Ойкумена / Oikumena: Глава 4

Chapter 4. "Jackals."

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 12:58

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Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 12:58

They marched elbow to elbow, knowing that only unity would give anyone a chance to leave this field alive. The formation had been thoroughly shaken by a series of heavy cavalry attacks, and the men stood in strange ranks and rows. The remnants of the regiment lost strict order, but the infantry did not turn into a miserable herd. Training and discipline, gentlemen! It takes little more than a dozen attacks by cowardly riders in tin armor to destroy it without a trace. One or two more, maybe three. Fuck fear. The line's still standing!

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:38

The rectangle, which had become an irregularly shaped oval, was bristling with peaks. Many of them are broken. The drummers, already without any command - the Kapellmeister had long been deader than dead - pounded on the stretched leather with heavy mallets, setting the rhythm. All the flute players died in the fifth, most furious onslaught of the knights. Two dozen armored lobes broke through the formation and reached almost all the way to the banner. There, they were all put down, of course. Some with spades, some with daggers, and some with their bare hands. No, they weren't avenging the flute players. It just happened! So the flutes were silent, but the drums sounded even more impressive and even more terrible, churning out a deadly beat.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:48

Left! Left! Left!

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:48

"Sleagh air a ghualainn!" yelled the colonel. "Tha a'cheum!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:48

The commander's throat was torn from hours of battlefield management, and his voice sounded like the shrieks of a saw through the fibers of a damp pine deck. The colonel growled, mingling words of different dialects. And he was answered by the same roar of the exhausted, wounded, and exhausted soldiers.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:49

In the morning, the "Hog Dogs" tertia, numbering nearly two thousand soldiers, took the field. By day's end, no more than five hundred were left on their feet. Five hundred warriors, the toughest, ready to fight to their last breath. All the rest mostly remained there, in the meadow where the tertia had taken the first battle and on the long road of retreat as the battalion marched heavily toward the river, snapping at crossbows, fleeing small units, taking on halberds and surviving pikes heavy cavalry.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:50

Yes, it was a day of comfort for Pantocrator in his capacity as the Father of War. And the night promised a feast for wolves, corpse-eaters, and marauders. The regiment, having knocked down another barrier, was slowly marching towards the crossing. The spades on their shoulders swayed over their heads, clashing and rattling the strained steel, drowning out the groans of the wounded. They were being carried. Not all of them. Those who could still survive.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:51

The enemy commander changed horses for the fifth time. The previous ones were a meal for crows. And once again, he rallied the cavalrymen to attack. To strike, to smash, to tear to shreds, and to chase them down, killing them in their defenseless backs and backs of their heads! The warlord's armor had shone in the morning with polished steel and abundant gilding. Now dust, dirt, and blood clung to the metal like a viscous putty. Fresh dents in the armor were formed into fanciful pictographs, indicating how many times in the past hours death had passed by, only to be touched by a shroud.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:53

The horsemen were again gathering under the banner of the "soldier's duke" [1], a standard with four empty fields on a gray, unpainted cloth. They were built in the likeness of lances [2] - weak, unsteady, and yet capable of striking. Everyone was tired. And men, and horses, and the iron itself.....

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:22

The colonel stopped the burliest soldier from the banner guard and climbed on his shoulders. He almost collapsed from weakness, but he held on. Someone set up a spade. The officer took hold of the broken spearhead for greater support and looked in the direction of the gathering cavalry. Yes, the Duke had enough strength for one more attack. Exactly one, in which the forces and horses would be completely finished, like a beer barrel on the table of drunken soldiers. They will not be able to repeat it, even if the Lord himself descends from heaven, waving a flaming sword and blowing thunder from the divine ass. But this last onslaught must still be withstood.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:54

The colonel glanced in the other direction, wondering if the regiment could move faster to reach the crossing before the knights struck. From all indications, there was a chance. Only to do so would require the abandonment of the badly wounded. Then, rushing light, it was possible to pass to the bridge, and this, in fact, is already a salvation.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:55

He jumped heavily, nearly twisting his leg. The cuirass and helmet bent to the ground, and his bones ached. The commander allowed himself the luxury of a few moments of reflection...

