Harald stood on a rise with a relatively open view, one that overlooked most of the battlefield north of Carnford City. The cold wind whipped his heavy fur cloak with a hunting flutter.
Through the lenses of his telescope, he could clearly see his frontline troops retreating in disarray beneath a fierce countercharge from Carnford's defenders.
Soldiers and slaves surged back into the trenches like a receding tide, surrendering without a fight the several hundred meters of forward positions they had only just struggled to seize. All they left behind was a field of wreckage and the faint, audible wails of those wounded by landmines and iron caltrops.
Yet Harald's hard, cold face showed little anger or disappointment. He did not even furrow his brow.
It was as though he had expected this all along. Slowly lowering his telescope, he turned to Svein, his favored general standing straight as a javelin beside him. His voice was so calm that not a ripple could be heard in it. "Recall the troops. That's enough for today."
Svein raised no objection. He immediately barked to the adjutant behind him, "Sound the recall!"
"Woooo—wooo wooo—wooo—"
The low, lingering horn call pierced through the gun smoke and scattered gunfire that had yet to fully dissipate from the battlefield, echoing over the Sauron army.
The soldiers and slaves at the frontline seemed to have heard a sacred hymn of salvation. They let out long breaths of relief, and their retreat quickened. Yet they did not collapse into a rout, maintaining their basic formations as they covered one another's withdrawal into the trench network farther to the rear.
They left only a small number of elite personnel behind at the foremost observation posts and crucial nodes, guarding against the possibility that the Carnford People might seize the