The Free Company and the Last Bastion of Empire: Book IV

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July 15, 14339 – Venice causeway, morning

Well, if there’s anything good that can be said to have come from my previous failure, it’s that these peasants of mine now understand a bit more about the art of war.

And they did…he could see it. From this distance he could easily pick out the leading edge of his force – progressing steadily onto the causeway. They were met with the expected stiff resistance, but seemed to have finally understood the instructions that had been hammered into them by the sergeants…and by the remembered sight of so many of their comrades falling to the deadly hail of crossbow bolts the last time this strip of fragile land had been advanced upon.

The front ranks leapt forward like rabbits, scampering to dispatch the enemy and shelter themselves in the debris that was piled high in many spots along the road. True, many would not survive to raise his banner near the gates, but far fewer would die this time compared to the slaughter of several days ago.

More and more of his army now streamed out of the plain and onto the narrow earthen path. He pitied the sergeants as they tried to bully their men into some semblance of order, but this was simply too complex a task for the limited training the soldiers had received. Soon they were bunched up at the headland like a logjam in a river, each waiting his turn take that first step towards the distant walls. They were accustomed (if they were accustomed to anything) to marching in long sweeping arches – Francesco’s favourite tactic in open field battles where the size and strength of his army allowed his flanks to remorselessly envelop the typically smaller opposition lines. The problem here was that the causeway was barely wide enough in most spots to accommodate more than ten or fifteen men abreast, and so they really didn’t know what to do. In retrospect, he thought, it would have been better to arrange them initialling in their normal day-marching order…except that they’d probably find some way to make a mess of that too.

His own men - the condottieri who had trained and fought with one another for years – would have little trouble with such a manoeuvre…but he held them in reserve for the time being. Hirelings rarely showed much interest in placing themselves in harm’s way unless there was very good cause. Let the peasants clear the way. They would reap the spoils.

He sighed, wishing for the battle to be over and the city retaken. By nightfall, he hoped, he would be back in his old residence and sipping on fine wine. It was only a matter, after all, of reaching the gates. After that…

A bright object caught the corner of his eye, and he turned his attention to it. What he saw made him begin cursing, only to be followed with an even long and louder stream of invective as a second of the thrice-cursed Doge’s vessels swept into view around the corner of the city.

The bastard’s sending his ships! Well then…let him. I am not without my own little surprises.

“Captain!”

The officer immediately snapped a salute. “Sir?”

Francesco pointed towards the galleys. “Look.” A third was now appearing.

“Shit!”

“Get Bacchi. Tell him to send a single row of heavy crossbows on each side of our ranks.”

The first of the galleys was now speeding across the water of the lagoon and Francesco could see a burning cauldron on board. Pitch? What the hell do they need pitch for? The question would have to remain unanswered for now. “And tell the quartermaster to break out the lamp oil,” he yelled at the captain’s already-retreating back.

Don’t play with fire, Foscarini, or you might very well get burned…

 

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July 15, 1439 – the north wall near the Blachernae, early afternoon

He could see the enemy’s arrows began to skitter off the stonework of the walls, or find their sad marks in the flesh of the defenders. Roos muttered a short curse under his breath and jogged quickly over towards his own right flank.

The Turk’s tactics this time were dangerous…very dangerous indeed. The attack would be brutal, remorseless, intense…and highly focussed. The lines wouldn’t stretch out across the killing zone this time. No. These were well-equipped and well-disciplined men, and their commander – hard to believe that the same man who had ordered the senseless, wasteful slaughter of the Azebs had now conceived of this tactic – intended to use them to great effect. He was patient. He had waited until he had established his own lines of fire, and now was intent on clearing the wall of the Free Company’s deadly archers.

The pikemen and swordsmen under Lochlan and the German’s command would also think twice before exposing themselves to push away a ladder or await at one’s top to lop the head off the first unlucky Anatolian to ascend it. Where before they were nearly unchallenged, now they would be subjected to a constant stream off arrows…and if the early moments of the battle were any indication then the enemy archers were shockingly unconcerned about aiming into a seething mass of their own fellow soldiers if there was a hint of a Free Company man there at all.

“Maurice!”

The Company’s newly arrived sergeant jerked his head back from watching the bloodshed and looked at him. “Yeah…I mean…yes lieutenant Roos?”

“I want you and another of my sergeants – he’s the one over there…name of Jahn – to take your men and half of my crossbows and reposition yourselves on our left instead – between our lines and Lochlan’s. Try to stay far enough out that you aren’t in range of those archers,” his thumb stabbed out in their direction, “but see if you can get a flanking shot at the footmen as they’re waiting for their turn at the ladder…”

Maurice grinned, quickly warming to the idea. “It would be my pleasure, lieutenant.”

“Don’t get too tangled up in it though,” Renaud cautioned. “If the enemy suddenly comes at us here then I’ll want you all back in your original position immediately. Jahn knows the horn signal so he’ll tell you if I sound the recall. Now get going.”

It’s not going to be enough.

Too many Turks. It might take an hour, or perhaps several, but eventually they would break over the walls and the terrible flood would begin…

 

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Between Roos and Lochlan's lines

"Now get going."

Maurice led his men to the appointed spot. This ruined his plan--he couldn't push the bodies off the walls anymore--but orders were orders.

He quickly spotted the other sergeant. They put together a plan and gave out orders. Soon, they were in position.

Maurice hadn't told anybody about this, but he had never commanded more than a couple people. He would try his best. He just followed orders and hoped that was enough. And of course, when his orders were to kill, he did so, gladly.

The Turks came, they put up their ladders, and Maurice and Jahn's men took what shots they could.

As usual, Charles was late in bringing the arrows back. He had an exuse this time, at least, because he had to find the new position. Maurice distributed the arrows, and twenty-five more archers added their shafts to the many flying through the air either way...

 

[Secret Master]

July 15th, Venice, The Gate, Late Morning

The stench... My God, it's grotesque. Were it any other day, I would retire to my residence and wait for the smell to clear. But they need to see their Doge upon the walls. If they see me share their danger, even in a small way, they will fight harder. It will also make the new Venice much easier to control...

Foscari looked upon the causeway while his nose narrated the story of carnage. The smell of rotting fish combined with the putrid smell of the fresh, and not so fresh, carcasses. His well trained nose even caught the faintest hint of sweat. The sweat of his own men atop the fortifications, and the sweat of the dying masses of men below.

