Crossing the River, Part One

Avet stood on high ground, calmly directing the battle. Behind him lay the prepared Mountain Camp, the banners of commanders at every level fluttering above it. Under his command were a thousand Jaguar Regiment warriors, ten thousand direct-command Samurai, a thousand City-State Warriors, four thousand Militia, and another eight thousand naval troops.

Xolotl stood nearby, watching the splendid battlefield as he learned the art of command, occasionally offering crooked ideas. Behind him stood over a hundred Longbow Guard.

The drums of attack continued to thunder among the hills. Two great banners immediately swept to either side, and four Mexica Warrior camps split into two wings and charged fiercely down from the ridges.

The youth watched as the warriors divided into nimble squads, surrounding the small spear formations on both flanks one by one.

He saw a Tarasco spear formation of two hundred men, newly disembarked and gathered together. Sharp spears clustered tightly, flashing with the cold gleam of Bronze beneath the sun. Dozens of Mexica Warriors provoked them from the front, shouting loudly and waving their weapons while holding their Shields high. They advanced carefully, luring the enemy Pike Formation to point forward.

By then, two hundred warriors had already swiftly slipped around both wings of the Pike Formation. The moment the formation pointed forward, a Century led by veteran Samurai launched a charge from the flank. With Shields leading the way, the warriors crashed swiftly and savagely into the spear ranks, driving deep into the enemy and wrecking the Spearmen's formation. Then their short clubs slashed down from above, smashing mercilessly into the unprotected sides and backs of the Spearmen. Exploiting their advantage at close quarters, they killed the enemies wielding long weapons.

At the point of the first charge, the front rows of Spearmen fell into chaos and dropped one after another. Only the rear ranks barely reacted, beginning to thrust from behind. Such thrusts were difficult to defend against and could pierce Leather Armor. Soon, several warriors were struck and fell.

At that moment, the second Century finally circled around to the rear of the Pike Formation, and the warriors launched their second charge. The assault from behind was devastating. The Spearmen's formation was not thick enough to fight on multiple sides. The rear-rank Spearmen attacking the front had no time to turn and meet the enemy before they were struck down by clubs in droves. They died in an instant, like ice and snow melting into boiling soup.

Seeing the Pike Formation in chaos ahead, the dozens of warriors who had first lured the enemy no longer hesitated. They immediately charged with Shields raised, using sharp stone blades to tear open soft flesh. Under attack from three sides, the Tarasco Pike Formation quickly fell apart. Their morale plummeted, then shattered. Uncoordinated Spears held no power. They scraped weakly across the Leather Armor of nearby warriors before collapsing under close combat. The Spearmen were like brittle withered grass, breaking beneath War Clubs and silently withering in the wind.

The youth watched the nimble pincer attacks of the warrior squads with great interest. They imitated a pack of Coyotes encircling prey. To destroy a small spear formation of two hundred men, the Mexica Warriors lost only ten men.

The Centuries were all led by veteran Samurai. These battle-hardened junior officers were the backbone of the army, controlling the smallest tactical units. Rich in experience, they resembled the Centurions of Mongol armies and could launch brilliant small-scale tactics based on their own judgment of the situation.

This many-against-few hunt from all sides continued without pause. In less than a quarter-hour, over a thousand of the five thousand Spearmen had been swallowed up, while warrior casualties remained below one-twentieth of that number. The remaining Spearmen neither scattered into blind charges nor suffered a final collapse. They merely kept gathering toward the center until they finally formed a great formation of three thousand five hundred Spearmen. Under command, the formation gradually rounded out, dozens of ranks thick, like a giant hedgehog.

Dozens of young warriors chased the fleeing remnants, their minds clouded by their earlier victory. Confidently, they charged the great spear formation, only to meet three layers of hundreds of spears head-on. After barely a dozen clashes, one warrior's Shield was knocked aside, exposing a gap on his right.

Immediately, several Spears stabbed in from the right. With a few wet pops, they pierced Leather Armor. A half-finished scream, a Shield falling to the ground, blood spraying, a body collapsing. The young warriors swiftly paid the price with their lives, staining the golden spearheads red with their own blood.

The drums abruptly paused, and a long blast of conch horns rose. The Mexica Warriors halted and gathered, retreating slowly. They formed four warrior camps and half-surrounded the great spear formation from three directions. Behind it surged the Long River. At this time, the Tarasco naval troops had returned to the southern bank, and the second foreign mercenary legion had begun boarding their boats.

"This Pike Formation of miners is not bad. They could still form up after crossing the river, and they did not collapse even after losing over a thousand men. If their equipment were not so poor, they would count as a strong force. No wonder they were ferried across first," Xolotl said with a sigh.

