Home Trending Latest threads New posts Developer diaries

The Free Company and the Spanish Gold

Jump to latest Follow Reply
  • We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Status
Not open for further replies.
August 7, 1565- Command Post

The cannon roared again in the distance, nudging William in the gut. He wasn't where he needed to be. Lord David had returned to viewing the slope below. Wiliiam turned and ran, his mind on the cannon he had to attend to.

Two volleys later he was nearing the cannon again. The Master Gunner, the Ranger, and Mr. Martel appeared to just be finishing a heated conversation. Gunshy bellowed, and the William's breath shook from the backblast. When he looked back the ranger was gone, and Martel was leaning against a cart pulling parchment and quill from his bag.

William stopped and caught his breath, then did a quick survey. The count was where it should be. Four kegs of powder were ready, and the mixing crew was busily preparing more. They had to pick up the pace. William waved at the master mixer, then shouted to get his attention.

"Up the ready supply! I want six ready at the go at any given time." The mixer nodded his head. "Be ready to up that to eight. It's going to get busy!" Before the mixer could respond William was on his way to the shot carts. Things were in order, the haulers moving as quickly as the heavy and awkward loads would allow. Ready supplies were at the guns. William ticked off the list in his mind. There was only one thing he could do. He walked back to the powder train, hefted a barrel and walked it to the ready area. And then he looked for the Master Gunner.

He found him busy with his crew. He waited until the cannon fired again, and then approached the short, stout man.

"I don't have time for this, can't you see we're in the thick here?"

William stood under the withering tone of Gunshy's voice, and summoned up his voice.

"Damnitall, I need to know what I can do to HELP YOU! I've upped the powder and shot in the ready areas! What else CAN I do to help when the Turks close??"

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

August 7, 1565- Behind the left flank

Nathan looked up from his frantic writings at the sound of William's voice. It was young, but it was solid if frustrated and carried clean over the noise of the cannonfire. For a moment he thought he'd need to try to step in.

When no stream of swearing immediately ushered forth, Nathan chuckled and went back to recording everything he had seen. It was a sizable task. Somehow he'd have to find where the corsairs were shoring.
 
August 7, Afternoon - The Left Flank

William stood under the withering tone of Gunshy's voice, and summoned up his voice.

"Damnitall, I need to know what I can do to HELP YOU! I've upped the powder and shot in the ready areas! What else CAN I do to help when the Turks close??"

"I would ask the same question," Saul spoke up from behind them, dismounting at last. Gunshy stiffened at the sight of the Corsair and his daughter, grinning down at him from her horse.

The horse she was riding like a man. He spat and growled, "Not a fucking thing, pirate."

"If you're going to throw away your guns," Amina smirked, "at least give us back our powder first."

"Bitch." He started toward her, but the corsair leader held up his hand.

"We haven't come to fight you. We've come to fight with you."

"We don't need it."

Saul surveyed the hill and the mass of Turks forming up, and said, "I think they beg to differ."

"Captain will have reinforcements for us soon."

"To the contrary," Saul said, sweeping his hand over the fifty odd giants in their blue cloaks that had, with hunter's gait, surrounded them beneath the artillery master's notice. Off to the side, an assortment of sailors with every kind of weapon were doing their best to form a column, and incongruously laughing through the din. He turned and caught the shorter man's eye. "He has them for you now."

"You?" Gunshy stood still for a moment and then exploded. "That no good fucking shiny faced..."

"You may take us or leave us, lieutenant," Saul interrupted, as much to head off Amina's acid tongue. He glanced at the Turks again, who had begun to move. "But we are rather short on time."
 
August 7, 1565 - The Battle of Corradino Heights

An approaching Turk provided a good enough solution. Waiting until he was close enough, Arpad jumped into the air, planted both feet on the stunned man's chest, and launched himself backwards through the air. The landing was not majestic; he wound up sprawled on his back. But he had made it over the obstacle, and continued to fall back...now ducking Turkish blades from the front, cannonballs from behind, and their own musketfire from the side. So intent was he on the threats closing in on him that he completely failed to notice the blood gradually staining his left sleeve, or the fact that only one of his arms wasn't fully responding as it should...

Andre ducked another wild swing by an over eager infidel and slammed his shoulder against the man, knocking him over the ledge and into the struggling mass of Turks trying to make their way over the obstacle. He saw the blood on Arpad's sleeve but was a bit busy trying to keep from being skewered to do much about it.

"Nice move," He shouted to the mad Magyar as he slid his left blade into the throat of one Turk while blocking another blade with his right.

"Thanks," Arpad grinned," Although the landing left a little to be desired."

"Any landing you can walk away from is a good one," Andre opined as he swept a blade aside, allowing Arpad to skewer the man neatly.

"I think it is time to retreat," Arpad noted.

"You think so?" Andre chuckled as he blocked another thrust at his chest.

"I do believe they are trying to surround us," Arpad shouted while ducking a Turk's blade.