His eyes were not so well trained, and they lacked the keeness that a military man would have had. To Foscari, the advance along the causeway appeared random and incoherent; the stuff of nightmares. It seemed as if the advance was halted; however, the few trained men in the militia could tell the advance was moving forward. It was slow, almost imperceptible, but the enemy was gaining ground.

Then, the Doge cast his eyes upon the galleys. They were in position, and the bowmen on their decks lit the first of their arrows. The pitch coated arrows came alive with fire. Foscari smiled.

Soon, very soon, this whole sham will be over. You will now return to Florence with your precious Medicis. You were a fool to return.

With the completion of this thought, the arrows were loosed at the causeway. They impacted few of the men, but rather landed amid the rubble and debris strewn path. And then the enflamed arrows went out in tiny puffs of smoke.

Foscari's eyes went wide in surprise.

"What the.... but why aren't they.... Captain! Why is there no pitch and oil upon the causeway!"

"My lord, there is plenty of both. However, there are too many bodies in the way..."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, but all the corpses are making it difficult for the arrows to light the causeway on fire."

"No! I don't care what it takes, captain, but I want that causeway burning in five minutes. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, my lord. The galleys will maintain their fire until it lights. I ensured they had enough arrows and pitch in case this happened."

Foscari paused for a moment. He was clearly out of his element here. Then, in a calm voice.

"Very well, captain... Err, excellent job."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Now continue to suprevise the defense."

"Yes, my lord."

It was just then that another set of subdued lights caught the Doge's eyes. Thinking the causeway was lit, he turned. It was then that a horrible sight greeted him.

"No! Not the ships!"

Fire had rained down upon the galleys, and it was not coming from heaven.

 

[stnylan]

July 15th - Near the Blachernae Walls

Niklos walked with the Emperor. Time seemed slow, painfully slow, even though they were walking quickly. Five guards. That was what he had to concentrate on, five guards. By chance one of the six was 'his' own kataphraktoi, highly honoured. On Niketas' face Niklos could see the faintest trace of a grimace. He knew, as did Niklos, what had to be done today.

The Blacharnae was beside the walls, but even so it was quite a way. Thomas marched impatiently, seemingly torn between his desire to fight and his desire to be among the Latins. At least he likes them

"Tell me Prefect, you know some of these mercenaries do you not?" Thomas asked as he walked beside Niklos. Niklos nodded.

His voice was weary as he spoke. "Their shipmaster and I were partners your Highness, long ago."

This did not seem to quite what Thomas had expected, but he accepted it none the less. Now the Heir smiled slightly. "We showed them Prefect. Those Turks know fear now."

Is that what you really think? This was just their first step, their first pass. What hope do you think we have? Even if this attack fails they will just wait until we are totally spent. You cannot pay the Free Company forever.

"Highness, the Turks are unrelenting."

Thomas waved that away. They went down some stairs, and had to go in single file. Three guards at the front, Niklos, Thomas, and then three guards at the back. At the bottom of the stairs there was a space, empty at the moment as it was supposed to be. At a nod from Niklos the two guards nearest seized Thomas, and their commander, a brute called Antonidas, moved around to face the Heir.

"Orders of the Emperor, Highness."

"What orders? I order you to release me."

The brute glanced nervously all around for some sort of guidance. Niklos sneered at him, but Antonidas was not used to taking note of civilians and ignored him. He could see the decision coming, and he nodded to Niketas and moved around slightly.

As soon as the Heir was released he burst into action. He was quite a fighter, but this time he had to be defeated. First he cut the throat of the man to his right, and then he hammered his fist into the face of the leftward guard. Looking up, Niklos could see the indecision as Thomas realised he was faced by four drawn swords.

There could now only be two outcomes.

Niklos stepped inside that ring.

"Enough. My Lord, we've saved your life, and the Emperor's, by his order."

And then the Heir was at him, swinging his dagger so Niklos was forced to quickly crouch. But in doing so Thomas had let his anger overcome his good sense. He was held, and that moment Niklos leaned close and whispered quickly.

“Highness, listen well. I mean you no harm, but you have to leave this City. I cannot allow the line of Emperors to die. Live well in the West, and remember that you have friends.”

Standing back he spoke more clearly.

"I'm sorry, Highness. What we do, we do for the Empire."

There was only hate in the Heir's eyes. Now, too late, did he understand the game being played. Niklos nodded sadly to Niketas, and efficiently the guard knocked the Heir unconscious to the ground.

Niklos turned to Antonidas. "Take the bodies of your men and go. Niketas and I will convey the Heir to the place of safety as has been arranged." He remained calm, he knew that these men would not live to see the sunset. His own little innovation. The fewer who knew, the better.

Moments later one of his own accomplices came into the place.

“Is the cart ready?” The man nodded. Good let us get this fool on his journey – Niketas, what are you doing?”

The kataphract was kneeling on the ground, his sword held upward. The man said, “I have betrayed the trust placed in me.” Then with a casualness that horrified he simply reversed the blade and drove it into his stomach. Blood spurted from his mouth, and he was dead.

The other looked at Niklos. “It was his choice,” was all he said. “We have work to do.”

They hid the Heir on a cart filled with supplies for the dock. Onto it they also loaded the body of Niketas, which they deposited in a crumbled ruin on the way. There he told his companion to prepare the others, and then he started the cart in the direction of the Cyprian's ships, and the Heir's freedom.

 

[TheWildFerret]

July 15th, Center Wall, Jaeger’s position

Erik watched as some men moved to the edge of Roos’ unit. They appeared to be archers and would occasionally lean out to fire and duck back behind the wall. He cursed in German as the Turks fired another volley over the Foss.

“Damn them and their bows,” he looked over at Eberhardt, “Remind me when this is over to get us some training in some sort of bow, this is going to wear on our nerves.”

Another volley fired over the walls.

“Damn them and their bows,” Erik bellowed once more, “They can move up under the cover of those damn things. Damn damn damn.” Erik’s temper was turning more and more foul, he felt caged in and helpless. Not to mention his damned back was still hurting.

I think our breastplates would stop their arrows, but at this range who knows, and there’s no telling if a lucky shot would strike an arm or face, or even slip beneath the breastplate and hurt something.

Erik looked up and down the wall at his crouched and sometimes sitting men.

Damn it to hell. This waiting is taking a worse toll on us then the last wave.

Erik risked a quick glance and saw the Anatolians were advancing but were not receiving the crippling hail of arrows like the Azebs did. This was definitely a bad situation and about to turn worse. Most of the Anatolians were not affected by the caltrops nor the press of bodies holding them up. They approached in a more organized manner and used crude shield walls to deflect most of the incoming arrows.

