The Free Company and the Spanish Gold

[N Katsyev]

August 7, 1565 - The Heights at Noon

The reiters trotted forward in admirable form, beyond them in a colourful and varied mass lie the mass of the Turk. Nikolai looked out over the field and ran his fingers thoughtfully through his beard. Finally, the time had come, after so long. He had to admit he felt a certain admiration for the Reiters, to present oneself upon a horse to a large enemy formation was one thing, to do so in ordered form taking shots at him with pistols was nigh on madness. Still, as the smoke from the first volley clouded the scene and Nikolai thought he could make out a few Turks falling in the process, it wasn't the first time Nikolai had seen madness pay dividends on the battlefield. Answering shots came from the Turks and the deadly game of attrition had begun. Every volley would become more deadly for the Reiters from here on out.

Not nearly as transfixed as some of his comrades on the action before him, Nikolai looked down inspecting his musket once again. Powder was dry, everything was clean, the metalwork even glinted in the heavy sun. He pulled at the hammer with his thumb, it locked back into place with a satisfying click. His finger tugged at the trigger and the hammer whipped forward toward the empty pan. His eyes flicked up to the battle again, the Reiters were falling back in good form, admirable buggers. Looking back to the task at hand, Nikolai carefully placed a new flint and felt about him for his various tools, making sure everything was where it should be so that with instinctive rapidity he could insure the best rate of fire.

From his left came the boom of the cannons, once more drawing his attention to the advancing Turk who with every step he could feel their presence grow. There were a great deal of them, many of which were now obscured in smoke and flying earth from the impact of the artillery shells. Nikolai reached down and tugged at his sabre, loosening it in its sheath. As he did so, for whatever reason he thought of the boy from earlier on the march. It was hard to believe that had only been so short a time ago. A smile hinted at his lips he crossed himself and set his bardysh rigidly to the one side, musket to the other. He looked over at the man next to him. Nikolai had seen him before, but couldn't recall his name. A fellow musketeer, another Englishman if he recalled correctly. The stubble on the man's face was thick and coarse, his eyes were rapidly moving in their sockets and then when he noticed Nikolai was looking at him he stared straight forward again, visibly trying to calm himself. The Russian averted his glance to Diego, wondering what would happen now, would they stay in positions dispersed among the various infantry formations - for whatever reason Nikolai felt that Diego might have something a little less conservative in mind, whether he'd order it or not was another matter entirely. The Turks increased their speed, it would be very soon now. The musketeer with the stubble cleared his throat and Nikolai felt immediately that this man would not survive the battle. But then, how many of them would? The Turks came ever quicker it seemed, their speed increasing in proportion to their growing proxy to the company. The real fighting was about to begin and Nikolai awaited it with growing excitement as an alcoholic tastes his next drink before it touches its tongue, so Nikolai smelled the powder, heard the shots and imagined the contest so near.

 

[The_Hawk]

Glorious had to suppress a grin when he was receiving his orders from Captain, but not on his way down the hill. In the van again, he thought. Where I belong. Methinks David'll be a good Captain after all. It didn't hurt that the rest of the Company -- Gunshy in particular -- got to sit and wait while the reiters did the dirty work.

Beaming, he reached forward and patted Phobos' mane, barely jutting through under the headpiece he had crafted years ago during a layover in Italy. Bound to his reins, it held six simple loops of leather, in which dangled a half-dozen wheellock pistols -- in addition to the two Glorious kept on his person, it was quite the collection, the envy of every other reiter.

Looping the reins around his palm, Glorious whistled sharply. He excised a circle in the air with a finger and snapped it towards the Turkish line. As one, the reiters started down the hill at a trot.

* * *

The Turks, it was apparent, were not going to give easily. Grimly, they staggered up the hill, sending an occasional shot at the reiter line, but largely trying to avoid the hail of pistol fire coming downrange. Being forced to stumble over your fallen front line to advance can't be good for morale, Glorious thought, and he was happy to cause such troubles. But it hadn't gotten rich enough for the enemy's blood yet.

Casting an eye toward Fort St. Michael, Glorious hoped the Knights would take the opportunity to contribute to Turkish troubles, too. But even a strike now wouldn't turn the Turks he faced. Cursing, the reiter lieutenant shouted a retreat, helping one of his men pull a wounded comrade onto his horse. They wheeled, dropping back thirty yards, and then turning again. Then the ground shook as the Free Company artillery announced its presence.

Glorious spat as he urged Phobos to the front line again. "I'll be damned if that runt slays my Turks!" he cried, discharging three pistols in twice as many seconds.

 

[Valdemar]

The hill, front of the pikes.

Diego had been summoned to the Captain as they reached the summit. He didn’t rightly know why, but he suspected his talk with Mario may have started something.

Captains had seemed busy and preoccupied, but had nonetheless taken away Mario’s best sergeant and given him temporary command of the combined musketeers, at least for the first phases of the battle, or that was how Diego had understood it to be. Which made sense, unified command of the musketeers would become hard once they retreated back into the protection of the pikes.

He smiled as he strode back to the formations; he just hoped the other two sergeants of musketeers would be up to the task, he’d better send Rodriquez to help out.

He moved past the rank of the pike to the far right where his two Mangas stood patiently in their allotted five by five formations. Whistling shrilly he called Rodriquez to him.

“I want you to go to the other formations, tell them I take command of all musketeers for now, and I want them in front of their pikes in ten by five formations. Ten ranks in front of each pike square.”

Rodriquez trotted up and Diego turned to his own command, shouting loud enough to be heard over the din,

“Right then, I want you all front and centre ten wide five deep. Ten paces from the reach of the pikes.”

