Astartes of the Bear School

Chapter 1698 1670. Seriously
Thousands of dwarfs sang the famous Mahakam war song.

"Ho-ho! Ho-ho! Ho-ho!
Just wait, don't be anxious!
The war is about to begin!
The killing field collapsed and shattered,

Broken to the bone!"

The Mahakam volunteers, who had been surrounded in advance, began to advance towards their target amidst a wave of blood, flesh and steel.

And in the command post of the Nilfgaard Legion.

"Let's finish them off, Marshal."

Among the reserve commanders, the commander of Delany's Seventh Cavalry Brigade waved his hands excitedly.

"Their defenses are shaken! As long as we attack without hesitation, we can break through them! By the Great Sun, they will be crushed! Destroyed!"

"Attack." The commander of the Dellani Brigade repeated again, "We are ready, Marshal! This is when the reserve troops should be used."

Menno Kuhoon looked up at him calmly: "You should be ready, and so should the Willuhede Brigade!"

The Willihead Brigade is actually the Scoia'tael reorganized into the legion.

The commander is an elf named Isengrin Faotiana, nicknamed the Iron Wolf.

The hideous scars that stretched from his forehead across his nose to his cheeks gave him a cruel and ugly look that should not have appeared on an elf.

"Attack." Menno Kuhoon gave an unquestionable order, pointing in a direction of the distant battlefield, "Go straight to the connection point between the Temeria and Redania legions. No one is allowed to look back! No one is allowed to turn!"

Ever since his own staff officers overthrew him at a critical moment during the Battle of Sodden Mountain, Menno Kuhoon's command style towards his subordinates has become increasingly cold and harsh.

Only in the discussion stage before the war, he still spoke freely as before. But once on the battlefield, he no longer allowed any noise to exist.

However, unexpectedly, this change made his prestige in the army even greater than before.

The commanders of the reserve troops left the command post, and Menno Kuhn stretched out his baton to his side without even looking.

Henry, who had been serving as a servant for many days, lowered his head and hurried forward, taking the baton timidly.

However, as he lowered his head, he would occasionally glance at the imperial marshal and the command post with a complicated expression.

It is also in the command post, but this command post is on the top of the hill.

"Your Majesty! Your Excellency the Sheriff!"

A messenger arrived hurriedly on horseback.

There are more than 100,000 people on the battlefield between the two sides. Even if the Embers Knights act as heralds, they are only a small part of the information flow channel.

There are many more ordinary people acting as messengers.

The messenger looked to be only fifteen or sixteen years old, about the same age as Lincoln was back then.

"Say it, kid."

Foltest clenched his teeth, but he was not so nervous that he would vent his anger on a child.

The child swallowed and said, "The Mahakam Volunteers and the Free Corps are holding their ground on the banks of the Little Fish River. They are holding their ground, but they have suffered heavy losses. It is said that Adam Panglat has been killed in the battle. Frondino is dead, and so is Little Beautiful Cat."

"All commanders were killed, and the Dorian Legion sent to support was also annihilated."

"Retreat, John!" Foltest's voice was not loud, but his pronunciation was very clear. "I say, it's time to retreat! Right now! Immediately! Change your strategy! Otherwise, when they break through the defense line, they will come here and kill everyone!"

John Natalis said nothing, but his brows were knitted so tightly that it seemed as if wrinkles were being carved into his skull.

He seemed like he was still waiting for some news, or he seemed simply indecisive.

Before the outcome of a decisive battle, people's positive or negative evaluation of a commander often makes sense. Only when the results come out can a thorough assessment be made.

And now, no one can feel the inner conflict and pain that Natalis is feeling.

The sheriff's psychological pressure at this time was unprecedentedly huge, almost causing him to suffer physical suffocation.

On a battlefield where communication is poor and accidents can happen at any time, contradictory and fantastic news can emerge in an endless stream.

And for the commander: should he trust the information brought by the courier? And how much should he trust?
Are the messengers' mental state trustworthy or are they simply frightened out of their wits?

Even if these messengers reported what they had seen with their own eyes, how far were they from the places where they had witnessed the events? How long would it take to make a round trip?
What has the 'reality' they saw at that time become now?

These are all things the commander needs to consider.

Every order of the commander may determine the success or failure of the entire battle, and his orders need to rely on the acquisition and summary of intelligence.

However, there must be a certain level of scrutiny and suspicion between commanders and intelligence sources.
It's like being blindfolded and trying to find a way out by groping in a mountain of sharp knives.

This inhumane torture and pressure made John Natalis feel like he almost forgot how to breathe with his lungs.

But he still withstood the pressure, did not develop a self-destructive mentality of throwing the jar into the ground, nor did he have decadent thoughts of giving up on himself.

"No." He said in a deep voice, "Wait a little longer!"

"Wait?" Foltest shouted in surprise, feeling it was so absurd that he was almost angry. "Waiting any longer will only cause more casualties and losses! How many lives are at stake!"

"Wait a minute!" John Natalis shouted back rudely, "You have no authority to command! Your Majesty! This is the order you gave yourself before the war!"

Another messenger was riding towards them from a distance, with foam flying from the horse's mouth.

"Take a breath, man." Natalis immediately walked over himself, "Take a breath first, and then tell me the message."

"They broke through the suction~, broke through the front line of defense! It's, it's the elves of the Virulhede Brigade!"

The messenger said with difficulty, "Master de Ruyter has a message for you all."

"what did he say?"

