plumnovel #539 - Battle of the Laper River (Part 1)
#539 - Battle of the Laper River (Part 1)
The Church Army mobilized later than Horn had anticipated. According to the privy council's deductions, they should have realized they had to either fight or retreat the moment he stopped.
But he neither retreated nor fought, dawdling until Horn had gathered over 3,000 troops, and only then decided to engage.
The privy council's two prepared plans were useless; the opposing commander consistently made moves they hadn't foreseen.
It wasn't until noon on February 13th that the Kushite Rangers brought news of the Church Army's mobilization.
Having waited long enough, Horn immediately ordered the 1st, 2nd, 5th, and 6th Legions of the Guard to attack, while the Black Hat Army's legions remained in place.
After all, no one knew if anything unexpected might happen, so it was best to keep some reserves and garrison troops.
“Wooo--”
Upon receiving the order to attack, the legion commanders immediately blew their horns, and the sound of war awakened the entire camp.
Instantly, the clashing of weapons and the sound of footsteps echoed from within the camp as soldiers in black uniforms streamed out of tents and huts, heading towards the assembly square at the camp entrance in a seemingly chaotic but orderly fashion.
Hearing the horn, Delavan instinctively leaped out of bed, quickly changed his clothes, grabbed a military sword, and rushed out.
This was a habit he'd developed during the small-scale battles of the past few days. Those terrifying Church knights were incredibly fast; one moment the horn sounded, and the next, they were visible to the naked eye.
If you weren't quick, the legion wouldn't wait.
“Where's the enemy? Where are they?” Delavan asked anxiously as he hurried to the assembly square, addressing the veteran quartermasters who were already there.
Although the quartermasters had arrived earlier, their relaxed demeanor was unmatched by Delavan.
They stretched and organized medicines and makeshift stretchers. “They're not in sight yet, at least five miles away. The war monks have finished assembling; we just need to leave the camp in order.”
Hearing the quartermasters' words, Delavan became even more nervous. He had seen small-scale battles, but he had never witnessed a "grand battle" with a combined force of seven or eight thousand men.
He thought he had adapted, but it seemed he hadn't.
Evidently, Delavan was unfamiliar with the "Small Mud Ditch Battle" in the Papal States' secret history.
Delavan's throat felt itchy, and he couldn't help but drink several mouthfuls of water, only to have the waterskin snatched away by a veteran quartermaster.
“Don't drink so much, or you'll be so nervous on the battlefield that you'll wet your pants.”
“Yeah, just like you,” a familiar quartermaster chimed in.
“Go to hell,” the veteran quartermaster glared, pretending to throw the waterskin at the man.
Seeing that everyone was joking around, Delavan couldn't help but ask, “Aren't you nervous or scared? This is a decisive battle.”
“Who said I'm not? I'm still very scared,” the veteran quartermaster said calmly as he hung a heavy backpack on Delavan's back. “But I'm telling you, once you're on the battlefield, even if you're just a quartermaster, your fate is no longer in your own hands.
Besides doing your best to complete what you're supposed to do and trusting the Holy Father and the commander, everything else is up to fate.”
Delavan clearly hadn't understood the veteran quartermaster's words yet, and he just nodded blankly. “Then what do we need to do next?”
“Don't worry, I've got a good job for you.” Without explaining further, the veteran quartermaster placed a broken iron helmet on Delavan's head. “We're going to help the miracle priests push the fire ball crossbows.”
Pushing the fire ball crossbows was indeed a good job. Delavan nearly collapsed on the ground when he pushed the heavy crossbow to the pre-built earthen mound.
It wasn't just him; the guards and quartermasters were all kneeling on the ground, panting.
“This… this is… the… good… job… you… spoke of?” Delavan said intermittently, clutching his waist and squinting at the veteran quartermaster.
“The snow has melted, and the ground is too soft. I mean, why isn't anyone fighting over this job?” the veteran quartermaster said ruefully as he plopped down on the muddy ground.
Originally, pushing the crossbow carts was indeed a good job because mules and horses were pulling the carts, and they were only helping to push uphill.
But after three days of sunny weather, the situation changed after the snow melted.
