Battle cries, gunfire, and explosions rang out constantly from the wooded mountains ahead, coming from every direction, all across the slopes.
Colonel Carlos stood on the hill previously occupied by the Matchlock Riflemen, using its meager elevation to survey the battlefield through a telescope. His expression was grim, his knuckles white with strain, and the telescope's brass barrel creaked in his grip.
"Report!"
A bloodstained messenger raced up from below. After a cursory check by the guards, he hurried over to the colonel.
"Sir, we've lost contact with Third Company on the western hill."
The messenger's voice trembled slightly.
"Fifth Company's commander sent me to report that they've come under attack at least twenty times... They've suffered heavy casualties and lost more than half their fighting strength. They're retreating now and requesting support."
"How far away is Fifth Company?"
"One kilometer to the east..."
"Tch!"
Carlos felt a headache coming on. On flat ground, a person could walk a kilometer in twelve to twenty minutes. But in snowy mountain woods without roads, that same kilometer was enough to leave soldiers utterly exhausted.
Besides, dusk was falling and visibility was worsening, making a rescue many times harder. That kilometer might as well have been an impassable chasm. With enemy troops harassing them along the way, it was more than enough distance for an entire company to be wiped out.
Carlos slammed his telescope into the snow. The sound of shattering lenses made the officers around him flinch. He drew the ivory-inlaid Command Sabre at his waist and pointed its tip toward the dense woods to the east.
"Order Seventh Company to move toward Fifth Company immediately! Send in the reserve Mountain Rangers!"
"But, sir."
His adjutant hurried to dissuade him.
"Seventh Company is eliminating the enemy on the northern slope. Their