This is the logical result of using some of the tactics used at the Battle of the Burning Plains against an enemy not commanded by morons
Two Weeks Later
"Sir. There is an enemy presence ahead. They should arrive in twelve days or so. It contains at least 60,000 soldiers, probably more. They have a quite a few catapults and bolt throwers. They also have their dragon rider. I saw him keeping the dragon on the ground. The elves probably warned him of our anti-air weapons. I don't think he could last against thirty walkers," said the scout to General Kaska.
"What forces are we expecting?"
"About half are light infantry armed with shields and hand weapons or polearms. About a tenth of their force are archers. I couldn't see any heavy infantry, but I could see about two thousand light cavalry and one thousand heavy cavalry. With regards to their artillery, they had about three hundred catapults and two hundred bolt throwers."
"Can you put some booby tracks in the path of advancing army. Slowing their advance can give us more time to prepare for battle.
They occupied several villages in this area. It was thanks to the strict disciplinary system of their that, a few mix ups aside, there wasn't much conflict between the Surdan civilians and Kaska's army. It was understandable. While most invading armies pillaged and sacked towns for supplies, this strange army of foreigners was impressively well behaved, actually buying and bartering for goods rather than simple taking them. Even nominally friendly armies reserved the right to simply seize supplies from villages. This refreshing change made the villagers very helpful to the occupiers.
Their occupation of the villages gave another important piece of info to the invaders. A fair bit of the populace saw the king as either mad or a puppet of the Varden. Such information could readily be turned against the Varden and the Surdans. Truth could do far more than any propoganda. If they were able to consistently beat the Varden-Surdan alliance's forces, the will to fight could be removed from the populace. The most important part of defeating them decisively was to only do battle when the battle was won before it had begun. Unlike the battle in the valley, there was no easy kill zone to set up on the open field. Much of the plains were covered in tall grasses. Not only was this ideal terrain for hit and run skirmishing, but a manmade brushfire was a viable tactic..
General Kaska spoke to a junior officer assisting him, "Get me Brigadier Darlish. Tell him it is urgent and that I have a mission for him."
The junior officer saluted the general and left the tent. The General turned back to the maps he had received of the region. The one in front of him was filled with the markers indicating the enemy forces. He had markers for his own forces next to him as he began to make a battle plan for if the army simply did not turn self destruct with his next move.
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That Night
Eragon sat down with the other two commanders of the forces against the Men of the Sea. They had reports on the weapons of the men. They were undoubtedly lethal but nothing courage and cold steel could not triumph against. No, what disturbed him most was the inability of the magicians in the army to do anything against an army without any magic users. Islanzadi had told him of this, but it seemed preposterous and exaggerated. The elves themselves were not even quite sure of how they did it for regular people.
Even so, he did read up on annals of this war if only to figure out how they killed dragons and their riders. The records indicated that they used some sort of smoke belching monstrosity armed with a multitude of their heavier weapons and a pair of blades the size of a horse. They were flammable however. The ones of this day were apparently made of iron. How would it be possible to get something the size of house made of iron to even move was beyond him. Even if magic were being used, such power could easily kill the magician. These men had no magic. What could they possibly use?
Nonetheless, the enemy was going to be outnumbered. Even Eragon's force outnumbered the enemy by a good five thousand at the least and his force was but one of three. He walked into the tent. The other two commanders were the Surdan generals Hlaine and Rodrick. Hlaine showed open contempt and doubt for Eragon's abilities as a commander, but Eragon thought the man was simply being arrogant and underestimating his abilities.
This was once more brought to the surface as the scarred Surdan slammed his hands on the table and loudly said, "I don't know what kind of lala land you're living in but we are extrememely vulnerable right now. An army of this size doesn't march on nothing. We have a massive baggage train. If the enemy attacks out supply lines, our army could be put out of action before it ever hits the field. Furthermore, it is simply impossible to feed and supply such a large army by living off the land. However, if we were to split our forces to approach the enemy from separate directions, the enemy forces will be unable to counter a coordinated attack, forcing him to split his attention and forces between three different forces that each outnumber him. I beg you to reconsider. It would be folly to remain like this."
'I understand your position, General, but I think a unified central thrust is the best solution. Besides, all three forces would need to arrive very soon together."
