Chapter Seventy-Three: Battle of the Alba, Day Two, Morning
The short night between the two days of battle was punctuated by artillery shooting at each other. The dark was broken by the muzzle flashes and the quiet undulating of the sea shouted out by the parallel booming. There was little wind, the smoke just settled, hovering at knee height across the ground between our armies like a noxious mist.
At first, there was a pro forma speculative exchange of fire, Qunari organ guns versus our light soixante-quinze cannon.
The organ guns were spectacularly inaccurate and were operated at the very edge of their range, so much so that it became apparent after no less than three of them exploded when the Qunari tried to shoot them. Our own guns were in range, but we weren't using any of the explosive shells as we knew we'd need them, so only a direct hit could damage any of the enemy batteries. We got lucky a few times, but not enough.
By the time I went for a brief sleep however, we had switched over to a new weapon: white phosphorous.
Banned by most of the United Nations against living targets, white phosphorous is a substance that burns 'white' hot and thus is one of the best incendiary weapons ever devised. If it touches your skin, it cooks into the surface and has to be cut out with a knife. There's only one word for that: Ouch. Which is why it was banned against live targets.
However, it also produces a huge amount of thick white smoke, which is perfect for creating cover and concealment. It is the battlefield equivalent of throwing sand in your opponent's face.
We absolutely needed white phosphorous for this purpose that night. When the larger field and siege cannons were emplaced at last, we gave them each three shots to get the range, so that they could shoot through the concealment. The heat of the phosphorous would carry the smoke upwards, providing a nice curtain.
With the entire front of the growing Qunari camp blinded by our smokescreen and suppressed by heavy fire, further preparations could begin.
The Peacekeepers poured through the eluvians, whole companies coming through every few minutes. As the OSS moved more of the things through the Crossroads, our capacity to move back and forth from Troy grew until we had no less than twenty active portal mirrors.
The entire force of our firelance-armed troops would be through and in place by sunrise, including the full strength of the Logistics corps and a volunteer regiment of tree-cutters.
Their deployments I will explain in greater detail later, but by the time the sky was bright, they stretched out in a great semi-circle from the forest to to the hills to the fort, boxing the Qunari in against the marshes of the Alba, with their only route of escape being across their own pontoon bridge. Once again, we would face an army that was attacking us from the banks of a great river.
This complementary combination of artillery fire and positioning is one of the big reasons for the scale of the result.
Another reason was the other thing we were also using the smoke and fire to conceal. By the time I awoke from a four hour sleep, it was already in place.
The stern of the longship reared overhead nearby, the dog's head carving standing proudly in the very first glimmers of sunlight among the treetops. It appeared to me to be smiling at me in the happy dog sort of way, because the light didn't catch the lines of the snarl across its face. Needless to say, the ship was originally Fereldan.
Its masts had both been taken down, but the prow and stern couldn't be. Its elegant, curved hull sat atop crudely smoothed roller logs along its entire length, and was covered with freshly cut branches with every leaf intact. Unless you were right beside it, knowing it was a ship and not brush on top of a rise in the ground would be very difficult.
These were the longships Justice and Liberté. They hadn't taken too much damage during their journey from the beach at high tide to the treeline, and as there hadn't been any movement in the enemy camp towards our pickets. If the Qunari had noticed, they made no sign. I felt a sort of childish excitement at getting one over them, making me a bit giddy as I strode over. I was certain we had fooled them.
Paulie Walnuts was there as the Marines milled about with the tree-cutters, getting organised for their day's work, but he already knew his orders. It was the two I had dispatched to go with the ships and marines that I was visiting.
Armen and Ciara, both dressed and armoured in the Earth fashion.
The former was giving me side glances and pretending to ignore me, reminding me of his age and sending a small shiver of guilt up my spine as a result. They were going on a particularly dangerous mission. It was a ridiculous feeling by that stage though. They were both adults now even by Earth standards, and at the age where plenty of people had gone off to war, to say nothing of their own combat experience.
Ciara resolved the matter of my internal thought processes by slamming into me for a hug, which I naturally returned.
"Oof, I see you're not worried," I said, "Or am I missing something?"
Ciara raised an eyebrow and grinned. "It helps that I have a few centuries over our enemies where firepower is concerned," she said, thumbing over her shoulder. Past Armen, beside the ship, was a pile of ammunition boxes of 5.56mm NATO; the belts for the heavy firelance, allowing it to fire hundreds of bullets before requiring reloading. Buried somewhere in the pile was also wooden boxes full of magazines for the assault ones hanging off the front of Armen and Ciara both.
I had decided that this occasion was cause for dipping deep into the remaining stores of Earth bullets. They would not last forever. Apart from specimens that Julie took for reverse-engineering, I was already out of buckshot for Tam's shotgun and 9mm for the handcannons. The Qunari needed to be handed a decisive defeat, which meant putting best foot forward.
Not to mention it greatly increased the likelihood of survival for my two elvhen companions, relieving the grip on my insides a little, though it squeezed every few minutes, with each realisation at what I had asked them to do.
"We're going to need it, Ciara," Armen intoned gravely, "He's giving us this because we're getting the most dangerous job and we're the only ones he trusts enough who isn't pregnant."
This was only partially true. Only Ciara and Julie had trained with my Earth firelances, because more people learning how to use them cost more bullets. Tam and Tam alone had gotten the shotgun for that same reason, though she had used all the ammunition for it at the Battle of the Lodge.
Ciara immediately punched him on the arm, as hard as she could. He reeled a little from the impact, eyes wide and mouth agape. "What was that for!" he asked.
"You were being gloomy," Ciara replied, in mock imitation of me, "Cheer up. I get that you two aren't happy with each other, but get over it. Enemies to fight and all. An army of pissed off Tams with firelances."
Not sure Tam would've appreciated that comparison, even now.
"He overthrew the legitimate government," Armen grumbled back, "And what he did to Anders..."
"Velarana deliberately provoked all of that," Ciara pointed out, "In order to serve her own ideas. And it's not like Sam is going to keep the throne and put a crown on his head."
The she-elf turned to me with sharp eyes, as if to say 'You aren't going to do that, right?'
I smirked. "Are you kidding me?" I replied, "War I understand, but everything else? Do I look like I know anything about economics? Diplomacy that doesn't involve waving a gun around? I'd tear my hair out if I had to rule forever more. Go crazy like all the other dictators."
Ciara glanced back to Armen in triumph at this admission, the mage releasing a large sigh.
"That's what advisors are for, Sam. You're both impossible," he bitched, "Can I get a little sympathy here?"
"Not likely," came a growl from behind me.
