Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters
Chapter 1222 - 33. Great Alliance Moves Forward (18)_2

Chapter 1222: 33. Great Alliance Moves Forward (18)_2

The rebel light cavalry was chasing down the retreating soldiers, slaughtering them along the way, while the rebel heavy cavalry was already poised to charge.

The retreating soldiers at the front were scrambling and crawling under the spears toward the human barricade. Some veterans grabbed them by the collars and pulled them behind the line.

Under the protection of the phalanx, they suddenly felt at ease. Some sat limply on the ground, laughing and crying, while others, terrified stiff, were convulsing uncontrollably like those seized by a severe illness, drooling.

"Don’t let them in!" Major Wale shouted the order, striding to the edge of the phalanx. He yanked a retreating soldier from the ground and forcefully thrust a broken spear into his hands: "Stand up! Take up arms! Or get out!"

The spearmen on the outermost circle received the major’s order and swung their long spears, shouting to drive the retreating soldiers back. But how could they stop them? The retreating soldiers, desperate to reach the safety zone, still forced their way through the spears, oblivious to the fact that their bodies were being slashed by the blades and were bleeding profusely.

Toughening his heart, Wale grabbed the matchlock gun from a nearby soldier, stepped out from the human barricade, and standing among the spears, ordered with a turn of his head: "Musketeers! Fire at anyone approaching the phalanx!"

With that said, the major slightly raised the gun, pointing it skyward, and pressed the firing lever.

A plume of white smoke burst from between the gun barrels, and the other musketeers capable of shooting also followed suit and fired.

The continuous gunfire and smoke halted the onslaught of the retreating soldiers for a moment, and those with a shred of sanity remaining started veering towards the flanks of the phalanx.

At that moment, Major Wale saw the distant rebel heavy cavalry begin to charge.

Wale spun around, snatched the regimental flag from the shoulder of the standard-bearer, and strode swiftly to the southwestern corner of the phalanx facing the enemy charge. He leaped onto a cannon being loaded and abruptly planted the military flag on the gun carriage: "Hold the line! Fleeing means death too!"

Inexplicably, his roar was louder than the maximum volume a human could produce, even overpowering the battlefield’s chaotic noise.

Kris Wale stood in a place visible to everyone, turning his back on the enemy cavalry charging in, and facing the array of faces within the phalanx.

"We must win right here!" Regardless of whether the soldiers could understand, Major Wale desperately shouted: "Or else all the Republics will be dragged into the war!"

...

[River Valley Village]

Lieutenant Woods leaned against an earthen wall on the outskirts of the church square, shooting at the Grand Council’s army appearing at the road’s end.

He finished a shot, passed the gun, and then took another loaded gun. In the farmhouse beside him, several wounded soldiers with bloodstains not yet dry on their clothes were frantically pouring gunpowder down the barrels, stuffing the lead shots.

Woods’ clothes also bore large patches of bloodstains, but they were not his blood; they were Erno’s.

A thirty-two-pound solid cannonball had easily crumbled the sheep pen, temporarily serving as a bastion, and Woods was pulled out from the debris by his subordinates, while Erno remained there.

The Council Army’s bombardment inflicted minimal damage on the riverbank walls, as the eight heavy cannons were aimed not at the temporary low parapet rebuilt by Woods—but at the slope itself.

The slope between the highland where River Valley Village sat and the riverbank had varying gradients. During the previous reinforcement work, Colonel Gais Adonis personally led men to dig at the base of the slope, covering walls with mud while racing against time to turn gentle slopes into steep slopes and steep slopes into even steeper ones.

But in the face of the heavy artillery’s bombardment, all their efforts were in vain.

Cannonballs fired from the opposite bank’s hilltops directly collapsed the steepest riverbank, creating several smooth ramps leading straight from the riverbank to the highland as the earth and rubble fell.

The defenders’ topographical advantage vanished, and soldiers of the New Reclamation Expeditionary Army, embarking on their third assault, stepped on the loose soil, yelling as they rushed up to the highland, driving the defenders from the riverside parapet.

This time, no cavalry was there to assist, as all the Alliance cavalry was already engaged in the battle.

Yet the New Reclamation Expeditionary Army, having suffered a significant setback, became overly cautious. The first sword and shield bearers did not rashly enter the village; they merely occupied the riverside parapet and farmhouses.