Very soon they would be at the walls with only minor casualties, granted the death toll was high but seeing the wave of human faces, the losses were definitely minor. Erik quickly ducked back behind the wall as several arrows broke about his position. One managed to strike his helm, but didn’t penetrate.

“KACKE!” Erik cursed and took his helm off to feel for any wound. Not finding one he replaced it quickly.

“PREPARE TO PUSH THEM OFF THE WALL!!!” Erik bellowed… he had just heard a ladder strike the wall near him. It was time to earn their pay once more…

 

[TheF]

July 15th - The center

This is bad, really bad., Fyrsil thought, if we cannot decimate them before they ascend the walls, the infantry will be hard pressed indeed!

There had been some casualties among his men, mostly due to sheer carelesness and surprise, partly due to sheer stupidity. He reflected on the matter. This reflection didn't take long: because of the rush of battle his mind was clear and his thoughts were fast.

"On my mark we all rise and give them serious trouble! They will not know that we need no line of sight to kill them! Be sure to focus though. On my mark you will rise, on my mark you will seek the safety of the battlements again. Understood?"

Nods and grunts of agreement went up and Owyn could be seen signalling that he approved.

A Turkish volley passed.

"NOW!"

All men rose and began to release their deadly rain upon the enemy archers at the absolute maximum rate.

When the enemy began to aim, Fyrsil signalled for them to hide again. When their rain had passed, he repeated the command.

 

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15 July 1439 - Center wall, Lochlan - in the afternoon

"Mi'liege, I'm open to suggestions." The toothy grin didn't hide the frustration the Alsatian felt. The archers on the outer wall weren't as skilled as the ones on the Inner Walls. That didn't prevent them from creating havoc on their defense.

"Down!" Along the wall the defenders dropped as another flight of arrows flew at them. It was becoming a game, but as soon as one of those ladders didn't fall back it would be deadly. They had to whittle the outer wall down.

"Release!" Another flight of arrows from Lochlan's archers flew, quickly followed by a second flight from his guards.

"Down!" Again they took cover. Alain suddenly whipped to his left, his bow cluttering away along the wall as he went face down. Remi reached the Alsatian first, gently rolling him over. And then he started laughing. An arrow hung limply in the now torn brim of the blue felt of Foppy's hat.

For a moment Landen's eyes focused on the hat.

"That's it. Remi, get everyone spaced along the wall. Fire on command. Fop, recruit every third of Lochlan's archers. 12-16 minimum, get them paired up with our men. We need them NOW, not after they go ask permission." Alain listened, a half lost look on his still dazed face. "We'll do two fire sets. Our line goes for the shield, their's follows aiming for the archers. Line one releases on count one, two on two. After every set we move along the wall some, just enough to keep from being a set target for counterfire."

He pulled the Alsatian up. The smile was back. "Get going Alain. I'll replace that hat for you."

"But of course you will! I wouldn't let you get away with NOT replacing it!" Alain turned and stormed along the wall, Remi in tow.

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

It took some doing to get people in place.

Lochlan's archers were disciplined, to their credit refusing to leave their posts without arguing heavily first. Alain tried politeness, charm, and even outright superiority with little success. In the end the Turks provided the argument needed. A ladder crashed to the wall, dropping several attackers with it. The harried efforts to remove the attackers without becoming casualties to the archers on the outer wall persuaded several that something did indeed need to be done. With their help, Alain soon managed to pull together a scratch group of eighteen archers.

The pair up was constantly dogged by volley's of arrows. The first three attempts at attacking the shields disipated in confusion, as first Alain, then Landen's voices proved inadequate over the melee. Finally Pierce stepped in, bellowing instructions with his thick Scottish accent. Soon the group was moving to his voice, and the first attempt at a volley came. On command, the groups prepared to fire in cover, stood, and loosed two flights of arrows in turn before returning to cover and moving.

On the first volley six shieldbearers fell, followed by four archers. On the second eight bearers fell, then seven archers. Ten bearers fell on the third, along with nine archers. There was a perceptible delay between the turkish volleys, as the effects of the attacks on them soaked in. Lochlan's archers used the gift of time to good effect, refining their aim and cutting down a ladder crew before it could be raised.

The next volley left a visible hole in the attackers along the outer wall. For a moment they had taken back the momentum. Landen breathed.

 

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15 July 1439 - Center wall, Lochlan - in the afternoon

On the first volley six shieldbearers fell, followed by four archers. On the second eight bearers fell, then seven archers. Ten bearers fell on the third, along with nine archers. There was a perceptible delay between the turkish volleys, as the effects of the attacks on them soaked in. Lochlan's archers used the gift of time to good effect, refining their aim and cutting down a ladder crew before it could be raised.

The next volley left a visible hole in the attackers along the outer wall. For a moment they had taken back the momentum. Bloody hell, he thinks fast on his feet. Except, it may have come just a little to late.

"Hold fire!" Lochlan yelled. "Hold fire!" The ladders were hitting the wall now, they needed to be there without dodging arrows from their own men.

A few seconds later, the flights of arrow's slackened, and Lochlans men surged to their former positions on the wall. They were not second too late, they met the first Anatolians of the ladders with a crash of steel on steel.

Can't let them mack a break in our lines, if they do that, were done for. The ranger sub-vocalized. "Hans, Alv, Baer, Landen. If you see a break, plug them with reserves, we can't afford a hole!" He yelled, and drew his own blade clear of its scabbard.

"Death rides with us!" He yelled, wading into the savage fight atop the inner wall.

 

[The_Hawk]

July 15th, early afternoon, north of the Xylokerkon

The stretch of wall Maria and Frederik were defending enjoyed a longer break than most between the two waves. Indeed, since they weren't being directly attacked, it wasn't immediately obvious that the horns were meant to sound a retreat. When the enemy finally came again, however, they were much more cautious.

A group advanced in good order, taking advantage of Maurice's repositioning to close the gap to the Blachernae. While the Welsh and Mongols enjoyed good success with their powerful bows, the smaller ones wielded by the marines could only rarely penetrate an enemy shield. The enemy advanced in a tortoise formation, providing the defenders little opportunity to strike back. Maria's crossbow was one of the few weapons on the stretch of wall with the penetrating power to puncture the Turkish defense, and she rarely landed a hit at range. In the end, a group of the Turks broke off and began suppressing the archers with a hail of their own arrows.