It was Paulie Walnuts, chewing on a small branch like it was a cigar. He was wearing one of the new Marine uniforms; a dark blue shirt, dark blue baggy trousers in the Zouave style, high boots up to the shins, and the standard helmet that the Army also used. No armour though; the Marines were expected to be able to swim and that was important for this mission.
"I've always wondered how you three met," Paulie continued, "Noble types and elves don't really mix where I'm from. You know, traditionally speaking. No offence to current company."
Ciara shot a glare at him. He held up his hands in protest.
"Hey, don't look at me little lady, I didn't make the rules growing up," Paulie complained, before pointing at her, "And I've been busting my ass to change things lately."
The Common doesn't quite do justice to the original Orlesian of the above statement, nor does text do justice to his indignant tone.
"We met in the first few days after I got here," I replied, to clear the air, "To Thedas, I mean. My world doesn't have elves, they're fictional on Earth. And I don't mean that they're all dead or something, they never existed except in stories."
Paulie looked at me like I was crazy. "No elves?" he said, "Just humans, dwarves and ox-men?"
"Just humans," I corrected, "Well, dwarves exist too, but they're just short humans. Not a separate race. Not even really sure that the races of this world are separate, actually."
Paulie shook his head. "There's something wrong with that," he said, "Your cities must be real peaceful."
I shook my head at the naivety of that, but I decided to move the topic to more relevant territory.
"Are you ready for today?" I asked the man.
"Humping two longships overland through a forest?" Paulie said, "Oh yeah, we do this all the time. Just another day on the docks."
I narrowed my eyes, not entirely sure if he was being sarcastic or not. Carrying heavy stuff is a common dockland task. As would dragging ships onto slipways for repairs. He betrayed no clarification on the matter on his face, so I pushed on.
"Will you be in action by the end of the day?" I asked, leaning forward. No jokes would be tolerated on this point.
"It's summer, days are pretty long," Paulie shrugged, "Shouldn't be a problem."
"Excellent," I said, "Go take that fucking bridge for me, Captain."
I got a half-assed salute in reply, and the man strode off back to his sailors.
I turned to Ciara and Armen. "And you two, stay alive."
They only nodded back, Ciara's face tightening from the scale of the task or her determination to do what she needed to rising. Armen's face was blank with contemplation. They both made me proud to know them, and the grip of fear loosened a little more.
The full embrace of daylight revealed the Qunari army moving to its own positions across smoking, shallow craters from their own camp. To any other army, including our own, the state of the camp would've been a death knell for any idea of going into a fight. Not for the soldiers of the Qun. Their discipline is iron.
Under fire here and there all night, they dug in like moles into the lip of the river's floodplain and behind the sandbag defences they had already built the day before. And now, presumably having only two hours rest at most from the sporadic shooting of our cannons, they lined up in perfectly choreographed battle array. Just as we did.
Our formation, as previously mentioned, was a semi-circle. It is perhaps easiest to imagine our army enclosing the Qunari position against the river's tidal estuary and swamplands to the north, with the hilly forest to its immediate west, the granite hills to the south and Fort Gibraltar to the east.
Starting on our left, Mike's Dragoons were arranged defensively in the forest.
Our fastest troops had rode across the thin soil to the treeline, hooking around the enemy's right and controlling the forest almost right up to where the floodplain began. Her job was to stop the Qunari pushing into the trees. She had three mounted infantry regiments, one on foot and the best of the light artillery batteries to pull it off. Mike also had the troops build strong wooden fortifications in shifts through the night on top, and the artillery was in enfilading positions to any possible attack.
If you're not a military minded person, that just means Mike put a load of obstacles in the way of the enemy and put cannons at the side to rip down their lines as they marched into said obstacles. There's a reason she is and was considered the greatest defensive battle genius in our history so far, nicknamed by me the Queen of Spades for her love of digging in.
Further into the trees, behind the dragoons and my own position, was the two regiments of Marines under Fisher, the crews of the longships they were to move and the Logistics Corps' permanent regiment.
They were to cut their way through the forest and carry the two ships all the way to the river. The route was to be scouted, cut and set. A feat only possible with magical aid. Once in the water, the ships would sail downriver and land the regiments on the pontoon bridge where the deep part of the river met the swamp.
The longships and the Marines were to be the anvil on which we'd smash the enemy. The trick being to distract the Qunari from this threat.
With that objective in mind, the centre was the strongest part of our formations.
Joining with the left at an angle out of the forest and curving away to the absolute centre of the semi-circle were my troops, the 3rd Infantry Division. There were three groups in it.
In the reserve, the Avvar Highlander troops and some Tevinter legionnaires were mixed into three crack assault infantry regiments, combining magic and rifled-muskets in tandem. In the middle and leading sections were six veteran regiments of the Free Army, returned to service and all now armed with firelances.
My troops, as well as those of both Soprano and McNulty to my right, were drawn up in a checker-board quincunx manner, to allow reserves or cavalry to pass around the regimental lines.
Speaking of the centre-right, Soprano's troopers were next in line, the 1st Infantry Division curving away from the absolute centre to the east and north-east. She had the three Ranger regiments, the best shots in the Army, in her reserve. In the middle and leading sections, were a mix of veteran and recruit firelancers, trained to a very high standard. She also had control of the heavy artillery batteries on the hill we had already fought for.
Behind both myself and Soprano's position, to the west of the hill, was Louise 'Blondie' de Villars and the Guard of the 1st Cavalry Division. Three regiments of armoured cuirassier and lancer cavalry, the same that had slapped around the Hercinian raider barons.
Blondie, Soprano and I represented the lure to stop the Arishok from noticing the hammer swinging into his back was there at all until it was too late.
On our right was McNulty with the 2nd Infantry Division. Five firelancer regiments curving to the north, capped off in front of Fort Gibraltar with his three Grenadier regiments. The line was thinner here, as yet another attention lure away from the forest, only being two lines deep but also having the checker-board formation. Behind him on the hill was our final artillery battery, both inside and outside the fort.
On the extreme right, up against the start of the estuary swamp and the river, was Isewen with the rest of the 1st Cavalry Division; two light lancer regiments. They were there to give whoever was attacking the Marines a slap, if necessary, or to exploit any weakening of the Qunari flank.
The Qunari forces matched our strength where they found it.
A holding force against Mike on our left, because they knew what the cannons she had deployed could do.
In the centre, they doubled up, huge blocks of troops in deep ranks, the complete opposite of the flexible lines we favoured.
On our right, more holding forces, just enough to slow us down if we wanted to attack. The Hercinian cavalry, what was left of it, was also here. Conveniently, that position had the best access to the pontoon, which is why the raiders chose it, but it was also the best place for them to make a cavalry attack. Or it should've been.
I had a good idea what the Qunari were up to, but I needed clarification.
I rode to the hill where the heavy artillery was parked for a better view, as though there was a gentle slope all the way to the river, my position didn't offer a complete picture. So I took to horse and called for our experts on the Qunari.