"Not necessarily, as long as they arrive within a day or two and the commanders on the field don't do something monumentally stupid like committing forces from earthen defensive positions to charge a mile into a distant enemy, it should work fine. In the previous defeat, our forces were bunched up and left without room to effectively maneuver. They could either advance forward into the enemy or retreat. What you advocate is the same strategy except now, our enemies have room to maneuver and tap dance around us while picking apart our units if their commander is any good," answered Hlaine.
"What if their commander is not good?" questioned Eragon.
"A plan that hinges on the incompetence of the enemy is a fool's plan, especially against a mostly unknown force," answered Hlaine, nearly snapping at the young man, "How about you wipe that arrogant look off your face and listen to someone with some actually experience in military campaigns. I'll say it frankly, I think you are compromising my ability to perform the mission. If I had any say in this, I'd be keeping your ass as far away from a position of leadership as possible. I know about the shit you pulled at the Battle of the Burning Plains. A bunch of our dead were found to be burned to death by dragonfire and I have plenty of reports from soldiers about how you indiscriminately fired into the melee, killing hundreds of friendlies. You are irresponsible and know nothing."
"Well, I'm willing to learn," fired back Eragon.
"No, boy, you sure as hell ain't. I've been trying pound the basics of military strategy and tactics into that fancy skull of yours and you've been dismissing it. You need a god damn attitude adjustment, pretty boy. Get the hell out of my tent and let the people who actually know what they're doing do their jobs!" growled Hlaine.
The third commander, Rodrick, a large man with leathery skin and a full beard of dark hair, sipped on his wine for a moment before trying to calm down the Surdan general, "I think you're being a little harsh on the boy. It is his first command."
"It's the little shit's attitude that bugs me. He seems to miraculously believe that he knows best because he is a rider. Of course, in reality, he doesn't know what he's talking about. This kid is going to screw it up. We have to listen to him because he'll go cry over to Nasuada and then this ends up in the ear of King Orrin. Then I'll be out of a job," said Hlaine, taking a sip of his wine.
"I suggest we split our formations from the main army to follow your plan. At the very least, he understands that a commander has to be present at the battlefield. More pragmatically, we can use his army as fodder for their weapons. When we arrive they should probably be low on ammunition. If we arrive on the same day as Eragon, we can sit out at a safe distance, and let our troops be fresh and well rested for battle. I doubt they can do anything against a dragon," offered the other commander.
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At Kaska's tent, he had the Brigadier Darlish sitting across from him. Darlish was a skinny guy with dark skin and a near perpetual good mood. The men liked him. He may have driven them hard, but he held himself to the same standard. Darlish was also a capable commander who could be trusted to act independently and make sound decisions. This was why Kaska had called the man to him.
"Darlish. I have a mission for you. Take some scouts and your brigade out. I want you to make their army starve. If there are any villages you find, get them to take as many supplies as they can back to our lines and destroy what they can't carry. Raid the enemy supply train; take their supplies for your own. Take out any scouts and foraging parties. With any luck, this will bring them to their knees, and we can win without a battle of annihilation."
General Kaska watched Brigadier Darlish leave with a long line of brown coated troops under the cover of moonlight. Even with this done, it was time to dig in to entrenched positions to grind the enemy army to pieces before launching a swift and exceedingly violent series of counterattacks from multiple directions upon the enemy.
Field hospitals were already being set up in barns and similar buildings. The villagers were still helpful, but were growing fearful as they saw the soldiers set themselves with a grim determination to build lines of trenches. They were able to convince the leaders of the villages to give as much labor as they could reasonably spare to the building of these defenses. The right flank was held by several batteries of dug in artillery on a hilltop. A river anchored the left flank. Engineers set to making it difficult to cross with spikes and nets. They also worked in several traps into the woods across the riverbank from pits with spikes on the bottom to more elaborate traps that triggered explosives. Villagers were not allowed into the forest and few demonstrations on animal corpses made a graphic example of why you didn't want to trip any of the traps.
The walkers were spread out across the line. They could traverse the hills albeit slowly as the walkers had difficulty traversing inclines. They were designed to march with an infantry assault, destroying heavier targets and turning their rockets, light cannon, and repeater to the sky to sweep them of dragons. The massive axe and pneumatic spike were designed to give an edge in close combat against the scales and muscle of a dragon, or in the destruction of fortifications and buildings. As the saying went, rock beats scissors, scissors beats paper, paper beats rock, walker beats everything.
