Chapter 30: The Misfits |
The Misfits
Lansius
Following the initial assault, Lansius’s men in the first trench were no longer able to use their crossbows as freely. The fighting had become a slow, brutal melee. Even so, the crossbows had already done their work well, blunting the first assault as planned.
Moreover, Lansius had placed the bulk of his crossbowmen in the second trench, where they could still loose bolts freely at any enemy coming across the surface. Those ranged attacks became Lansius’s side’s best defense against the enemy’s onslaught, keeping his men from being slaughtered from above like animals trapped in a gutter.
Lansius’s side did not hold a monopoly on crossbows. Their opponents had tried to use them as well. But they had come unprepared. Expecting the fight to be settled in close quarters, Lord Robert’s men had failed to bring enough crossbows into the trench.
Meanwhile, Lansius had amassed a large stockpile of bolts, enough to last an hour. He had also trained more than half of his men in the use and maintenance of crossbows. Bows took ages to master, but crossbows needed only two days to learn the basics and two weeks to become proficient enough for battle.
While Sir Stan had equipped the troops with spears, polearms, and a few dozen crossbows, Lansius allocated more of his war fund to acquire a hundred more crossbows, even going so far as to spend his own personal five gold pieces—equivalent to 100 silver—to secure forty additional crossbows.
Still not satisfied, Lansius borrowed thirty heavy arbalests from Toruna’s armory, along with a large supply of bolts. To further bolster their arsenal, he sold some of their surplus supplies to purchase additional ammunition.
All these preparations enabled his troops to maintain a high rate of fire against their opponents. This proved especially effective against the enemy’s transitional armor, which was primarily ring mail rather than proper plate. Lowlandia was a poor province, and despite its involvement in multiple conflicts, its men-at-arms lacked the best equipment the Imperium could offer. Its plates made from mild iron offered little protection against Midlandian steel-tipped heavy bolts.
Steel clanging echoed as Hugo exchanged blows with the new opponent. At one point, the knight turned it into a sword grapple. However, Hugo was a tad faster and slipped his sword into a thrust. The steel tip dug deep into the knight’s unprotected inner right elbow, causing him to recoil in pain.
Despite not being the greatest fighter, Hugo’s agility and sure-footedness, helped by the rope trick on his feet, gave him an advantage in the close, confined space. He used that advantage to wrestle his opponent down, but another fighter intervened.
Keeping his cool, Hugo took a step back. A different knight in engraved plate armor wielding a shield and mace stepped into the gap.
Nearby, their second fighter was in trouble and was saved only by Hugo’s timely intervention.
This unnerved Lansius. The opponent was getting better at this game.
Despite some initial setbacks, the Lion’s knights and men-at-arms had slowly adapted and regained their edge. There was no more hurried attack or halfhearted assault, only cold precision and a steady push.
Exhausted, Hugo signaled for a replacement. Lansius and his crossbowman seized the opportunity to fire at the enemy. However, the knights were prepared and readily shielded their upper bodies, making the bolts thud harmlessly upon impact.
Another pair of fighters bolted to the front. Meanwhile, Lansius reloaded his crossbow and realized he could hear heavy breathing coming from the enemy’s direction.
The hot and humid conditions underground made it difficult for anyone in full-face helmets to breathe through their small vents. As a result, many of Lansius’s opponents had their visors open, despite the risk of getting hit by stray bolts or deadly shrapnel.
As it dawned on him, Lansius suddenly shouted to his men. “Keep it up! Once we stop the vanguard, the rest will fall.”
Upon hearing his words, the new pair of fighters charged forward with their poleaxes.
Most of Lansius’s men behind them gave no verbal reply. They had borne the brunt of the assault and were spent, but there was still determination in their eyes.
However, determination alone was not enough to win the fight. After repeated bouts of hard fighting, the new pair struggled despite their best efforts and continued to lose ground against the more-skilled opponents.
Hugo, after catching his breath and taking a drink, looked to Lansius. Lansius answered with a nod, agreeing to another swap.