A cannon ball whizzed past where his head had been and obliterated the man that had just tried to kill him. He blanched and moved further aside. Andre barely missed being a pincushion as musket fire from the company muskets tore into a mass of Turks readying themselves to charge him.

"Time to go!" Andre bellowed.

"I've been saying that for a little while now!" Arpad pulled Andrew to his feet.

"Can we leave now?" Andrew shouted.

"Yes!" Andre agreed.

The three men put up a ferocious defense as they quickly backpedaled at an angle from the cannon. Renault was busy keeping Saito alive, or was it the other way around? The Rangers worked as a team as they tried to disengage from the onrushing infidels.
 
August 7, 1565 - The Battle of Corradino Heights

Mario looked over at YaoHui as the man skewered yet another Turk trying to break through the Company pike lines. He had to get back to the rear of his unit so that he could see what was developing. He slipped backwards and allowed the next man behind him to take his place. With some grunting and a little acrobatic moves he managed to make his way out of the tightly packed formation.

An orderly had his horse by the reins and was looking at the battle with severe concentration. Mario boosted himself into the saddle and looked out over the battlefield. The muskets had moved into a new formation and were causing the Turk fits over by the cannon, but it was starting to leave gaps between the pike lines. Gaps that the Turk might very well try to exploit.

He motioned over to a runner.

"Lad!" Mario shouted," I need you to go to Lt. Dunbar and tell him to extend his lines towards Lt. Roy and myself."

The boy nodded and raced off. Mario motioned over another lad," Tell Lt. Roy to extend his lines to meet the other pikes! We have to present a united front or the Turks might break through!"

The lad ran off like the hounds of hades were on his heels. Mario slid down off the beast and shouted to Von Stark.

"Erik!" He bellowed," Extend the lines! We have to meet up with the other unit on our left! We're leaving gaps!"

Von Stark nodded and started roaring orders to the rear lines of the pikes. In moments the pike lines began to extend from each Pike unit. Within a couple of minutes the pikes were presenting a united front against the infidel. With the Muskets already staying at the far edges of the united formation there would be none of them left to the mercies of the Turk.

A messenger arrived from Lt. Dunbar," Sir! Lt. Dunbar acknowledges the wisdom of your thinking, but suggests that he was already taking care of it from his end."

"Thank you, lad," Mario smiled," Not a surprise."

He watched as the second wave of Turks crested against the pikes and began to stall out against the steel wall that had been presented to them. The men on both sides were tiring, but the company had the advantage of the heights and men behind them to push them forward while the Turk had the disadvantage of being lower down and having had struggled up the slopes against withering musket fire.

Mario peered closely at the Turks and saw that those in the rear were beginning to break away. It was a bare trickle.

"Push them HARDER!" Mario bellowed.

Von Stark echoed the words and added his own to them as the Company lines advanced a pace. Then another. The Turks in the rear started flowing away faster in streams. Another step forward. Inexorably forward the pikes advanced. The stream of Turks abandoning the assault turned into a flood.

"Halt the advance!" Mario shouted.

Von Stark again echoed the command. Within a few moments the Turks facing the pikes were all streaming away. With the Turks disengaging the front two lines of the pikes cycled back to the rear and the next two stepped forward. Wounded men were taken to the rear while the dead were just as carefully taken back to await their burials.

Mario took a swig of water and his eyes narrowed. The Janissaries would be next. They were already forming. But the Turks were still trying to go after the gun emplacements. The Rangers had bloodied them, but they were still advancing. He looked at the command post. David was looking calm and collected. He stared at the guns. The corsairs were there. His eyes widened in shock and some dismay. There had better be some action taken soon or the guns would be lost.

He started to motion a messenger to him, but hesitated. He knew David. The Captain had been his friend for years. He trusted him. Surely he was very much aware of the situation and had it under control. With a small frown Mario ordered water to his thirsty troops.

"Rest while you can," He yelled," The worst is yet to come! The elite will be here soon. The Janissaries. If you thought you were fighting hard, well think again. Those first two assaults were a love tap compared to what we'll be facing next! So get a drink and loosen those muscles. The real fighting will be starting soon!"
 
August 7, 1565 - The Battle of Corradino Heights

Renault watched as his men fell back up the hill. They may have the advantage of the high ground and the fact they worked in a loose formation as opposed to the more rigid blocks of the Turkish infantry, but they were only fifty men versus many times their number. He watched with pride as his men held the Turk back longer then they had any right to. There really were just too many Turks to hold back any longer.

Sidestepping a downward slash and catching another blade on his swordbreaker Renault yelled, “Withdraw… Rangers Withdraw to the cannons!!!”

Saito ran his blade through the man that Renault had tied up with his toothed short sword.
Renault nodded once and said, “Think you can hold them here for a little while Saito? I need to get up to the cannon and get them prepared.” The wiry man simply nodded and began to dance the dance of death once more.