Asala and Marcus rode with me in their armour. Aurelia and Tam came from the eluvians, the former in her black and gold robes and the latter in her crossweave and trousers.
When all four were assembled and looked out from the heights on the enemy army. The sky was finally turning a blue from its pink-red by the time we were there, with the telescopes and other instruments already in place to aid with the cannonfire to come. We gathered around them, so we could more closely observe the enemy through the optics.
In the presence of Louise, Soprano and I, the question was asked.
"Tell me quickly... what will the Arishok do?"
The four looked between them. A tamassran, a viddasala, the heir to a Tevinter magister and a bearer of the Outlander blood. Qunari and Qunarifighters. How much history we had changed already, I thought to myself, before sighing within no one else's notice.
"Well, it's a standard Qunari formation," Marcus began, speaking first, "Arishok in the centre of the army for ease of command. Shorter travel time for runners, better chances of all troops hearing horn and drum commands. Holding forces on the flanks. Auxiliary cavalry deployed on one of them."
That seemed encouraging. Marcus seemed to have the Qunari's number.
"Correct in this instance," Asala replied, "Though what this saarebas does not know is sometimes we... they set up false command posts to hide to location of the Arishok, if he is to command an attack on the wings. The false pivot is always at the centre. They have not done it here. They expect the attack to come from the centre. See the way most of the cannon are set up in a great line behind the main troops? That is proof."
I looked out and indeed saw the organ guns in a continuous line facing the middle of our semi-circle. Only a few batteries were aimed off to our left, towards the forest. Probably to counteract any forces we might be hiding in there. I would have hid quite a few in there, even used it as the main direction of attack, except that we wanted attention away from that area.
"I agree," Marcus stated, "Either they intend to attack in the centre, or they expect the main blow to come there."
"They're still thinking like it's a hand-to-hand fight," I thought aloud, "Like we're going to charge them with blades rather than shoot them from range."
"It's a hard habit to break," Aurelia said, "Only the Anders fight primarily at a distance, and their Ostwicker descendants who kept up the tradition of horse-archery. Everyone else is used to closing the distance and getting in an opponents' face."
Completely ignoring the elvhen traditions of warfare there, I noted. Another hard habit to break.
"Asala," Tam said suddenly, half-chewing the name in her mouth, "Do you not find this whole arrangement... unusual?"
The former viddasala turned to the former tamassran with cocked eyebrow and bit lip.
"Yes," she said, turning to us, "The Arishok is a cautious man. He would not allow himself even the possibility of being trapped on one side of a river. The chances that we would simply destroy the bridge with cannon shot is too high. I do not understand what he is doing."
Tam let out a single laugh.
"I am surprised to hear that I know the man's mind better than you do," she said, "Even though I spent a few months with him on Seheron, you most likely worked with him longer than that."
It was then I realised a particular fact; the Arishok across the field from us, commanding armies against us, was the same man who had stood with the Hero of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight.
The hornless 'Sten' whom had risen through the ranks. The one whom had evaluated Tam for the position of Rasaan, one of the possible heirs for the Ariqun and a title of great rank in Qunandar. At least two of the three heads of the Qunari government had to sign off on such promotions, and Tam was a preferred candidate for the military, having acted as mother to a great many warriors during her time as a tamassran.
"He is not retreating because he is trying to intice us to attack," Tam continued, "To try and take the bridge from him. The Antaam are not idiots, and I'm sure the Ben-Hassrath hissrads have provided information on the capabilities of our weapons."
"The new weapons favour the defence," Asala stated, "Or at least, to the Qun, it will. Find a position that the enemy values highly and force them to attack you; that's the lesson anyone who has studied us will know."
"Except such a strategy is suicide," Marcus said, "Our cannon will tear them to pieces."
Tam shook her horned head, pushing hair billowing in the breeze out of her face before pointing out to the blocks of enemy troops.
"See the large individuals standing at points in the front ranks?" she said, "They are saarebas, not warriors. I am sure you are familiar with reports of what has often happened when your Tevinter brethren have tried to use fire-scorpions and catapults against the antaam?"
It was a rare occasion when Qunari and Tevinter forced actually fought pitched battles against each other. In the jungles of Seheron, the largest fights were usually a couple of hundred troops coming across each other in the bush, or laying ambushes. Artillery wasn't a usual feature, though there were forts to take on the coast itself, where the foliage was thin enough to march larger forces and move siege pieces like catapults into place.
"The firepots explode in mid-air before reaching the enemy," Aurelia supplied with a frown, "Static barrier magic over an area above the companies. Our explosive shells will detonate on the barrier away from the enemy too. Wouldn't even pour Antivan fire on some of them like the firepots do."
"We still can use solid shot and white phosphorous," Marcus smiled, "Woe unto the Qunari if they think that would be ineffective."
I wasn't sure I wanted to use either, however. The solid shot might be needed against the palaces of Hercinia in the days ahead, and we'd be blinding ourselves from seeing the enemy's movements if we used the phosphorous. Sure, their front ranks would writh and burn, but depending on what way the wind was blowing, we might end up completely vulnerable to a charge with no way to use our range.
"Do we know anything about the Qunari weapons," I replied, "They must have copied something like our designs by now?"
"About that, sire," Soprano said, stepping forward, "A present from Isewen arrived about an hour ago. We managed to snatch them from an outer picket just before dawn. Didn't think you'd come up here, but I have them close by."
The general waved at troops standing behind us. Six elves of a Lancer regiment appeared, the stylised crossed-lance patches on their upper arms giving that away. Two pairs holding a large something between them each, and two more holding large bags.
Mini-cannons is the best way to describe them, with a harness and rigging hanging off of the weapons, clearly designed to be carried by a Qunari warrior and shot off the hip. Far too unwieldy for an elf and barely useful to a human.
This is the classic Qunari firelance as most understood that term to mean before my arrival on Thedas, albeit with some modifications.
They were akin to the small trente-sept swivel cannons on the Navy's ships, designed for deck clearing duties. They weren't flint-locks though, they used a slow-burning cord to ignite the gaatlok. Which would be useless as shit in rain, but it was very unlikely to rain that day or any time soon.
The two Lancers holding the bags opened them in front of us, to reveal pre-measured linen bags of blackpowder and canister shot. The cannons were designed to shoot dozens of metal balls at once, and they had duck-bill muzzles, which would spread the projectiles out in a wider arc.
These sorts of weapons hadn't been popular on Earth in their time, mostly because holding them was too difficult for a human. But not for a Qunari bred selectively over multiple generations for size, strength and endurance.
"Jesus Christ," I exclaimed, "These bastards have put very serious thought into how to beat us with what they have."