Despite the advantage, the opponent did not rush. They were acting like a cat playing with a mouse in their grasp. When they spotted another swap, they were already accustomed that they readily raised their shields, expecting another sneaky crossbow attack.
Watching them, Lansius deliberately withheld from firing his crossbow. Instead, he aimed it around threateningly, buying his men a few precious moments to pull back. The trick worked, and his fighters withdrew without problems.
At that range, and with no wind to spoil the shot, both sides knew that not even plate armor made a man untouchable. But the problem remained. A crossbow wasn't doing much against a shield.
A bearded man stepped forward. He wore a sallet, carried a heater shield, and held an axe. From the look of him, he was eager for the fight.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Careful. Don’t get cocky,” Lansius warned him.
Old Thomas snorted and quipped, “No worries. I got my beard back.”
The man could have an easy life in Midlandia, following Lord Arte and Sir Peter on their political tour, but Thomas decided to follow his guts. Out of respect, Lansius had put him in reserve, but the man yearned to fight.
Thomas and Roger, a younger man paired with him, approached the enemy line calmly. The mace-wielding knight suddenly lunged at Thomas. Thomas dodged the mace blow and countered with a ferocious swing of his axe.
With a trained movement, the knight caught the blow on his shield and felt the shock run through his arm and shoulder. Thomas kept hacking at him, but a sudden shield bash caught him by surprise.
Still reeling, Thomas saw the mace coming. He raised his shield to block, gritted his teeth through the impact, then dropped low and lunged at the knight. The distance was so short that the knight failed to react in time.
Though he tried to step back, the knight lost his footing. His sabatons were caked in clay, and he slipped just as Thomas pressed in with a furious flurry of cuts and blows. Thomas drove him down and was ready to finish him, but a halberd thrust in from the front.
The axeman let his prey go and gave ground at once. Two knights quickly moved to help their fallen comrade. One dragged the man back while the other kept his halberd leveled.
“Thomas!” Lansius signaled from behind.
Old Thomas barely ducked as two bolts screeched through the air and struck the men trying to drag their comrade away. One took a hit in the thigh and groaned in pain. The other fell unconscious when the bolt slammed into his helmet hard enough to dent the metal in.
“On me!” Thomas yelled as he charged into the enemy’s confused line, while Roger did his best to keep the other knight from intervening.
Hugo sprang in as well, joining the fray while Lansius frantically reloaded his crossbow, hoping this might be the break they had been waiting for.
Thomas, Hugo, and Roger led the men into a brutal fight. They fought hard, and their courage was beyond question, but even with the golden opportunity before them, they were up against the best of Lord Robert’s men-at-arms. The knights absorbed the blows and re-formed their line.
In the confined space between the two red-dirt walls, there was no room for flanking. Lansius’s men finally lost their momentum. They managed to take two men for ransom and wound several others, but they failed to force the breakthrough they desperately needed.
Then the fighting paused, both sides taking a moment to breathe.
Suddenly, the crossbowman beside Lansius shouted, seeing what he thought was his chance. “Get down!”
Already expecting the shot, the men in front ducked. The bolt flew true but missed the knight’s helmet by a hair. Lansius loosed his own bolt as well, but it glanced off the other knight’s pauldron and buried itself harmlessly in the earthen wall.
The moment their volley was spent, the enemy charged. They had never done that before.
Lansius gasped. Fuck! They were waiting for this.
“Fall back!” Hugo screamed, as if reading his mind. Thomas and Roger quickly moved as a rear guard, doing their best to defend against the charging knights.
...
Lansius’s men retreated, more panicked than orderly. In the chaos, one of the men in front screamed. Lansius stopped and saw Roger with a spear piercing his shoulder. Blood gushed through his gambeson.
Without hesitation, Lansius tossed his crossbow to his assistant and dashed back. He grabbed the wounded man by the cloth and cried, “Lend me a hand!”
But in the chaos, no one answered.
