MTL - Iron Powder and Spellcasters-Chapter 418 confrontation

   Chapter 418 Confrontation

   When the spire of Shovel Harbor Church appeared in his field of vision, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  The distance from the manor to Shovel Harbor is only seven kilometers, and it only takes a quarter of an hour to get there.

   However, it was this short seven kilometers that made Portal, a fearless Dussack veteran, experience the fear and trepidation he had never felt before.

  Portar sent almost every reliable rider under his command as a scout, protecting his team with a perimeter line of sentries, because he knew that the rebels had a cavalry team whose strength should not be underestimated.

   Therefore, the most worrying situation for Portal is that the rebel cavalry accurately captured the fighter planes that his troops had not yet deployed, and defeated the Shovel Harbor militia troops in a state of rapid march.

  Fortunately, the rebel cavalry that came and went like the wind never appeared, and Portal's troops walked the seven kilometers from the manor to the port without any risk.

   The moment he saw the spire of the church in the center of the town jumped out of the treetops, Botar couldn't help being excited, and he couldn't help but feel a little contempt for "the rebel leader is nothing more than that".

   At a glance, the temporary wooden fence roughly divided the edge of the town into two. The red swallowtail flag originally inserted on the fence has been pulled out and replaced with the light blue square flag of the rebels.

   Outside the wall, on the north side of the road, on the flat open space that used to be the livestock auction house, the rebels who attacked Shovel Harbor had already set up their positions and waited for a long time.

   Looking at the spears like a forest in the distance, Botar muttered to himself: "They actually actually left the city."

   From the scout's mouth, Portal received the news that the rebels were leaving the city in advance. But he didn't believe the scout wasn't lying until he saw the light of the other's spear tip reflected in the sunlight.

  Dussac Potar didn't quite understand why the rebels chose to go out to fight in the city, but he was not a new recruit for the first time. In his long service career, he has seen too many bizarre behaviors, too many unbelievably stupid choices - enemy and own.

   "It seems that fate favors me today." Portal thought to himself—since the rebels voluntarily gave up the terrain advantage, he would not let the opportunity slip away in vain.

  The brass trombone hummed, screeching and footsteps mingled, and Portal's troops changed from marching columns to phalanx formations in an orderly fashion.

   According to the regulations of the Union Army, when the infantry is deployed in a phalanx formation, each phalanx should assign a senior officer as the "square commander", who is responsible for arranging the formation and deploying the soldiers.

   In Portal's army, the person most qualified to be the phalanx commander is undoubtedly the "Mr. Alpha" who trained this army by himself.

   However, the young man named "Alpha" was not present at the moment, so he had to be the sergeant and centurion he promoted.

  Fortunately, the rigorous training of the Shovel Harbor militia played a role at a critical time.

  Even without Alpha's command, Portal's troops still unfolded and reorganized smoothly, forming three brigade-level phalanxes in an orderly manner.

  …

"What's that... The guy from Portal, it seems that he has a hand in training. He makes it look like a decent." Bart Shalling came to Tamas, his right arm folded his elbow, and his left hand rubbed the beard on his cheek. Stubborn, chuckled and said, "I suspect that even our people can't do what they do - like changing with oil."

  Tamas stared at the enemy in the distance and nodded solemnly: "It's very good, we might as well."

   After a boring discussion, Bart Xialing sighed.

He turned the horse around, faced the subordinates behind him, and scolded with a smile: "Look at people! Look at you again! A battalion commander said - you guys, you can't keep up with those recruits on the opposite side of the horse! Come on! Don't stand stupidly. Now! Squeeze some tears and prepare to surrender!"

   There was a deep roar of laughter among the waiting soldiers.

   "Not as good as others—that's a battalion!" Someone shouted in disapproval.

   Someone immediately scolded: "Fuck you!"

   With a simple sentence, the soldiers who had been tense in the past unconsciously became much more relaxed.

  Because many veterans were killed and disabled in the Battle of Blood Mud, the Iron Peak County Infantry Regiment had to replenish a large number of new recruits after the war. Even among the soldiers standing in front of Bart Xialing at this moment, many of them had never been in battle.

   However, after being scolded by the second battalion commander, among the laughter of the veterans, even the recruits who had never seen blood felt less afraid.

Tamas peeked at the second battalion commander in shame - he knew he would never be able to inspire the courage of the soldiers as easily as the other party; he did not understand why the centurion had appointed himself as the first battalion. rather than the more talented Bart Shalling.

   But since the Centurion chose to entrust his army to himself, Tamas could only do his best to live up to that trust.

   "Honor, fire rope." Tamas ordered: "Prepare to meet the enemy."

  …

Watching the orderly movements of the Shovel Harbor militia, Portal couldn't help thinking: "It is possible to train a group of farmers and robbers into what they are today in such a short period of time, even if the old Duke is reborn, I am afraid it will not be able to do it - Alpha Sir should be proud of that."