Renault climbed quickly to where Gunshy was. He noted that the Corsairs were standing a little ways back behind the cannon joking and pushing each other. Rather disorganized lot they are.

"You?" Gunshy stood still for a moment and then exploded. "That no good fucking shiny faced..."

"You may take us or leave us, lieutenant," Saul interrupted, as much to head off Amina's acid tongue. He glanced at the Turks again, who had begun to move. "But we are rather short on time."

The gore spattered Sergeant interjected before the Artillery lieutenant could come back with a retort. “I hate to agree with him but he’s right Gunshy. Prepare your cannon for inclose fighting. The Turk will reach here and the fight will be around the cannon.” Gunshy’s anger turned towards Renault but he stalled the artilleryman with a quick hand and said, “Look… get your cannon ready and I know you still have some surprises left up your sleeve. See to it man.”

Gunshy turned and stomped off cursing and growling and directed his amble wrath at his cannon and their crews.

Saul turned and looked slightly confused at the Ranger, “Does he not outrank you?”

“He does, but you see he’s an artillery specialist, I’m part of the infantry so in relation he supports me and the foot sloggers. Granted me and my boys aren’t what you would call regular, but the point still remains. Let me put it this way, who on the seas would have control of the fleet, the captain of the warship or the captain of the cargo hauler?”

The corsair thought a moment and nodded, “Yes I see your point.”

“Now if you would be so kind as to get your mob ready for battle, as you said… Time is growing short. Line them up behind the cannon and prepare to rush forward into the cannon line. The cannon will get a good round or two out before they are overrun and we don’t want any accidents to happen, nor do you want to be standing next to one if it blows itself up.”

Saul merely nodded and walked off towards his mob of men as Renault turned toward the woman pirate. “And you lady, I would suggest you dismount as well and join your mob.”

She seemed about to snap out a retort but was stalled by the fierce look in the Rangers eyes. “Look, I don’t have time for games anymore, the Turk are there and coming fast, I know you want them dead, well so do I. I don’t care how much more you want them dead then me, but sitting on that horse makes you an obvious target. Now either dismount and join your men or go ride behind them and have little to no chance to get in with the Turk.”

Amina’s eyes flashed a cold fire and she dismounted to join her men.

“Oh don’t forget your pets also… get them formed up for battle, they may be of some use to us.”

Renault looked and saw his men topping the rise. Most were bloody and almost all were wounded. Most superficially but some were helped back behind the cannons quickly and placed upon the ground.

Renault grabbed the young quartermaster boy that was getting the powder ready.

“Boy go and try to grab a doctor or something….” The boy looked as though he was about to object but the icy stare from the Ranger froze the reply in his throat, “NOW! The cannons no longer need the powder, besides you don’t want to be here in the next couple minutes anyway.”

With that William ran off back towards the command group with the thoughts of those cold dead eyes looking deep into his soul. At that thought he pushed himself harder to get away from the man. At that moment he wasn’t sure who he was more afraid of, the Turk or that Sergeant.

Renault watched as William ran off at full speed and then turned to see Martel scribbling notes on a sheet of paper. He walked up and grabbed the Quartermaster by the arm. The man turned on Renault with anger in his eyes, which quickly fled when he saw who it was. “Look Martel you better pull your sword and be ready to defend yourself.”

Martel looked at his paper that the Ranger was dripping blood on and then back at the man. “I’m not part of the infantry…” he seemed to stammer out after a moment’s hesitation. He was not afraid of a fight but this was no ship, this was on land with organized formations. This was not something he was used to.

“Well Martel, you are today… no such thing as a non-combatant here in about thirty seconds. Now put that bloody paper away…” at that he realized that the paper truly had blood on it and reached up to touch his head. His hand came away covered with blood.

“Damn it to all the hells known to man and gods.” Renault cursed and ripped off a piece of cloth from his undershirt. He wrapped his head quickly to stem the bleeding and got back to work.

“Let’s go Martel, stay by me and try not to stick yourself in the process.”

Martel grunted and moved forward with Renault. They moved into the cannon line as the Ranger moved up to Gunshy.

“I thought you wanted the men out of the cannon line just in case,” Martel said.

“True, but you see… we’re the brave foolhardy types that look death in the eyes and spit at him. So we inspire our men.” Renault grinned and it caused Gunshy a momentary fit of snickering.

“Well Gunshy looks like this is it. My men have fallen back and there’s now nothing between you and them. Give them hell and we’ll be ready to rush forward. God be with you and your gun crews… or whomever you want to watch over you cannon swabbers.”

Gunshy threw Renault one of his rare grins and reached out his hand. “You bet Jonathon, I’ll see you later or in hell… whichever comes first.” They shook hands and Renault dropped back to his men standing between the cannon and the corsairs.

“Alright boys, this is going to get really dirty… the skirmishing on the hill was the easy stuff. This time we have nowhere to go since we can’t lose the cannon. We lose the cannon and we might as well slit our own throats, we need them to get the hell off this piece of hell so make sure you do all you can. The Cannons must remain intact and in our control.”