"Damn," she muttered, dropping behind the battlements to load another bolt, "these guys are much better than their friends."

Frederik nodded. "Did you see them?"

"Hmm?"

"The ladders?"

"No."

"They had two, one on each side of that... well, whatever that shield formation was. Maybe some more in the middle."

Maria winced as an arrow skipped off the crenellations nearby, then looked to the Varangian Frederik had picked up. The big man was nearly curled into a ball to keep his bulk behind the battlements and in cover.

"They'll be up here soon. Are you ready to fight?" she asked.

The big man grinned in response, tightening his grip on his wicked axe. "Always."

 

[TheWildFerret]

July 15th, Center Wall, Jaeger’s Position

The fighting was intense amongst the Germans. Every time they pushed back a ladder the archers would take a quick shot at the Germans around the ladder that was just pushed out. So far no casualties were inflicted, but many minor wounds not to mention the simple harassment this created. The archers also tended not to care if the ladder was pushed completely off or not, at times catching their fellow Turk in the crossfire.

This proved to be more then an annoyance, there was no way to time it and duck down to avoid the volley. The Germans had to expose themselves at least partially to push the ladders off. So far they were relying on their heavy armor for protection and would rather risk an arrow to the arm then face the infantry on the wall.

Erik knew they were fighting a slowly losing battle, he knew they would gain a foothold on the wall, but the question was where. His men seemed to be fairing better then Lochlan’s lightly armored men and Roos’ as well. He saw one of the Swiss fall from the wall from a lucky bow shot as he fought to push a ladder off the wall. Behind him he looked to see one of Lochlan’s Crossbowmen fall with an arrow stuck through his throat. Some Turk got a very lucky shot.

For every ladder they pushed off, two took it’s place. The human wave of Turks was pressing the wall and soon small pockets were beginning to form on the wall. Most were crushed instantly and others were pushed back over the wall by Trenen and his walking wounded. Three times Trenen and his men threw themselves into harm’s way and three times they were successful, but still the toll was starting to stack up as Erik saw Germans mixed with the Turk on the wall.

Once more Erik found himself in the thick of battle. His Zweihander crushing those that stood against him. He cut left then right, and then he made feint to strike at the Turk’s midsection only to reverse his swing and crush the ribs of the Turk next to the original target. It was mass chaos and soon the melee began to swirl about the wall.

Trenen was there suddenly, punching his Roundel in the back of one Turk at the same time using his Katzbalger to hamstring another. Trenen was quick and relentless, truly fighting for his life and pushing himself to braver limits. With the quick push of Trenen and his men the pocket crumbled and the Turks were again pushed off the wall.

Trenen raced off down the wall with his men in tow looking for the next pocket. Erik took a moment to catch his breath and survey the situation. His men were holding, yet the horde continued to come. Also those damnable archers were still taking shots at his men, regardless if their fellow Turks were in the way or not.

Perhaps Life is cheap to them.

Erik simply shrugged and continued to look out over the battlements. Roos was hard pressed and Lochlan was still holding, barely, and the toll was higher paid there. Across the way he could barely see LeClerc defending his section of the wall. They too were hard pressed and fighting to remain on the wall.

Erik also saw Captain peering over at LeClerc’s line. He saw bared steel in Captain’s hand and wondered if he would move over to try and bolster the defense of LeClerc’s line. Erik turned his attention back to the field before the wall. There seemed to be no end to these Anatolians, but he could also see another unit starting to move towards the wall…

 

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July 15th, Center Wall, Lochlan's position

All along Lochlan's position the battle raged, the Free Company defenders blooded and confident. They gave the Anatolians no quarter, and they recieved none.

Lochlan grunted as a curved blade clipped his shoulder, making the chainmail links dig through the shrit he had on. The ranger responded by sending a backhand swing that caught the Anatolian in the neck, dropping him to the ground. He had only a second to free his bade before he was blocking another pair of attackers, his sword and shield moving in conjunction, first on defense, then in the attack.

This is getting bad, there's too many of them, and were not thinning their ranks anymore with arrows. I hope Captain had a bright idea any minute here, because I'm fresh out.

The Lieutenant ducked under a swing and his shield caught his first opponent in the chin. Throwing his body to the right, Lochlan slammed his shoulder into his other opponent, sending them and others nearby into the hard stone of the battlement, with the Free Company Lieutenant on the top. His face was grim as he finished the job, regaining is feet quickly.

He glanced along his position, and his eyes narrowed. He cut his way through to where the stairs were, and he grabbed one of his corporals by the shoulder, physically pulling him out of the melee. "Get some reserves, now." He ordered. "Then get to Captain, tell him were going to have pockets here any minute, go."

Any minute, I'm being optimistic, their forming now. Soon we'll be the pockets.

Lochlan half pushed, and half chopped his way back in, it was everything his men could do, just to keep the weight of the Anatolians back, there was just too many.

He fought his way into a pocket that was just starting to form. "Free Company, don't let them take this wall!" He shouted, and there was an answering growl as his men redoubled their efforts.

 

[TheWildFerret]

July 25th, Center Wall, Lochlan’s Position

Baer breath was heaving in and out of his lungs, although this was intentional and it had a sort of rhythm to it. He never seemed to miss a beat with his breathing. All he concentrated on was the enemy before him and his Roundel and Katzbalger. He had lost his Zweihander some time ago when a Turk fell from the wall while grasping the crosspiece. Baer let it go instead of exerting the strength and time to free it from the dead body.

A Turk appeared in front of Baer, the strange curved blade sweeping towards him in a quick overhead chop. Baer parried with his Katzbalger and gutted the man, No, not a man, dog, with his Roundel. He had lost sight of Lochlan some time ago. The foolish lieutenant ran off into a mass of men and hurtled all of them on to the battlement’s floor.

Baer grunted at the unorthodox method the Lieutenant used, but could not say anything about it being ineffective. Baer reached down and heaved a man from the wall. When he straightened up, Lochlan was gone.

KACKE! Erik will skin me alive if I lose that crazy old man.

He shoved through the press, occasionally pushing a Turk from the Wall or catching one of Lochlan’s men before they tumbled off. Once he physically picked up a Turk and tossed him down on top of others climbing a ladder and reached down to pull up the ladder. He slowly began to raise it before the Turks below started pulling it back down. Baer grunted and pushed down on the ladder. He smiled when he heard a scream from below. He moved on.