I heaved up a Qunari firelance at one end, the other still on the ground, examining it and looking down the barrel. I could almost imagine it booming in my face, shattering my head with canister. I grimaced, recoiling slightly from the idea.
"Our firelances use pretty complicated mechanisms to shoot. Theirs have a lever with a bit of burning rope that any blacksmith could make. We fight in long lines, so they come up with a weapon that can shoot multiple men at once. They build a weapon to fit their soldiers, so that we can't really just pick up and use them ourselves if we do win."
It was the logic of mass production and logistics that impressed and scared me. I let the Qunari piece fall to the ground with a soft clang, putting my foot on it as if to pin it down, to stop it from belching death at us.
"At least half of those soldiers probably have this, they can't fire fast enough to win otherwise," I concluded, "The Qunari want to outproduce us. I knew they would eventually, but here I thought they'd just straight up copy us... thought that we'd have more time. It wouldn't surprise me if the Imperium starts seeing these arrive on Seheron in large numbers too, if they haven't already."
Asala picked up one of the Qunari firelances, with one arm at first no less, only appearing to struggle slightly with the weight before she cradled it in both. And I thought Tam was strong...
"It's not silverite," she proclaimed, "Cast iron. Not as durable. Much more dangerous to the shooter."
"But much cheaper," Aurelia frowned, "I have wondered why our weapons are not iron or steel."
"Because we haven't worked out how to make steel durable cheaply enough to work for light firelances," I sighed, "The metallurgy is something Julie and Armen are working on, but silverite was plentiful and perfect for the job when Julie was designing our weapons, and every blacksmith in Hearth knew how to work it. We need industrial processes to make weapons of steel at the same price, and we haven't gotten there yet."
A problem we'd fix in the course of the war, though our supply of silverite from the mines of the Arling of Amaranthine were never threatened.
"There's no way these weapons have the same effective range as our firelances," Louise declared, waving at the one on the ground with her sword, "And I'm willing to bet that our own magical barriers will be able to deflect a volley of these except up close too?" The chevalier turned to Marcus and Aurelia for confirmation.
"Impossible to know without an experiment or two, but my guess is an ordinary mage will be able to prevent these from being lethal," Aurelia agreed, picking up a canister of shot from the bag and pouring the balls out onto the ground, "But only once, I think. Our troops have torso armour that should protect them well enough, but their arms, legs, faces and necks will be vulnerable. We should expect many injuries, rather than many deaths."
"Which is probably the intent of this type of firelance," Asala added, "Wounded men require aid. The dead do not. More people attending the injured is fewer fighting."
The facts bounced around in my head for a moment, several possibilities to confound the enemy fighting for credibility. I went over to the telescope and looked at the enemy a few times to check things. But I said nothing more for a long while, as the others watched me.
"Alright, new plan."
We returned to our respective commands or positions to observe as quickly as possible, but the sun was long clear of the horizon by that point. The Qunari skirmishing should've commenced before we were all in place, though our orders had been communicated as soon as we had devised them. Our advantage in having radio being overwhelming to say the least.
Yet the Arishok kept his people firmly in place. In fact, it became apparent that he was further fortifying his position. Runners with more sandbags could be seen moving from the Alba's swamp to their camp, rebuilding the defences we had shattered the night before.
Meanwhile, the cannon of both sides remained silent.
We just sat there, staring at each other over three hundred yards of no-man's-land. The longer it went on, the more my skin crawled. First, with the anticipation that the Qunari would attack. Our centre was not well fortified. Deliberately.
But as time dragged on, the reason for my unease shifted. The Arishok made no moves, and without the sound of battle, our deception with the longships was in danger of being uncovered. Bored eyes wander, ears unfilled with gunfire can hear things they couldn't otherwise.
After some time, I was unable to contain myself.
"Does the Qunari intend to wait forever?" I joked at no one in particular, "Or he is waiting for reinforcements?"
"Could be either."
I turned in my saddle, not realising I had been thinking aloud, looking over at the Tevinter samurai-legionary commander. There was a grin under the monster's grin of his snarling samurai faceplate, just barely visible.
"I guess so," I replied, "Which means there's no point waiting any longer. It'll be midday soon. Let's get it over with."
"Couldn't agree more, Imperator," Marcus grinned.
I said nothing at the naked use of the imprecise but powerful title, and moved the mouthpiece of my radio closer to my mouth. Time to start the meat grinder.
"Artillery, countermagical fire, slow and steady," I commanded, "Vanguard and first reserve units, form battle line and prepare to advance to first firing positions." The commanders acknowledged.
It started with the cannons.
The batteries to my northwest and east opened up with Mexican waves of booming smoke, the now-famous Fire Wyrm's Call warbling in the air as dozens of shots swung from the hills and forest into the Qunari formations. The Tranquil gunners were playing their best game that day, raising my pulse as the first barrage finally made contact.
The saarebas raised their arms to the sky as quickly as they could, emitting what sounded to all of us as a low moan, but what was probably a deafening throat noise to those standing directly beside them. Perhaps they thought our artillery would only fire if our troops were advancing, or maybe the velocity of our shots wasn't what they were used to, but either way, most of them were too late.
Only a few managed to put the magical barriers up before the supersonic copper-sleeved steel slammed into the Qunari positions.
We're still talking about old-school blackpowder weapons made with 19th century technology to be very generous, so even our excellent artillery troops weren't sniping.
Maybe one in twenty of the hulking saarebas were killed along with three or four others standing behind, torn in half or their head disintegrated, showering the troops around with blood. Many more of the shots were wide of the mark, perforating the blocks of Qunari troops, tearing deep.
But the most spectacular was those shots that did hit barriers. The shots weren't stopped, but they did change trajectory slightly. The barriers of human or elvhen mages had never been able to do that. What's more, whenever the shot passed through the magic, there was a bright white flash and the sound of the shot moving through the air lowered, like a singer changing pitch.
The carnage had begun, with mangled men and a lightshow, but all I could think of was something along the lines of 'just how powerful are those Qunari mages?' I suddenly felt like we got very lucky during the Ben-Hassrath raid on Hearth, way back when.
The second and third barrage thundered out, to equally good effect. But then the Qunari did something very smart. They sat down. All of them. It reduced their target profiles considerably and decreased the likelihood of multiple warriors being hit.
In the mean time, the front and middle formations of our army had joined into ranks four-soldiers deep in my sector, Soprano's and most of McNulty's. However, I could see that some of the latter's units were still separated out. What was going on?
"McNulty, what's going on?" I asked.
"I've got cavalry movement ahead of me," McNulty said, "Along the banks."
Clever son of a bitch, I thought.
"The Arishok wants his cavalry to break through to the artillery behind," I stated, "So he's sending the cavalry up against the weakest part of our line."
