passed, then several more before finally the sentries started calling out that all was still clear. Gone now was any thought in Peter’s mind as he focused solely on his target, waiting for the order.

Several seconds after their target sentry called out, it finally came in a hissed whisper from his left, “Release.”

Letting his thumb slip from his finger to release the string, it snapped taught, flinging his arrow downrange to impact the sentry in the upper left portion of his chest a moment before Arkhip’s arrow impacted more along his centerline near his throat. Neither arrow killed him outright, but unable to call out, the shock of the impact caused the sentry to collapse backwards onto the ground.

-----

A slight whinny to her right caused Zel’dovicha to snap her gaze angrily away from the multitude of fires interspersed throughout the Khurzav camp and towards a horse she could not see. For several seconds she stared into the darkness as though she truly expected the beast to sense her controlled fury and remain silent.

As the moments passed and no new noise reached her ears, she returned her gaze to the Khurzav camp. A rage festered within her, fueled by her anger with Korovin over his failure on the field, the losses the White Tigers had taken, Gippius with his quiet scolding, and above all else, herself for she knew Gippius had not been wrong in what he said.

Gripping the handle of her teardrop shaped shield tightly with her gloved left hand, she could only think about her failures and how she craved to let the Khurzav feel her wrath. The fact that she had rallied the remaining White Tigers at a critical moment to save the lives of many upon the field, helped recover a number of wounded afterwards, and again rallied the heavy cavalry upon Gippius’ arrival, was lost to her for the moment.

Seated around her on their own horses was the remainder of those White Tigers still capable of fighting, numbering now only three columns strong as opposed to their original six. Though vastly outnumbered by the recently arrived contingent of Hawks, they were to lead the charge into the Khurzav camp with their light cavalry comrades close on their heels.

Given the difficulties with a night attack, Gippius had kept the plan simple, knowing full well once the engagement had started, keeping formations together and changing plans would be next to impossible. As a result he had ordered his men into smaller units and given them more flexibility in what they were permitted to do on their own.

For the most part Anna knew that the cavalry would be going in first, with half the infantry following up behind them. The rest, backed up with several columns of Hawks, were already moving around on the flanks to limit avenues of escape and attack from those positions with their bows.

As she was about to order those around her to begin another short advance towards the camp, a shrill shriek sang out through the night air as one of the scouts signaled for the attack to start with a special arrow. Whether they had been spotted, a sentry had managed to call out, or they had merely thought they were about to be compromised, she didn’t know, all that mattered was the signal was given and it was time to attack.

She didn’t need to shout loudly, but she did as she kicked her horse forward, the sound of nine more such arrows crying out as they were fired in quick succession high into the air towards the Khurzav camp, “Tyemniy take them all!”

Various roars and cheers rose up over the shrill cries of the arrows as hooves thundered in towards the Khurzav camp.

-----

Cursing loudly, Peter dove forward towards a large fire and out of the path of a fully armoured Whiter Tiger as a large group of them thundered in towards the camp site, several of the lighter Hawks right behind them. The cavalrymen were supposed to have given the outer line of fires more leeway as they made their approach, but this group had passed closer then Peter and the other scouts had expected, forcing them closer in order to avoid being trampled under their horses.

Pushing himself back up on one knee just outside the main ring of light cast by the fire, he watched one of the Hawks throw a torch previously concealed by a sort of clay pot onto one of the Khurzav tents, setting it alight without mercy for any inside.

“Who the hell do you think signaled it early?”

Peter didn’t bother to turn to look at Arkhip as he pulled an arrow from his quiver, scanning for a Khurzav anywhere within the light cast by the multitude of fires as the Kilrany cavalry raced in and out in quick hit and run charges, “Don’t know, but I’d like to give him a good crack on the head, damn well almost got us run the hell down.”

[Posting as Khurzav]

A number of things happened simultaneously. Without warning, a handful of sentries toppled over. Nobody noticed. There wasn't time for as little as a surprised noise for one sentry, who was efficiently slaughtered when what he had assumed to be the shadow of the scrub-brush rose up and rammed a long-bladed knife into the join of brain stem and spine. A strong hand grasped the sling of his French-supplied musket and kept it from clattering to the ground. Another strong hand lowered his gently twitching corpse to the ground.

