Late at night, the open ground of the military camp behind Carnford's main city was packed with dark, shadowy figures.
There were no torches, only thin moonlight outlining their silent, resolute forms.
Five hundred men—Veteran Soldiers and non-commissioned officers drawn from the elite units of every defensive line, temporarily formed into a grenadier assault force. Like sharpened daggers in the night, they were about to plunge into the enemy's heart.
The soldiers were making their final preparations, their movements swift and quiet. Two sturdy canvas straps crossed over every man's chest, densely fitted with more than twenty small grenades in cast-iron shells. They resembled miniature pineapples, their surfaces scored with preformed fragmentation grooves.
Heavy explosive packs wrapped in oilcloth hung from the belts at their waists, each stuffed with granulated Black Powder specially made by the Hector Ordnance Bureau and iron fragments.
Their primary weapons were unusual: each man carried a large-caliber blunderbuss, its barrel so thick and short it was almost comical. Rather than a musket, it was more like a handheld Cannon.
These custom blunderbusses did not fire whole lead bullets, but more than a dozen small lead pellets wrapped in thin sheet iron. Within fifteen paces, they could create a deadly fan-shaped barrage. At this moment, their hammers had already been cocked, ready to fire at any time.
As a backup for close combat, every man wore a slender, resilient thrusting sword at his right hip, its blade gleaming with a cold, ghostly blue light. Such a weapon might lack the savage might of a War Saber on an open battlefield, but in narrow trenches and brutal fighting within fortifications, its agility and speed would become a lethal advantage.
Several officers gave their final rallying speech before the ranks, their voices kept extremely low, yet every word