  It is a pity that the young man in charge of training the militia was not present at the moment and could not appreciate his achievements with his own eyes.

   Taking advantage of the time when the troops were adjusting their formation, Portal galloped towards Shovel Harbor, intending to take a close look at the reality of the rebels.

   He didn't have an escort, that would be too conspicuous. To be cautious, he didn't dare to get too close.

  Portar grasped the distance, and steered his horse past the edge of the effective range of the musket. Seeing that the opponent did not fire, he turned his horse and came again—just like when he was a scout under the old duke.

   During the third close reconnaissance, two rebel light cavalrymen surrounded them.

   Of course, the seasoned Botar would not be entangled. He pulled the reins and withdrew to his own formation without hesitation. The two rebel hussars chased after them for a short distance, then stopped entangling and retreated.

The battle between the    hussars was the prelude to the battle. When the two armies are already in position but not really fighting, the light cavalry of both sides will do their best to scout the enemy at close range, and at the same time do their best to drive out the enemy light cavalry with the same purpose.

  The long-lost actual combat made Portal's blood boil - he was about to forget what it was like to chase each other with the enemy's light cavalry and fight with fast horses.

   However, no amount of hot blood can melt the cold steel.

"About seven or eight hundred people, no more than nine hundred at most. And at least half of them are musketeers, and the rest should be spearmen. It's just..." Botar exclaimed in his heart as he galloped toward the formation: "When did they have such good equipment?!"

   Portal couldn't see the rebel soldiers in the back row, but he was sure: the rebel spearmen in the first row were all wearing half-body plate armor with iron skirts, and even the style was the same.

  The number of muskets equipped by the rebels is also terrifying. It is not an antique like muskets, but all heavy arquebuses.

   The opponent's well-equipped equipment made Portal terrified. He couldn't figure out where the rebels got so many plate armor and muskets.

  Portar's troops were not as wealthy as the rebels—most of them carried spears, swords and shields; only a few muskets, of varying caliber and age; and even less armor.

   His mouth was dry, and he finally realized that he took it for granted that the equipment of the rebels was on the same level as the militia under his command, so he seriously underestimated the fighting power of the rebels.

   However, the two armies have already set up their battles, and it is too late to regret it. It doesn't matter where the rebels' equipment comes from, the only thing that matters now is how to defeat the rebels.

  Portal suppressed his beating heart and nervously weighed the pros and cons of both sides:

  The biggest advantage of our own side is the strength, there is no doubt about this - the number of rebels is about 800, and Portal, who has thrown the world, has brought more than 1,300 soldiers;

   Although the rebels are well equipped, the rebel commanders have too many musketeers, which is also their weakness.

   "Once the fight starts, it must be posted as soon as possible." Potar gritted his teeth subconsciously and thought firmly: "You can't give the rebels' muskets a chance to exert their power. Post it! Surround them! Fight them hand-to-hand!"

The formation of the    rebels was also a bit strange, but Portal couldn't understand it.

   For an old Dussack who has been retired for many years, he has already thought of the limit he can think of. But thinking like a conductor is not something Portal is good at.

   "If only Mr. Alpha was here." Portal thought with a headache: "If only he was here!"

  Although his own troops are fighting hand to hand, the rebels are backed by the wall, and even Portal can guess - the rebel commander will definitely place a large number of musketeers on the wall.

   A rash attack will definitely blow his head and blood, and Portal decided to continue the confrontation and wait for the appearance of fighter planes.

   Then he heard a thunder.

  …

   On the fence, a group of gunners stared at the trajectory of the shells in the air. When they saw the black iron ball passing over the enemy's head, they sighed in unison.

   Only Captain Morrow remained unmoved. After seeing where the shells landed, he recorded a line of numbers on the paper, and then calmly ordered: "Second Artillery Group, lower the altitude for three quarters."

   "Lower the altitude for three quarters!" The gunner almost shouted and repeated the order—although it was not necessary at the moment, but once the guns were firing at full speed, there was no way to transmit the message without making a sound.

  The wedge-shaped block under the gun body was moved by three graduations. Then the gunner yelled again: "Two points down! Done!"

Morrow nodded invisibly—Richard Mason trained his artillery well, and God knows how he turned a group of peasants and apprentice accountants into qualified gunners—but the icy mask covered Morrow's expression. , under the mask, only a cold command came out: "Fire."

   This is the first round of shooting. The other gunners retreated to a safe distance as usual. A man with a large red birthmark stepped forward and ignited the propellant with his own hands: "Fire!"

   The fire flashed, the gun body recoiled suddenly, and the shells flew towards the enemy with the roar of the cannon.

   This time, Captain Mason's daughters did not disappoint the gunners - the cannonball just flew into the center of the enemy's formation, knocking down several people in an instant.

  The enemy soldiers around the place where the shells landed fled like frightened schools of fish, and no one even dared to lend a helping hand to the wounded.

   That scene is like a giant swinging a heavy hammer and smashing it hard at a group of standing still flesh puppets.

