Carnford's four main assault formations, after enduring a round of bombardment and suffering dozens of casualties, finally advanced to within roughly a hundred and fifty paces of the edge of Village No. 2's ruins.
This distance was already at the edge of the effective range of most bows and matchlock rifles within the village, and it was also one of the best distances from which to launch a charge.
Suddenly, several enormous command flags within the Carnford Army Formation began to wave violently at once! Immediately afterward, a crisp, piercing metallic clang rang across the battlefield!
"Clang—!"
"Halt! Reform ranks—!" The roars of officers at every level erupted almost simultaneously with the gong.
"Hey—!" Thousands of soldiers let out a short, thunderous shout in unison and, as though they were a single man, stopped their advance in perfect order!
The rumbling tread of marching feet came to an abrupt halt. A brief, suffocating silence descended over the battlefield, broken only by the howling cold wind and the muffled groans of the wounded.
The halted formations swiftly began to adjust. Officers and sergeants hurried through the ranks, barking harshly, "Dress the lines! Check your weapons! Check your powder!"
"Spearmen, grip tight!"
"Musketeers, load!"
Almost at the very moment the infantry formation halted to reform, the Carnford artillery that had been following behind the formations, hauled by packhorses, displayed astonishing discipline and efficiency.
"Quick! Push the cannons up!"
"Right here! Set them down!"
"Ramrod! Powder charge! Solid shot! Move!"
The artillery officers' shouts blended into one. The gunners worked frantically like machines wound to the limit.
They strained to push the heavy gun carriages through gaps in the infantry formations, bringing them to the prearranged firing positions before the formations. They unlimbered the cannons, then swiftly used pry bars and their shoulders