The men quickly flowed into the formation and Diego watched as the other four horns did likewise. Rodriquez returned and Diego nodded,

“I will take command form the centre formation; you will be leading this one,”

He gestured at Bexhet and the large Russian,

“I will be sending some of my Moriscos to anchor the first line in the other formations, I want you two to take their place anchoring a line each in our formation.”

He moved to the rear of the centre formation, making sure he was visible to both sergeants, Rodriquez on his right and the one from Dunbar on the left. Beside him he had the sergeant of Roy’s formation.

His Moriscos blended perfectly into the ranks of the other two formations sending a few musketeers back to Rodriquez, that way he could ensure communications.

He lifted his Halberd and peered through the ranks of the men, below the Reiters had all but exhausted their rides and now the cannons opened up sending sprays of dirt high into the air as the balls hit the ground.

He lifted the Halberd and swung it in a forward motion,

“Formations fifty paces forward, I want you below the lip of this hill before the Reiters are done.”

As one the musketeers hefted their guns and trotted forward. Diego nodded in satisfaction, it was obvious that the other formations all were veterans with less of a influx of newcomers than his, it was easy to tell by their march that here each man knew each other.

“Ready first line, as soon as the Reiters have had their fun I want a steady fire on those Turks, remember, we fire down hill, so adjust your aim accordingly.”

The formations now trailed somewhere between sixty and eighty paces in front of the pikes, hopefully not enough to cause concern amongst the officers, and certainly close enough to gain safety under the forest of steel tipped poles. He smiled, but not nearly as far out as he would have ventured if he had his say. He raised the halberd again, ready to signal the first volley when he watched the wretched Reiter lieutenant turn around for a final charge between two reloads of the cannons.

The small Spaniard screamed on the top of his lungs,

“Get your horses ass out of my line of fire you dare devil.”

The Reiters fired one final volley and galloped their spent horses back towards the company lines, easily finding the gaps between the pike squares.

Diego judged the distance to the Turk and muttered to himself,

“Right, ten more paces from them and they are within distance.”

He called out to the men,

“Give them time to think they can advance safely, I want no one to fire until I give the signal, let them come another twenty five paces forward, that should shock them.”

The first line readied it self, but no one disobeyed his order. Diego waved for the boy to bring his own musket, it was primed and ready and he carefully sighted down the barrel as it rested on its fork.

“Right pass the word, once I fire it is time for the first volley, then I want to keep the volleys coming in place until I order a retreat.”

He sighted at a young officer leading his men from the front. The cannons roared again and more men fell, but the little officer seemed to be able to drive them on. Diego leaned over his musket,

not for long you wont.

He gently pulled the trigger and the musket’s gentle crack as it fired was almost drowned out by the staggered volley of the thirty muskets that fired at the same time.

Diego looked up, the Turkish officer had fallen, and where the Reiters had nibbled deep pockets into the front ranks, and the cannons had shot deep holes, or narrow lanes, then the muskets had obliterated the first line of the Turk in a wide field.

He turned to the men, nothing needed to be done they second line was already stepping up ready to fire and as he watched another ragged salvo filled the air. Nodding to himself he began readying his own musket. He was certain that if the men could keep up the pace the Turk would be severely slowed down.

 

[redwolf]

August 7, 1565 - The Heights at Noon

At a word from Captain, the banner was unfurled, the wind catching it smartly. The Turkish guns went silent.

Cai chuckled at the thoughts going through the Turks at the prospect of facing the Free Company.

Giving a quick salute to the flag which he had served for over 30 years now, Cai turned his attention back to the battle.

As ordered by Captain, the light cavalry was ordered to remain on the southern slope, ready to sweep the enemy flank when, and if, opportunity arose. He would also serve to protect the Company’s flank and rear, though the Turk had very little cavalry.

Cai observed the battle with an experienced eye as Glory's men poured a constant wave of fire into the Turks. The roar of cannons from the heights announced the artillery's entry into the battle and how the cavalrymen cheered as the canons tore into the Turks ranks.

The Turks archers returned fire at the reiters but they hit very few of their targets if any.

Cai's eyes narrowed. With the Turks archers concentrating on the reiters, this meant only infantry left to guard the Turks flanks.

Grinning, Cai ordered his sergeants to him. When they gathered, Cai quickly pointed out the vulnerable Turks flanks and laid out his plans to harrass the Turks flanks.

"We will attack in jaghuns of 100 men at a time. Once a jaghun finish their sweep, the next will go. This will ensure that the horses have sufficient rest between rests as well making sure there will be at least 200 men to guard the flanks and rear at all times."

Finishing, the Light Cavalrymen saddled up and waited for Cai's orders, all eargerly their chance to enter the battle.

To their left, a volley of muskets opened up on the Turks, creating more havoc in the Turks ranks.

Time for us to join in, thought Cai as he raised his hand to signal the charge. Shouting their warcries, Cai and Sergeant Ogedai led the first jaghun on a run against the Turks flanks.

The Turks quickly noticed the danger to their flanks and the men on the flanks shifted and lowered pikes to prepare to take the cavalry charge.

Entering arrow range, Cai and his men released their arrows and Cai nodded in approval as most of the arrows found their marks. A second and then a third volley was fired, each volley taking down more Turks before Cai ordered his men to turn back to their lines.

As the first jaghun reached their lines, Sergeant Horn led the next jaghun on their strike on the Turks. Boys carrying buckets approached the just returned jaghun. Cai quickly dismounted and signalled for the one of the boys to water his horse. Taking a quick sip from another pail, Cai turned his attention back to the battle and waited for his next turn to strike...