Turning he ducked a slash to his head and body blocked the Turk into the crenellation and slid his Roundel between the dog’s ribs. The Turk laid there and suffocated in his own blood. Baer didn’t spare him a glance and continued onwards. There was a dull tang as a Turk tried to slash him across his back. Baer turned quickly and put his Katzbalger through the Dog’s eye. As he pulled the blade free he used the momentum to turn it into an overhand swing and cut deep into another Turks shoulder. Again Baer pushed and the Turk fell screaming to the street below.

Damn this Lochlan fellow, he can fight like a demon but he is old, older then any man I’ve seen campaigning and still he acts like he’s in his prime. Granted he looks like he can take it, and his arm doesn’t seem to be affecting him currently, but I bet he’ll feel it tomorrow… if there is a tomorrow.

Baer swung left with his Katzbalger, catching a Turk that was fighting one of those new men that recently joined their position. The Turk collapsed with a silent hiss. The man nodded his thanks to the big German, but Baer was wading through once more. He shoulder blocked another Turk into the crenellation once more and one of Lochlan’s men took advantage as Baer moved on and the Turk was stunned. The Turk’s blood ran freely from a throat wound.
The man in front of Baer dropped, One of Lochlan’s crossbowmen, Baer noted. He pushed through the front rank with arms wide. He caught several Turks and took them to the ground. Lochlan’s men were on them instantly and once more Baer moved on. A Turk squared off against Baer and lunged an attack at the German. Baer went to deflect the blow, but it never landed, the man’s sword danced over Baer’s Katzbalger, around the metal breastplate to land a light wound on Baer’s upper arm. While not deep or crippling, it stung. The German grimaced and pressed his own attack.

Baer swung a high slash and brought his Roundel up to protect his flank. Swords clashed and instantly Baer’s respect for the man increased. Instead of merely parrying the Katzbalger, the Turk deflected it, he knew that trying to parry the big German would allow Baer to use his strength to batter at his defenses. The Turk stepped back quickly and barked something in his uncouth language. Two Turks stepped forward to take care of Baer.

This one must be some sort of commander then, perhaps an officer of some sort.

The two Turks charged Baer and he let them come at him. Their swords held high for a quick overhand cut. Baer watched them come and as they slashed he moved to the side and let them cut thin air. Then he was passed them and on the commander once more. He prayed that Lochlan’s men would occupy the two fools that charged him.

There was a sharp pain to Baer’s calf that almost dropped him to his knees. The Turk sensing this charged screaming at Baer. There was no way Baer could protect himself and resolved himself to his fate. There was a hiss and then a crossbow bolt embedded itself within the Turk’s throat. Baer stepped down hard behind him as he turned. He broke the Turk’s hand who had stabbed him in the calf and watched as another armored figure brought down his Zweihander and literally pulped the Turk.

“Ich bin hier Bruder.” Baer turned to look at the speaker and saw Adler with a loaded crossbow. He had removed his helm and was bleeding from several cuts to his head. He had also stripped out of his metal greaves and only remained in his breastplate. Baer raised an eyebrow and smiled at the man. He had brought with him two others.

“Lochlan is somewhere ahead, we must reach him, I fear the walls are lost, perhaps not now, but they will be soon. We must be sure that Erik’s wishes are carried out and the old man doesn’t fall due to his… uh… exuberance.”

The other Germans snickered and fell in behind Baer, with Adler bringing up the rear with his cocked crossbow ready. Baer lined them up and charged another pocket of Turks, before they reached them there was a hiss and again the crossbow bolt took out a Turk. “You will need to tell me how you got that thrice damned weapon Adler, but that’s later.” Baer bellowed as he crashed into the Turks.

The Germans worked together as a team. Kicking, shoulder blocking and gutting the Turks about them. One would strike at the Turk to his right, while another would push the Turk in front of the other German off balance. This was complete trust and discipline. There was no room for error and their experience and training were paying off. Soon Baer and his men faced no one. They had actually killed all about them. Adler was firing down the battlement into another press of Turks and Baer could see the Lieutenant was in the center of them, alone. There were a number of dead Turks and Lochlan’s men laying about. Probably they rushed in together but the wily old man was able to keep himself alive.

Baer gathered his men and moved to support Lochlan. Adler warned that there were Turks filling in behind them and turned to fire. Baer told one of the other Germans to help Adler hold the rear and continued on. As Baer got closer he saw that Lochlan was bleeding from several cuts to his head and knew that timing was critical now. Any moment blood could drip into the old man’s eyes, temporarily blinding him, but allowing the time needed to kill him.

Baer yelled at the top of his lungs and barreled into the Turks. Arms outstretched and running full tilt, he managed to crumble the Turks on his side by sheer force of strength and momentum. Unfortunately, Baer went down with them and he prayed the other German would get there to watch his back as he unlocked himself from the press of bodies.

Lochlan took the opportunity and used the distraction to cut down several men facing him. He quickly back pedaled over to Baer and started working on the men laying on the battlement. Baer also used his Roundel to good effect. The other German ran past and sliced down two more Turks as they moved their way.

Lochlan helped the big German to his feet and nodded his thanks. Lochlan turned to charge into the fray where the other German had engaged, but Baer grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and held him still.

“Sir, there’s no time for there, that section is lost, and the three of us surely can not hold the mass of men, we must withdraw to more men and then start pushing them back. Look,” Baer pointed at Jaeger’s position on the other side of the section, “Hauptmann Jaeger and his men are already beginning to push this way. His section is growing thin so he can not make it all the way through. We must prepare to defend the wall and regain this section.”

Lochlan glared at the German for a moment and then nodded. “Come Baer, bring your men and we fight back to our men, but we will hold there and push back.”

“Yes sir,” Baer acknowledged and bellowed to the man fighting to their front, “Koch, Rückzüge kämpfend.”

Koch nodded his assent and began swinging his Zweihander back and forth. Using the massive weapons reach to keep the enemy at bay. It was risky and exhausting but he knew he didn’t have far to retreat to reach Baer and Lochlan. Baer heard a twang and saw an arrow skip off Koch’s armor. There were several more and Baer saw that archers had moved up into this pocket and were now firing down the battlements into them and Jaeger’s men. Koch moved quicker but lost his footing and went down. The Turks were on him instantly. Using their weight to push their weapons through the metal breastplate.

Baer heard a rumbling coming from Lochlan and instantly grabbed the Lieutenant as he began to run at the Turks. Lochlan glared death at Baer and began to fight against Baer.
Baer pushed him back towards Adler and the other German. Causing Lochlan to make a stumbling run. Baer began to retreat swiftly.