Undeterred, Lansius dragged the wounded man alone as fast as he could. Nearby, Hugo and Thomas were close to their limit, trying their best to fend off multiple attacks at once. Their opponents, clad in plate, charged without fear like raging bulls.
As he kept dragging Roger, a spear slipped past and nearly impaled him. It made Lansius lose his footing and fall into the red mud. Only then did a woman in ring mail rush in from behind, push past them, and raise her shield to cover them.
“Carla, don’t get reckless,” her friend warned her from behind.
“Mind your business! If they fall, then we’re also going to die,” Carla said defiantly.
“That’s more like it,” Lansius commended while redoubling the effort to drag Roger. There was not enough space for two, but a few hands reached out to them to help.
Carla eventually took the front after Thomas got hit on the side of his helmet. With fresher strength joining the front, they managed to evacuate.
Suddenly the width along the trenches got wider. They reached the place Lansius had named the gatehouse. It was not only broader, but also set apart by a wooden fence with a working gate.
Once they were through the fence, Lansius, Hugo, and the others simply collapsed to the ground. The red, sticky soil was the least of their worries.
A few men who were in charge of the gate, less experienced but protected behind the fence, readily brandished their spears and fired their crossbows against the incoming knights and men-at-arms.
After a short skirmish that felled several of their members, the Lowlandians lost their momentum and retreated, seemingly into the far end of the trenches.
Sweating hard, Lansius slumped with his back against the reddened wall. Hugo and Thomas were beside him. Though this section of the trench was wider than the rest, it was still only broad enough for four people to walk abreast.
Fresher men pushed past them to reinforce the gate. Yet, the fighting around them had quieted, enough that Lansius could hear crossbow bolts cutting through the air overhead.
“Fighting still rages top side,” Hugo said, after noticing Lansius looking up.
Lansius nodded wearily. It meant the enemy still had more men coming. Even so, that much had been expected.
He looked around at his own men, who had fought hard to stay alive, and breathed a sigh of relief. His biggest gamble had paid off.
From the beginning, Lansius’s problem had not only been the enemy, but also his own men’s willingness to fight. Truthfully, they were little more than misfits, poorly recruited and motivated mostly by the promise of raiding and loot.
Worsening the matter, Lansius had no reputation. Despite all his fair treatment, no Midlandians would trust him with their lives. Thus, he had deceived them. He had led them to a place where they couldn’t possibly run, so their only option was to fight for their lives. That, in essence, was the purpose of this trench strategy.
Lansius had gambled that even without divine right, belief, or ideology, men would still fight to survive. Once again, he had proven the assumption correct. His men were exhausted, bruised, and battered, yet still willing to fight. And the Arvenians veterans amongst them had gladly shown them how.
Ever more experienced, Hugo began reorganizing his men. In a short time, a fresh group of thirty men sallied out. Their rallying cries pumped everyone’s morale as they passed through the gateway.
“Tough lads,” Hugo commented as he noticed Lansius watching them go.
Lansius gave a nod. “Any word from the other sectors?”
Hugo glanced around, then called out, “Oi, messenger.”
One of them looked up at once and hurried over.
“What word from Sir Justin and Master Calub?” Hugo asked.
“Sir Justin and his men have taken a dozen prisoners. Several of ours fell, but they’ve been gaining ground steadily. As for Master Calub, his traps held. The enemy’s been kept in check.”
Hugo turned to Lansius, who nodded, satisfied.
Anything other than getting wiped up is good news.
While the battle raged on, they could afford some quick treatment. A barber who followed them was their designated healer, as was the norm for this era.
The barber cleaned Hugo’s small wounds with wine and wrapped them with a clean linen cloth. Meanwhile, Thomas had a cut on his cheek and had lost a lump of hair from a narrow slash. Part of his beard was reddened with blood.
Lansius took a deep breath. The realization that these men bled for him was overwhelming.
Suddenly, the wooden fence came alive again. The second group was being pushed back, and the knights were hot on their tails.
Old Thomas put his sallet back while Hugo took a crude-looking halberd from one of his men. Lansius, too, rose up, ready for the finale.
***