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4 Days Later
Over the past four days, Darlish and his men had been "preventing villages from holding any logistical value to the enemy." In practice, this meant that it was his job to send out groups of soldiers to villages to get them to abandon their villages and take what could and destroy what they couldn't by any means necessary. Most villagers were more than willing to pack up and run away in the face of a clash of two armies. It was not the standard operating practice to burn the fields and other such actions, but armed soldiers were very convincing in persuading them to do as they said.
Now, with his soldiers hidden in the tall grasses of the plains, he came upon the forward foraging elements of the enemy army. Darlish let them pass. There was no reason to let the enemy know that there was a division in the area and there really wasn't anything to forage; he and his men had seen to that. After this raid on their baggage train, they could then begin skirmishing with the enemy.
They were a weary lot. Their clothes were stained and dirty. There was little uniformity in the enemy. They looked more like a mob of armed men than an actual fighting force. A common uniform was the mark of a disciplined and unified force. A force with discipline and cohesion would always outperform the force without such qualities. While units here and there had uniforms, there was no army wide uniform. As such, the army was probably made of a large mixture of units of qualities varying from very good to horribly bad.
As the army stopped for the night, Darlish spoke in hushed tones to the commanders who would spread the information down the chain of command, "Here's the plan, we hit their supply train tonight. Get in as quietly as possible, take whatever we can carry, and torch the rest. Rorind, your battalion is going to be covering the other two. I trust your discretion with this important task. Luftin, Civich you two are on the snatch and grab mission. In the poor lighting and the irregular nature of their forces, you should be able to get in without any problems. Kill quietly. Let the guys who speak the language embedded in our forces do the talking. The rest can stand around a look menacing until we have to kill them."
"Sir, are we going in with just daggers? I don't think it would be a good idea to go in with rifles since that might expose us," asked Civich.
"I suggest having the men with swords come out for this. Swords should not be too strange. Of course, the talking team is just there to take out the guards. The snatch and burn group should be fine with rifles and bayonets."
Around forty officers and NCOs had stripped off their coats. Several attached Imperials were there to communicate with the Varden. The Imperials talked with the guards at the supply train for a little bit, giving time for them to get by the guards they had decided to kill. The Imperials finished talking and then made a hand motion. Swiftly, they grabbed the guards' mouths and stabbed them repeatedly with daggers, swords being too unwieldy at such close quarters. There was whistle into the distance, an all clear sign, and slowly, soldiers in brown coats crept from the side. They were carrying sacks and unlit torches. They began to rifle through the supplies for food and drink. There was a shout as someone came upon them. Torches were lit and thrown onto the wagons.
The raiders slipped away as enemy soldiers ran toward the now cheerfully burning supply train. This was when Rorind ordered his battalion to open fire into the camp. A volley of bullets punched indiscriminately into it, killing and maiming not only the fighting men but the camp followers as well. The other two battalions then saw this as an opportunity to form a lose skirmish line and fire their own devastating volley of lead into the camp before running off. Wind blew the noxious, sulfurous cloud of gunsmoke into the camp, spooking the horses, which caused even more chaos and havoc. In this confused mayhem, the soldiers that had instigated this were able to slip away without so much as a single casualty.
The next day, Eragon found himself flying over the fields when a long line of brown caught his eye. It was the enemy.
Saphira, let's do this.
Of course, Eragon.
The two swooped down like a falling star upon the men. As they drew closer, smoke came up from the long column of soldiers. It was like a thunderous crescendo even this far away. Eragon could hear a zipping noise. The elves had told him their weapons only reached out to about a hundred yards, but this was almost three times that distance. Pieces of lead shredded Saphira's wing.
Eragon, my wings are injured. We need to get out of here.
