In a field between the city of Gembloux and Namur, a rebel army composed of Dutch, Flemish, English, Scottish, German, French, and Walloon soldiers take camp. Not only was the army very tired and badly shaped, it was terribly diverse, with religions being from staunch Catholics to zealous Calvinists. One of the biggest problems with the army was that it was terribly led. George de Lalaing, the Count of Rennenberg, Philip de Lalaing, Robert de Melun, and Valentin de Pardieu, the great leaders of this Netherlandish army, were absent from the battle because of the marriage of Baron of Beersel and Marguerite de Merode in Brussels. The command was instead given to Antoine de Goignies and Seigneur de Vendege. With a force of 25,000 men, it seemed that the army had the advantage of mass. Compared to the armies of the Spanish though, size has got nothing to do with power. This battle will define the future of the Union Of Brussels and the rest of the Low Countries...
OOO
January 31, 1578: Spanish Netherlands
The last days of January have been rough for the Union Of Brussels. Many soldiers were sick from diseases and exposed to the cold January temperatures. In 1577, Don John of Austria planned for a campaign against the Netherlandish army. In July 1577, he took the Citadel of Namur by surprise without even firing a single shot. This action would make the alliance of Catholics and Protestants in the Netherlandish army destabilize. On December 1577, John of Austria received 9000 Spanish troops from Spanish Lombardy under Don Alexander Farnese, Prince Of Parma. By January, John of Austria had 20,000 men in his command. The Union Of Brussels however still had 5000 more men.
John entered the camp. The first thing he saw were the silhouettes of soldiers. They didn't even look alive. Most of them were pale with no color at all, while others had growths and ulcers all of their faces, gushing with disgusting puss and blood. John had thought he had made a wrong turn, ending up in the valley of lepers. The only way he could know if he had entered the right place, is if he could find his friend, Major Aldobrandino Picot. Picot had just celebrated his 51st birthday, which he had celebrated with the other commanders of the army. Picot had his first battle during the Italian Wars Of 1551-1559, which was the battle of Marciano. Picot himself was only 26 years old. After the war ended, he was given a decision, whether he would commit his life to military or he would join the Italian government. He made the decision to stay with his fellow peers and go further up in the ranks to continue his glory.
One of the soldiers stood up from a log, sitting next to a burning campfire. He walked over to John and saluted him.
"Good day, sir," the soldier said, "never thought you would come."
"Thank you Sergeant," John said, "where could I find Aldobrandino Picot?"
"He is in his tent," the soldier said, "you know? The one with the Holy Roman Empire symbol plastered on the side?"
Still Catholic, eh?, John thought to himself, that is going to cause a few problems.
"Thank you Sergeant," John said.
John walked towards the tent, looking around as he walked. He looked close towards the soldiers who were sitting down or walking, examining them closely. He nodded his head left to right, knowing that if they went to battle, they would most likely be torn apart. Some of the soldiers he walked past had no shoes or coats. There were plenty of musketeers, but a lot of soldiers had nothing more than large branches, scythes, sledgehammers, mallets, saws, and even crossbows. While some were effective, some looked dated and worn out. The amount of musketeers was still reasonable though, and a lot were in uniform. Even though this, John was still unsatisfied with the condition of the rest of the army.
John entered the tent and saw Picot, sitting on a chair and writing a letter. he had shoulder-length, brown wavy hair tied into a ponytail. He was wearing a green uniform with a yellow belt tied around his waist. John knocked on a wooden column that had been holding up the tent. Picot didn't look from his desk, but spoke to him.
"Don't bother me right now soldier," Picot said, "can't you see I am writing a letter?"
"Of course I can, my friend," John said. Picot put down his pen and grabbed something in his waist. Picot stood up quickly and pulled out a wheellock pistol, coking it and pointing it towards John.
"Heavens!", John yelled while putting his hands up, "put down the pistol Aldobrandino!"
Picot chuckled, "Scared some sense into you, didn't I?"
"You really did," John said, breathing heavily. Picot went over to John and put his hands around him, hugging his body.