One of the Rangers down at the end of the line yelled, “Death rides with us”. The rest of the men yelled in return just as the Turk crested the hill in front of the artillery and the mighty cannons burped forth a violent cloud of flame and other debris.

”DEATH RIDES WITH US!!!”
 
Last edited:
August 7, 1565 - The Battle of Corradino Heights

“True, but you see… we’re the brave foolhardy types that look death in the eyes and spit at him. So we inspire our men.” Renault grinned and it caused Gunshy a momentary fit of snickering.

“Well Gunshy looks like this is it. My men have fallen back and there’s now nothing between you and them. Give them hell and we’ll be ready to rush forward. God be with you and your gun crews… or whomever you want to watch over you cannon swabbers.”

Gunshy threw Renault one of his rare grins and reached out his hand. “You bet Jonathon, I’ll see you later or in hell… whichever comes first.” They shook hands and Renault dropped back to his men standing between the cannon and the corsairs.

“Alright you worthless runts load your guns!” Gunshy roared over the din. “Use the special rounds this time, and make sure those damn fool rangers have retreated so we don’t tear their brains out of their trousers!” The little man pulled one of his pistol’s from his belt, checking the wheel. “And get ready to fight in close boy’s, time to do a man’s work today.”

The gunners moved with incredible speed, nails and shards of rock and slivers of metal were shoveled into the cannons. Powder was jammed in as well, no exact formula's now, just speed and intuition.

“Lieutenant! Their getting rather close now!” Adelmar yelled, apparently he thought he was in charge of a gun again. He’d deal with that later, right now, he had other problems.

Gunshy checked the wheel on one of his pistols, and thrust it back into his belt. He'd need it soon. The Turk was coming right at them, screaming like an army of madmen, even broken up by the horrible slope, they came on.

"You going to fire the cannon?" Martel asked, his voice quavering just a bit.

"Relax quartermaster, relax." Gunshy sneered at the approaching infidel. "It's all about timing. Those poxed fools are about to see the face of the Lord, revealed to them through the mouth of hell itself." The gunner spat, a philosophical statement as much as a physical one.

"Allahu Akbar!" The Azebs roared as they came, not even advancing anymore, just running toward the Free Company artillery as fast as they could.

"Alright you worthless sons of whores, fire on my command!" Gunshy roared.

One of the Rangers down at the end of the line yelled, “Death rides with us”. The rest of the men yelled in return just as the Turk crested the hill in front of the artillery.

"FIRE!" Gunshy screamed at the top of his lungs.

And the mighty cannons burped forth a violent cloud of flame and other debris. The Turkish line was shredded, torn into ribbons by injury as much as outright death. The charge faltered, wavered...

And then the call came, that feared call. "DEATH RIDES WITH US!!!” The rangers and corsairs surged into the stunned Azebs, cutting into the already hammered ranks with a ferocity that belied their numbers.

"Alright kinder let's go teach those rangers how to fight!" Gunshy roared, leaping down from his place atop one of the gun carriages. "Death Rides with us!" He roared, and the artilleryman raced into the battle to join their brothers.
 
August 7, 1565 - The Battle of Corradino Heights

The crazed shout of the infidel, followed hard on by the combined roar of the field guns, shook Llywarch from his daze. He pushed himself to his feet, wobbled for a moment, and then heard Gunshy shout, "Alright kinder, let's go teach those rangers how to fight!" The Welshman knew what was coming next, and he joined in the chorus: "Death Rides with us!"

He started to hobble down the slopes after the charging Rangers and gun monkeys, stumbling among the mass of Turkish bodies as he went, for one eye was clotted with blood. As he stepped on one dead Turk, the man reared up. His scimitar flashed in the sun, and he started to scream that Turkish gibberish at the little gunner. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph," yelped Llywarch as he fell. He felt the curved blade whistle by his right cheek and started blinding stabbing with his short sword. Twice he met air, and once the scimitar blew sparks and stone dust into his eyes as it cracked a rock next to his head. The third blow, though, hit something soft and yielding, like plunging a knife into chilled butter, and then the sword was wrenched from his hand. The Turk's battle cries stopped, replaced by a soft moaning.

Llywarch cleared the blood and dust from his face. The Turk was kneeling in front of him, the Welshman's sword jammed deep in his gut. Sneering, Llywarch tore it out, cursing as hot black blood splashed across his trousers. "Serves you right, you damnable bastard," he muttered, as the man held up one hand for mercy. Llywarch spat at him. "No mercy, for God rides with us, not you." He drove the sword into the Turk's throat, and started to hobble after the advancing mass of Free Company warriors, pausing occasionally to slay any injured Turk who looked healthy enough to cause problems.
 