"Everyone, now you can only think of ways to save yourself!"

Foltest's eyes were bloodshot at this time!

But John Natalis looked up to the sky.

"Brunkett!" He finally said decisively at this time, "Finally! Kuhoon has sent out his reserve! Now, let Brunkett of Redania go! Otherwise, let the darkness swallow us!"

John Natalis.

In this tense and painful battle, both sides held back their reserve forces and did not dare to easily mobilize the force that should have been added at the last moment to make the final decision.

The Northern Sheriff suppressed his psychological fluctuations and mental pressure - his hidden reserve troops would arrive later than the enemy!
Sir Brunket from Redania, who led a total of more than 10,000 Redanian cavalry, hid on the side of a small hill before the battle.

The Nilfgaardians sent scouts in that direction, but somehow, perhaps because the scout captain had diarrhea on his horse, they did not discover the cavalry unit.

This allowed the Redanian cavalry to rush out from the side of the hill and attack the unguarded flank of the Nilfgaardian army!
On the top of the hill in the east, a huge Red Eagle flag of Redania was fluttering, and more than ten thousand cavalrymen densely packed the top of the hill!
"Reinforcements!" De Ruyter cried. "Reinforcements are coming! Hail! Attack the Black Armors!"

He had to delay the Nilfgaardians who were fighting him so that they could not make any counterattacks against the Redanian reinforcements that were attacking from the flank, in order to inflict maximum damage.

So without waiting for reinforcements to arrive, he took the lead in leading a counterattack.

He was shot in the neck and fell off his saddle. He snatched the battle flag leading the charge from the standard-bearer and wrapped it around himself like a shroud.

He died, but his tactics succeeded!
The Nilfgaardian flank defense remained weak until the moment the enemy attack arrived!

And this is not the only reserve team that John Natalis holds tightly in his hands.

On the precarious central defense line, an infantry corps with tattered appearance and tattered equipment arrived at the front of the central defense line after a dusty march of more than ten minutes.

This unit was made up of temporary conscripts, a bunch of amateurs who were still farmers last month. Their nickname in the army was very contemptuous: the Rotten Infantry Regiment.

"How do you feel, soldiers?" Broniber shouted to his men.

The rotten infantry regiment responded with a roar.

"Good! Noise can also be considered as momentum! At least you don't look like old women without strength!" Broniber rode his horse around the legion, "I can see that you are thirsty for the glory of the battlefield. And your dream is about to come true!"

There were grumbles in the queue, as if few people had what Jazz called a 'dream'.

But Broniber went on talking.

"Infantrymen, you have only marched behind the riders before, eating dirt and horse manure! Glory and spoils were never yours. But today, on this... fucking field, I forgot what it's called! You will defend the glory of the king and Sheriff Natalis! Use your weapons and chests to block the gap that is about to break!"

"Oh, comrades! Do you feel the glory? Does the joy of pride well up in your hearts?"

Many of the troops were looking around, and there was no evidence that the soldiers were looking forward to any upcoming battle.

There were only nervous, whispered curses and the sounds of coughing and sniffling.

Broniber turned his horse's head and sat up in the saddle. "I didn't hear your answer! Is there any damn pride in your heart?"

The lousy infantrymen had no choice but to shout to show that they were indeed proud.

"Very good! Come on, spearmen, drive the poles into the ground! Don't panic, and don't think you can run, gentlemen! You are facing cavalry! A man can't outrun a horse, this is common sense, right?"

"You are afraid, and you want to live, but to live you have to hold on! You have to kill those Nilfgaardians rushing towards us! Look, when they rush towards us, they are like a black flood!"

"But the more this happens, the more we must hold on! Because only those who can hold on can survive! And can receive rewards and fame!"

"The ones charging towards us are the Delrani Brigade! They are elite troops! But you are also fighting side by side with the dwarves of Mahakam! Let me tell you a trick: resist! Resist fiercely! If you are tough, the cavalry will be weak!"

Broniber wanted to use a lot of frequent trash talk to occupy the soldiers' minds, so that they would forget their fear and panic and just obey orders and resist in helplessness.

But he actually didn't have much time to consolidate this effect.

Because immediately afterwards, the Nilfgaardians rushed to the front!
Facing lances, short spears, and pitchforks, the cavalry charged into the rotten infantry regiment! But as if by some miracle, the rotten infantry regiment entangled and blocked the enemy!

Although it may only be half an hour, half an hour is enough to turn the situation around!

The rotten infantry regiment, the Mahakam volunteers and the Free Corps who came to Hill No. 2, held up the central defense line together! On the side, the newly joined Redanian cavalry was breaking through the Nilfgaardian defense line with overwhelming force!

Up to this moment, this large-scale battle involving more than 100,000 people has been settled in the conventional sense, and only the finale remains.

Even on both sides of the battlefield, northern troops had begun trying to surround the Nilfgaardian command post.

Yes, in the conventional sense.

"So that's it?"

Inside the command post, Menno Kuhoon's face did not show the fear and anxiety of a defeated general. Even as he put down his telescope, he still had the mind to turn around and give orders.

"Hang all the scouts who are investigating the east side on the gallows."

Hans Capen, who had witnessed a great battle with heavy casualties and a defeat on his own side, now had a handsome face covered in cold sweat and his blond hair stuck to his forehead.

But he still nodded mechanically to indicate that he had received the order.

"Then," continued Menno Coohorn's calm voice, "we'll get down to business."

(End of this chapter)