 

[Valdemar]

The Turkish siege,

Piali smiled thinly as he watched the cannon balls strike the formation, and said dispassionately

“It will be interesting to watch I’m sure.”

He winced slightly as the line of tiny figures fired at the compact Turkish attack.

“Did it occur to you mighty Mustafa that to get to those heights they had to pass through your main camp?”

The Admiral watched impassively as the General paled visibly, and he decided to drive home the point,

“Perhaps now you understand the need of my fleet? Your only supplies now is onboard my ships.”

He bowed mockingly,

“As you appear to be busy, my lord, I will return to my ships to ensure a renewed line of supply to your mighty army.”

He turned to leave, but was stopped by a steely rasp,

“Not so fast young man, it was your choice of harbour that forced us to fight the St. Elmo fort. It was your choice that dictated the place of the camp.”

Piali dismissed the accusation with a shrug,

“And you failed to guard the supplies, had we landed anywhere else the chances of losing entire ships to the rocks had been great.”

Mustafa snorted,

“No matter, you will help finding a solution, I command you to send your men to cover the siege while I deal with the infidels.”

Piali bowed again, silently, on the surface chastised, and left for his ships. As he moved through the siege works towards Gallows Point his mind churned with the implications of the infamous Free Company arriving on the island.

They cannot have been here all along, so they have arrived on ships. How? Who could have gotten them here, and through my pickets.

As the young admiral boarded the ship to take him to the main anchorage he knew just what to ask his captains.

 

[N Katsyev]

August 7, 1565 - The Muskets Go Into Action

“Right then, I want you all front and centre ten wide five deep. Ten paces from the reach of the pikes.”

The men quickly flowed into the formation and Diego watched as the other four horns did likewise. Rodriquez returned and Diego nodded,

“I will take command form the centre formation; you will be leading this one,”

He gestured at Bexhet and the large Russian,

“I will be sending some of my Moriscos to anchor the first line in the other formations, I want you two to take their place anchoring a line each in our formation.”

"Yes sir", Nikolai gruffly replied, curious for the briefest of moments why he had been singled out, there would be time for that later though. Or would there? Bexhet took the first line and Nikolai the one behind. They were in the centre of the battlefield, the Turks were advancing quickly. From the corner of his eye Nikolai thought he could make out the Company's light cavalry forming up. To this however he was only able to pay the briefest of notice.

“Formations fifty paces forward, I want you below the lip of this hill before the Reiters are done”, ordered Diego from behind motioning forward with his halberd. The three formations began their quick descent away from the safety of the pike lines. The air suddenly compacted and seemed to explode above them and seconds later a shell impacted not far to the front of them and the right, equally shocking yet hardly phasing the men of the right formation. Nikolai got the uneasy feeling that it had been one of our shot gone slightly awry. The man with the dark stubble cast a questioning glance at the Russian, as if to confirm his own suspicion, but not a word was spoken.

They advanced further and further from the pikes and as if in answering to small Spaniard's screaming a wave of horsemen filtered through the formations of the muskets. These were the reiters and it seemed a number of them had quite obviously had their nerves shaken getting so close to the Turk. These men had to have an iron nerve and that none of them had broken impressed Nikolai greatly. The Turk now was terribly close, Nikolai could clearly make out the faces of those in the front as they advanced. Diego's voice soon distracted him from the Turk's faces and set his heart racing even faster. The front line, Bexhet's line lowered and braced their muskets, preparing for the first volley at Diego's signal. They had halted and it seemed like an eternity they waited until all the built up tension was released with a single shot. Barely the blink of an eye later Bexhet's line, almost instantaneously followed by the first line of the other formations let a carpet of fire loose into the Turkish mass.

Like a well-oiled machine, seeming to not even take the time to inspect the damage the front line turned. Nikolai anchoring the line was the first to move up, set his berdysh into the ground, his pulse quickening his senses already delighted by the sound of the previous volley, the smell of the spent powder and the white billows of smoke still hanging before them. It was testament to the close range that even through this smoke, many of the Turks staggered but still advancing could be made out. All this occurred in the span of a second, Nikolai pulled the trigger, just like earlier the hammer whipped forward only this time the end of his musket exploded in flame. A report sounded, yet it was the mixed report of just about every gun in his line. Quickly spinning about to the rear, he went about reloading his gun. Bexhet's line took aim and soon this bit of land, the precious few metres which separated the two armies was enveloped and hopelessly shrouded in the smoke of volley after volley of musketry. The musketeers could have no idea of the lines of men swept away under their fire, like hay at the harvest under the reaper's steady stroke.

 

[Valdemar]

The Muskets, in front of the Pikes

Diego watched as the formations went through a full cycle, bringing up the first row again. The damage to the Turk was devastating, but he was severely outnumbered, and now his ranks had a few holes in it, nothing serious, but the enemy was close enough for even their wild firing to hit.

Screaming at the top of his lungs, hoping at least the sergeants would get it he ordered the retreat to safety.

“Fall back, one rank at a time, when fired, the next rank will NOT move forward into place, but fire where they stand.”

The sergeants nodded in understanding, that way the formations would gradually move back one line at a time without breaking the rhythm. In fact, with a touch of luck it would increase the rate slightly when the men could stay in place to load and not move forward at the same time.

He looked and saw the big Russian step up to fire. He nodded as he saw the man check the line, he had been a good choice. Diego had spotted him when he had chosen to be lose man on the outside of the formation, and men who showed independence were either great assets or trouble.

He sent a boy to the two other sergeants,

“Tell them when we reach the pike I want the formations to reform as horns on the corners again.”

He looked at the boy,

“Do you understand?”