August 7th, 1565 - Free Company - Command Post

Henri wearily rode his horse the last few feet to the high ground that Captain was watching the battle from. David glanced at Henri and noted his disheveled appearance and opened his mouth to say something when Henri raised his blood stained hand in a mute order to stop. He swatted the dust from his clothes and reached for his water skin. He took a deep drink before looking again at David.

"Don’t start, I know what you’re going to say and you’re right. I had no business taking part in the battle. Hell I couldn’t keep up with Glory much less Cai but I did get in a few blows for old times sake."

Henri shifted in his saddle easing the pain of his wounded pride more than his body. Captain quietly asked.

"How’s the situation on the right?"

"It’s going well. Cai keeps hitting the Turk’s flank while Glory covers him. Still if the Turks keep pressing forward it’s going to become difficult to keep them back. How long do you plan on holding this ground? You are planing on withdrawing aren’t you?

Henri took another drink and handed his water skin to David who took a drink. Henri wiped has arm across his mouth while noting the calm but concentrated expression on David’ s face as he scanned the battlefield. He thought to himself that at least Captain looked the part of a successful commander. A volley from the cannons caused his horse to side step and cut off his next question.
 
August 7th, 1565 - Free Company - Command Post - Mid-Afternoon

"How’s the situation on the right?"

"It’s going well. Cai keeps hitting the Turk’s flank while Glory covers him. Still if the Turks keep pressing forward it’s going to become difficult to keep them back. How long do you plan on holding this ground? You are planing on withdrawing aren’t you?" A volley from the cannons caused their mounts to side step, Henri's question cut off with an undignified gulp.

Captain looked up at the sun. "We have to deal with the Janissaries, Henri. We beat them, and they'll retire to their earthworks."

"Does that mean we stay?"

"I doubt it. Look there."

Henri followed Captains raised arm, saw a mass of men moving several siege cannon. "Oh my."

"Indeed. We have lots of time, but by evening they'll be in a postion to sweep the heights."

"So we'll be retiring?"

"Later, Henri later. Go clean yourself, man. You look like Gunshy!" Captain motioned to a messenger. "You, go to Diego. Have him gather his muskets and enfilade the Turks. That should help break them before the Janissaries arrive."

The boy ran off, just as the scream Death Rides With Us filled the air.
 
August 7, 1565 - Corradino Heights Left Flank

"Allahu Akbar!" It was a gutteral, a sound more than a cry. The mass of Azebs surged against the rock strewn slope in a bid to reach the exposed cannon, even as their flank collapsed under the pressure of the Free Company pikes.

Time slowed in Martel's mind. The ranger had been right, and his mind was racing against the chaos. Never in his life had he seen bloodshed on such a scale. And never before had he seen so many men focused on a single goal. Gunshy screamed voicelessly at his men. the rangers silently loosed a battlecry and leaned forward. The corsairs joined them, the Hand and his daughter in their midst. So few, so many... Time stopped.

"FIRE!" The concussion battered Nathan's body. As the smoke cleared the wall of Azebs had recoiled, huge red stokes painted through their stunned and breaking lines. Martel unconsciously moved his hands to his weapons as the urge to survive stirred.

"DEATH RIDES WITH US!!!” The rangers and corsairs surged into the stunned Azebs, cutting into the already hammered ranks with a ferocity that belied their numbers. The wavering Azebs slowed, then stalled against the charge. Their numbers started to thin as fire from the main body of the Free Company reached into their midst. His arms hurt and his face was bloodied, and then he saw the glint.

In the midst of a mass of Azeb's, a tall man in partial armor tried to turn the mob back towards the cannons. The Turk grabbed one, shoved him forward. Another took the flat of his blade and went spinning into the dust. Little by little he battered and intimidated a few Azebs back up the slope. And then he was lost to sight, lost behind the charging form of Amina's mount. Martel ran as fast as he could towards the pirate and her prey.

"ALIVE!!"

Amina wheeled her mount to the side, the Turk leaning sloppily with his back against the horse. She looked at Martel, her face flush with venom. And then it wasn't. "Not this one," she stated matter of factly.

The Turk slowly fell away from the wicked blade in Amina's hand, his armor covered by the blood flowing from the gaping hole that had been his neck. His eyes wide open in terror, the Turks legs gave way. She had neatly severed part of the spinal cord. Nathan watched as the man died on his knees, still not understanding. He grasped his blade and let loose an unearthly cry, then sent the Turk's head rolling across the slope.

Martel turned his anger against the few remaining Azebs. It was the hand of Renault on his shoulder that jarred him back to reality.

"Come on, we need to regroup before they hit us again."
 
August 7, 1565 - Corradino Heights behind the cannon

William's heart raced as he approached the train. Already the sounds of melee were fading back down the slope. By the time he reached it the powder crew was already resuming their tasks.

The cannoneers were clearing the ground and tending to their weapons. Members of the train had begun to tend to injuries and replenish supplies. Things could have looked worse. They had done it! He cheered, and leapt skyward. He saw Gunshy, who looked at him with annoyance. In answer to the question on his face, the gunner shrugged towards the crest of the hill.

