The Enemy at the Gates

The enemy marched quickly. Even with the Texas Cowboys harassing them, by the afternoon of the next day, the Union Jack and the Star-Spangled Alliance flag of the colonial garrison were already flying at the foot of the mountain.

They set up camp in an orderly fashion. The colonial garrison divisions from Quebec, New Brunswick, Virginia, Lower Canada, and Pennsylvania looked quite relaxed as they gathered in loose groups, smoking cigars and puffing out clouds of smoke.

These colonial garrisons belonged to the home-defense order of battle and often fought indigenous tribes and savage beasts in the wilderness. Many of their officers had been veterans of the suppression of the Indian Rebellion and the War of the Spanish Succession.

As for the home forces that had previously fought the Texans, most looked as though they were facing a formidable enemy. Their expressions were tense, and many gathered together, taking out the cross pendants nearly everyone carried and asking the accompanying priests for blessings.

Seeing the attitude of these so-called "home elites," the colonial garrison troops burst into laughter, their hearts filled with superiority.

"Look at those pampered home boys. One defeat, and the Texans scared them out of their wits. I bet even a random wild beast could make them wet themselves and cry for their mothers."

"What home elites? They're probably not even as good as the local constables back where we're from. I really don't understand what they're so afraid of."

"Exactly. They're just a bunch of werewolves. Bulletproof, Undying Body—heh, I refuse to believe flesh and blood can withstand siege cannon fire!"

As he spoke, the officer began boasting. "The last time we dealt with the Iroquois, their tribal shamans wanted to perform a Blood Sacrifice and use some evil magic. I called in the artillery for