"Yes, this Pike Formation's discipline is indeed good, perhaps even better than the warriors across from them. But their morale is already very low. If they were not backed against the Great River with no road of retreat, they would have scattered long ago. If they all wore Leather Armor, the warriors' losses would be far greater." Avet nodded in agreement.

"But no matter how elite Militia may be, they are still expendable. They were sent across first so that their lives could serve as stepping stones for the warriors. Next, the second force crossing the river will also come to die. Unless they see an opportunity, the noble warriors will not move lightly." The commander smiled as he spoke of the cruel reality.

"What now?" The youth pointed at the hedgehog-like great spear formation. "A direct assault? The second army crossing the river is nearly setting out."

"A direct assault would cost too much." Avet shook his head. "Use ranged attacks. Send out the thousand Stone Throwers first to harass them. The Jaguar Throwing Spears are limited, so save them for later. Use the new Longbow Guard for long-range fire now. We can also see the power of the new troops."

"This strange new spear force relies entirely on its formation. Once their footing loosens, if the Spearmen scatter or attack, the warriors can give them a surprise from the sides and rear." The commander bared his teeth in a grin.

A thousand Stone Throwers soon departed from the camp and advanced to within eighty paces of the Pike Formation. Pebbles the size of Goose eggs rained down, battering the spear formation into disorder. Yet though the Stone Throwers created an immense spectacle, each volley killed only around twenty men, and the Pike Formation still held on bitterly.

Next, Bertad led over a hundred Longbow Guard to a position ninety paces from the Pike Formation. Protected by one warrior camp, the Longbow Warriors began steady flat-trajectory shooting. Against such an enormous, dense spear formation, the Longbows unleashed astonishing power at close range.

Xolotl saw a lean, fierce warrior draw his bow to full strength, squint one eye slightly to aim, and release. A seventy-five-centimeter Bone Arrow whistled forth, easily tearing through the thin cloth tunic of a front-rank Spearman. It pierced his warm chest, emerged from his narrow back, and buried itself in the arm of the Spearman behind him.

Two Spears fell to the ground at once. The front-rank Spearman collapsed weakly, knocking down comrades behind him. Warm liquid flowed from his chest, streaming into the earth and leaving the body cold.

More than a hundred Longbowmen fired flat trajectories from ninety paces away. Against a dense spear formation without armor or Shields, every volley took more than ten lives and wounded many more, while they could loose six volleys per minute. The casualties were not enormous, but the blow to morale was devastating. After only several rounds of Longbow fire, the great Pike Formation ahead immediately fell into disorder. The front-rank Spearmen, who had suffered terrible losses, could no longer endure the one-sided beating. Howling, they raised their spears and rushed at the Longbow Warriors.

The Longbow Warriors immediately retreated another thirty or forty paces, changed direction, and continued firing. The warrior camp behind them promptly raised their Shields and advanced. Working together, they attacked with agility, turning the Spearmen rushing in twos and threes into corpses.

Driven by the charging Spearmen, some of the others followed into the attack while the rest hesitated in place. The great formation began to break apart. At this moment, a burly middle-aged man in Leather Armor and a helmet, clearly a leader, roared from within the formation. He waved his arms, seemingly trying to maintain order.

Bertad narrowed his eyes slightly, his eagle-like gaze locking onto the leader in the center. Calm-faced, he drew a Bronze Arrow from his quiver. Then the Captain of Warriors nocked it, drew the bow into a circle, closed one eye to aim, pressed his lips together slightly, and gently held his breath. A moment of stillness, followed by a sharp tearing whistle.

A long arrow sped forth like a shooting star, tracing an invisible path. It passed over the surrounding Spears and drove diagonally downward into the middle-aged man's eye. The arrowhead burst through the back of his skull. The man instantly fell silent, his head lolling as he toppled straight down. The surrounding Spearmen immediately erupted in uproar.

Only then did Bertad let out a breath. After years of using a Short Bow, followed by so long practicing the Longbow, he could finally hit a head!

With the death of the Spearmen's commander, the Pike Formation could no longer be maintained. The Longbow Warriors' shooting continued for another quarter-hour before it had to stop.

The circular formation opposite had become shattered waves. The four warrior camps launched successive charges from three sides. The disordered Spear Militia tangled with the warriors, and the warriors could now reap freely at close quarters. Spears broke, blood flowed in torrents, and the surviving Spearmen gradually retreated toward the Great River behind them. Amid desperate howls, the Tarasco men were struck down.

At this moment, harassed by the Mexica naval troops, the second group of Tarasco boats finally reached the northern bank. Five thousand foreign mercenaries were brimming with morale. They leaped from the boats with wild howls and charged without pause toward the commander's banner on the hill.