The jubilation drained as William looked down the slope. He his head spun, even as he caught site of a blood and sweat drenched Martel approaching, his clothing cut and torn. The ranger with him bled from open cuts in many places. He looked at their faces, and felt a chill in the heat of the afternoon. His knees gave way, and his stomach emptied.

Somehow, having won didn't matter anymore.
 
Musketeers, Far left of the pkie formation, flanking the Turks on the cannon

The musketeers in their formations fired at the retreating wave of Turks when Diego received Captain’s orders.

Whistling shrilly he stepped in front of the formation on the far left where he had watched the battle,

“Orders men, form up for another round of teaching the Turks why they should avoid us.”

He turned to Nikolai and Bexhet,

“Run down the front and gather the other formations, I want one twelve by five form the two small here in five minutes, and the other nine by five from the flank in another two.”

The Russian and Bexhet nodded and trotted off, only to return with the ordered formations.

Diego nodded and ordered the men into three ten by five formations, like the original setup, with only a minimal spacing between the now three formations.

“Bexhet, you anchor the first line of Mario’s, my old, formation, Nikolai the second line, Rodriquez is needed on the far right to make sure my commands carry through. Each formation fire at will once I have given the word.”

The three formations smartly turned and marched down the mountain, coming in place on the flank of the Turks still struggling to recover form the cannon blast.

As the Rangers shouted their defiant cry, “Death Rides with us” the musketeers responded with three ragged salvos into the bloody mass that was the Turk.
 
August 7, 1565 - Base of Corradino Heights

Mustafa Pasha watched in helpless rage as the second wave of Turks melted in total rout. Spittle ran down his chin as his aging eyes took in the bloody carnage strewn across the Heights before him.

And still that cursed black on black banner snapped proudly on the summit, boasting its defiance.

Near apoplectic, he turned to the newly arrived and smartly dressed lines of the Janissaries. The Christian born soldiers eyed the Free Company with open hatred. They had met several times before over the past hundred years.

And they had a score to settle.

Mustafa mumbled to their commander. "Kill them all."

The drums beat out a deafening cadence, and the elite Turkish troops advanced on the tired mercenaries.
 
August 7th, 1565 - Battle of Corradino Heights

The cry went up, but to Arpad it all sounded like screaming...crazed pointless noise. He threw his head back and howled, a wordless cry, releasing unmeasurable pent-up anger, hatred, frustration, and pain...a cry buried in the shouting of his comrades. He felt his blood rising, and suddenly they were there, upon him, Turks everywhere. The cannons ripped ragged holes in their ranks, and the mercenaries surged forward with a roar.

The Magyar threw himself into the work with reckless abandon, his body was no longer under his direct control; rather it was the plaything of the berserk force that consumed him. He saw Andre nearby, dueling a Turk to a standstill, neither bringing the other down, and Arpad threw himself at the man's back, sinking his blades into the Turk's guts. The infidel screamed in rage and pain, and stumbled backwards into the Hungarian's grip. As they locked together in their deadly embrace, the Ranger lashed out and bit down on the Azeb's throat from behind, opening a gaping wound on the side of the heathen's neck. Blood rushed forward, and Arpad was vaguely aware of Andre finishing the man off...but he was far more intent on the taste of blood.

Warm and salty, it flowed over his lips and around his teeth, and it was a very long moment before the Magyar let go, leaving the Turk's body to crumple to the earth in a heap. But the taste of blood lingered on his lips, and he closed his eyes a moment, nearly savoring the flavor of his victory.

"They're falling back!" he heard someone yell, and it suddenly brought him back to lucidity. He was panting, blood running from his mouth and down his chin and neck. Pain was dimly registering in faint corners of his mind, but mostly, he was simply exhausted. Staring down the hill, he could see a block of uniformed Turks forming up, preparing to assault their position.

"Jannisaries" he muttered, the words bubbling through the blood lingering in his mouth. "Things are about to get a lot worse."
 
August 7th, 1565 - Battle of Corradino Heights

Even before the Azebs had fully routed, they moved forward. At first they carried things by hand or on small carts. And then a driver coaxed his cart forward. After a moment so did another. Powder and shot crews worked to the men as they returned along the lines. Soon they were in the reforming lines, exposed with the rest of the Free Company.

An enterprising driver moved slowly across the lines, his brakeman kicking a barrel of water and sacks with food out every few moments. When his bed was empty, he cycled and paused to load the injured and fallen. Soon others did the same. They washed wounds and bodies, tied bandages, cleared the fallen, many offered prayers. And when done they quickly refilled shot and powder, passed out wadding and water.

It wasn't neat. It was far from perfect. It exposed the Free Company's train, but no officer and possibly not even the Captain could have prevented them from doing it. They were old and young, veterans and apprentices, experienced and naive. But they worked with a quiet haste as urgent as that of the sounding drums from the Janissary far below. Most returned to the comparative safety of the train when the battle had begun to work back up the slope.
 