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:56

"Regiment, halt!" shouted the colonel. There were so few soldiers left that the command did not have to be repeated by any of the lieutenants. And there were only three lieutenants left. "U-turn! Wall of spades!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:56

The infantrymen carried out the order hard, slowly, getting out of the rhythm of the drumbeat. Preparing for the last battle of the day and most likely of their lives. Preparing to live through the finest hour of the armored infantry or to lie down forever in the trampled, bloody grass. However, many could do both. With the right kind of bad luck, of course.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 14:59

The riders finally managed to gather into some semblance of formation. No wedges or other shock formations, just a rectangle, as conventional as the square of infantry in front of it. The horses were no longer neighing but wheezing, dropping wisps of foam from their bloody lips. The Duke took the standard from the standard-bearer and rode out in front of his sparse horde. Behind the mounted formation could be seen the uncertain-looking infantry, who were no longer good for anything but moral support and encouragement with wishes for every success. The tertia, which was holding the heavy cavalry strike, was able to stomp the usual colleagues in the craft
in passing.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:01

"First rank, kneel!" shouted the colonel. "Crossbows to the second line!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:02

There were very few marksmen left on either side, and the losses from plinking death were, scientifically speaking, a statistical error in the total losses. But those who fell on the hot, overheated ground or sagged helplessly on the high "ram" saddle" were not relieved by the fact that they were killed by bare statistics.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:13

The riders approached at a measured pace, conserving the strength of the exhausted animals. And a general uncertainty pervaded the gray evening air. The hooves still clattered on the ground, chugging as the horseshoes stepped into the pool of blood, but the clatter was becoming less and less regular. The colonel realized this and felt it with the instinct of a born warrior, soldier, deserter, and officer. Hope scorched his soul like a ladle of healing, herb-infused boiling water in a bath.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:14

Shall we live longer?

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:14

"Crossbows, fall back! Close ranks!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:15

The Duke, too, realized that his final attack was choking before it began. Half a minute, a minute - and that's it, no force in the world could move the cavalry mass forward. Maybe it was for the best... The commander had already lost everything that was due to him for this battle. Now, the battle was a net loss. Four slain horses - real destriers, not "economic" coursers - amounted to the annual income of a good estate with all the rents and vineyard. Oh, and the fifth and final beast of war was also staggering from fatigue and blood loss. And at least a third of the knights were lying on the wet red grass or in the infirmary. That's not counting sergeants, squires, and other support.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:20

A third! Unthinkable, unimaginable losses worthy of the crushing battles of the Old Empire. It was time to retreat. To count the losses, to think how to justify to the ruling families the massacre of highborn relatives. Even harder to think how it happened that the ordinary continental infantry, mercenary rabble that is lower than the most despicable, fought like the best pikiners of the mountain princes and tukhums. And what to do with it next time.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:22

It was reasonable, it was right. And the duke...

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:22

The colonel saw the horseman throw the standard to the standard-bearer and spurred his horse. He rode along the cavalry line, shouting something. And then he turned the unfortunate animal, exhausted under the weight of armor, and gave spurs. A moment's hesitation, interminable as all the time in the world, and the whole cavalry moved after him, step by step, with evident indecision. The riders were now pushed forward only by their fear of being the first to be recognized as the first to abandon their leader and leave the glorious battlefield. Such "glory" could not be washed away by their grandchildren.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:19

"Spades in hand! Stand firm!" barked the colonel, realizing that the "soldier" had gone to the bank, bet everything, including his own life, on a decisive attack.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:20

The Duke spurring his coal-black stallion, rode straight at the pikey hedgehog, accelerating like a ramming log. The warlord's lance was lost or broken. His saddle sword was still in its sheath. The rider gripped the reins tightly, concentrating on controlling the destrier. The knight was ready to sacrifice his horse and, very likely, his own life, punching through the infantry formation with the inertia of dead bodies encased in steel. Seeing this insane, suicidal bravery worthy of real ballads, the small mounted army rushed after the leader. Forward to glorious victory or no less glorious death, which centuries later will be remembered by descendants, defending the privileges of families. Straight at the cursed, hateful black and white banner that towered above the line of pikemen.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:30