The boy nodded,

“Then tell them the horns have to be far enough back to be covered by the pikes, but far enough out to cover the front with fire at an angle,”

The boy looked puzzled,

“Just tell them, they will understand, the important thing is they form horns, I will come and adjust it if needed.”

 

[Lord Durham]

August 7, 1565 – The Turks – Noon

Don’t they ever quit? Ahmed listened impassively to yet another exchange between Mustafa and Piali.

Mustafa snorted. “No matter, you will help find a solution. I command you to send your men to cover the siege while I deal with the infidels.”

Piali bowed, silently, and left quickly for his ships.

Ahmed turned back to the battle field, flinched when he saw the young Anatolian commander fall to musket fire.

Nearby, Mustafa Pasha swore, and looked immediately for another commander. He settled on a swarthy noble, a tall man dressed in light armour – perhaps a Sipahi. “You! Get up there! Lead this rabble before they break!”

The man started to protest, thought better of it. He loped up the hill, stopped at the drummers and exhorted them to redouble their efforts. Slowly, the faltering Turks strengthened, resuming their advance uphill, into the face of withering fire.

Ahmed crossed his arms. He heard a sound, like thunder. Except it wasn’t cannon fire. He and Mustafa turned to see a small wing of cavalry sweeping around from the east slope of the heights. They charged directly for the Anatolian flank.

Mustafa stomped the ground in rage, sent orders to have the flank pull back to meet the threat. He looked at Ahmed. “Get Selim. We need his Sipahi.”

Ahmed bowed low. “Master. We have few mounts.”

“I know what we have! Get him now, or join the Anatolians!”

Ahmed bowed again and ran toward the siege lines. Even though 8,000 Turks had been diverted from the cordon, there were at least 20,000 men still watching the walls waiting for the inevitable breach. The mighty cannons had started again, blasting chunks of debris from the low bastioned walls of Senglea and Birgu.

He finally located Selim, commander of the elite Sipahi. He bowed. “My master wishes you to gather your men and ride to protect his far flank. The infidel has cavalry.”

Selim stroked his long, black beard. “Lucky them. I’ll be fortunate to raise 1,000 horse.”

“As my master pleases, time is important. He is under attack.” He paused. “You should know; we face the Free Company.”

Selim’s eyes flashed through a series of emotions. He nodded. “At once.” Half-turned, he stopped. “Ahmed?”

“Sire?”

“Did Pasha say anything about the Janissaries?”

“No, sire.”

“It would be prudent to alert the commander.”

Ahmed nodded. “You are most wise, sire.”

They went off in different directions.


August 7, 1565 – The Company – Noon

Captain grinned. He couldn’t help himself. The opening phases of the battle had passed smoothly. The men reacted to his orders like the well-oiled musket they were. The Reiters were magnificent – so few against so many, operating with nerves of steel.

And then the cannon opened up, tearing bloody swaths through the heathens. When it came time for the muskets, the Turks visibly faltered, their advance slowing. But soon the drums sounded louder, beating a heavy cadence, and the enemy pressed on.

Lieutenant Glory joined David, his face flushed with excitement and dark with powder. “Bastards had arquebuses with them. Not many, but enough to pick off a few of my men.”

Captain handed over a water skin. “You did well.”

The Reiter upended the skin over his head, let the water cascade down. He handed it back. “What now?”

“Diego is retreating to the squares. He’s performed well with the men, maintaining order. Soon the Turk will reach us, and it will be pikes against swords.” He looked at Glory. “Take your men to the right flank. It’s going to get awfully bloody here. But be ready. I’ll signal you when I need you.”

Glory grinned, white teeth through a blackened face. He rode away. Captain turned to see Saul and Amina sitting their mounts close together. Saul wore a look of satisfaction, Amina’s features were neutral. She looked at him briefly, and then faced Martel as he rode up. Captain could have sworn she grinned at the dour man.

“Here they come!” The cry came from young Stiles.

Captain returned to the battle. The muskets had fallen back to the flanks of the squares. Diego planned it so they had ample time to prime, set and wait. The infantry Lieutenants, Chen, Dunbar and Roy watched Captain closely. He raised his arm.

The cry went up. “Pikes!”

Fifteen-foot-long shafts lowered en masse, the effect eerie with its silent discipline. They presented a bristling front of steel-tipped death.

This time the front ranks of Turks did halt, but such was the pressure from the men behind, they were forced forward. Seeing inevitable death before them, the foremost Turks made peace with Allah, and charged the last few feet.


August 7, 1565 – The Turks – Noon

Ahmed heard the clash of arms while talking to the Janissary commander…

 

[unmerged(10971)]

7 August 1565, Noon: The Heights

"Pikes!"

The cry came up and down the line. Heinrich prepared his weapon, as he had done so many times before. He looked over to Cosimo beside him, and nodded. It's much more heartening when you know you can trust the people beside you, he thought. He made some pleasure out the fact that the Turks stopped suddenly when the pikes came down; but it was only a momentary respite. The battle was joined.

Heinrich brought his pike up and struck one of the front-line Turks on the side of the face. The force was enough to smash the skull and turn the Turkish head into a bloody and lifeless mess. Heinrich didn't notice, it was just one less heathen.

Again and again his pike dealt death. It was a tough fight; many fell on either side, more Turkish than Company men. Heinrich couldn't tell which way they were going, and didn't care. All he needed to do was make sure he didn't get too far into the wrong lines. Every once in a while he'd see Cosimo beside him, covered in blood, hopefully all Turkish. Heinrich imagined he was like that. But no time for imagining; now was the time to put that pike into someone else. It was a dance, in a way; the Turk tried to get close and bring his weapons to bear, Heinrich tried to keep them at a distance, but not give up too much ground. He had to trust on the pikes behind him to get the ones that got too close.

