“Listen to that,” Hoist said, referring to the cheers. “You’d think we’d won
the war from the sound of it. I hope those cheering idiots realise what’s ahead
of them. This battle is barely begun. Mark my words, there will be a lot more
blood before the day is out.”
Hoist’s prediction was swiftly proven right. Watching from his position on
the ridge, Dieter saw the centre of the enemy battle line move sluggishly into
action. Led by the orcs in the centre of the line, the greenskin horde started
to pick up speed.
In contrast to the last battle between the two sides, Dieter noticed there
were few boar riders in the enemy ranks. He hoped it was a sign the Scarlets and
their comrades had slaughtered most of them at the first battle, but he could
not be sure. In their place, the majority of the enemy army seemed to be made up
of a mixed force of orcs and goblins on foot.
Despite the greenskins’ best efforts to close with the Hochlanders quickly,
they found it slow going as they crossed the open fields separating the two
armies. Watching their progress, Dieter was suddenly struck by two factors which
might not have been immediately apparent to the orc commander.
The slope that separated the orc and human armies was misleading to the eye:
the incline was steeper than it looked, and the greenskins were headed
uphill.
Added to that, the heavy rain of the last day had turned the open
fields into a quagmire of mud. Excitement building in his heart, Dieter realised
the greenskins had been lured into a trap.
Abruptly, the true nature of General von Grahl’s battle plan was revealed. As
the orcs and goblins struggled to climb the muddy slopes towards the human
positions, the order was given for von Grahl’s small army of militia archers to
start firing. A vast storm of arrows filled the air, followed swiftly by volley
after volley of the same.
Meanwhile, the Hochlander cannons also started firing. Caught in
no-man’s-land, the orcs and goblins were subjected to a punishing barrage of
missile fire. Watching from the ridge, Dieter saw scores of the enemy fall as
the arrow storm hit them.
Soon, the number had grown to hundreds, even thousands. The advancing
greenskins were devastated by the relentless rain of death. Amazingly, Dieter
could even see that some of the orc units had started fighting amongst
themselves, the creatures’ natural animosity pushed to a level of senseless
violence against their fellows by the frustrations of the situation they found
themselves trapped in.
Yet still, despite their losses, the greenskins pushed on. As Dieter watched,
he saw the foremost units of the enemy meet in combat with the halberd and
spearmen regiments at the centre of the human line.
Dieter held his breath: if the Hochlanders’ line broke now, the battle would
be over. Incredibly, despite the appalling casualties they had sustained in
crossing the muddy slope, the orcs seemed eager and ready for battle. For all
that, though, the Hochlanders’ missile fire had done the trick. Having lost
great numbers of warriors to the arrow storm and the human artillery, the
greenskins were unable to push the Hochlander infantry back. Instead, the
Hochlanders held their position, slaughtering vast numbers of greenskins in the
progress.
As yet, the Scarlets had not featured in the battle. Forced to watch from the
sidelines as the great issues of the day were decided by others, a shiver of
impatience passed through their ranks. Dieter felt it too. After suffering
humiliation once at the hands of the combined orc and goblin army, he was eager
to play his part in their defeat.
Even from his elevated vantage point above the main battle, it was difficult
at times to preserve any clear picture of how the conflict was going. The
advantage in the battle see-sawed from one side to the other: at one point it
seemed the Hochlanders were on top, then the orcs, then the Hochlanders again.
Isolated from the cut and thrust of the battle itself, Dieter saw acts of
bravery play out that would live, forever in the annals of Hochland.
At one stage, an attack by a group of orc shamans seemed about to swing the
battle in the greenskins’ favour. Calling on their dark magical powers, the
shamans sent a series of flaring, unearthly missiles hurtling towards the human
lines, leaving devastation in their wake.
Quickly, however, a human wizard stepped forward to oppose them. Clad in the
blue robes of the Celestial Order, his cloak covered with the pattern of a
plethora of stars, crescent moons and comets, the wizard spread his arms wide
and called down the wrath of the heavens. For a split second, clouds formed in
the sky above the shamans’ position as dozens of lightning bolts rained down
upon them. Then, just as swiftly the clouds dispersed with unnatural haste,
while the shamans had been left reduced to charred bodies by the wizard’s power.