“Sir there’s no way we can hold them with archers in that pocket. My armor will protect me against most, but you are lightly armored and there’s no point dying here. Let’s move back and get one of those Frenchman’s archers to kill these men. Worse yet we need reserves!!!”

Lochlan growled at Baer and it sounded like a threat was said under the Lieutenant’s breath, but Baer no longer cared, his job was to keep this man alive at all cost. He started pushing the Lieutenant towards his men. They passed Adler and the other German, who fell in step with Baer and Adler once more bringing up the rear. Baer moved Lochlan behind him as they smashed into another pocket of Turks. He was no longer interested in fighting but just pushing through to Lochlan’s men on the other side.

Baer received another cut to his arm and felt a dent on his helm, he lost the other German in a press of Turk bodies, but Lochlan and Adler pushed through with him. Lochlan’s men seeing their leader rushed forward with renewed vigor and pushed the last of the pocket off the wall.

Baer stood a moment to catch his breath and looked at Lochlan.

Lochlan grimaced at the German and looked around, “Damnit, where are the reinforcements I sent for,” He reached out and grabbed another man. “Go find that damnable Frenchman that was sent to our position, the one with the bows.” The man ran back down the wall.

Lochlan looked at Baer once more, “I should throw you off these damn walls, but I think I’d hurt myself trying, so instead I want you to round up as many of your men quickly and form a wall of armor between my men and those Turks,” there was a glint in the old man’s eye, “We’ll need some cover from their arrows.”

Baer laughed and moved off to round up two more Germans and they placed themselves forward of Lochlan’s men, two deep and two wide, with Adler taking the position behind Baer. “Looks like we earn our pay today gents.” The Germans snickered as the Turkish wave came down the wall towards them…

 

[TheWildFerret]

July 15th, Center Wall, Jaeger’s position near the pocket

Damn this to hell, we’re being slowly overwhelmed.

Erik looked behind him and grabbed one of his walking wounded men. “Go to Captain, tell him we can not hold under this pressure. We need the reserves if we are to hold. Go now… quickly!”

The man ran off fairly quickly, but definitely quicker then one of his fully armored men. Erik watched him go and looked down his line. For the most part they were holding, but this damn pocket that was growing was adding undue pressure to their flank.

Something is going to break, and right now it looks to be us.

Erik watched as the pocket grew and slowly overwhelmed the defenders. He watched as Lochlan formed up several of his men and pressed into the pocket trying to ease the pressure on that section of the wall. At first they pushed back the pocket and it looked like they would succeed in pushing them off the wall, but Lochlan did not have the manpower with him to hold back the tide of bodies. He was soon standing alone and totally on the defensive.

Damnit Baer, where are you? I entrusted you to watch this icon of the men. We need heroes not Martyrs.

“YOU THREE,” Erik pointed at three men, “Join us here. NOW!”

The three moved to comply and formed up with Erik. “Push them off the WALLS!!”

Erik began to push forward into the pocket, he received a light blow to his lower arm, but it didn’t slow him down. Several more dents appeared in his armor, but it was holding. He knew he would be sore and very bruised later, Luckily the Turks didn’t have any heavy hammers to crush the armor and the body beneath.

Shortly after he began to push he looked to where Lochlan was, it appeared that Baer had reached the older man and was pulling him back towards his men. There was a little pocket around Baer and Erik marveled at the way the big German could cause such a bubble with just the force of his presence. Erik saw one German fall and the wave began to roll towards Lochlan and Baer. Baer pushed Lochlan back along the way and began moving quickly as well. They joined the other two Germans and fought back to Lochlan’s line, sustaining only one more loss.

“Push harder!!!” Erik bellowed and the Germans began to push the pocket back. His men were giving it their all, but Erik knew that shortly they would overextend themselves if he kept them pushing. “Hold the line!” They stopped and returned to a defensive stance, this allowed Erik to disengage and return to the main fight. So far the only true pocket they had was between him and Lochlan.

Damn this wall, it’s too damn long. How can I be expected to hold a position that almost overextended me in the first place.

Erik saw a pocket forming, bellowed at the top of his lungs and charged once more into battle, hoping that the reserves would arrive in time…

 

[Valdemar]

July 15th, the Blachernae

Frederik saw the grin of the mighty northern warrior and rolled his eyes, then he pulled his short sword and his trusted heavy knife appeared by it self in his left hand.

The first Turk peered carefully over the wall amongst a hail of arrows then clambered over the battlements. The second Turk raised himself over the edge and the arrows shifted to the left and right of the ladders to avoid killing the foothold. As the third and fourth enemy had made their way up the huge Varagian stood up took one huge swing of his axe and send one head flying, surprised by his the violence second Turk caught the big axe in the ribs on the back swing. Covered from head to knee in plate mail the huge man simply waded into the enemy group forming pushing them back by his apparent disregard of defensive measures.

As his forward movement took him closer to the center of the forming pocket the enemy started closing in on his back, almost folding the group inward and he became surrounded. Frederik swore under his breath and launched him self into the big man’s wake, while Maria directed the mariners to surround and contain the pocket before it spread along the wall.

Once the circle had closed behind the guard, they started turning on him, but he kept them at bay with huge swings of his axe. Frederik entered the fray by chopping one Turk in the neck from behind and before they realized his presence the second one got the heavy knife wrenched into his kidney from below his padded armor. Then Frederik was fully and truly embroiled, making his way toward the northern warrior.

Frederik weaved and dodged, stabbed and sliced his way through the Turks, trusting his hidden chain mail to foil any attempts to kill him that he couldn’t block. Had they known perhaps they would have gone for his head and throat, but he appeared not to be wearing armor.

More than once there was a slight tuck at the silk and once he heard the grating sound of steel on steel and felt a hard punch on his shoulder, then he was through the mêlée and came with in the protective arch of the Varangian.

“I’ll cover the back, if you break them with that monster of yours, I’ll try and finish them off and prevent them from closing on your back, just keep moving, either left or right is fine.”

The huge man merely grunted and sent a severed arm flying into the face of the oncoming Turks. Then they reached the battlements and were confronting the Turks at the head of the ladder. The guard smashed the brains, helmet and all, of the topmost enemy. Frederik quickly dropped his sword and risked the exposure to the archers as he climbed onto the battlement and tried kicking the ladder sideways. After what seemed like an eternity the ladder began to sway sideways and the Anatolians scrambled up and down to avoid being caught in the fall.