The compacted dirt roads were fine, but the small roads and weedy areas were a muddy mess, and the crossbow cart wheels would get stuck in the ground.
They could only lift the edges of the crossbow cart, lift it out of the mud, and continue pushing.
After resting for a while, Delavan used breathing techniques to recover his strength and became the first quartermaster who could stand up and move around.
He stood on the earthen mound, looking out at the battlefield beneath his eyes.
The battlefield wasn't very wide; the Lapper River was to the side and rear, and the flags of the Lapper River camp could be seen on the opposite bank.
The river beach area in front of him was scattered with willow groves and reeds, as well as many sandy areas and blocking stones, about two or three kilometers long and wide.
On the river beach, a steel jungle composed of spears and holy muskets moved slowly, the long linear array still arranged in the classic V-shape.
The holy musket cavalry were still on both sides, but the hussars had been replaced by Kushite Rangers, after all, the beastmen hussars still had to patrol the lower reaches of the South Naoan River to prevent the garrison commander of Brago from feinting to the east and attacking in the west.
Delavan was about to say a few more words when he heard a quartermaster shout, “Red and blue flag, left three times, right twice.”
Delavan turned around abruptly. He had memorized flag signals; this meant “enemy warning.” In other words, the Church Army had entered the battlefield.
“Is it in sight yet?” The White Mountain Hermitage's astrologer squinted with his blurry nearsighted eyes, hammering the arm of the fire ball mage beside him.
“Not yet… oh, wait, here it comes, northwest direction.”
Taking out his astrolabe and crystal pendant, the astrologer trembled as he spun around in place, while the evocation wizard casually rested his hand on the crossbow cart, showing no intention of casting a spell.
Instead, two quartermasters took out several spheres from a wooden box. They were supported by iron frames, wrapped in leather, and even had a small hole for inserting a winding key.
A Favored One stepped forward and inserted the winding key into the small hole.
As the familiar gears clicked and whirred, the sound of hooves began to echo on the river beach.
Delavan, who was very familiar with the sound of hooves, immediately took a few steps forward and stood on the edge of the earthen mound.
On the gravel and grass, a colorful long line rushed along the road, probably three hundred knights.
Banners fluttered, and blood-stained shield emblems represented glory and family.
“My Lord is above!”
“Lia!!!”
Swallowtail flags and battle cries fluttered in the air simultaneously.
“300 meters,” Delavan shouted instinctively, having learned ranging in school. “250 meters, 200 meters… they're accelerating!”
Before Delavan could finish shouting, a series of whooshing sounds echoed from the surrounding earthen mounds.
Dozens of cabbage-sized black shadows flew up, crossing hundreds of meters and landing in front of the knights' charging path.
But the scene Delavan had envisioned did not occur.
They were just dozens of leather-covered iron frame spheres that produced neither flames nor acid upon landing. The legendary red dragon's breath and green dragon's breath did not appear.
Shouldn't they be fire balls? He turned to look at the lazy fire ball wizard, not understanding what was happening.
Faintly, he seemed to hear a sharp ringing in his ears. Delavan looked back at the battlefield and saw that the knights who had stepped over the spheres were all showing expressions of pain.
As if an invisible shockwave had swept through, the surrounding knights' warhorses seemed to have been hit by a giant hammer, and they neighed in pain.
They either reared up or stiffened all over, collapsing to the ground one after another.
Blood flowed from the ears and noses of these warhorses, and countless more broke their legs after being stunned and falling during the run.
In this section of the road, two meters above the ground, were all flying iron-clad knights.
They rolled on the ground, churning up snow and mud, and the air was filled with snow powder and mud kicked up by them.
Some knights seemed to have been hit by a petrification spell, their bodies frozen in place until they fell from their horses, belatedly crying out in pain.
Dragging their fractured limbs, they stared blankly at the chaotic scene in front of them, not even noticing where the enemy was.
“What is that?” Delavan took a step forward subconsciously, almost rolling down the earthen mound.
“It's Her Highness Shiloh's new secret weapon, which I call Banshee's Howl,” the evocation wizard explained, grabbing him. “Those leather-covered iron frame spheres contain crushed dragon bone whistles and mithril clockwork-driven wind snails.”