"How are you, my friend?", Picot asked, "I never thought that you would make it all the way."
"I made sure to come ready and prepared," John said as he lifted his coat, exposing a sword holster and a pistol tucked into his pants.
"Come John," Picot said, "let's take a walk, eh?"
"Aren't you busy?", John asked.
"No, all I was doing was writing a letter to my family, but I can just finish that later," Picot answered, putting one arm around John's shoulders.
Picot lead John out of the tent. John didn't feel like walking through this hell again. But, he had seen worse.
"How is Ricardo doing?", John asked.
"He is busy right now," Picot said, "probably helping soldiers with their smallpox."
Ricardo Ebanese is the master surgeon of the camp. For 50 years, he worked with hundreds to maybe thousands of patients. From diseases to mutilations, Ricardo had done it all. For so long he was able to help and cure hundreds of patients. Very rarely did he ever lose too many patients. This has made some people call him the "Witch Doctor".
"I can take you too him right now," Picot said, "he is working on a patient with a terrible infection on the buttocks."
"Do you know what it is?", John asked.
"No, but I heard it was bad," Picot said, "hopefully it doesn't kill him."
Picot walked John over to a smaller tent, with a coat of arms plastered on the side. The coat of arms contained two white horses, standing on their hind legs facing opposite sides, with a king's crown in the middle. This was Ricardo's coat of arms. Coming from the inside of the room were painful grunts and moans. He was working on somebody.
"Ricardo specializes in major infections," Picot explained, "I remember one time where he almost had to use a hot iron on a poor man's penis."
"Can you spare the details please?", John asked.
"Sorry, my friend," Picot apologized.
When they entered the room, they could see doctors surrounding a wooden table with a man laying on his side. The man's pants were off, the doctors sticking medical instruments into the man's ass. Fresh blood stains were spotted on the doctor's white ruffled shirt. Ricardo was holding a pen and writing on a piece of paper on top of a wooden board. Ricardo took his eyes off of the paper and saw the men, standing in the opening.
"Sergeant Major John Erron. Lieutenant Aldobrandino Picot. Welcome," Ricardo said.
"Thank you doctor," John said, "By the way, its Lieutenant John Erron now."
"Well, congratulations Lieutenant," Ricardo said, clapping.
"What is wrong with our patient here?", asked Picot.
"It seems that our soldier here has some sort of infected growth forming along the opening of the anus," Ricardo explained, "take a look."
Picot and John walked to the end of the table and looked into the man's ass. Along the sides of the anus was a dark-red growth seeping with pus and blood. Like a giant blister. It let off a terrible stink as well that had filled up the whole room.
"We tried slashing a few parts of the growth, but it seems that it just makes it worse," Ricardo said.
"Looks a lot like a hemorrhoid to me," Picot said.
"That is exactly what my mind was telling me as well," Ricardo answered.
"There must be another way to get rid of it," John said.
"Well, now I think we can agree about one thing," Ricardo said, "the best thing to do is use the hot iron."
"OH GOD PLEASE NO!", yelled the wounded soldier.
"Do you want us to cut it off?", Ricardo said.
"Of course not, but please don't use the iron," the soldier pleaded.
"It is the only thing that we can do dammit!", Ricardo said.
Before Ricardo could grab the burning iron though, the sound of bells rang. These bells meant that it was time for battle.
"Looks like you boys better move quick," Ricardo said, "good luck."
OOO
Dawn, January 31, 1578: Gembloux, Spanish Netherlands
De Goignies, commander of the Netherlandish army, has just gotten word that the Spanish army was approaching Namur. Because of this, De Goignies gave the order for his army to take camp up back at Gembloux. Moving his large army, he felt that they had gotten enough time to get ready. Nothing could prepare them for the tragedy that they would face during this battle.
As the Netherlandish army marched to Gembloux, they passed a village. Once the army passed through, the villagers cheered and waved to Picot and John as well as the other soldiers. Some of the villagers handed out bread, fruits, water, and cheeses to hungered soldiers.