Once it was confirmed the defenders were repelled, the expeditionary army’s officers ordered the firearms soldiers and reserve forces left on the East Bank to cross the river and commanded the first entry troops to widen the gentle slopes created by the bombardments.

This to-ing and fro-ing provided Woods precious time to regroup the defenses.

He set the farmhouses and sheds outside the church ablaze to delay the enemy; he overturned wagons, collapsed walls to block roads, and piled up furniture, hay, and warhorse carcasses into barricades, transforming the church and the adjacent square into a temporary fortress.

The village burned fiercely, with smoke obscuring the sky. Woods leaned against the courtyard wall, aiming at the elusive enemy at the dirt road’s end, and steadily pulled the firing lever.

The distant figure fell in response, but for every one that fell, another would take their place, as if an endless supply of enemies hid behind the smokescreen.

Woods didn’t care about any of that. He continued to aim, shoot, grab another matchlock gun, aim, and shoot again.

The Council Army, having established a sturdy "bridgehead fortress," began attempting to attack the church square. But the fire was too fierce, forcing them to take detours from both the east and west directions.

This played right into Woods’ hands. The lieutenant assigned musketeers to every household and behind every courtyard wall, layer by layer obstructing the enemy, leaving the Council Army commanders temporarily confused about how many troops were defending this high ground.

But River Valley Village was way too small, and no matter how well Lieutenant Woods showcased his talents, it only delayed the loss of the position.

The New Reclamation Expeditionary Army officers, having learned after several hard leashes, quickly sensed what was happening and no longer slowly dispatched musketeers for suppression and probing. Instead, they directly sent troops for a bayonet charge on houses and walls spewing flame.

In chaotic combat, the houses and courtyards were cleared one by one by the expeditionary army. Woods led the remaining soldiers who could fight back to the church square.

The situation was extremely critical. Returning to the church, Woods, for the first time, faced Colonel Bod, who had never left the top floor of the bell tower.

However, it was Colonel Bod who initiated the conversation between the two.

The colonel, seeing the bloodstains on the lieutenant’s clothes, raised an eyebrow and asked, "Are you wounded, Lieutenant?"

"Reporting, sir, no," Woods succinctly replied. "It’s someone else’s blood for me."

Colonel Bod sighed gently.

"Please evacuate immediately," Woods rasped, detachedly stating the situation: "It’s only a matter of time before the village is lost. Ammunition is depleted, most soldiers are wounded, and weapons have been lost. The enemy is assaulting fiercely, likely attempting to encircle us. Before they complete the encirclement, I will have someone escort you to Colonel Gaisa."

Colonel Bod was noncommittal: "If I evacuate, what about you?"

"I’ll stay here," Woods calmly replied, "to inflict as many casualties on the enemy as possible."

Colonel Bod gazed at Lieutenant Woods, seeing something new in the lieutenant’s eyes, something he’d never observed in him before:

"Hatred."

The thick smoke from the burning houses obscured the bell tower’s view. The colonel stared out the window, as if gazing through the smoke to see the two armies fiercely clashing in the distance.

"I will not evacuate, Lieutenant," Colonel Bod turned to Lieutenant Woods, "At the same time, I order you to hold this position as long as possible, down to the last man."

"Yes," Woods saluted, yet managed to restrainedly voice an objection: "But allow me to remind you, Colonel, you’re subjecting the entire army to unnecessary risk. Your current decision may lead to the defeat of the whole battle."

Colonel Bod remained unmoved. He smoothed his graying temples and said calmly, "It doesn’t matter, Lieutenant. It doesn’t matter if we lose this battle. What’s important is to fight until the end."

Hearing this, Woods, who accepted the order to fight to the last man without hesitation, was momentarily dazed: "I... I don’t understand, what are you saying?"

"From the moment I sent Gaisa Adonis to the attack, our mission was no longer about winning this battle," Colonel Bod’s voice was as cold as ice, and he chuckled disdainfully. "Sanel is no simple opponent. I still can’t figure out his backup plan. But I guess he must be certain of victory to dare challenge us in a decisive battle."

Lieutenant Woods listened intently, without saying a word.

Colonel Bod stood by the window, overlooking the battlefield bearing the life and death of millions, his frail frame erupting with fearless strength: "But no matter how prepared he is, no matter how many tricks he has. He can win this battle, but I will ensure he loses the next one."

"This is my strategy, Lieutenant," Bod Gates turned, looking at Woods with a cold gaze: "Do you understand?"