"I've already ordered the Grenadiers to form squares," McNulty replied, "But there's a whole load of infantry behind the cavalry."
No surprise there. The Arishok wasn't exactly above wasting his Hercinian and mercenary allies to gain advantage. I pondered if this was the opposition's plan; eliminate one of my divisions, then retreat. Divide and conquer. It sounded like Qunari-style; methodical.
No need to give them the chance.
"Guess that means we're attacking," I growled, before switching to the general channel, "Infantry, advance to maximum range in formation, and engage the enemy."
The orders filtered down over the course of the next few minutes... and the men and women of the Peacekeepers began to cheer, raising their weapons above their heads with each exclamation.
HOURRA! HOURRA! HOURRA!
It was the loudest I had ever heard a crowd be... My ears hurt, as the Highlanders and even the Tevinter mages beside me joined in by the end. And the Qunari are not as unflappable as their reputation suggests. They heard it.
The sergeants quickly got the troops back in order, and I spotted the enemy cavalry making their trot across the open ground, speeding up. I let out a breath slowly. The warrior attitude of Thedosians testing itself against the new military reality once again. Every sacrifice was an opportunity for learning too, for the others.
My attention returned back to our troops however, as the regimental bands of 3rd Division struck up the Turkish war-march Ceddin Deden at top volume, another tune the tome of a marching-band book brought through from Earth.
I had never heard it before, and felt my chest swell as its air played. The Turks knew how to play a tune, even if they had given me huge trouble back on Earth.
The wave of firelancers marched forwards in beat with the tune, a wall of bristling silverite barrels and blades held atop green uniforms and helmets. They didn't have far to advance either.
What happened next in my sector of the batlle is best described by someone on the front rank. I have a problem of perspective as a result; I was in the saddle atop Bellona for most of it. However, I am not the only person to have written about this campaign.
Literacy having increased exponentially over the course of our wars, as it was a requirement for promotion beyond the rank of soldat in the Army or matelot in the Navy, our own troops and sailors now began to write their own journals.
Including a few on the front line at the Alba. I will now quote wholesale from the writings of Sylvestre Fontaine, an enlisted man in the 17th Infantry Regiment. This regiment was assigned to my brigade for the battle.
There are more popular tellings of the battle, but I find Fontaine's to be the least embellished and the most in line with my own memories of the action. He also remained a soldier on the line for his entire military career, unlike the others.
He's also notable in that he came from a well-to-do merchant family from Halamshiral, meaning that he had lived in the segregated community of humans living it up at the expense of elves that made up the majority of that city. He overcame the prejudice he held to fight for freedom and equality for all. If you have read these writings, you should know why I find parallels in my own life there.
His style is also somewhat like my own, though that may be the influence of the earlier published autobiographies, which I have also been influenced by. It is its own genre, these days. Future historians will no doubt rejoice, a thousand years from now, for having so much potential to work with.
I will annotate his writings here and there, but other than that, it will be in his own words, starting with the reaction of the troops to the order for the attack.
After the great cheer went on for a while, our sergeants began slapping the back of our helmets and kicking us in the ass, shoving stragglers back into formation, screaming that the order was to attack, not cheer. But it was all in good humour, for their faces weren't red with anger and their strikes barely moved the helmets though most of us didn't have them strapped on due to the summer heat.
Roux stepped across the space in front of us, nodding to the platoon sergeant and the flagbearer, before taking up her place directly in front of us. She'd just been assigned to us from the Mage regiment the night before, the shakeups of the past few days causing an influx of mages that had before been reassigned to the factories or the government bureaux.
[ The shakeups referred to are the mustering of the primary reserve, bringing the Army back to its full strength after most of the regiments were stood down according to Velarana's peace policy. Mages had to be found for each of the re-organised units and quickly, so they were handed out on a first-come first-served basis, leaving almost all platoons with different mages than the ones that had served alongside them during the invasion of Ferelden ]
Roux was a slip of a she-elf, about thirty and a die-hard Libertarian. Elf-mages tended to be. The fanatic types weren't generally liked by us. We didn't disagree with their politics, but they tended to waste their energy on attacks rather than on protecting us. Roux was a little more mature than most and had that reputation.
In standing close by, myself and the two others closest to her were assigned to her protection by general orders. If things got up close and personal, we were her bodyguards.
Good and bad news. The magical barriers created around us with their power were always strongest when you were close to the mage, but the enemy usually aimed for the mages if they could see them, for fear of their lightning and firebolts. That was why our mages were always dressed and armed the same way we were; green uniforms, round helmets, silverite firelances that the mages often used as a staff too.
[ Lucky our mages weren't hulking beasts filled with a cocktail of drugs, or they'd have been harder to hide. ]
We began the advance in line of battle at a slow march, to preserve the formation. The musicians struck up one of the marching songs from Earth, and I looked back at our regiment's band on the back line, not having heard it before. I caught a glimpse of the 'Imperator' on his massive horse beyond, seeming pleased with himself. He was grinning like a madman. It sent a shiver down my back, and I was glad he was on our side. What a murderous gentleman we had to lead us.
[ I do not recall 'grinning like a madman', but Fontaine's account was written decades ago, far closer to the event... and perhaps I wasn't aware I was grinning at the time ]
The Qunari cannons fired all at the same time after only a minute of our advance. We flinched, every man and woman, expecting the worst. Our briefings hadn't mentioned anything beyond the fact that the horned giants had cannons too, but we had heard rumours of explosive shells and Antivan fire. The advance faltered, the entire section of our line halting without orders. Most of the enemy cannon were facing us, shooting at us. We seemed frozen as the slow Qunari shots came visibly through the air.
Lightning shot out from our line, in the blink of an eye. The sky above us exploded. The power of the mages had blown up the powder inside the Qunari shells.
[ The Qunari only used solid shot against fortifications or massed mages, never non-mage troops, so we took a page out of their book where dealing with enemy projectiles was concerned. It was an idea we had ]
It snapped us out of the temporary terror, and we cheered once again as we were showered with tiny pieces of metal, harmless to us. There was a strange unpleasant smell that clawed at the back of your throat, like powder with too much sulphur, but a cough or a swig from our waterskins and the irritation stopped.
The march resumed immediately. The dry mud under our feet got thinner and thinner until the pink rock beneath could be seen and felt under our boots, and we disappeared into a cloud of dust for a few minutes. I remember
But eventually, the skirmishers running ahead of the line stopped. We almost ran into them, half-blinded by the swirling dirt. The officers ordered a stop. The music ceased. The dust cleared. And we saw the enemy.
Great big horned men, exclusively men as far as I could tell, stood shoulder to shoulder. They were at least thirty centimetres taller than our own, and their skin was painted like wild Dalish. We did not know it at the time, but it was not for decoration or camouflage like the warriors of the caravans. The paint reacts with Qunari skin and turns it into tough hide.