It was turning into a routine: Kill the Turk, find a target, smash it or skewer it, make sure the pike didn't get stuck, and find another Turk. He heard a scream beside him, as one of the pikemen (not Cosimo, at least, he thought) took a Turkish blade to the stomach. Someone from the second row took revenge on the offending Turk, and the line stabilized.

Heinrich focused on a Turk in front of him. Lightly armored, the Turk was able to dash around Heinrich's pike. Fortunately, the first swordblow glanced off easily. He brought his pike over, stunning the Turk long enough for a pike further back to deal a fatal blow.

Heinrich prepared to fight again; but that was until he looked down. A wash of pain, temporarily stopped by the rush of the fight, came from his left leg. The Turk had left a nasty and at least temporarily debilitating (but fortunately shallow) gash in the leg. Heinrich staggered, but had the presence of mind to take out one more Turk with his pike before dropping it. The wound probably wasn't fatal, but standing (and thus fighting) was out of the question. He had to get out of the fighting, with or without help...

 

[Storey]

August 7, 1565 – The Company – Noon



Henri stood beside his horse patting it's neck trying to calm the beast from the roar of the cannons. He stood behind the cannon listening to Gunshy yell at his men almost drowning out the blasts of the cannons as they punished the advancing Turkish forces.

“The man must have leather lungs” Henri muttered.

Even though it was more than a few years since the last time he was in charge of a battle formation the old surge of battle lust rose to quicken his heart and it was with an effort that he suppressed it. He had to admit that being able to stand behind the cannons gave him a grand view of the battle. which unfolded below him and increased his appreciation the effort that all of the Free Company were doing to succeed in the destruction of the Turks. He noted that Diego was doing an excellent job and of course Glory was at the heart of the battle. He rubbed his chin as he thought of past battles and wondered if there was still one more battle left in his old bones. Suddenly he noticed Glory talking to David before leaving and moving toward the right side of the battle. Quickly he mounted his horse and rode off after Glory. One more man in the formation wouldn't be noticed.

 

[Amric]

August 7, 1565 – The Heights – Noon

“Here they come!” The cry came from young Stiles.

Captain returned to the battle. The muskets had fallen back to the flanks of the squares. Diego planned it so they had ample time to prime, set and wait. The infantry Lieutenants, Chen, Dunbar and Roy watched Captain closely. He raised his arm.

The cry went up. “Pikes!”

Fifteen-foot-long shafts lowered en masse, the effect eerie with its silent discipline. They presented a bristling front of steel-tipped death.

This time the front ranks of Turks did halt, but such was the pressure from the men behind, they were forced forward. Seeing inevitable death before them, the foremost Turks made peace with Allah, and charged the last few feet. Many of them hoped to impale themselves on the shafts, tying up the deadly weapons long enough for their fellows to get in amongst the pikemen and deal deal to the front ranks.

It didn't work out that way. Some did manage to hang up the pikes they impaled themselves upon, but the company's second rank stepped forward half a step and brought their own pikes to bear, creating a steel wall bristling like the quills of a porcupine. The Turks continued to try and advance. The pike ranks fell back a step. Then another.

"Hold, damn you!" Mario bellowed," Don't even THINK of falling back! Forward! By God, push the infidel BACK!"

Von Stark started bellowing as well. The pikes on the right side of the company lines began to step forward in a slight shuffle. It was the work of a moment to get back to where they had begun their battle. The unit stepped forward once more, pushing back the Turk once more. Mario's eyes scanned the battle in front of him.

Diego's musketeers were well protected on the 'wings', the horns spouting fire in a regular order, cutting into the Turkish lines. Some of the pikemen on the front line had either fallen or looked about ready to fall of exhaustion. Mario shaded his eyes briefly and then swore sulferously. He dove into the formation and wriggled his way toward the front.


Heinrich prepared to fight again; but that was until he looked down. A wash of pain, temporarily stopped by the rush of the fight, came from his left leg. The Turk had left a nasty and at least temporarily debilitating (but fortunately shallow) gash in the leg. Heinrich staggered, but had the presence of mind to take out one more Turk with his pike before dropping it. The wound probably wasn't fatal, but standing (and thus fighting) was out of the question. He had to get out of the fighting, with or without help...

Mario used his halberd to push back some Turks seemingly eager to take the life of the brave German.

"Get him to the back of the lines," Mario ordered Cosimo," I'll hold them here until the second rank steps forward."

He struck an exhausted Turk, opening the man's throat. He didn't bother to watch him fall as he was sweeping the legs from another infidel that had hoped to take advantage of the momentary inattention. Von Stark saw his unit commander in the front lines.

"Second Rank! Step forward!" He shouted," First rank, fall back to the rear!"

Mario stepped back at the same time as the rest of the front rank, smartly. The other men fell back to the rear, taking gulps of water to rehydrate themselves. Mario smiled in satisfaction at the job his men had done so far.

"Hold the line!" Mario shouted," Hold the line! They'll break soon!"

Von Stark repeated the order," HOLD THE LINE!"

The unit stopped advancing, leaving themselves only a couple of steps ahead of the rest of the company. Dunbar and Roy had managed to bring their own units forward slightly after the initial steps backward. Neither man wanted to let Chen's unit get all the glory. Not that the butchery was all that glorious to begin with.

Mario looked up and found that the light cavalry had also gotten involved while he had been busy fighting. They were carving into the flank of the the Anatolians. A carving made entirely of firing arrows into the infidel, who was unable to do anything about it, so focused were they in reaching the company pikes.

The lieutenant nodded to himself and continued to watch the pikes continue to deal death to the infidel. Horns sounded from behind the Turk lines...

