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Chapter 1246: Death's Defense Line, Part Two

Sergeant Pepard's shouts mingled with the drumbeats and cannon fire. "At this range, only howitzers can be used, and their accuracy is lower than trying to stab a flying mosquito with a fork!

"Stand your ground, maintain formation!"

Gaizka felt his collar yanked upward forcefully, and Naseli yelled into his ear, "What are you doing? The enemy's attacking!"

On the other side, Marini looked down with a mocking smile. "Hmph, a country bumpkin coward, just as I thought."

Gaizka's numb mind suddenly jolted.

It wasn't because of the minor noble's insult, but the word "countryside" reminded him of his dilapidated home, and then his mother's image flashed before him. He seemed to hear her calling him and his brother for dinner.

'No, I can't be a coward. At least for their sake...'

Gaizka leaned on his Percussion Cap Musket and stood up forcefully. The surrounding noise still hammered at his nerves, but he no longer heeded it, desperately ordering his legs to stop trembling.

A thunderous roar also came from the rear-side. Naseli excitedly patted him. "Look, our cannons are returning fire!"

Sergeant Pepard, however, grimaced. He had never before seen French artillery fire later than the enemy. But the Sixth Army's artillerists were still in university three months ago; to achieve this much was already commendable.

The French cannons somewhat reassured Gaizka, and he began to stare intently at the masses of small red dots continuously approaching in the distance.

After over twenty rounds of mutual cannon fire, he could vaguely discern the faces of the British soldiers in front of them, as well as the black Percussion Cap Muskets in their hands.

The drumbeat in the opposing British infantry line suddenly ceased, and the entire line stopped. Simultaneously, the front rank of British soldiers raised their weapons.

Sergeant Pepard commanded loudly, "Hold steady, everyone, don't fire!"

The next moment, dense muzzle flashes erupted across the endless British lines, and the rising gunpowder smoke billowed up the hillside, caught by the wind.

Gaizka gritted his teeth, suppressing the urge to look around, fearing that the sight of blood and bodies would make him unable to concentrate on shooting.

After the British advanced another dozen steps, Gaizka finally heard his company's Second Lieutenant's voice: "Ready—"

He felt as if the ropes binding his limbs had suddenly been untied. He immediately raised his rifle toward a British soldier he had already targeted, trying to recall the shooting details from training, and squinted as he aimed at the man's waist.

"Aim—"

"Fire—"

In fact, after the "Aim" command was issued, the excited French recruits had already begun firing in succession.

Gaizka eagerly pulled the trigger.

With a loud bang, he vigorously waved away the gunpowder smoke, only to find the British soldier he had aimed at still advancing like a beast.

"Reload!"

The Second Lieutenant's shout reminded Gaizka. He hurriedly stood his rifle upright, unclipped a powder packet from his waist, and poured it into the muzzle.

With trembling hands, he drew out the ramrod, trying four times before successfully inserting it into the muzzle.

He swallowed hard, firmly ramming the powder down, and at the same time glanced across to see the red-nosed British soldier actually raising his own rifle!

This intensified Gaizka's tension, making his hands tremble even more violently.

By the time he fumbled a Percussion Cap from his pocket, a volley of bangs already echoed from the front.

Groans and screams mingled from both sides. Gaizka dared not look, gritting his teeth as he affixed the Percussion Cap, then immediately raised his rifle.

Just then, the company's Second Lieutenant's command rang out from the end of the line: "Ready—"

Gaizka wiped the cold sweat from his forehead with his sleeve and nervously said to Naseli beside him, "These British soldiers are just too fast!"

Yes, they were facing the first batch of British Army soldiers trained after Marquis Wellesley's military reforms. Not only were they well-equipped, but most had also seen combat, and their fighting capability far surpassed Gaizka and his comrades.

"Just watch, I won't miss this time..."

Gaizka didn't hear Naseli's response. He instinctively turned his head and his pupils contracted sharply, his whole body freezing solid.

The glazier's son lay in a pool of blood, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle to the left, half his face mangled and torn, its edges almost fused with the dirt.

"No, no!" Gaizka shook his head vigorously. "You, you can't be like this..."

"Fire—"

Gaizka stood there numbly, ceaselessly reprimanding himself. 'Damn it! If I had managed one more shot, maybe Naseli wouldn't have died...'

He didn't notice that the British soldiers were now only about 40 paces away.

In the recent exchange of fire, the inexperienced French recruits suffered heavy casualties. Gaps appeared everywhere in their ranks, and their return fire became sporadic.

Lieutenant Colonel Dumas, commander of Gaizka's brigade, lowered his Telescope and told the adjutant beside him, "Order the 17th and 18th Battalions to retreat. They've lost their combat effectiveness..."

A gong sounded. The company commander loudly ordered a retreat, but a soldier beside Pepard suddenly shouted, "We haven't lost yet!"

"Behind us is our homeland! We must not retreat!"

Marini froze for a moment, then immediately joined the shout, "Right! We absolutely won't retreat. Keep reloading, keep firing!"

The surrounding soldiers, as if waking abruptly from a nightmare, all raised their rifles with reddened eyes. "For the homeland!"

"Never retreat!"

"Long live France!"

Gaizka was patted. He turned to see Marini pick up a rifle and toss it to him. "Don't just stand there. Let these Brits know what we're made of!"

The rifle was loaded. Gaizka nodded vigorously, raised the weapon, and joined the remaining 70 soldiers of the company in a volley.

Lieutenant Colonel Dumas watched the two infantry battalions still holding their ground, frowning. "This is madness! Get them to retreat!"

However, the desperate volleys fired by the faltering two battalions seemed to have a miraculous effect. The British, who had expected the French to collapse, were suddenly stunned by the fierce, close-range assault.

Marini excitedly waved his hand. "Quick, keep firing!"

Gaizka reloaded as fast as he could, raising his rifle once more.

Seeing this, the company commander no longer ordered a retreat. He drew his saber, pointed it at the enemy, and personally commanded, "Aim—"

"Fire—"

With a flash of fire, a large number of British soldiers in the front rank instantly fell. Those behind them were clearly startled and began to turn and flee.

A cheer immediately erupted from the French lines. "Look, we won!"

"Victory belongs to France!"

"Don't stop, keep firing!"

On a distant high ground, Sir Graham frowned, looking at the British infantry lines with nearly 20% casualties, and muttered, "Those French recruits are performing quite well."

Korsakov, standing beside him, also raised his Telescope, jesting, "Good thing you gave the order quickly, otherwise your men might actually have been routed."