Peter had no time to reload or parry. Relying entirely on the muscle memory forged through countless drills, he flicked his wrist, aimed the Flintlock Rifle—its muzzle still smoking from the kill he had just made—at the black shadow rushing him, and violently pulled the trigger!
"Bang!" The explosion erupted right beside him! Flame burst from the muzzle, smoke billowed, and a bloom of blood exploded from the Sauron soldier's chest. His charge stopped dead. Eyes wide, he lowered his gaze in disbelief for one last look, then crashed to the ground like a mountain toppling and a jade pillar collapsing.
"Get over here! Now!" Peter roared hoarsely at the men behind him. At the same time, he quickly stepped back, braced himself against the wreckage of a cart, and fumbled frantically to reload.
Gunpowder, lead ball, ramrod... His movements were distorted by ragged breathing and the surge of adrenaline, yet he still finished in little more than ten seconds.
Led by him, and with the desperate charges of the other officers and sergeants around them, the First Battalion soldiers launched into bloody close-quarters combat against the Sauron rearguard, who endured the rain of arrows and stubbornly resisted from behind the obstacles.
The blasts of Flintlock Rifles became denser and deadlier within the narrow mountain pass.
Though the Saurons were fierce and brave, they were at an absolute disadvantage in numbers and lacked an effective close-combat formation. Under the Carnford soldiers' organized bayonet charges and point-blank volleys, they were driven back step by step, leaving more and more corpses behind. The turning in the road, choked with debris, was about to be cleared.
"Get in there! Quickly!" Inside Tar Fort, the exasperated roars of Sauron officers likewise echoed.
Following Einar, Thomas trampled over the corpses of comrades and defenders