 

[coz1]

August 7, 1565 - The Heights

Cosimo was impressed with the clash as it had happened, the wave of Turk smashing into the wall of Company Pike. Their last minute halt had made the initial meet far worse for the front line of enemy that met their death through Pike as they had little chance to ready themselves and perhaps make shift enough to miss the sharp points if the weapons set up in front of them.

Cosimo had made sure that he was prepared with his other weapons were any Turk to make it through the front lines and into the square, but he had not anticipated the sheer tenacity of the enemy to try and push through, even with the heavy losses they had already taken from the guns, reiters and artillery. Almost as if they were angry now.

He fought hard, thrusting his weapon out there and skewering any man that made close enough to take a swipe at his tall frame. He watched the German beside him move quick and laughed for a moment at the two older men showing the young bucks how it was done.

But then he saw Heinrich fall. In his momentary lapse, a sharp pain was felt on his left arm, but the moment was fleeting and the pike thrust he responded with took care of his attacker swiftly. Noticing that the lines behind were strong and seeing Heinrich in the midst of melee that would surely take him were he not moved to safety, he moved in that direction. It was then he heard the Lieutenant yell,

"Get him to the back of the lines. I'll hold them here until the second rank steps forward."

Cosimo pushed past a few men and found he needed one last stab at a Turk to place himself behind Heinrich. He grabbed the German under his shoulders and pulled him off the front line and out of the action. He saw blood dripping from his face onto Heinrich and wondered where it came from and who it belonged to. Finding a suitable position to stop, he hollered for the field doctor and dropped Heinrich where he was.

Wiping his arm across his face, it too came away bloody. He looked down to Heinrich. "I hope this is not mine."

"I think not, my friend. That is from our foe. There are no cuts."

"Then once we get you some attention, I shall have to get more," he responded with a laugh and called for the field doctor again.

"Does this bloody company even have one?! Hold on, my friend. We shall get you looked at. Is it a bad wound?"

 

[unmerged(10971)]

7 August 1565, Noon: Behind the lines

"Then once we get you some attention, I shall have to get more," Cosimo responded with a laugh and called for the field doctor again. "Does this bloody company even have one?! Hold on, my friend. We shall get you looked at. Is it a bad wound?"

"No, but still annyoing. I've been knocked out of a battle three times because of wounds like this. Well, now it's three times. The last two were in the arms... Poland and Italy, I think."

"Still have scars?"

"Yes." Heinrich, willing himself, rolled up his sleeve and showed his much-wounded left arm. "Nice little collection, don't you think? And now I've got another one. Where's that doctor?"

"God only knows. Likely nobody's heard me over the battle." Cosimo stood up again. "For God's sake, a doctor, quickly!"

Yussuf came up. "Patience, I'm coming!" He looked down and whistled. "That will keep you out of the battle. Not as bad as it could be, though. The muscle is relatively safe and the bone is untouched. But we will want to stop that bleeding, and hope there's no infection."

Heinrich growled. "So, I'm wounded by a Turk, and then the person that goes to fix me up is a bloody--"

"I am a doctor, that should be enough for you."

"Alright, go ahead. Cosimo, get back to the battle, and get some more of those damn Turks!"

 

[unmerged(10397)]

August 7, 1565 - The Heights

"Pikes!" The cry rang across the field.

Von Stark's men lowered their weapons confidently. As the Turks drew closer to the line, mens' grips tighted around their pikes, their eyelids lowering in concentration. The fresh recruits' knuckles began to turn white as they held their weapons, their grips tightened by simultaneous feelings of fear and courage. But Erik proudly noted that not a man flinched as the first wave of Turks closed with the Company's line.

Men were rapidly impaling themselves on the spiked wall presented by von Stark's men. The formation shifted backwards at the force of the onslaught. Nearby, Erik could hear Mario shouting.

"Hold, damn you!" Mario bellowed," Don't even THINK of falling back! Forward! By God, push the infidel BACK!"

Erik shouted confidently, "Push them back, men! I'll tell you when earned the right to fall back!"

The pikes firmly moved forward again, stepping confidently into the path of the oncoming Turks. The musketeers continued their rain of fire into the mass of Turks. Erik took a few slow breaths, thinking quietly to himself. The new recruits are holding up well, and the veterans are performing with as much skill as ever before.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of his commander out on the front line. Mario was a warrior, of that there was no doubt. But even the mighty slipped sometimes, and one slip would kill a man if made in the face of the Turkish assualt they faced.

"Second Rank! Step forward!" He shouted over the noise of battle," First rank, fall back to the rear!"

As Mario returned from the front, von Stark let out a sigh of relief. He knew his lieutenant was unhurt when he heard him bellowing encouragingly again.

"Hold the line!" Mario shouted," Hold the line! They'll break soon!"

Von Stark repeated the order," HOLD THE LINE!"

Erik watched approvingly as the unit came to halt, firmly forcing the Turks to do the same. Erik calmly surveyed the situation outside of his unit, and, not unsettled by what he saw, continued watching his troops as they held back the relentless assault of their enemies.

 

[LordLeto]

August 7, 1565 - The Heights


Vosho's head picked up. "Did you hear that Saip?"

The older doctor was busy with one of the company men who had recived a sword thrust into the meat of his armpit. "Hear what?"

"Some one calling for a doctor."

"Well I'm only one man boy. Go see to it. And when your done go get more supplies and some of the women."

Vosho droped to items he was holding with in reach of his master and ran off towards the cry. When he found what he belived was the source an arab looking man was already attending to him leg wound.

Vosho crouched next to him to see if he could lend a hand anywhere. He couldn't, this one was adept at what he was doing.