Elsewhere, Dieter saw doughty spearmen hold the line against vast numbers of
orcs. He saw greatswords step bravely into the fray, cutting a swathe through
the enemy. He saw pistoliers and outriders play a game of hit and run, charging
forward to unload their weapons at the enemy, before disengaging to reload and
begin the game again.
Bit by bit, it seemed as though the greenskins were being pushed back.
Certainly, the enemy had suffered horrendous casualties. Dieter wasn’t sure
whether it was seemly to find anything to admire in an enemy—especially when
the enemy in question was an orc. Whatever his misgivings, however, he was
forced to admit the greenskins possessed at least one quality in ready abundance
- tenacity. No other army could have taken the punishment the Hochlanders had
meted out against the greenskins without crumbling. In that regard at least, the
greenskins were formidable opponents.
Despite this, it seemed to Dieter that the Hochlanders were winning the
battle. For all that, however, he realised the matter was finely balanced—
still capable of tipping one way or another.
“When are they going to give us the order to advance?” he asked impatiently.
“The battle will be over by the time we get into it.”
“We’ll be in it soon enough,” Gerhardt said. Staring down the slope with
dark, shrewd eyes, he pointed to a group of approaching figures. “Hnn, you
should be careful what you wish for, Dieter. It looks like some goblins have
broken off from the main force and are headed our way.”
Gazing in the direction Gerhardt was pointing, Dieter saw a large force of
goblins advancing up the slope in the Scarlets’ general direction. For an
instant his heart stopped in his chest as he saw a monstrous figure walking in
the midst of the goblin horde.
It was a troll. Dieter had no way to be sure, but looking at the creature’s
odd, rolling gait and its blue-grey, stone-like hide, he felt almost certain it
was the same troll he had seen kill the Golden wizard at the battle of the
encampment two months earlier. He remembered how unstoppable the creature had
seemed on that day—like some malign, primeval force had been given physical
form.
On the slope below, the goblin horde had begun to turn towards the Scarlets’
right. Ignoring the swordsmen and other assorted regiments in front of them,
they altered their course and started for the artillery emplacements on the next
hill along.
“They’re headed for our artillery,” Gerhardt said tersely.
“But that’s good, isn’t it?” Dieter asked. “The way they are trying to bypass
us, we’ll be able to take them in the flanks. Hopefully, we’ll roll right over
them.”
“There’s still the troll to deal with.” Gerhardt’s expression was tense. “It
will take more than swords to stop that monster.”
“Maybe the artillery will be able to kill it,” Rieger said.
“It’s too fast moving,” Hoist said. “They’ll never manage to draw a bead on
that thing. Ach, where’s a wizard when you need one. Or, failing that, some
divine intervention. Sigmar knows, I’m not fussy.”
“Sometimes, the gods help those who help themselves,” Gerhardt said, while to
the side of him, Rieger shook his head at his comrades’ impiety.
“I wonder…” Turning to look to the right of the Scarlets’ position,
Gerhardt’s eyes seem to catch sight of something that interested him.
“Come on,” he said to the others. “I have an idea.”
Following Gerhardt’s lead, they slipped through the ranks of the men behind
them until they found Captain Harkner. Consulting quickly with the captain out
of earshot of the others, Gerhardt outlined his plan.
“Very well,” the captain nodded his agreement after a moment. “It’s a mad
scheme, but it might work. I can’t spare you any more than five men, however.
Take Hoist, Rieger, the new blood, Krug and Febel.”
Thanking the captain, Gerhardt quickly gathered the assigned men around him.
Moving them to one side of the rest of the regiment, he swiftly set each man’s
duties. For once, even Krug listened in silence, not complaining. Given the
gravity of the situation, it was clear it was a time for action.
In the meantime, the goblins having advanced until their flank was right in
front of the Scarlets’ position, Captain Harkner gave the order for his men to
attack. With the spearmen regiment and the free companies to the sides of them,
the Scarlets charged into the fray. Catching the enemy in the flank, they
unleashed a deadly torrent of steel. Goblins fell in great numbers, but despite
the Hochlanders’ combined efforts, the goblin vanguard and their troll ally
pushed on toward the artillery emplacements.