"Are you afraid John?", Picot asked.
"No, Aldobrandino, I'm not," John said.
"How brave of you. The first time I was given a musket, my penis discharged more often then my gun!"
The two men laughed loudly while they rode on their horses, a few rows behind the colonels and generals. Behind them were thousands of soldiers, walking in column formation and holding matchlock muskets on their shoulders. They were all holding the lit matches in their hands, waving towards the townsfolk. John felt ashamed that the last thing he saw of Maryanna was her, red with anger because of his dependence on his own country. Aldobrandino was happily waving towards the villagers, wishing them all good luck.
"John, you are turning pale," Picot said, "are you alright?"
"I am fine Picot. Don't be so worried about me," John said.
"You ain't going to let yours discharge right?", Picot jokingly asked.
"If it does, it will discharge into the faces of the Spaniards I kill."
Word had spread fast about the arrival of the Spanish army. Facing against one of the greatest military powers in the world was not going to be very easy. As said before, size doesn't matter. A great example of this would be the many battles between Hernan Cortes and the Aztecs. With only 150 men, with the help of fellow Central American tribes, were able to completely wipe out the Aztecs in a matter of a few months.
OOO
Sitting on the fields of the Spanish Netherlands, John was desperate to begin. Even though he didn't want to get himself killed, he still wanted to try his best to command a battalion of the Netherlandish army. Separated into 3 lines, the soldiers watched the rolling fields in front of them. Long and spaced, green and bright even though it had been winter for a month already. The Meuse River was on the left side of the army. The current made a soft trickling. A very dead calm. The battlefield was barren of any snow or blood. In fact, the temperature was just right. A more lukewarm type. Like during the beginning of the spring, the fields would not look like this later, as death would take over the beauty of nature, like a wildfire destroying millions of acres of forest. To John, this was one of the most beautiful battlefields he has ever seen in the 20 years he had fought with the Flemish and the Dutch.
"A beauty isn't it?", Picot asked John, sitting on his horse.
"Yes," John said, "it is like nothing I have seen before. The battlefields that I used to fight always had dirty grasses and leafless trees."
"I am fifty-one years of age," Picot explained, "I fought during the Italian Wars in the 1550s. Earned a road of glory through Italy. I was respected by my officers and peers. Never would I ever want to lose any of that glory."
"Well I am only 46 years of age and have only fought in the army for 23 years. I have been in many bloody, terrible battles," John explained, "most of the blood battles that I had joined were either decisive wins or decisive los-"
A young boy rode quickly back on horseback. The cape on his back flopped as the horse's gallop made his body jump around. He rode up to John.
"The Spanish are here, sir!", the watcher said, "their army is upon us and god-willing, ready to kill."
"What is their formation?", John asked.
"Cavalry is located at their front. The rest of the army is located behind them."
"Do you know where the bulk of their army is?", John asked.
"The army seems to have as many foot soldiers as cavalry, so I believe that it is all of them," the boy answered.
"Well let's hope that the river helps us," Picot said.
They hoped to God that the river helped them. The Meuse River had a strong current, but the water was shallow enough. Soldiers on horseback would be able to trek the river losing very little in the entire process. They could see the army was approaching now.
"Ready yourselves men!", Picot yelled, "heavy musketeers at the ready!"
"Right face!", John yelled as the line infantry to the right, "march 5 paces! Give room for the heavy musketeers."
In response, the line infantry moved to the side as a group of twenty heavy musketeers took out their weapon stands and bolted them to the ground. The soft dirt encircled itself around the stand. The musketeers picked up their muskets and set the barrel onto the horseshoe shaped ring.
"Prime and load!", Picot yelled.
This meant that the soldiers were to load their muskets. As they loaded their muskets, John looked around and saw the rest of the army, ready to fight. His regiment though, didn't look very adamant. He could see their hands trembling with fear. Their hope faded away as they saw the approaching Spanish army. John felt some of his hope fade away as well as seeing his own men trembling showed him that they were not yet ready to fight. They were just to scared to do it.