[ Fontaine, not being intimately familiar with Dalish or Qunari, probably thought that the former used paint rather than tattoo ink for their face art. 'Secret Dalish' who washed off their face art and joined Orlesian society as trusted servants of savvy players of the Game was something of a common theme in some Orlesian theatre in the few decades leading up to our revolt. Possibly sponsored by Celene, to create cultural acceptance of her closeness to Briala. Fontaine was from enough money to be part of that target audience. ]
Their firelances looked huge compared to ours, but less well made. Like someone took an iron cannon and shrunk it in the wash and then added a halberd blade. We had no idea what they would shoot at us, but we were told the mages and our armour would keep us alive. I wonder if the smiling fils de pute on a horse behind us knew what would be coming at us, but in the end I guess it doesn't matter. We would've had to face it.
Crouching or kneeling in front were two ranks of smaller people. Elves and men with long spears, the points resting on the ground to be raised in case we threw cavalry at the gunners behind. Rivaini Qun worshippers. Converts or people who were born into it. They had warpaint too.
I didn't know what to think. The giants looked formidable, strong enough to bend us in two if they got close. But they also looked cobbled together. Their armour, their weapons, they all looked primitive compared to ours.
The only thing to do was follow orders.
The first was to load. We could do this without a thought. We could do it half-asleep, drunk, under fire or in pissing-rain. It was beaten into us at every firing drill, and we drilled often.
The next was to bring our weapons upright, to signal to our lieutenants that we were ready to shoot. Some of the newer recruits were slower to get there, but most of us did it as one.
The last orders were to take aim and then to fire.
Since I was in the front rank, I kneeled. Roux kneeled to my immediate left, and to my right was the sergeant. As we were taking aim, the lead platoon opened fire. I think it was the opening shots of the entire infantry deployed actually, because I don't remember anyone else shooting until that point. Other than the cannons, of course, which continued to rip holes in the Qunari at odd moments.
Other regiments soon followed up, and the whole line began a continuous fire, platoon-by-platoon, like we were back on the beach at Jerusalem, practice-shooting at barrels in the bay, hoping not to scare off the dolphins forever.
My own unit was the third of our regiment to fire, giving us plenty of time to pick out targets. The sound of our own shooting thundered in my ear, particularly my left because the sergeant to my right hadn't actually shot and wouldn't unless something had gone terribly wrong. But at that moment, everything was right with the world.
Because the enemy were falling.
Our fire was precise and rapid, and the Qunari couldn't take it. Surprisingly few were dying outright, but the front of their ranks was being chewed slowly, turning minute-by-minute into a tangle of dying soldiers. Those wounded or killed were quickly dragged behind their replacements by the elvhen converts, without any flinching that I could see.
The Qunari gave their own order to fire, which was obvious because the first rank ran forward three steps, blowing on the burning cords they used to trigger their weapons.
"BARRIERE!" the lieutenant shouted from behind.
Roux immediately made a swirling hand gesture above her head, blue sparks flowing off of her fingertips. The blue-white glow enveloped us, telling us we were safe from the worst of it, at least for a little while.
The Qunari fired in relays at us, running to the firing position in front, turning quickly and retreating behind the masses to reload as the next shooter moved up. Their shots burped dirty grey smoke and sawrms of small lead shot, neither of which could pierce the magic protecting us. Didn't stop us huddling against it all, like someone trying to avoid the worst of rain in a strong wind. The barriers surrounded our skin, so we only found out we'd be safe when we were actually hit.
It got our blood moving. We were going to win this thing. Our rate of fire increased.
[ The Qunari were well out of their optimum range, but probably thought they could do some damage. Physics still being far more of an art than a science among them at this time. They weren't stupid though, as you shall see. ]
We exchanged fire for quarter of an hour with the enemy without great incident. They were closer to the river, and had more soil under their feet than we did. After maybe six of our volleys, they began digging down, using their wide blades as shovels. The granite below the soil was still too close for them to create a genuine trench, so they only managed to make a knee-height defence. So they piled the corpses of their own dead up in front as well to maximise their protection.
The sight in front of us quickly became nasty. Our shots ripped through the dead, doing little damage to the enemy except to splatter them with entrails. The artillery raining down could only kill one or two at a time, as the gunners were only using solid shot.
Our confidence was not damaged, but we almost began to pity the enemy, having received essentially no losses yet ourselves. The returning shots came aimed blindly, and were still too far off to do anything.
The Qunari are hard bastards. But cunning.
We had shot almost the full measure of our main ammunition pouches and were close to having to resupply from our backpacks, when a deep horn blew, loud enough to shake your bones. The entire Qunari line rose up as if puppets pulled up by the same strings and ran straight at us. No warning, no sign that their orders had changed. They just knew what to do.
I was too busy thinking how odd that was to be scared, and barely registered our lieutenant issuing a new command, passed down from the Colonel himself. The fire-by-platoon was stopped, and we were ordered to fix bayonets. Our friendly artillery batteries on the hills gave two barrages in quick succession, to little effect. They still weren't shooting the exploding shells, and I grew angry wondering why that was.
The entire regiment held, waiting for the moment the enemy were so close that we couldn't miss, so we could gun down as many as we could before giving the survivors 'cold silverite' in a countercharge.
But as abruptly as the enemy had started his advance, it stopped. They stopped fifty, maybe sixty metres away from us. They dressed their line at once, without command. Our officers, confused by this behaviour, did nothing to stop them. Our order to fire came just after theirs, something for which I'll never forgive our lieutenant or colonel, but that matters little in the circumstances.
At this shorter range, the enemy fire was our ruin.
The smaller lead balls that had been so useless from two hundred metres now ripped through the magic protecting us like it wasn't there. At least two of us went down for every booming shot taken at us. If they could have shot as quickly as we could, our entire regiment would've been a bloody mess in a matter of minutes.
But that wasn't the worst thing. Their weapons weren't killing us as a rule, they were maiming us.
[ This was likely an intended effect of the Qunari weapons. Other powers might not care for injured soldiers, but we had to as a rule. We did not yet have a mass of people ready to take the place of our dead, even if every citizen was technically a soldier. Mass injuries also breaks the morale of a military unit faster than outright deaths, and requires more manpower to deal with. ]
I screamed after their first volley, pain tearing down my left side. My arm looked like a lion had swiped at it, three great gouges beside each other. Flesh wounds, but bloody and painful. The smell of sulphur and iron forced me to gag.
Beside me, Roux had taken the full measure of the same shot that had injured me. Her body armour kept her alive, but her face was a pulp, an eye shot out and her right shoulder torn up. She fell to the ground with a sigh, rendered unconscious by the shock. I regarded this with strange disinterest, instead wondering idly if we should shoot back. The drummer boy dragged her away without a word, his face drained of all blood and piss soaking his uniform.