The first Turk up skirted sideways and ducked under the axe and joined the remainder of his compatriots on the wall, bunched together in a tight knot, pressed by Maria and her men. The second man hung onto the battlements until Frederik reached over and sliced his wrists, he fell screaming to the ground, his shrill yell for a short moment overpowering the battle sounds.

Finally the pocket had been contained upon the last remaining ladder pressed on one side by the mariners and on the other by the Varangian, Frederik and a few sailors.

 

[unmerged(6528)]

July 15th, Center Wall, Lochlan's position

The wall seethed with the flickering heat of battle. Lochlan's men fought as much for their lives as they did Constantinople, every moment brought a new danger, ever new danger, the threat of death. Baer and the Germans held the Turks at bay, but even they couldn't sustain that kind of defense for long. The pressure needed to be relieved, and fast.

Lochlan made a chopping gesture at Fyrsil, and pointed at the pocket that seperated his men from Jaegers. The young Welshman nodded, and for a moment, Lochlan thought Faolan stood down there. Then the archer whirled away to order his men, and Lochlan returned his attention to the continuing battle. He ripped the bottom of his shirt off, and tied the strip around his head, the blood gathering there had almost gotten him in trouble.

"Where the hell are the reserves, and where the hell is Landen." Lochlan muttered. "Alv!" He yelled over the din, and yanked the sergeant backwards, when his left arm gave a twinge, he swore.

"Yes sir?" Alv asked, taking the moment to wipe his sword clean.

"Get down to the other end of our position. Do not, I repeat, do not let another pocket like this seperate us from Leclerc. We cannot get isolated on the wall." He nodded to the Norwegian. "Go."

Alv nodded, and the diminuitive sergeat began to push his way down the all. Satisfied, Lochlan returned his attention to th problem at hand. There it was, Lochlan's men gave a cheer as the first of the barrages hit the Anatolians in the pocket. And Lochlan nodded sharply as the Turkish infantry withered under the hail of welsh arrows.

Lochlan made another chopping motion, and Fyrsil barked another order. A second later, the arrows slackened, and Lochlan's men, led by the heavily armored germans hammered into them from one side, while Jaegers men hit them from the other. Satisfied, Lochlan, shadowed by Baer who had returned to his side as soon as he could, moved down the wall, taking part in the melee only when necessary.

"Lieutenant Lochlan?" Landens voice came from behind him.

"Ah, Landen. Better late than never, though it looks like you kept busy." The Scot had acquired some dents in his armor, and he looked a bit more serious than he had earlier. "Get down on that end." Lochlan pointed to where the pocket had just been cleared. "Your men are used to working together, do what you can to keep us from being seperated from Jaeger again."

Landen nodded, and Lochlan turned his attention to Baer as the massive german backhanded an Anatolian, dropping him to his knees. "You going to finish him?" He asked. Baer just grunted, and kneed the turk in the face. "I see." Lochlan said.

"Lochlan!" The ranger whipped around, to see Hans struggle through the crowd. "Glad your still alive." He said.

"Well, its Baer's fault mostly. But, no time for that now. Go get Tomas, quick. Were being overrun, not we will be, we are." Lochlan said, gesturing at the lines and masses of men on the wall. "Another big pocket develops were in real trouble. Were simply losing too many men."

"Yes sir." Lochlans old friend said, and he began to shove his way to the stairs.

"Getting a bit close on this one." Baer rumbled.

"Aye." Lochlan agreed, and the two re-entered the melee.

 

[Norgesvenn]

July 15th, Constantinople

The arrows were flying against the Turks. They were falling by the dozens. Although it seemed clear that the Turks eventually would take Constantinople if they continued pouring troops on like that, the cost would be enormous.

Alv was on his way to cover the space Lochlan had told him to.

“Bah, Anatolians!”, Alv shouted to the men following him. “The Turk stops here. They won’t get past us, is that clear?”. The men nodded sombrely.

They attacked those the arrows had not yet killed. Alv was facing two huge infantrymen. His light sword swung more quickly than theirs, but one blow from their swords was would make sure there was one Norwegian less on God’s green Earth.

Alv ducked away from one Turk while ramming his sword into the neck of the other. It was stuck. He couldn’t manage to tear it loose. This was the end, surely.

He let it go, and swiftly turned around, expecting a lunging attack. It did not come. One Fyrsil ap Faloan’s arrows had saved his scarred and old hide.

The sword was still stuck, though, and Alv had no time to bother with it.

“Throw me a pike”, he screamed. One of Jaeger’s men reacted, and made sure Alv had at least a minimum to defend himself with.

 

[Lord Durham]

July 15 - Constantinople - The Centre

To Captain, timing meant everything in a battle. He watched with anticipation as the struggle along the wall ebbed and flowed. The men tired, but held. To his side he saw young Tomas waiting with some reinforcements, eager to commit to action.

He held out a cautioning hand, and prayed Otto would not be much longer. He glanced up the tower at Dieter, and received a shake of the head.


July 15 - Constantinople - Underground

From their position under the city, Otto could barely hear the sounds of war. What he did hear was the echo of footsteps and quiet breathing of his men. The air was damp with moisture, and a constant drip, drip sounded somewhere off in the distance. The ground was damp and muddy, and the air smelled of wet stone and rotted wood.

"Here we are." The Greek engineer's voice was disembodied in the dim light proved by several wall sconces.

Otto pushed forward until he stood beside the wizened Greek. They faced a series of pulleys and levers. Otto nodded. "These open the sluices?"

"Neh."

"Right." To his men. "Move down the tunnel. Start opening these things! Hurry!" That said, he yanked on the first lever. It groaned from lack of use. Suddenly it moved free. He stood back. If he listened carefully, Otto could hear the sound of water rushing along ancient tile pipes.


July 15 - Constantinople - The Centre

"Now, Captain!" Dieter's voice carried down - two simple words.

Even though he trusted the boy, he had to see for himself. He rushed forward into a gap, his sword flicking one way to severe a Turk's neck from behind, then in another direction to hack an arm off - the soldier staring in disbelief before screaming in terror.

He grabbed a third by the helmet, tipped the man's head back, then slit his throat with the blade, letting the Turk slip to the ground, gurgling his last. Captain reached the wall and peered over. Below him the ground was carpeted with bodies, living and dead. On the Outer Wall the Turkish archers continued to locate targets. Meanwhile, on the field the follow-up waves of Anatolians were jockeying for position in an effort to join the attack.

