Race

The Minin Cannon crews were engaged in a mad race against time on the edge of life and death!

At such close quarters, firing one more round of grapeshot could give the main line behind them a greater chance of victory—and kill another swath of these vicious enemies!

However, the Minin Cannon's loading procedure was more complicated than that of the structurally simpler Eagle Cannon. The pre-packed grapeshot charge had to be shoved into the barrel and then carefully rammed tight with a ramrod. That already took time during ordinary training, let alone on a battlefield covered by enemy arrow fire, where life and death hung by a thread!

"Faster! Faster!" the cannon commanders rasped hoarsely. Their hands moved so quickly that afterimages appeared, while sweat mixed with gunpowder smoke and ran into their eyes, leaving them no time to wipe it away.

But the Sauron people were not lambs waiting to be slaughtered!

After suffering the initial devastating blow and extreme panic, some of the ferocious Sauron archers and officers finally recovered from the shock. They transformed their boundless fear into towering fury and desperately fired wave after wave of vengeful arrows at the Carnford gunners exposed at the front and frantically reloading!

"Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!"

"Urgh!" A gunner who was ramming the charge tight with a ramrod was struck through the throat by a cold arrow. He collapsed onto the cannon without making a sound, and blood instantly stained the still-warm barrel red.

"My leg!" Another gunner carrying ammunition was shot in the thigh and fell to the ground with a scream.

Casualties appeared in an instant! Despite the shield bearers' desperate protection, the Sauron arrows were simply too dense, and gunners kept falling at their posts.

An arrow pierced a young gunner's arm. He grunted, then actually