"Need help?"

The arab looked up at him. "You a doctor?"

"Yes. Well, apprentice."



---------------------------

Bexhet wrenched his fork out of the ground and hurried to the back of the horn. He began shuffeling with the reloading of his gun, absently moving forward in the process. He noticed his wick was almost gone. He pulled another from one of his Bandoliers and pressed it against the old to light it and then replaced it in the hammer.

He was up again. His line resounded with the powder and multipul turks slumped to the ground, some screaming and grabbing a now blood stainded patch of cloth. In the back of the turkish lines he could see a few cowardly souls begin to break rank and run. He moved to the back again.

 

[redwolf]

August 7, 1565 - The Heights

YaoHui stood in the second rank of pikemen. In front, the first rank were heavily engaged with Turks. He waited with great anticipation for his turn. He had trained for a long time for this, was waiting for this. He would rather have fought from horseback but fighting with a pike is still better than not fighting at all.

"Second Rank! Step forward!" Mario shouted over the noise of battle," First rank, fall back to the rear!"

This was it. His turn had come. As the first rank started to pull back, the second rank, along with him, moved a step at the same time such that no gap appeared at all for the turks to exploit. Mario had trained them well and now a fresh line of pikemen lowered their pikes into the faces of the Turks.

YaoHui's first thrust was aimed at a Turk's throat but took him in the right eye instead. As the Turk fell back in pain, blood streaming down his face, YaoHui suddenly realised his hands was trembling. Yes, he had waited for a long time for this, but yet he was still trembling, in fear or excitement?

Before he could come out with a reply, another Turk stepped forward and YaoHui thrust again with his pike. This time it was more accurate and the Turks slumped down dead. Unfortunately, when YaoHui tried to pull his pike out, he realised it was stuck in the Turk's body.

Cursing, YaoHui tried to pull the pike out. A turk seeing him in trouble moved towards him, trying to exploit the gap. Forgetting the pike, YaoHui ducked to his left as the Turk's sword came down on him. Drawing his own sword, YaoHui struck out and sliced the Turk in the ribs. A quick follow up kick sent the Turk into a waiting pike.

Another Turk came rushing in but this time Mario stepped in and started thrusting at the Turks.

His attention on the Turk, Mario shouted to his younger cousin,"Well, what are you waiting for? Get your pike free!"

Mario covering him, YaoHui quickly moved to get his pike free from the dead Turk...

 

[Mettermrck]

August 7, 1565 - Corradino Heights

”Get down, sir!” the men shouted, as Adelmar stood in front of the crude battlements between the guns. With a wave, he dismissed their concerns and continued squinting down at the battle below. The Turks were taking blows, for certes, but were still coming. Even animals had courage of sorts, he thought with a sniff. Why not infidels? And Adelmar wasn’t about to let these beasts have the premium on bravery on that day. He turned to one of the gunner’s mates. ”Raise your elevation on that one. The pikemen are in close. I don’t want to scorch their backsides, though perhaps a trim of the hair would do some good.” He managed a grin and turned back to his mental calculations. Boom! Another of the De Blomfield’s shots landed in the enemy ranks, this time further back, as he wanted. With fortune, Turkish reserves would be less reluctant to go into battle if he could disrupt their approach.

He still couldn’t locate Llywarch, but spotted Gunshy running back and forth behind them, shouting encouragement – in his own crude way – and ordering them – on pain of death – to fire as rapidly as possible. Well, Adelmar would see to that. ”Theo, if you please. Turn your gun a few degrees in the direction of those fellows. I believe the pikemen could use a little reassurance. And try to hit the Turks, sir.” He turned again to watch the men work the gun. Thus far, his position had escaped much of the fighting, the Turks naturally focusing on the men in their immediate front, those who were trying to kill them with pike and musket. One of the teamsters had suffered a splinter wound in his leg, and was moaning a bit too loudly behind Adelmar, no doubt shirking his duty. Must be a Frenchman, he thought with a sniff as he waited for Theo to fire the De Bloomfield. Boom! The heat of it seared in the air and Adelmar could feel part of the release as the ball roared outward. A tricky business. He watched as it landed just behind the Turkish formation. Well, seared the infidel backsides, at least.

”Splendidly done, Mr. Theo. A degree shorter and we’ll be dandy.” He propped his knee on a crate that was part of the battlement, trying to appear as impassive as possible, though deep inside he was shaking. Dear God, he was in the middle of a battle, and people were trying to kill him! He managed to put his fears aside as he waited for the next shot to land.

 

[unmerged(42352)]

7 August 1565, the heights near the cannons

William stood upright and stretched. His clothing was streaked with poweder black, his skin coated with the fine black dust from the cannons broken only by beads of sweat. The master gunner cried out again, and cannons thundered again sucking the breath from his throat.

"Powder!"

The apprentice groaned nearly as loud as the powder train team he supervised. William hefted yet another keg and turned towards the loading area, catching sight of Master Nathaniel running towards him. Mentally he ran through the list of his responsibilities looking for an oversight, and came up blank. A question formed on his face, only to be waved off by a smiling Martel as he ran past.

"Hurry it up!!"

The Master Gunner loosed a torrent of vective towards the train. William turned and began to doubletime towards the cannons with his load. He was confused. Master Martel had looked....almost...well, happy. He would spend the rest of the day trying to reconcile that concept.

----------------------

Nathan reached the top of the ridge. If he was happy before, he was delirious now. What he saw before him made his heart stop.

Beyond the slope lay the bay. As far as the eye could see lay the Turkish armada. A seemingly uncountable mass of hulls of all sorts, some at anchor, others rigged, a few moving about with oars as if bugs on a pond. Never in his dreams had he imagined such a sight.