  The scalps of the gunners were tingling, and they felt both pleasure and cruelty. But there was no time to sigh, and the gunners of the second artillery group immediately returned to the cannon, reset the cannon, and reloaded.

  The wall of Shovel Harbor was the product of rush work. The wooden tripod on the inside was only half a meter wide, which could barely accommodate a person standing behind the parapet to shoot.

   But it was no problem for Captain Morrow. The sappers that Morrow brought transformed the original half-meter-wide bracket into a temporary artillery fort.

  They widened the tripod with planks, then added piles and piles of soil under the planks to make it bearable.

  The four six-pounder guns seized from the Turdun Department are now deployed on these temporary artillery fortresses, waiting to harvest blood and life.

  Morrow confirmed where the shells landed, and wrote down a line of numbers: "The third artillery group, lower the height for a moment."

  …

   Portal saw a flash of red light on the fence in the distance.

   There was a terrible scream in the air. Then, as if it suddenly hit something soft, the screeching disappeared. Followed by continuous and short "呲-呲-呲-bang!"

   Beside Portal, a soldier's calf and knee were separated.

The    artillery shell continued to smash the tibia of a soldier behind. The broken bone fragments pierced the flesh and blood, revealing the white stubble.

   The solid iron ball that wounded two people in a row broke the ankle of another soldier before sinking into the soil.

   This time, Portal saw it clearly. He saw the cannonball hit the ground, bounced, hit again, bounced again, jumped and flew into the human wall, ploughing the flesh.

   The whole process is only in the breath, but it is as long as a century.

   Then, a red light flashed on the wall in the distance.

   is another **** mound.

  The mournful cry for help and screams echoed in the phalanx, stinging everyone's eardrums.

  The wounded lay on the ground, rolled and struggled, and the surrounding soldiers watched blankly—they had never seen such a terrifying injury, nor a scene of limbs flying. Even if they wanted to save people, they didn't know how to help.

   "Take the man away!" Portal commanded: "Take it away."

   The others acted after realizing it, and they lifted the wounded soldiers to the rear of the phalanx.

   But what about carrying it away? Or just wait to die.

After a round of shelling, the phalanx of the Shovel Harbor militia remained disciplined, but its morale had inevitably shaken.

   Wounded soldiers were better off dead, and uninjured soldiers were also frightened.

The wailing of the wounded also disturbed Portal. He wanted to kill the wounded, but he was worried about affecting his morale.

After    four thunders, the cannon no longer roared.

   But Portal understands - it's only temporary. The rebel gunners are reloading and a new round of shelling will begin soon.

   "Where did the cannon come from!" Portal gritted his teeth: "Where did the cannon come from!"

  This battle of a thousand people should have been carried out in the way of "picking a location, setting up a battle, one side marching, the other side fighting"—a method well known to Portal at the same time.

   As the attacker, Portal has the initiative. He can choose to attack, or he can choose to confront and wait for the rebels to take the initiative.

   But when the rebels showed their cannons, the rules of the game changed.

  When the rebels took advantage of their range and took up defensive positions to bombard Portal's troops, Portal had only two options:

   retreat out of range of the cannon;

   or attack.

  Portar's troops could not afford the continuous shelling, and he dared not use the morale of his troops to bet on the opponent's gunpowder reserves.

   "Retreat? Or attack." Potar's forehead began to sweat, and he asked himself frantically: "Retreat? Or attack?"

   If you retreat, will the morale of the troops collapse instantly? Even if the morale does not collapse, what if the other party catches up? And the cavalry, and the rebel cavalry that hasn't appeared so far...

   If attacking…

   Just as Portal was in a dilemma, the distant cannon roared again.

   "Drum!" The overwhelmed Portal gritted his teeth, pulled out his saber, and roared and ordered: "March!"

   After a brief hesitation, the drummer beat the snare drum in a hurry. With the rapid sound of drums, the three platoons under Potar moved.

  Portar prayed that Mr. Alpha also heard the roar of the cannon.

  …

   Behind the Tiefeng County Army's army formation, Bart Xialing narrowed his eyes to observe the rhythm of the enemy's spear shaking, and said in a low voice, "It's starting."

   After a moment of silence, Bart said again: "It's started!"

   "The Musketeers come forward!" Tamas ordered loudly: "Round shot, prepare!"

  …

   At the same time, Andre, who was sleeping with his head covered, jumped up: "Did you hear that?"

   "Hear what?" Turin was puzzled.

   "Cannon!" Andre didn't bother to explain, he strode toward the mount and yelled at the same time: "All—get on the horse!"

   Deep in the woods, the resting riders rushed to their mounts and returned to their horses at the fastest speed.

   "But!" Turin didn't know whether to move or not, and he was sobbing: "Sir! It's not time yet!"

  Andre didn't care so much, he waved his hand: "Let's go!"

   After saying that, he rushed out of the hiding place first.

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   [The first official appearance of Winters' new army]

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   (end of this chapter)