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Chapter 1290: Overkill

According to Arnold's experience, as long as he maintained a distance from the woods and established a defensive line of a few hundred men on open ground, he could effectively counter Native American sneak attacks.

However, what he didn't expect was that the Native Americans he encountered this time were different.

Through the smoke-filled woods, Little Turtle quickly saw the Americans beginning to retreat, immediately let out a series of urgent "hoo-hoo" calls, and leaped down from the tree.

The surrounding Native American captains echoed with various whistles, and upon hearing the signals, Native American soldiers within 1.5 kilometers emerged from the thickets.

Little Turtle was the first to step out of the bushes, and 1,700 Native Americans continuously gathered at his sides.

On both flanks and to the rear of their formation, over eighty French veterans helped the captains control the distance from the enemy to prevent them from inadvertently entering the Americans' firing range.

In fact, the American forces were currently retreating in disarray, and no one noticed the Native American legion behind them.

Ten minutes later, Little Turtle shouted the slogan "Annihilate the heretics!" and gave the order to attack.

The Native American soldiers let out strange "ooh-ro-ro-ro" cries and charged towards the American forces in a Native American-style skirmisher formation.

Indeed, Napoleon had taught them how to fight with firearms in traditional formations, which meant they no longer had to rely solely on short spears and hand axes for large-scale assaults.

The vast swarm of Native American soldiers advanced in unison to within sixty or seventy paces of the American left flank, and at Little Turtle's whistle, they halted and began to raise their guns and fire.

While their rate of fire couldn't match the volleys of a line formation, this time they were at least continuously pouring fire from an appropriate distance, and the American forces, who had not yet managed to form a line, saw men falling to bullets almost every second.

Arnold had never imagined that the Native Americans could organize a skirmisher attack on a scale of over a thousand men, and thus had no forces prepared for cover. Now, seeing several battalions of soldiers fleeing in panic, his mind went blank.

Soon, the American left flank retreated 300 feet as per his order, but they had yet to halt, continuing to surge towards the center of the battlefield, driven by Little Turtle.

The American infantry line formation, responsible for the front, was immediately thrown into disarray by the masses of fleeing soldiers. Some even, upon hearing that their left flank had been routed by "countless" Native Americans, fled west in terror.

On the small hill beside the Mississippi River, Napoleon put away his telescope and said to Major Brasseur: "Launch a full-scale counterattack. The enemy is already in disarray."

"Yes, Commander!"

A few minutes later, the shrill sound of bugles echoed through the French lines, and the drummers from each company immediately stepped forward, quickening their beats.

The French forces, numbering just over 1,400 men, advanced rapidly towards the American army in a perfectly standard line formation. â&BË3S novel.

Meanwhile, on the American defensive line, large numbers of soldiers were crowded together. Even some elite companies attempting to retaliate had their vision obstructed by their own retreating troops, making it impossible to fire properly.

As dense flashes of gunfire erupted from the French line formation, the opposing Americans cried out and tumbled down, and the few remaining soldiers still holding their ground also dropped their weapons and turned to flee.

Before long, the main French forces in the center linked up with the Native American legion from the east. Napoleon ordered a thousand European soldiers to assist Major Macard in dealing with the American cavalry on the left flank, while entrusting the entire pursuit to the Native Americans.

Three Fires led 1,400 Native American soldiers from the central army, supported by Little Turtle's more than 1,700 men, let out eerie cries and slaughtered the retreating American forces like demons.

These Native American soldiers now slung their flintlock muskets onto their backs and drew their ancestral short spears—weapons several times more effective than firearms in a pursuit.

Periodically, some would draw hand axes from their waists and with practiced motions, hurl them at the Americans ahead, then step forward a few paces, retrieve the axe from a body, and continue the chase with shouts.

As dusk approached, the French forces had pursued the enemy to the east of Baton Rouge, and only then, still eager for more, did they halt.

In the French camp, French, Spanish soldiers, and Native Americans were excitedly discussing the day's battle, periodically erupting in triumphant laughter.

On the west side of the camp, Napoleon personally inspected the captured cannons, while Major Brasseur reported beside him: "Commander, today we captured roughly 500 enemy soldiers, including Wayne's cavalry commander, Green."

Napoleon frowned, "Only 500 men?"

Brasseur said, a little awkwardly, "Well, you see, the indigenous soldiers aren't accustomed to taking prisoners..."

He put it delicately, but in truth, the Native Americans had accumulated a blood feud over the years, constantly driven out and massacred by the Americans. Especially the Northwestern Native Americans, to whom Little Turtle belonged, who had been directly driven from their homes by the Americans. After such a great victory, why would they leave any survivors?

The 500 prisoners taken by the French forces were almost entirely from the fighting on the left flank, where Macard and other European soldiers were engaged.

"They violated military discipline," Napoleon said, shaking his head. "Let it slide this time. What about the number of enemies killed?"

"It hasn't been tallied yet, Commander," Brasseur replied helplessly. "From the open ground where we launched our counterattack all the way here, the path is strewn with bodies; it's difficult to count them all."

Napoleon exhaled and continued to examine the cannons, while instructing, "Have Captain Otto continue the pursuit, but don't go past Amite. The others are to return to Baton Rouge to rest. In three days, we will depart for Tohome."

"Yes, Commander," Brasseur acknowledged, then asked curiously, "Are we going to reclaim the Creek tribe's land?"

Tohome is in Alabama to the east, and further east from there lies the ancestral land of the Creek and Coweta tribes.

"No, we're going to Huntsville." Napoleon ran his hand along the inner barrel of the cannon, remarking with dissatisfaction, "The Americans' craftsmanship is terrible. The range of this cannon is probably only slightly better than an 8-pounder."

"Huntsville?" Brasseur was clearly surprised by the place name. This was already near the American Mid-South, and further east lay Georgia State.

Napoleon straightened up and dusted gunpowder residue from his hands. "Yes, we will enter the Cumberland Gap from there."

Brasseur quickly tried to dissuade him, "Commander, logistics might be difficult to guarantee. And if we move too far from the Mississippi River, what if Wayne attacks New Orleans again?"

"You needn't worry," Napoleon said, walking towards the infirmary. "Mayor Harjo and his nephew returned to Southern Alabama a month and a half ago. There are many indigenous villages there, enough to gather two or three months' worth of supplies for us."

Mayor Harjo was formerly the chief of the Creek tribe, and after settling in Louisiana, he was appointed mayor by the colonial Governor.