With that, Eragon banked off from the enemy soldiers. Trying to get them was like trying to catch smoke. Whenever he sent raiding cavalry after them, they would either cut down the horses or simply slip away into the tall fields of grass. They would crawl on their bellies for days to escape detection. Now, he had almost no horses left and supplies were running even lower. He hadn't eaten anything for the past few days, since there was nothing to eat and the enemy around him would ambush and attack foraging parties. It was horrible. He couldn't know when a line of brown coated soldiers would pop up from the grass to fire a volley at his troops and run away. Nonetheless, his scouts had reported that main force of the enemy was close. It was a few days march, but parts of his army had already deserted. He had given a rousing speech to the men, but a few more men deserted every day. What had once been a proud army of 25,000 was now fairly reduced. Eragon had not the heart to execute any deserters he found. A commander shouldn't execute his own men.
After a few days march, he came to the enemy lines. They had dug in, but he ordered his men to do likewise for the the night. They would charge at dawn.
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"Excellent work. Not only did you just do what I told you. You went above the call of duty to remain in contact with the enemy and force him to ditch most of his heavy weapons. Excellent job, but where is the rest of the army. It seems a little small to only have a force of this many fighting men in front of us compared the to 60,000 I was warned of," said Kaska.
"These were the only men we came across, sir," truthfully answered the Brigadier.
"They must have split along the way. I'm going to need to get the army practice getting out of the trenches and swinging to either flank. I hope we can break them quickly. Otherwise we'll be worn down under progressive waves of armies. We should probably spot them on this relatively flat ground and the trapped forest should slow them down on that flank. I'm going to need to get the scouts out to give me advance warning on these two armies," said Kaska, pacing back and forth in his tent.
As night fell across the battlefield, fires could be seen on both sides. There was a huge contrast between the fresh, rested CAHG troops who had received a hot meal and the worn out, tired and starving troops a kilometer away from them. The invaders surprisingly had the villagers on their side but treating people better than what a friendly army would do had that sort of effect.
As with many battles, it was decided before it began. Well trained, well rested, and well fed troops in prepared defensive positions with artillery support against irregular, fatigued, and starving troops with barely any artillery. That night, General Kaska walked along the entire line. They were a fine group of brave young men willing to make the other poor bastard die for his country. They were his soldiers and he was proud of them. He was keeping Darlish's brigade as his reserve, letting them rest. The enemy should be shot to pieces very quickly. The walkers would get a chance to show that their name of Dragonslayer was not just for show. It was just as planned.
It rained that night. It was not as much of a problem for Kaska's troops. They had time to make their trenches relatively dry with covering and drainage ditches. The enemy's earthenwork defenses turned to mud. Kaska's soldiers were silent. Artillery had been moved around to target the infantry. The rifled guns were aimed at the siege engines. With percussion fused shells and their long range accuracy, they were perfect for the job of counterbattery fire.
An order to fire came in the early morning. A bugle note echoed across the misty field of battle. Then, came a cacophonous orchestra of death. There were the heavy bass sounds of the howitzers and mortars, the low whistles of the rifled guns, the deeper pounding of the smoothbore field guns, and the screaming shrieks of the rockets. Round shot slammed through men. In these early morning conditions, their lethality was hindered because the wet ground impeded their ability to bounce and skip off the ground. Nonetheless, they efficiently plowed through everything in their way. The fires of the rockets arched up and back down to earth, sending metal splinters into men. Rifled guns slammed into the pieces of medieval artillery, turning them to masses of splinters that maimed, killed, and wounded. Even if the fuse was faulty, any hits rendered them impossible to use. Mortars and howitzers arced up before timed fuses turned iron spheres into a steel rain. Armor was no protection against these weapons. The men wanted to flee, but the dragon rider behind them kept them in line. He had a fearsome reputation for killing his own side; there was no need to give him an excuse.
"Charge!" Eragon cried as he took off from the ground with Saphira. His men obeyed his command and charged out from their trenches. Archers fired volleys of arrows toward the trenches. Most fell short and the artillery kept the archers pinned. The guns fell silent. Men went over the top, weapons in hand. By this time, the guns had reloaded. A volley of solid shot ripped through the closely packed ranks of this kind of army.
A foul smoke filled the air, not just the sulfurous smoke of the enemy weapons, but a darker smoke. The iron giants had awoken from their slumber. Smoke blasted from their smoke stacks. Rockets screamed into the air toward the young human-elf hybrid that was a dragon rider. He flew higher, away from these enemies. As he dived down, cannon opened up, sending shot through Saphira's wings. She could still fly though, and the armor did protect her. He heard a whistling as rounds flew through the air from the pintle mounted repeater. As he drew closer, he could see the look of fear on the faces of the shoulder gunners as they hid behind their gunshields and the commander as he popped back down into the command center of the machine. He could probably see the dragonfire readied in Saphira's mouth.
