The fishing net had closed.
Chris remained atop the highest spire of Bolas Fortress, watching the battle below. No matter how Bruno, the captain of his guards, pleaded behind him, he refused to budge.
Before the last sunlight had faded into the gathering darkness, the guns on the hills to either side opened fire, pounding shells into the crowds.
The only two hundred light cavalry Chris had at his disposal charged out at that moment, joining the Players in an assault on the disordered enemy.
Bolas Fortress was now like a giant crab, its two pincers striking hard at its prey and closing in from both sides. The prey caught deep within its trap... the Republican Army, had only one way to survive now: forward.
Before the auxiliaries behind them collapsed completely, the regular troops at the front had to take Bolas Fortress.
Chris looked down at the surging masses, listening to the thunder of explosions beneath his feet.
He rubbed his chin.
"Did I screw this up? Or am I about to win?"
A breach had been blasted into the walls of Bolas Fortress. It was small, and the demolition had been mishandled: the powder barrels had merely been placed at the foot of the wall rather than buried underground. The explosion had not punched through the wall, only shattered some of its upper stones into a sloping ramp.
But that was enough.
The Republican soldiers pouring forward in an endless tide immediately found their avenue of attack. They swarmed onto the slope, trampling rubble and corpses as they desperately fought their way up.
Pierre was among them, sword and shield in hand. His boot soles slipped on the loose stones, every step feeling like he was treading on the gears of a meat grinder.
The soldier in