"Stand firm! Raise the banner!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:30

The colonel snatched a halberd from someone and, pushing the soldiers aside, spun into the front rank, right up to the demon rushing at the infantry. He pressed the iron-plated shaft into the ground, pressed it with his boot, and took hold of it with both hands, aiming the steel feather at the horse's muzzle. From the front, the rider seemed a very small target, covered by the steel armor of the horse. The crossbow arrows did not harm the Duke. His armor was too good.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:31

"Stand to the end!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:32

He was answered by a ragged chorus of infantry that grew and grew as the soldiers shouted louder and louder in encouragement:

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:32

"Stand to the end!!! Stand to the death!!!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:32

"The Rule of the Law!" roared the colonel, and the infantry answered him:

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:22

"The Rule of the Law!!! The Power of the Law!!! The Power of the Empire!!!"

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 15:23

Quite close... The colonel saw flakes of foam flying through the slit of the horse mask. He saw the observation ports covered by the frequent grating darken. He realized that even if the rider wanted to stop the fearsome beast now, he would not be able to. His fingers closed on the halberd's shaft like stone. The officer realized that now he would probably die. And so would the knight. The only question was whether the slain rider of death would stop on the third or fourth row, bogging down in the corpses, or whether he would break through to the end of the line, opening the way for his fellows who were coming in a final tidal wave.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:34

He really wanted to close his eyes so it wouldn't be so scary.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:34

He wanted very much to stay alive, so that someday he could tell his children how he, a former peasant and a beggar, became a colonel, took command of the best regiment on all four sides of the world, beat the heavy horsemen - the kings of the battlefield - and sent a real duke to hell with his own hand. The commander had no children, at least not known ones, but they could appear in time.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:35

He wanted...

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:35

With a terrifying clang, the knight broke into the steel bristles of the spears.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 13:10

* * *

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 12:59

Elena was everywhere and in everything. She saw everything and was everything. She became grass under the hooves of horses and the muddy boots of infantry. The life of those who hoped to see the next dawn and the death of those who would not see the sunset. The blood under armor and the pain in stumps from amputations in the marching hospital. And she knew for a fact that all of what was happening hadn't happened yet. It was only destined to happen. Or not. One of the probabilities. The result of a long and unimaginably complex chain of events that would hook like fishing threads, weave together a new future and make the probable inevitable happen. It will not become "bad" or "good." It will simply be.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:51

But it's decided here. Here and now. And the epiphany of what's to come lies. Elena knew that better than anyone. It had deceived her before by promising the life of the person closest to her.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:52

// Fate is not a sentence.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:53

Whose words were those? She didn't remember. She remembered nothing. The vision crumbled like a shattered crystal castle, falling into itself with glittering dust, turning to nothing. An abyss where only endless pain remained. And an equally endless resentment.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:53

She came to her senses and snapped out of the unconsciousness-filled delirium of a battered man. Fast enough, considering the state of a man beaten unconscious.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:54

Get out."

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:54

God, it's so loud... The voice from the void rumbled like a rockfall. She wanted to scream, but there was no air left in her lungs. Her chest filled only with fire and cutting pain. The stick of the 'mentor seemed to have broken a few ribs, maybe all of them. The world around her came into awareness as if piece by piece. Here was the grave coldness of the stone beneath her cheek. The smell of dust and damp mold and something copper ... strangely, the smell mingled with the taste. Probably because her mouth filled with blood. And the sound. The voice of Draftsman, a half-crazed creature, a liar, and a sadist.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:57

"Get out of my house. You've already laid around enough. It's getting towards night. I want to sleep."

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:58

Towards night ... it's towards nightfall. So she's been unconscious since noon. A long time.

Camrad_RIP 08.09.23 в 16:58