In the end, we began shooting back without command, long before the order for independent fire-at-will was issued by the sergeant. This prevented an equal result of what the Qunari first volley had inflicted. So we just stood there, slugging lead at each other, several hundred individual firefights erupting at once. Line-order broke down entirely on both sides, and the Qunari repeated their tactic of piling their dead up to create firing positions.
The breakdown in our formation saved many lives, without a doubt.
Aside from stopping the Qunari from getting us close together, we also began backing off without so much as a word of command. I remember thinking that if we can just creep outside their effective range, we could win this. A sentiment many of my comrades have said was on their minds too. The enemy did not advance in reply, their discipline holding. Or so we thought.
The other reason the breakdown saved lives was because the Qunari cannon were trained on us and began to fire. Stone balls set ablaze with pig fat came raining down about where we had been standing when the shooting first started. I guess they didn't want to waste Antivan firepots unless they were sure our mages were out of the picture. The bombardment made things more interesting by adding bacon to the scents of blood, gunsmoke and shit which the salty sea breeze only barely helped with.
That was the final straw for us. If our own artillery wasn't enough to deal with the enemy's, standing around in the open was a stupid move. Even our own officers realised it. They ordered a retreat without referring to higher command. Risky, as we didn't really know how the 'Imperator' would handle that behaviour. It hadn't happened before. The retreat was orderly at first. But then the Qunari began moving forward again, and it became a chase.
We all ran like demons were chasing us, pulling or carrying the wounded along with us. Not a retreat straight backwards though, we swung towards the forest towards the rear-left of our original position. I saw that the 1st Division to our right was doing the opposite, heading for the rocky hills on the shoreline under the protection of the main artillery position.
I saw that there was a huge gap opening between the two divisions, and the Qunari were split between pouring into it and chasing the two masses of our troops, but that was someone else's problem.
It was my problem, to be precise.
That our troops might break and run in the face of returning small arms fire was an impossibility to my mind, and I was right. Where I was wrong was the expectation that the Qunari would not add to the pressure by shooting their artillery so dangerously close to their own troops. As the Qunari closed the distance, we had to be very careful.
Before the retreat though, I had already decided the reserves would need to be deployed. Reports of the fighting filtered back to me by runner. Tales of the horrific injuries were universal, but so were reports about the effectiveness of the plate-carriers protecting our troops; the leather, steel and silverite imitations of my own Earthling Kevlar examples were doing their job.
There was no way the units facing the Qunari 'beehive' firelances were going to be able to commit to a counterattack once the enemy had been worn down. Not with so many wounded to protect and the fear of joining them at the back of the mind of every soldier. So I made preparations, as the brutal firefight continued below.
I ordered the Avvar Highlanders to follow me, and turned Bellona round to trot to the point where Soprano's sector and mine met, but far behind our original position, almost parallel with the central artillery position on a east-west line. In short, where it appeared the Qunari were applying the most force and where their attack seemed to be aimed. Turn that away, and the entire enemy formation would run too, or so said my logic.
"Soprano, I need your Rangers at my position.," I radioed, "When the Qunari break, we need to chase them."
"Acknowledged," Soprano replied, "Sending my reserve regiments to your position."
Another thought occurred to me, in light of our need to destroy the Qunari totally.
"Blondie, is the Guard Cavalry ready?" I asked, referring to our chevaliers and their squires by the formal title of their unit.
"Yes," came the terse reply of Louise de Villars, "Why?"
Trust the aristocrat to question orders. I looked over my shoulder to the right, seeing the cavalry lined up along the road below 'Artillery Hill'.
"You'll see."
The three regiments of Rangers marched briskly towards me, and I ordered the three Highlander ones to assemble in a line of battle. They did so, and were joined by the Rangers, who did so the line at my position with alacrity.
The two units were very much different. The Highlanders were tall Avvars trained as assault infantry, still carrying bucklers, swords and axes on their belts instead of bayonets. The Rangers were almost exclusively elvhen and were not the largest people by any means. Their firelances were taller than they were, in some cases, but they used them well.
The only things they shared were that they were balanced in terms of the sexes and almost none of them spoke Common. It did not matter. They were exactly the mix of troops I could use to slip a knife in between the ribs of the Qunari beast before me.
My attention turned briefly to the flanks, to Mike on the left and McNulty on the right.
The Dragoons under Mike's command were holding the forest with ease, the Qunari firelances working very poorly against dug-in troops and enfilading cannon-fire even at close range.
The Grenadiers under McNulty were having more trouble. They remained in squares to repel cavalry, as the raider cavalry had turned and swept around for yet another charge, our cannon at Fort Gibraltar nor the bristling bayonets dissuading them from the attempt. I was about to order the elvhen lancers under Isewen to charge from her position to repel the raiders, but I was interrupted.
A flagbearer had tapped me on the shoulder and pointed towards the centre again.
The vanguard and line regiments of both the 1st and 3rd Divisions were suddenly bombarded, as described above. Flaming stone cannonballs came shooting up from the Qunari batteries like a Las Vegas water fountain, one after the other, crashing around our lines. The actual effect was limited, not many of the shots hit our troops and some even hit theirs, but it was enough.
The regimental commanders gave the order to back off, relaying that to me as a matter-of-fact rather than a request. My stomach turned as the inevitable followed. The orderly retreat, with platoons taking turns to shoot while the rest withdrew, turned into an uncoordinated mess. No one dropped their weapons, so I wouldn't call it an outright rout, but any semblance of fire-and-movement or covering fire went out the window.
It was embarrassing militarily, but these sorts of situations are exactly why you have reserves.
I switched channels on my radio, fumbling in my panic and dropping the thing, pulling it up again by the wire.
"All artillery batteries, explosive shot, fire on advancing enemy at central sector!" I roared at the top of my lungs, "NOW!"
"Yes, General," came the toneless reply of Locke, as the Tranquil gunners worked to reload.
The retreating troops went in two directions, opening a massive gap in our lines just like the above account states. Soprano's troops only partially retreated, and so swung like a pivot away from the main Qunari assault, while my own troops withdrew entirely towards the forest, where they might get some shelter from the Qunari organ guns.
The best analogy for the non-military reader would be someone kicking in a double door, forcing one of the doors clean off its hinges onto the ground and sending the other swinging back against the wall with the force of the impact.
My own line, originally set up to counterattack, now became a last line of defence. Which was not the best use of the troops I had.
"Independent fire-at-will!" I shouted, once to my left, once to my right.
The Rangers spread outwards from their starting position a few paces, kneeling or going prone, taking careful aim.