“Come on,” Gerhardt yelled. “It’s now or never.”
Following his lead, Dieter and the others raced after him as Gerhardt
sprinted toward the artillery emplacements. Suddenly, having advanced ahead of
the rest of the vanguard, a group of goblins appeared in front of them.
“Krug! Febel!” Gerhardt shouted orders. “It’s up to you to hold them back!”
Much to Dieter’s surprise, Krug and his crony followed the command. Without
flinching, they broke away from the small group of swordsmen and ran to head off
the charging goblins. Even granting the goblins’ lesser stature, Krug and Febel
were outnumbered six to one.
Shocked, Dieter realised Gerhardt had just ordered the two men to their
deaths. Even more extraordinarily, they had complied with his order without
batting an eyelid. Krug and Febel were prepared to risk sacrificing themselves
to ensure the success of Gerhardt’s mission. Whatever Dieter had thought of the
two men before, he was forced to reassess his opinion. Krug and Febel might be
mean-spirited, cruel, even venal men. In the end, however, they were soldiers.
They were Scarlets. They were prepared to put their lives on the line in the
cause of achieving victory.
Charging to meet the goblins, Krug and Febel tore into the creatures like men
possessed. Within seconds they were lost amid the green tide, but Dieter could
not afford the time to stand watching and observe their fate. Instead, with
Gerhardt and the others, he pushed on toward the emplacements.
“This way!” Gerhardt said. “Now I just hope this wagon has what I think it
does inside it.”
He led them toward a cart parked behind the artillery emplacements. Following
Gerhardt’s instructions, Rieger and Hoist set about unhitching the dray team
from the front of the cart, while Dieter joined Gerhardt in inspecting the
wagon’s contents.
“Will you look at that?” Gerhardt said, lifting the canvas cover that hid the
supplies in the back of the cart. “I’m no expert when it comes to black powder,
but I think there’s enough here to suit our purpose.”
The back of the cart was filled with black powder stored in wooden casks and
waterproofed sacks, intended to supply the army’s cannons and mortars. Dieter
had no real knowledge of gunpowder, other than the fact it was dangerous stuff
that only mad men were willing to deal with. In contrast, Gerhardt seemed to
know what he was doing.
“See if you can find some lanterns,” Gerhardt said, pulling back the canvas.
“Make sure they are not lit, mind. It’s the oil we want, not the lanterns
themselves.”
Hurrying away to fulfil Gerhardt’s instruction, Dieter was soon able to go
one better. Noticing that another cart load of supplies had been parked near the
first, he checked the back of it and found a barrel of lamp oil among the
contents. It was a relatively small barrel, and with some effort Dieter was able
to balance it on his shoulder. He raced back to the others with his prize.
“Found it in the back of another cart, you say?” Gerhardt lifted an eyebrow
once Dieter explained his find. “Again, I’m no expert, but that sounds like a
recipe for disaster—storing lamp oil and black powder so close together.
Still, in this case, you have to thank whatever mutton head made that mistake.
Let’s see if we can make the best of it.”
Gerhardt had already forced open some of the black powder casks. With
Dieter’s help, he balanced the barrel of oil at the back of the cart, gouging a
hole in the barrel’s side with his knife so a thin stream of oil flowed freely
over the wagon’s backboard and onto the ground.
“Get a torch,” he told Dieter. “A lit one this time. But make sure you keep
it away from the oil trail.”
By the time Dieter returned with a flaming torch, having persuaded a member
of one of the gun crews to part with it, Gerhardt and the others had already
begun to move the wagon. Alongside himself, Rieger and Hoist, Gerhardt had
commandeered several artillerymen to help them push the wagon.
“We only have to push it as far as the lip of the ridge,” Gerhardt said as
the men strained to move the recalcitrant wagon. “After that, the slope will do
the work for us.”
“And what about the troll?” Hoist asked. “Are you expecting it to hold still
long enough to be run over by this cart?”
“It won’t need to. Once the oil trail is set alight, anything within thirty
paces of this cart will be blown to pieces. And, besides, it’s not as though we
have much choice. I don’t think we’ll find someone willing to sit on the cart
and steer it down the hillside. Not unless you’re about to volunteer for the
job.”