He pulled a small leather pouch from his satchel, and gently opened it's flap. Inside was a sizable glass lense, set into a copper frame. Nathan rubbed it carefully with a small cloth, and then held it up and strained to look through it's bubble-shaped world. He could make out some details with it, barely colors and banners. But it would be enough.

He turned an appraising eye to the anchorage. On examination it was far less orderly than he would have expected. The pride of the Sultan's navy had settled into the choicest areas, leaving the bulk of his vessels exposed in the bay. The various corsairs were farthest out, and anchored in bunches by clan. A slow pair of columns twisted their way to the beach before their earthworks. It was a surprisingly limited space to unload so vast of a field army. More importantly, it was obvious that they were dependant on supply by sea.

The cannons behind him roared again, and brought Nathan back to the present. A few ships were turning against their anchor chains, spinning in place to bring their sides parallel to the shoreline. The Turk's knew they were here now. It was a matter of time before the Red Hand's fleet would be found unless well hidden in the coves on the southern shore.

He began to work through the ships methodically, identifying what clans he could. It was a who's who of the corsairs world. Tripolitans, Tunisians, renegade Moors, cutthroat barbers, Murads. There was always a Murad, usually several. Nathaniel chuckled quietly at that thought. In the end more than half the clans he could identify he had done business with, several owed him in some manner. He paused when much of the eastern bays were blocked from view by a sizable rock formation.

The solution was to climb higher. The rocks weren't as functional as a mast, but they would do. In a moment Nathaniel stood high on the rocks, looking for all the world like a captain surveying the horizon. He was oblivious to the carnage below as he resumed his scanning the bay.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

August 7, 1565 – The Turks – Nearing One

Mustafa winced as cannon fire tore another track into the Anatolians who seemed to be attempting to choke the cursed Free Company by sheer weight of bodies. "Fools." Mustafa muttered. "Their officers will be killed and staked out to feed the crows." The old general coughed, his frame twisting. "I am served by fools and braggarts, not ture Ghazi's.

Above him, the Anatolians reeled away from the deadly hedge of pikes that had formed against them, rended them. Musket fire crackled even as the Turkish troops retreated, not quite a rout, but certainly not a retreat in good order.

"This push, we take them." Mustafa growed, and spat at his feet. "In Sha'Allah." He turned to the leader of his personal guard. "Take the lead elements of the Jannissary, and get those Anatolians back in order. Do what you must."

A hard fist crashed against a ceremonial breastplate. "As you command, Amir. His guard replied.

The cannons again tore into the retreating Turkish infantry, And a hot surge of anger filled the general. The guns needed to be silenced, in fact, if they were attacked...

"You." Mustafa pointed at another one of his guards. "Orders to the commander of the Azebs, he is to split his force, the balance of it to engage the infantry but he is to send an attack force at the cannons to turn their flank."

"Yes my Amir. The guard spurred his horse towards the Turkish infantry, which was dressing it's lines even as the Anatolians streamed down the slope.

Even as tho Anatolians streamed backwards, the Azebs of the second wave surged upwards. Their commander splitting his troops, perhaps three and thousand in total, into two wings. With his left flank anchored by the Sipahi light cavalry, one wing would hit the pikes and muskets to hold them in place, the other would flank the infantry and sweep upwards towards the corner of the infantry formation and the comparatively lesser defended artillery.

The Azebs chanted as they advanced, thousands strong, sunlight glinted off blades and helms as they came on. Above them the Free Company waited, pikes held ready, muskets and guns poised to wreak havok once again.

"Allahu Akbar!" They yelled as the came, their advance becoming a charge.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

August 7, 1565 - Corradino Heights - The Artillery - Nearing One

"Keep it up you poxy bastards, keep firing." Gunshy roared as Shildzebrecher sent another shot deep into the retreating Turksih scum. Two of his guns were doing a decent job, even if...

”Splendidly done, Mr. Theo. A degree shorter and we’ll be dandy.” He heard of unknown voice call out from De Bloodfield's Revenge. Who the hell was that? Gunshy cursed, and waved his arms a bit.

He stomped over to the gun, to find that young snot Adelmar giving order. He paused, and collected himself. "Adelmar what bloody merciful blue hell are you doing in command of this gun, only experienced men command gun crews!" The artillery lieutenant rumbled. "Look what your doing, you and Llywarch are giving contradictory orders and your slowing the guns rate of fire down. "There is only one Gun crew leader, and it's not you. Not for some time."

"But sir I'm the most competent and professional here and I..." The young Englishman paled and took a step back, realizing what he had been about to say.

Gunshy chewed on that one a moment, and cursed at the young man on principle. Then he sighed, and scrubbed at a sweaty and dirty brow as he spoke. "Shut up Adelmar, and follow orders, or you get shot at the next wave up the hill."

"The next wave sir?" The young man queried.

"Looks like their retreating." Gunshy grunted. "William!" He roared. "Stop being useless and go find your master, tell him were going to need more powder, I see a second wave forming up down there...and..." Gunshy trailed off, watching.

And they were coming, the muslim infantry was moving back down the slope way it had come.

"Shit." Gunshy muttered. "William, before you get the powder run to Captain and tell him were going to need to be reinforced, they might try and turn the flank and roll over us in the process."

The youngster stood still a moment, thinking.

"What the hell are you waiting for?" Gunshy demanded in an ornery voice. "Get moving." William scampered off. Then the artillery lieutant ground his teeth, his people were going to take a beating this battle, he could feel it. "Come on you worthless shit eating monkey's, load those damn guns!" He called out.