Invag's Cruel Tactics
The Sauron had clearly learned their lesson from yesterday's bloody battle.
Their main infantry phalanx came to a sudden halt when they were about seventy paces from the Broomflower defense line.
This distance is just beyond the most effective lethal range of a musket.
They no longer recklessly ventured into the death zone within fifty paces as they had yesterday.
Einar stood in the ranks of archers, his palms sweating with nervousness.
He gazed at the silent and grim Broomflower defense line in the distance, especially at the dark gun muzzles hidden behind the gaps in the breastwork. The terrifying memories of yesterday instantly flooded his mind, making him feel a chill run down his spine.
He subconsciously turned around and glanced at the veteran Tokel behind him.
The once valiant veteran, who had been so spirited and fearless just yesterday, now had a gloomy face, his lips tightly pressed together, and his eyes filled with deep fear and vigilance at the volley of musket fire. He was no longer the relaxed man he had been before.
"Raise your bows!! Fire!" The shouts of the frontline officer interrupted Einar's thoughts.
As if by reflex, he and the other archers drew back their bows and aimed their arrows diagonally at the sky.
"Put!"
Buzz!!!
A hail of arrows soared into the air, tracing high arcs as they descended towards the Broomflower formation seventy paces away.
However, at this distance, the power of the arrow is greatly reduced.
Most of the arrows struck the sturdy wooden breastwork with a crackling sound, or sank limply into the mud in front of the lines.
The few arrows that did fly over the breastwork were easily deflected by the defending soldiers with their shields, causing no real casualties except for a brief commotion and a few shouts.
Invag watched from the rear, his face ashen.
He saw through the Goldspur's intentions.
The opponent has clearly changed tactics, abandoning the spear formation that is easily breached by Berserker, and instead intends to rely on the advantage of all its members being fully armored to prepare for a brutal close-quarters melee!
"You want to fight armor against armor? Fine! I'll grant your wish!" A cruel glint flashed in Invag's eyes as he made a ruthless decision.
Instead of his usual tactics, he ordered the light infantry and archers who had completed their volleys to retreat and clear a path for the Berserker to charge.
Instead, the bugle call to attack sounded again, and the order was given: All troops, advance!
"Forward! Push forward!" the officers shouted hoarsely.
The entire Sauron infantry phalanx began to slowly move forward again! Light infantry and archers were still at the forefront!
Einar's heart sank!
Instead of the expected retreat signal, they heard the order to continue advancing!
what does that mean?
This meant that these light infantrymen and archers had to continue charging forward, into the death zone that had swallowed up countless comrades yesterday!
A sense of foreboding suddenly arose in his heart.
He instantly understood the commander's intention.
They were to use the flesh and blood of these "cheap" light infantry and archers as a buffer and shield to withstand the fiercest first volley of the Broomflower muskets!
They sacrificed their lives to buy enough time for the true assault core Berserker in the rear to get close enough!
"No... we can't go there, we'll die..." came a young archer's trembling voice from beside Einar, his legs shaking.
But military orders are absolute, and the cold gazes and gleaming blades of the rear Supervisory team forced the entire formation to continue moving forward.
The light infantrymen's faces were etched with fear and despair, yet they were driven by an invisible whip, step by step, slowly but resolutely, toward that known death zone...
Seventy steps... sixty-five steps... sixty steps...
The distance was relentlessly closing, yet the Broomflower defense line remained deathly silent; that silent waiting was more suffocating than any War Drum or shouts.
Einar felt as if his breath had stopped; he could almost smell the impending explosion of gunpowder and the stench of death in the air.
The Sauron army was like a slowly approaching tide of steel, each step pressing on the taut nerves of the Carnford defenders.
The distance was relentlessly shrinking, and the air was thick with a suffocating sense of oppression and impending fury.
Karl stood behind the breastwork, his gaze coldly fixed on the enemy as they entered their final assault range.
He took a deep breath and gave an unexpected order, "Everyone, take the Militia Potion!"
The order was quickly relayed throughout the defensive line.
The soldiers paused for a moment, then without hesitation took out from their waists or pockets a few dark red, viscous liquids contained in leather or simple wooden cups.
This is Carnford's own Militia Potion, which not only has wound-healing properties but can also unleash the drinker's potential in a short period of time.
It slightly enhances reaction speed, strength, and endurance, and brings a heightened fighting spirit, but at the cost of being weaker and more tired after the effects wear off.
This is undoubtedly the last resort, a do-or-die decision!
As Karl said, this was the final battle.
Only the victor has the right to treat the wounded; the loser will lose everything.
There's no need to be stingy now!
The soldiers tilted their heads back and drank the medicine in one gulp.
The liquid slid down my throat, and then a burning sensation quickly spread from my stomach throughout my body!
His heart suddenly raced, his blood seemed to be burning, the fear in his eyes was replaced by a fanatical fighting spirit, his muscles trembled slightly, and he was filled with explosive power!
Even the pain from the wound was temporarily suppressed.
Karl took out a glass for himself and drank it down in one gulp.
A surge of intense heat instantly swept over his body, his senses became exceptionally sharp, everything around him seemed to slow down, and his armor appeared lighter and more powerful.
He slowly put on the Italian-style helmet; the cold metal blocked out most of the outside sounds, leaving only the heavy, powerful beating of his own heart.
He raised his right hand again, his voice, penetrating through his armor, becoming deep and piercing. "Musketeers! Prepare!"
Otto and all the Musketeers felt the exhilaration brought on by the drug; their eyes were sharp as eagles, and their movements were faster and smoother than usual.
They quickly set up their Matchlock Rifle Flintlock Rifle, the dark muzzles once again peering through the lingering smoke from the gaps, locking onto the figures of the Sauron soldier ahead who were entering optimal firing range and beginning to accelerate.
"Aim!!!"
Karl's gaze was fixed on the Sauron light infantry charging at the forefront; their faces were filled with despair and madness.
The distance... fifty paces! Forty paces!
Karl suddenly swung his arm down and shouted, "Release!"
"Bang! Bang bang bang bang!!!"
The musket array, which had been poised for battle, unleashed another deafening volley!
More intense and more violent than yesterday!
The scorching lead bullets swept across the narrow area in front of the battle line like the scythe of death!
The Sauron light infantry and archers at the forefront were struck as if by an invisible giant hammer, falling in droves with screams of agony!
Blood and bits of flesh splattered everywhere, halting the charge! The screams and the muffled thuds of bullets piercing flesh were horrifying!