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Author Topic: Twenty first wave.  (Read 1169 times)
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« on: August 07, 2008, 12:04:57 PM »

The Imperian Officer could not believe his eyes.
Five squares, six thousand light spears each, stepped on the valley and advanced towards the royal army.
The Bloody nomad Marshall Caxo was leading them.
Thirty thousand light spearmen gainst his heavy army.
"Does the little abomination mock me?!?!?"
The young Blood-Thirsty was hobbling his wild horse from time to time, lifting his short blade above his head. He looked provocative and his lofty smile made the officer go into frenzy.
'What will be thy orders, Commander', his adjutant looked like somebody just hit him, 'Shall we give them a salvo? Half of them will fall not before they  go ten more yards.'
'They will retreat', the officer replied, 'And I want the Blood-Thirsty alive! Heavy infantry will march forward! Keep the cavalry out of their pikes and encircle them! I do not want anyone to escape this time! No one! I want prisoners! And - above all - I want that young Marshall-freak alive!'
The heavy swordsmen slowly went ahead. The were feeling the incoming massacre. Thirty thousand light spears were no match for them. No one would escape. They slowly unfolded into little wedges.
The barbarians were as if they did not notice what will come upon them. They tilted their spears ahead and continued their advance calmly.
The battle hymn started to sound again.
Imperian infantry incisionned itself mercilessly into the squares and the nomads started to fall by hundreds.
The cavalry had already encircled and was closing the escape route.
"We will slaughter them! Oh, Gods, we will destroy them!"
The Captain was fanatic.
And then he heard the horse footfalls.
And realized his grave mistake.
"The Beardless Marshall" had sent his heavy  mounted troops in a nearly impossible march, way beyond their capabilities to see it. They had been probably riding for hours, without stopping, in order to execute the brilliant maneuver. Two thousand five hundred. Death.
"He got me..."
The heavy nomad cavalry showed up by the Northern hills and raced in flank towards the imperian archers powerfully.
'A Salvo', the Captain screamed.
'But Commander, this way we will strike down the infantry... they are too forward already...'
'A salvo or I swear - I will cut off your head here and now!'
The arrows filled the sky, piercing both barbarian and royal soldiers. It was indescribable.
There was no time for a second salvo. The heavy nomad horsemen ran over the imperian elite archers and, without stopping, turned to the battlefield, to enclose the way too forwarded imperian infantry.
The battle was over in half an hour.

Twenty first wave results

Successful pillages: 1190
Defenders' victories: 390

Nomads killed: 14858816
Imperian soldiers killed: 2805590

Civilians killed or taken into slavery: 13150021

"He is going my steps!", Oton thought with a pride he constantly was trying to hide, slapping Caxo's face. Not too lightly.
'Escaped death again, huh, Kid?'
The Blood-Thirsty grinned while he was washing his face.
'I may even outclass you... Old Man.'
'Don't push it, my boy', Oton removed his top clothes and gripped his short sword, 'This time I will cut off your ear. Do you mind?'
Caxo grinned even more and assumed position, right by the rules.
'You will try, Oton. You will try.'
He started with a false move, but the Butcher anticipated it and blocked easily. He swung and lightly sliced his shoulder.
Caxo groaned and dropped his sword.
'Again', Oton ordered.
And on the far corner of the camp General Flinstoun was preparing himself to destroy imperian strongholds again.
The time for him to become a Marshall had come.

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