The ear-splitting scream of the whirling signal-stones jerked every Khurzav under Zhadanets's command into startled awareness. Most sat dumbly for a few moments, though as many as a quarter reached instinctively for their weapons and went to stand up. Then the rest of the sentries were flung to the ground by hard-shot arrows. Their new uniforms provided no protection against arrows. Chef du Battalion Durand burst out of his tent half clothed with his sabre in hand, swearing as he came face to face with the blood-spattered face of his groom. In the midst of bleeding his fever-afflicted horse, the sudden unearthly howl had come and startled the man, causing him to ram the fleam far too deeply into the horse with the blood-stick. The horse shuddered, eyes rolling wild, and tossed its head. The bridle jerked itself out from under the groom's foot, Durand's attempt to grab it failed, and the horse galloped along the tent lines whinnying pitifully, leaking from the massive artery in its neck. Durand didn't stop swearing even in the midst of issuing orders. Men were in the process of dragging back cocks or priming their pans when at last all of the flying column's officers were out of their tents, trying to compete with the voices of their NCOs and that infernal screaming in the few moments they had left before all havoc descended upon them. "Form company line! Three ranks!" Durand bellowed, grabbing men who were rushing to line up with their fellows and shoving them roughly into formation. Another officer, Durand didn't recognize him in the weak firelight filled with flitting shadows as men rushed about, shouted conflicting orders. "Rally square! Cavalry! Rally square!" Durand raised his blade, facing the small group of men he had rallied, trying to calm them. "Load! Once loaded, port arms!" It had been only seconds since the first ear-piercing shriek split the night's silence.

Atayev tripped over a tent guy-line and felt the pistol in his hand recoil. He looked dumbly at the blood-flecked bone jutting from his arm, having accidentally shot himself with a half-inch lead ball, picked himself up off the ground, and walked mutely towards where he thought the Battalion's surgeon to be. Only a dozen meters away, Durand spun on a heel at the approaching sound of the impossible; a full fledged cavalry attack at night. Behind him, a musket banged. Then another. Then there was a ripple of fire as the Khurzav wasted their balls at the targets still outside their effective range. Durand ducked behind the formation, watched the men reload, and then saw warhorses and armoured warriors smash through the skein of musket smoke, brushing aside the rallied Infanteers with such ease that it seemed the smoke was more of a barricade. Durand saw two men of one file impaled on a lance, and the third battered into nonexistance by the flailing hooves of the rearing, well-trained warhorse. An iron-shod hoof caved in the man's head and he crumpled. His musket was half loaded. Durand parried a blow aimed at him instinctively and was knocked literally head over heels by the shield's riposte. On the ground, he saw one man with a bayonet-fitted musket take on a rider. He waited patiently, calmly, and then swung the butt into the horse's jaw. The horse, being armoured, did not care, and the rider swatted the nuisance away from him with a sweep of the sword. Durand saw more cavalry approaching, picked himself up, and set his feet in the dirt. A light horseman approached wielding a mace, Durand sliced the horse's jaw back to the bone, and the animal reared. He stabbed expertly upwards, trying to slip the blade into the rider's chest through the underarm, and succeeded only in raking the rider's leg as an arrow pierced his side. He toppled.

Most of the Second and Third Regiments of the Line ran now, muskets unloaded, crowding the gunners away from their pieces. Not trained for the savagery of close quarters battle, the gunners didn't bother to pick up their stacked carbines and simply fled into the night to be intercepted by the encircling Kilrany Infantry and light cavalry. The First Regiment rallied into a rough square, fired a ragged volley that toppled a number of horses, but those horses then formed heavily armoured equine missiles that slid along the ground and crushed the files, letting the revenging heavy cavalry into the square. It burst apart from the inside as the men who moments ago thought themselves relatively safe in this chaos were butchered by men so nearly proof against bayonet as to be invincible. Atayev saw Colonel Elyev die, the Colonel ably fencing from horseback until a mace knocked him off his mount with a shattered chest. Atayev panicked and ran headlong into a halberd after a sprint of some two hundred meters. So terrified was the young ensign that he didn't notice the hordes of fleeing Khurzav running alongside being shot down by the archers who'd worked their way around the flanks, channelizing the Khurzav to drive them onto an anvil of Infantry, the hammer blows being provided by the cavalry. These cavalry didn't just look like the villains of the children's tales the Khurzav had been raised on, they were the villains of the children's tales, merciless men and women in imposing armour stampeding over everything in their path.