7 August, 1565: Reiter Cavalry

The first two waves had failed, dashed against the lines of the Company. Maurice had expected this, but also knew what came next. He had heard stories passed down in his family, of this dreadful group feared by all the armies to whom their reputation had gone: the Janissaries.

Maurice made the cross sign several times as they began their march towards the Company lines. He and his horse were feeling the strain of battle, and it was everything he could do to get all his pistols reloaded. Once this was done, as the Janissaries grew ever closer, he moved his horse over to Adrien.

"Here we go, the moment we've been waiting so long for. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be. I wish these Turks would just be satisfied with the losses they've taken and go home. I'm sure you feel the same?"

"Why wouldn't I? I've heard plenty of stories, I don't want to get close to those... creatures. My family has had enough of them."

"Has it? Sounds like a story for a better time. As for now... feel like giving them a bit of a sting?"

"Better than just standing here." Maurice wheeled his horse away, but as he moved off, he said, "Remember--imagine they're Guise's men!" They both got a small laugh out of that, but it was the nervous sort of laughter.
 
August 7, 1565 - Musketeers Form Up on the Flank

Squinting through the smoke, Nikolai watched as the second wave of Turks finally passed out of range in their withdrawal. Their focus split by a simultaneous attack on the cannon, up the steepest part of the slope it seemed suddenly in hindsight that this attack had been futile from the beginning. Beginning to reload again he caught the sound of a shrill whistle against the ambience of the battle. Swearing as he dropped the cartridge and turning, he saw Diego motioning with his halberd and without a second thought jogged across the front of the battlelines, the one pike formation in between his horn and the largest of the musket formations from where Diego was indicating.

Passing by the pikes he had dodge and skip over corpses of Turk and Company men alike that had died in various positions during the natural ebb and flow of such a confrontation. His attention however was inevitably drawn to the mass of Turks still making their way up the slope toward the cannon even though their comrades had fled initially.

Diego turned to Nikolai and Bexhet,

“Run down the front and gather the other formations, I want one twelve by five form the two small here in five minutes, and the other nine by five from the flank in another two.”

No sooner had Nikolai reached the commander than he had to turn around and rush back down the line with the gypsy close behind. Once more he was striding across the blood matted grass strewn with the dead and dying only this time, time was on his heels. The enemy was making headway up the slope toward the cannon and the pikes could not dislodge from their positions to come to their aid. Sweating under the oppressive sun and breathing heavily from exertion Nikolai raised his berdysh into the air above his head and swung it about as he neared the far horns that still formed the links between the pikes. Nikolai could hear Bexhet calling to the musketeers behind him as Nikolai continued to run and beckon to his fellows who were just now starting to get the idea. Stopping at a point where he felt he could be heard he hoarsely called out to the far musketeers on our right flank. After a moment's hesitation at the orders of a man who wasn't even an officer, he acted with such a certainty that they followed his command anyway rushing forward to follow him.

Nikolai and Bexhet both had returned with their hastily gathered formations well within the time Diego had ordered yet it seemed barely in time to allow them any chance of organizing a fight against the enemy that was almost upon them. Diego's command, the discipline of the men under him and generally excellent morale seemed in combination to work what otherwise would be deemed impossible. Realizing he had been put in a position of some obscure form of superiority Nikolai wasted no time in putting his men into order and marching them as quickly as their legs would take them round to the far end of the line, hoping to set up some enfilade fire upon the advancing mob. As Nikolai's formation finally came to their positions and halted the entire line of cannon erupted in one great violent effort into the enemy mass. Nikolai screamed for his men to load above the din, his eyes keeping an intent focus on Diego for the order to fire.

The rangers and an unruly looking gathering of brigands charged forward under a great cry, "Death Rides With Us!" And before the words had finished leaving the lips of the men who screamed them as they charged, Diego's halberd fell. Every man in the area, including all those concerned with the guns rushed forward at the staggering enemy and to add the final straw the muskets all emptied into the enemy flank. As the smoke cleared from that one massive salvo the advancing mass that had seemed so ready to overcome the guns was already faltering and fleeing. As the day wore on and the quick movement of the men disrupted the supply, Nikolai stopped his men from firing more shot into the now retreating enemy. "Keep 'em silent boys, we'll need what precious shot we have left." As if in reply to the Russian's words the drums of the Janissaries began to beat.
 
August 7th, 1565 - Battle of Corradino Heights

Renault watched as the battered Azebs fled from before the cannon. The Rangers and cannoneers let them go. The corsairs rushed after them down the slope. He merely shook his head at that mob.

“Well Martel, you do seem to have a few surprises up your sleeve.”

The other man merely nodded too tired and stressed to make words flow. The chaos of war on land was something he would probably never understand. Looking around at the dead and wounded he wasn’t sure that he wanted to learn more.