"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!", Picot yelled.
From this order, all of the men looked to the left. John saw a large amount of cavalry heading towards them.
Shit, John thought to himself, they have the element of surprise.
"FIRE AT THEM FOR FUCK'S SAKE!", John yelled.
Before the army could fire, the cavalry ran into them. The panicked soldiers discharged their muskets into the air. Other soldiers used their sledgehammers and logs trying to hurt or kill the soldier. It seemed to take no effect. What did they expect anyway? Not using ranged weapons would prove to be a death note when walking out into the battlefield. The heavy musketeers tripped over as they tried to turn towards the cavalry. John's horse went berserk and flipped him off. John landed hard onto his back. He took out his wheellock pistol and fired it into the cavalry. From his shot, one of the men fell off of his horse, his body being trampled by the rest of the coming cavalry. It was no use. The army's order had disintegrated. Without his order, the army fled away from the field and back to base.
"PICOT!", John yelled for him.
It had gone in such a fast flash that John forgot about Picot. He didn't know where he was, or if he was dead or alive. John had no choice but to follow the soldiers back to base. The cavalry was on pursuit now, not sparing any man. The fleeing men were being trampled and slashed open with swords. As John ran, he saw the dead bodies of many soldiers. Entrails were spread out everywhere. Entire bodies were torn apart. Some had no heads.
As he ran up the hill, he could see the army regrouping. This was a chance to finally get back at the Spanish.
"FOR THE NE-"
Before John could yell, a strong force knocked him to the ground. He couldn't hear anything out of his ears. He looked to his right and saw the body parts and organs of people flying all over the place. A thick cloud of gray and black smoke filled the air. John tried to stand up, but something kept him down. He felt a pain along his stomach and chest. He felt razor-sharp pieces of wood and metal stuck in his body. That is not all he felt though.
He could feel blood sliding along his arm and down to the fingers. It's warmth soon turns cold and, as it reached the tips of his fingers, the drops let go and fell to the ground. He looked to the left and saw burning grass and the limbs of many dead soldiers. A cannon station had blown to pieces. This was the most unhonorable death that John could think of.
I cannot give in, John thought to himself, I may be down on my knees, but I cannot give in.
No further. No more. But his entire body tells him to lay down and rest for a while. John feels tired and stressed.
No, John thought to himself, no way, there's no way I'm going out like this! There's no way! This is pathetic, I'm better than this. I'm stronger than this. I'll get out of here, yes, I just need to find a way. That can't be too difficult.
He couldn't take this much longer. He couldn't think about leaving Maryanna or any of his family. This whole world he would leave behind, all for a stupid country! His entire body screamed, telling him to lie down and sleep.
I must resist, John thought to himself, If I sleep I'll surely die, but I can't take this much longer. I'll just.. I'll just lie down for a little while. Save my energy, I'll make it out of this mess soon enough.
He would have crawled to his fellow soldiers, but they were busy trying to save themselves from the massacre. They felt the same way that John did. He just wanted to go home and stay with his family. His body heaved in pain and ran cold. This is it. This is how it would end for him.
Goodbye, Maryanna...
OOO
By February 5, 1578, the rebels surrendered to the Spanish in Gembloux. In the aftermath of the entire battle, eight to twelve thousand Netherlandish soldiers would be either killed or injured. Spanish losses however, were very minimal. Only 12 were killed in action while 3 were injured. This loss lead Prince William Of Orange, the leader of the revolt, to leave Brussels. This would officially end the Union Of Brussels as well. This would be one of the worst losses during the Dutch Revolt.
OOO
That was chapter 2 of Generations. History buffs are going to have a field day with this chapter. Be so kind as to name any historical inaccuracies that I may have accidently included. The Battle Of Gembloux was a real battle fought in 1578 during the Dutch Revolt. I tried to make it as close to history as possible. If I didn't do good, I will try and improve upon this. Stay tuned for the next chapter, whose title is unknown at the moment.