Ilyukin edged to the flank with the Fusilier Companies of his Regiment. The cavalry's horses were running loose and dismounted cavalrymen - Cuirassiers, Hussars, Lancers, all - were being killed or horribly maimed in droves. The misshapen square halted, a platoon fired a volley that dropped a handful of attackers, and they moved on, trying to reload in the dark, on the move, moving towards the shelter of the woods. From the sounds around him, Colonel Ilyukin knew he'd have to fight a sharp action at the treeline to break through the encirclement and hopefully disappear for a day or two into the country beyond. He did not know where Zhadanets was.

Tarakan tried to ignore the haft of an arrow buried in his chest. Nothing seemed heavy and when he spat, there was no blood. He did not know if he would die or not from the arrow wound. He did know he would die if he did not feign death now, and so he pulled the bodies of the Regimental colour party over himself and smeared blood over his face and neck. He stayed very still, breathing very slowly, and in this state he would die in ten minutes' time from internal bleeding, his ruse futile. Zhadanets threw a burning lantern at his campaign desk, watching the magnificient wooden construction don a coat of flames as the lamp shattered and its fuel oil ignited. The papers, maps, most of the documents the flying column had, went up with the desk. He primed a pistol and stepped from his tent. A passing Kilrany remarked him, was shot in the face, and then Zhadanets folded over an unseen sword blade rammed hard into his gut, twisted, and pulled free. Like Durand, he toppled onto his side. At the treeline, Ilyukin roared like a wounded tiger, bashing weapons and enemies aside with singleminded fury, followed by the elite of his Grenadier Regiment, the men who were the cream of the flying column's Infantry forces. They shot, stabbed, stock-struck, punched, kicked and simply brawled their way forward, losing the vast majority of their number to the archers on both flanks and their front. Ilyukin was knocked down by an arrow, got up, was hit again, and then did not move. The last ten of his Fusiliers rallied around his corpse and begged the enemy to come and be killed. One had a bent bayonet on his musket, though he didn't seem to notice. The Kilrany were disobliging, and in no mood to take prisoners, simply shot them down where they stood.

As dawn broke that morning over what was once the Khurzav camp, it was clear to all that in comparison to the previous day’s action, the night attack was an unmitigated success. Though they did not yet have time to make an accurate assessment of the casualties, it was equally clear by morning light that they had taken very few compared to their long time enemy, no doubt helped by the radically different appearance of either side.

This was not to say that all was perfectly well, but in light of the previous day, their current problems were insignificant. Through the night both infantry and cavalry had become scattered, far too much so to reform merely by torch light, and there was no guessing just how many Khurzav soldiers had managed to slip through their net in the darkness.

Commander Gippius was not wholly content with this victory though, and wasting little time, called all the remaining scouts back to him. Unwilling to allow even a single Khurzav soldier to report back on their earlier victory, he was intent on having them all tracked down and killed before they could reach the border.

To that end Peter and all the other scouts kept their four man groups from the night before, and were teamed up with more flexible, fifty man units of Gippius’ light cavalry. Dispatched back to the fortress, by noon they were all well on their way with fresh horses and rations for the days it would take to hunt down what they didn’t yet realize was but a bare handful of survivors.

Only now as the battle was clearly over did Gippius allow his men to rummage around among the dead to seek out trinkets and souvenirs, at the same time making it clear they were to burn nothing. Eventually large numbers of these new guns were gathered and carried back to the fortress along with the surviving cannons; even the Khurzav horses were recovered where-ever possible.

Gippius’ quick actions would ensure that for the time being, the Kilrany Royal Family would be able to suffer their catastrophic defeat in silence, while at the same time gaining critical insight into the new weapons and tactics now favoured in Europe.