Renault walked from the man over to Gunshy who was once more cursing at his gun crews to get things back in order and to get ready for the final push. “Alright you worthless pieces of rat shit, time to get back to doing what needs bein’ done. I don’t give a pint of rat’s piss about any little scrapes you just got. Get your guns ready NOW!”

Renault merely smiled and shook his head and left the man alone with his passion. He turned and wandered back over to his Rangers. “Good job men, take a rest and slight respite. I have a feeling we’re not done yet. We have more Turks that are thirsty to die.”

Several Rangers groaned as they heard the beating of drums. Almost all of them knew what that meant, not only fresh soldiers but the Janissaries. Most slumped to the ground to get a few minutes of rest. Men tied off makeshift bandages on their comrades and tried to swallow some water that the baggage train had thoughtfully dropped off at their position. The critically wounded were gathered up and placed onto the beds of carts and sent back to the doctor to hopefully be taken care of.

Renault started the day with forty nine men. He was now down to thirty five combat capable men. Truth to be told probably only about two thirds of that could truly fight. The rest were simply walking wounded, they would give their all but Renault knew that most of those would fall. Out of the fourteen taken away probably only half of those would live and out of those only about half would fight again.

Renault let loose a heavy sigh. It had been a long day indeed and it only looked to be getting worse. Renault spied the Siege Cannons being maneuvered into a different position. One that pointed up the slope and from Renault’s vantage those large gaping maws were going to be aimed in his direction and most possibly within an hour or two. He moved up to Gunshy to find out his thoughts.

“Hey Gunshy, not that I’m an alarmist or anything, but I think we're about to have a whole lot of trouble and I don’t mean the Janissaries.”

“What ye mean those big bastards that are pointin’ their brass dicks at us? Yea I seen them, not much I can do about it. They have us ranged even at this height. The good news is they aren’t very accurate at that range, course it really don’t matter as long as they get their balls up on the heights. We’re pretty strung out along this ridgeline.”

Renault watched as the men rested and the enemy moved forward. The siege guns were moving to their new placement and the gunners seemed to be itching at the chance to open fire on their most hated foe. He took a swig of water from the cup offered him and he made sure his men were drinking some water themselves.

All they could do at this moment was to wait and see who blinked first.
 
Last edited:
August 7th, 1565 - Corradino Heights - Slope under the guns

The officer had fallen with little more than a surprised grunt. And yet Martel would have deprived her of such a simple pleasure. Information would be found regardless, and with it the Oran. All that mattered this moment, was vengeance. No one would deprive her of that, not even the Red Hand.

Amina ribbed her horse hard, and was rewarded as he again raced down the slope in pursuit. Her blade sliced across the back of an Azeb, dropping the fleeing figure at the feet of one of the bloodied Corsairs. He finished the job as she spurred towards another.

A piercing whistle turned the heads of the Corsairs. Across the slope, they finished their opponents and turned back towards Saul. Amina raced onwards. One. Two. Three. Four. It was a game, and she would make him wait until he was on the verge of whistling again. In all her years, he had never done that.

When she finally turned back up slope, the men shifted uncomfortably as she approached. The Red Hand stared at her. Amina sat definantly on her mount for a long, silent moment. At last she maneuvered herself alongside and behind her father.

"To the crest, our part is done for now." Saul's words were measured.

"Of course." She waited for him to move this time. At last he worked his own horse around and gingerly began working back up the hill.

-----------

Far below on the slope, a Turkish Corsair stopped in the middle of the mass of men gathering up from the ships. They had been too late in forming to help the slaughter of the Azebs, and now stood to the side lazily as the Janissary began their preparations without them in the way. The guard wanted to settle a score with those of the black flag up the hill, and they intended to do it privately. And so the corsairs waited for something, anything, until they could return to their crews.

The Corsair looked around, then settled looking uphill. For a moment, he was sure he had heard a whistle.
 
August 7th, 1565 - Battle of Corradino Heights


"Just breath boys, just breath." Bexhet called to those men that had been put under his impromptu command who were taking pot shoots at the retreating rabble. "Hear that?" He motioned to the Jassanries forming up. "We got bigger worries then them, rest up." One of the men to his side slumped down to the ground a decided to lay down for a while, Bexhet promptly moved to him and rapt him on the head with his fork. "I said rest not sleep you fat Frenchman." The men laughed and the man grumbled and stood.


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

"Close it."

"Ok." Vosho and gotten into the rythem, finally. Though he still hadn't got used to the blood, all that blood. Every now and then he would futilely wipe at the stains on his clothes. It didn't help, sometimes it even made it worse with fresh blood from the most recent man. He was stitching up a mans forearm now, a Turkish sword cutting nearly to the bone. "There, done."

"Good, looks like it dying down, for now."

Over towards Saip he heard MeiFeng scream her objections, again, and Saip scold her, again, Vosho laughed, he could only imagine what the old man was putting her thru.

"Yes looks like...say arab, I don't believe I've gotten your name."
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back