It was the Foss that brought a grim smile to his lips. It was rapidly swelling with water, pushing the dead to float as obscene carcasses, forcing the living to suddenly grab anything in site to maintain balance, or to prevent from drowning.

Captain broke from the wall and ran behind the combatants. Every few feet his sword would jab or cut to catch an enemy by surprise. Still he ran.

The Welsh surrounded Owyn and Fyrsil - the power of their bows keeping all Turks at bay, causing them to look elsewhere for easier prey.

Captain stopped and pointed down to the bundled arrows. "Have your men use those. Aim for the Foss - aim for the water. Make sure your men don't touch the tips."

Fyrsil reached down, cut the binding string and came up with a shaft whose head was covered in a thick gelatinous material. He raised an eyebrow.

"Greek Fire and quicklime. Water will make it ignite."

Owyn shuddered, looked at the mass of enemy below. "I almost pity them." He grabbed his officers and spread the word.

Fyrsil put arrow to bow, adjusted for the extra weight on the tip, and let fly. The shaft arced over the Outer Wall and landed in the water filled Foss. They waited. Other arrows followed.

Captain gripped the wall, ignoring the enemy arrows that skittered past. "Come on... come on..."

It began with a smoldering trail of smoke that drifted lazily skyward, followed by another, and a third. Soon the smoke ignited into flame, and patches of fire raced across the Foss as the Greek Fire spread. Men screamed when they came in contact with it, finding the insidious material sticking to them like glue.

Arrows continued to fill the water, landing in bodies or embedding in wooden shields. Finally, the familiar crash of the catapults sounded on the towers. Clay jars of quicklime flew overhead to break and splatter in great, thick, globs of horrid death.

The Foss became a raging inferno, forcing the reinforcements to back away - many of the men burning like a human torch.

Those within the conflagration were trapped.

Captain turned and faced the reinforcements. He raised his sword.

They committed...

 

[unmerged(6777)]

July 15 – afternoon, the Bey’s personal command

The screams of dying, burning men filled the air – a most horrifying and soul-wrenching sound that tore at him like a wind howling out of the icy north…a wind not unlike the ones he had endure early in his service of the Khan. Then, as now, it froze a man into immobility…it sapped the will…it removed the desire to fight…it…

Shockingly, there was the sound of a nearby laugh that crested over the cacophony.

It seemed, strangely, to break whatever spell had held his eyes on the destruction of his fellow soldiers. He glanced over his shoulder to find the source, and immediately wished that he hadn’t. If there was one thing even more terrifying than the sight of burning flesh, it was to turn and look into the eyes of the madman who took delight in it. Kruschovic Bey.

There was nothing else to be done. He felt his stomach heave and he bent over double as the vomit flew forth. He was not the only one…

* * * * *

Constantinople - Afternoon - The right flank

To say that Renaud Roos was surprised at the sudden conflagration would be to understate the case. The diminutive Swiss lieutenant had never, in all his years, seen such a carnage.

Being forced to watch how hard-pressed the centre had been without being given orders to reinforce Lochlan and Erik had been excruciating. On the other hand, to abandon his position and support them would have meant disobeying his orders – and would have almost certainly inspired the Anatolians to shift their focus away and focus on the flanks. By the time he could have gotten his men back into position the walls would already have been overrun.

Now it appeared to have been a moot point – and the raging inferno of the foss would keep the foe at bay – if only for a little while – and buy some much-needed rest for the weary men who had been at the heart of the second wave of attackers.

He looked up, then, and further into the field. How many Turks had died? Too few. In spite of the terrible damage that had been done, their ranks still stood upon field like so much wheat…thousands upon tens of thousands waiting for the Sultan’s orders – or the next sweeping arm motion from their Russian sub-commander to send them to their doom. The respite was welcomed, but it was not a signal of the end.

Does Sir Robert have any surprises left, he wondered, with which to defeat the Ottoman army’s next advance? He certainly hoped so…

* * * * *

Afternoon – Venice causeway

Francesco’s face wore a grim expression as he looked down from the rise and out onto the causeway where his recruits were fighting.

It was hard to tell who had gotten the best in the exchange between the doge’s galleys and his own men. Parts of the narrow earthenwork strip were ablaze with fire and his men were now braving enemy crossbow bolts as they tried to move fresh earth to smother the flames. In the harbour, sailors were desperately bailing water into their vessels to try to douse the raging lamp-oil that had been Francesco’s inspired counter-attack.

All in all, though, his eyes told him that he would carry the day…or at very least that the front of his columns were pushing ever closer to the very gates of Venice. What would happen then? If the message was correct – and whatever forces had been marshalled in the city to oppose Foscarini were sufficient - the gates should fly open soon after the leading factions of the condottieri had arrived there. It would be soon, he realised. Very soon. With only a hundred or so paces left to cross - and only one remaining obstacle to overrun - the recruits should achieve their goal within minutes. At that point…

“Captain!”

“Yes, my Count?”

“It is time to commit our regular forces.”

“Sir?”

“Order the advance.”

“But the gates are still barred…the walls are manned…”

“Do it!”

“But…”

“I have cause to believe that the gates will not remain barred when they arrive. Onions, captain…onions.”

The look of incredulity on the officer’s face was suddenly replaced with one of dawning comprehension. “Guillaume!”

Francesco nodded. “Now order the advance…”

 

[unmerged(9046)]

Captain turned and faced the reinforcements. He raised his sword.

Tomas had been watching the situation unfold, and the young man immediately issued orders. There had been two calls for the reserves -- the Center Wall where Lochlan and his men were sorely pressed and Jaeger's position near the pocket.

The young officer called out for his assistant Timon, a Byzantine who had showed much promise during the training and had been appointed second-in-command for the reserves. The Byzantine quickly stepped up and saluted the Frenchman.

"Timon, take lochos II, IV and VII and move to support Jaeger and his men. I will take the rest of the tagma and move on Loclan's position.

"Move smartly and today we will give our blood for Byzantine and the emperor. May god have mercy on our souls!"

Timon moved off with his three lochos. Tomas and the rest of the tagma headed off to Lochlan.

The men of the reserve moved towards the soldiers who had been in the fight all day. The tired men of the Free Company cheered as the men came up. Leading the reserves was Tomas, resplendent in his uniform once again. As they neared the line, he drew his sword and turned back towards his men.

"Boys, I have drawn my sword and will not sheath it again until there are no more Turks assailing our city. Follow me. Death Rides With Us"