The Highlanders instead settled into their three-rank-line, first rank kneeling and the other two firing over the heads of the first. They fired first, almost all at once. Their firelances tore a hole in the Qunari lines as long as their own line, killing or mortally wounding scores of horned-men. This managed to stun the enemy directly in front of us, just in time for the Rangers to start picking off individuals as they stopped moving.
I shook my fist without thinking, triumphant. That's it, you fuckers. Look at me. Ignore the runners. It almost worked too.
But the two flanks of the enemy attack continued their headlong advance against our retreating troops, almost oblivious to our fire. At least, until our cannon had their say.
Across the whole wave-front of the Qunari attack, the Fire Wyrm made its call, whirring shots slamming into their formations and exploding, taking whole chunks of their lines to hell. Even the heavy siege pieces were trained on the centre of the battle now, the detonation of each of those deux-cent shells hurting even my ears. The barriers of my own troops occasionally sparked as a stray bit of shrapnel made it far enough to hit them, though I doubt it would've hurt anyone if the protection hadn't been up.
The centre of the Qunari attack immediately halted, the line now not deserving that title as huge space opened up and their commanding officers opened up even more to prevent the bombardment from completely eliminating the force. Volleys from the Highlanders and precision fire from the Rangers kept the enemy off balance.
It was textbook defensive warfare, and I was very pleased, not least because the sons of bitches had been coming towards me personally and I was still in the saddle, highly visible and vulnerable to enemy fire.
On our left, the Qunari attackers had a different survival strategy; close in a near as possible to our own troops. As the treeline loomed, the fleeing regiments realised they weren't going to be able to outpace the Qunari, and instead turned and reformed the line, now that they had the opportunity provided by our barrage. Unfortunately, they did it so far back that the forest artillery battery under Mike's command had to stop shooting and Mike had to deploy her reserves to protect the cannon from the charge.
In front of the guns and beside it, there was a brutal short range fight going on. Grenades and bayonets, too close to reload firelances often. As our line and the Qunari one extended south, they separated outwards, so fighting took the form it had before; a competition in firepower and rate of fire. The Highlanders on the far left of my line were able to shoot down the length of the Qunari one here, which further dissuaded them from closing to knife distance for fear of being surrounded.
On the right, Soprano's retreating troops re-established order more quickly, and so just created a sort of deep sag in the line, never actually breaking from the rest of it which was still heavily engaged on Soprano's right. Here, the firefight continued unabated.
I issued orders for the Rangers to reform a line of battle, so that we could push through the heavily depleted enemy centre, when a rumbling came to my ears.
Like the very best cavalry commanders, like Alexander, Murat or José Antonio Páez, Louise de Villar had seen the perfect moment to attack.
The Guard Cavalry, three whole regiments of heavy cavalry, cuirassiers and lancers, had formed up in a giant pointed wedge, with Louise herself at the point. The silver Skull-Mask of her uncle on her head, gleaming in the summer sun, she advanced in front with her sabre held above her head, the tricolour banners streaming from the tips of the lances behind her. The wedge moved at a fast trot at first, manoeuvring across the right wing of my line before turning directly at the enemy centre and breaking into a full gallop.
It was a martial sight to stir the heart of anyone. I really wish Julie had been able to see it from my vantage point. What a fresco that would have made.
The lances lowered and aimed, the Republican Guard steamrolled the Qunari centre. With no density of troops to halt it, our cavalry simply punched straight through to the rear of the enemy, with no loss of speed at all. The troops in the way were isolated and killed as our chevaliers passed them by. They kept riding hard, following their commander.
My blood pumping hard, I had a moment of clarity. Louise meant to take out the enemy artillery. I had another idea.
"Wheel right!" I commanded by radio, "Into the back of the bastards!"
Louise heard me, and began turning the wedge around to charge the Qunari attacking Soprano's troops. The enemy noticed, but wasn't able to do anything. The Qunari artillery was too slow to catch them before they would slam into the enemy.
Excellent, I thought. Now, I definitely was grinning.
"3rd Division, surround the enemy on the left," I added, "Marcus.. Hold them there. I don't want them interfering."
Marcus gave a bow from the saddle, rode off, and relayed the orders to Asala.
With a great huzzah, the Highlanders broke into a fast march, peeling off from my position, through some Qunari stragglers who got shot to pieces by whole squads of crazed Avvars shooting from the hip. The Tevinters were hardly much better, sending electrical discharges around so much that the accompanying thunder sounded like Zeus on a drunken rampage.
Within minutes, the enemy was surrounded on both the left and right. Not totally, but enough to make certain of one thing:
Those sections of the Antaam would be entirely dead by the mid-afternoon, shot, stabbed and sliced apart. Seven thousand or so in total, five by the sabres and carbines of Louise's cavalry and Soprano's line infantry. Another two by the firelances and swords of the Highlanders and the rest of my division. In the end, it was logistics that would get them; our troops carried extra ammunition and used less blackpowder per shot than the Qunari did, and we didn't fear our mages, allowing us to protect our troops and heal minor injuries right there and then.
But all this left the Qunari base and artillery batteries wide open for the Rangers and I to deal with. The small Qunari reserve was already moving to intercept us, spreading out directly in front of the organ guns to protect them from our fire. Runners were already making their way to the attacking forces to order them to withdraw too. In the distance, I saw that McNulty had finally defeated the raider cavalry, which was in full rout and heading for the pontoon, and he was finally joining the line on the right.
Time to close the noose around the Qun's neck.
"Loose order," I commanded the regiments that remained with me, with the added comment of, "No need to bunch up so they can drop rocks on our heads."
The Rangers did as they were told, and spread out into three-soldier fireteams all around me to the front and sides. The standard bearers also did so, trotting away, leaving me only with my runners and personal bodyguard of mounted Highlanders and a few Tiberian legionnaires.
I had succeeded in my task. I had pulled the attention of the Arishok entirely from the pontoon and smashed his ability to attack me. I watched the new enemy line of defence form through my binoculars, satisfied I could punch through it without issue. The midday sun pouring light and heat down from above, I caught a glimpse of the man himself, at last, on the battlements of the Qunari fortification.
A hornless Qunari, the former companion of the Hero of Ferelden, had thrown away any concealment to look at the battlefield with his own eyes. All those around deferred to him, their eyes never meeting his except when he spoke to them, something that happened often enough for me to catch at least three such conversations in as many minutes.
"Artillery, target the enemy defences and cannons," I ordered, "Explosive shot."
"Acknowledged," replied Locke.
The first half of the day had been one of unpleasant surprises and failures on both sides, but our superior understanding of warfare showed through. The morning ended with a ferocious and continuous barrage against the enemy. The afternoon began with the longships Justice and Libertégliding down the Alba.
The Marine Corps was joining the fight.