The blue dragon slammed into the vehicle, knocking it the floor. The shoulder gunners were tossed from the walker like the ragdolls of an impetuous child. Glass shattered, some going into the driver's eyes. Iron plate buckled under the weight of the dragon.
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"Ah God. Shit! My eyes. I can't see. I've got blood in my eyes. Tell me I'm alright," screamed the young driver of the walker.
The commander, climbed up to the man, as the walker was now on its back.
"You'll be fine. We're gonna get you better. Now move those joysticks and kick the fucker," said the commander with his share of jagged cuts from the shattered glass.
The dragon was in front of him. He could see the gaping maw and the flames of fire. The legs flailed upward at the beast but they did nothing.
"We've got to get dow-" yelled the commander but was cut off as a blast of dragonfire ripped into the compartment.
It burned his back horribly, but missed him for the most part. His driver and arm operator were not so lucky, being burned into things that could barely be called human. The controls were a red hot, twisted mess. Even so, he dragged himself up to the position of the arm operator and pulled the burning corpse out of the seat and put himself into it. He gripped the red hot joysticks that controlled the arms. His hands hurt horribly as the red hot surface caused the skin of his palms to melt and blister. It almost glued his hands to them. The commander pulled the right stick with all his might, warping the metal with the force. The arm slowly but surely began to force the dragon's claw off it. He swung it around, slamming nearly a ton of metal with a chisel-like edge into the side of the armored dragon. The armor caved and buckled under this mighty blow.
He swung the arm around again, but the dragon bit into the metal arm. It then ripped and tore with all its might. Oil under pressure sprayed out like some alien blood. He maneuvered the pneumatic spike until it was pressing against the underbelly of the dragon. Burned and mangled hands wrapped around the trigger. He began to laugh like a man possessed. There was a click of metal and nothing hapenned. He pulled the trigger again. The spike didn't fire from its tube. The claws ripped open the gun compartment of the walker. The commander saw the great beast put its maw into the compartment. He heard the screams. Then there was silence as a bloodied snout removed itself from the gunnery compartment. The engine compartment was next. It was going to go for him last after it had killed his comrades. He wasn't going without a fight. The commander ripped his hands from the joysticks. His hands were raw and bleeding. He removed the pistol from its holster, steadied it with his other equally mangled hand. He pulled the hammer back.
"You! Hey you! You lousy son of a bitch! Come and get me! I'm waiting! What are you? Chicken? You pussy, come out and fight me like a man! I'm waiting!" howled the commander, screaming his defiance to the world. He steadied himself and fired. The bullet glanced off the dragon's armor. He pulled back the hammer once more and lined up his shaking hands with the rider. His ruined body protested, and his hands began to shake more and more. He squeezed the trigger. Even that hurt. His vision exploded into another cloud of smoke and fire. He laughed. It didn't matter anymore if he hit or missed.
The rider's sword was glowing with a blue fire. He could see that through the smoke filled haze that was his vision.
"I'm an immortal!"
He pulled the trigger.
"I'm immortal!"
He fired once more.
"I'll live fore-"
"Brisingr!"
A wave of blue fire swept from the sword to shouting and laughing man. His hand exploded as the fire cooked off the powder in the pistol. The blue magical fires, far weaker than they should have been, consumed the laughing madman.
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Ever increasing amounts of fire turned the rider away from the lines. Thousands of rifles volleyed and thundered into the ranks of halfhearted charge. Canister rounds shredded men in cones of destruction. Out of this cloud of gunsmoke advanced disciplined ranks of men with bayonets affixed. A line of steel advanced. The soldiers began to simply throw down their arms. They were hungry and fatigued and they weren't doing anything to the enemy while he ripped men in two. There was nothing in this for them. Disillusioned and broken they surrendered. They were no longer an army, merely a mass of broken men. This was a complete and total victory.
As General Kaska surveyed the killing field and watched the dragon flee with his rider, he could but smile and say one thing, "I could ask for no better men than the ones that stand before me."
