Chapter 52
Chapter 52
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: With Overwhelming Power (2)
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Magic bombardment and the Bluecoats' charge.
The infantry's perfectly timed all-out assault.
The Astoria forces were utterly demoralized, dropping their weapons and surrendering en masse.
A handful of heavy infantry held out until the end, but they were swiftly overwhelmed by the Doppelzoltner.
The Astoria commander, forced to his knees, shouted something.
I didn't know Astorian well, but in a situation like this, his words were obvious.
I'm a noble, so treat me accordingly. I'll pay a ransom.
Something along those lines.
And sure enough, that's exactly what it was.
"He's offering to pay a ransom, asking you to guarantee his safety."
The surrendering knight translated the Astoria commander's words.
"Tell him to negotiate the ransom with the big shots in the capital later. First, get him to spill the Astoria army's internal affairs."
I handed the interrogation over to the surrendering knight and immediately checked our side's casualties.
For starters, the Bluecoats had zero losses.
No surprise there.
Rumor had it that in some kingdom, a single company of royal heavy cavalry had smashed through eighteen hundred rebels without losing a man.
If any Bluecoats died to these ragtag, poorly armed conscripts, they'd deserve to be beaten half to death—even if resurrected.
"One peasant died, and six are wounded."
Unfortunately, the Landsknechts—imperial term for country bumpkins—had taken casualties.
Still, considering the scale of the battle, it was an absurdly light toll.
Not that it was hard to understand why.
The actual fighting had only lasted a brief window after Natasha's magic shattered the enemy lines—right up until the Bluecoats and I crushed them from the flank.
Elite heavy infantry, battle-hardened from campaigns across the continent, against panicked conscripts? No contest.
Besides, the Doppelzoltner and Landsknechts' main job was breaking up pike squares of conscripts and smashing them apart. This kind of fight was right in their wheelhouse.
Anyway, total victory.
But there was one unexpected problem.
"We've got more prisoners than expected."
Out of a battalion-sized enemy force, we'd captured just over two hundred Astoria troops—roughly half.
No use for them, just baggage we'd have to drag around. Continuing operations with them in tow was a hassle.
"Hand them all over to the 6th Legion."
After some thought, we decided to dump the prisoners on the 6th Legion's detachment.
"Tell them we're delivering the prisoners—come pick them up. Say we're transferring rights to them, and they'll probably jump at it."
Of course, we'd strip anything useful first.
I sent off a messenger, then got to work cleaning up the battlefield.
We sorted decent armor and weapons, piled the bodies together, and buried them—in craters from Natasha's bombardment.
Wild animals might dig them up later, but we had no obligation to give enemy dead a proper burial.
The prisoners did the work, of course.
No way we'd handle that ourselves.
A few of ours teared up burying comrades by hand, but the Astorians stayed mostly quiet.
The farmers made quick work of it—their dirt-packing skills beat ours.
By the time we finished prepping for more "customers" overnight, the 6th Legion troops arrived.
"The colonel says if you need cooperation again, request anytime."
"Thanks. Pass that on."
With the prisoners handed off, we reopened for business.
Customers came every three days or so—after the first, mostly company-sized groups barely scraping by.
Steal a little, grow bolder.
Everyone was visibly sharpening their skills.
Our rookie commanders shone brightest.
Captain Gaf, frozen in terror during his first fight, now handled combat without panicking. Lieutenant Staretska stayed cool-headed too.
Watching our men grow and fleecing Astorians passed the time—until about twenty days later.
Finally, a shift in the stalled front lines.
"The 6th Legion has taken Fahrenheit Fortress!"
Colonel Kalishnikov's messenger brought the victory report.
But his face was grim for a herald of triumph.
There was good reason.
"Some Astoria forces stationed there retreated intact."
"Some? How many?"
"⋯⋯At most, division-sized."
"What?"
I froze.
"Fuck! That means a full Astoria division is loose on the front now!"
The curse came a beat late.
This wasn't us taking the fortress—they'd just handed it over.
Too easy, too fast.
"With high chances of picking off ambush units individually, the 6th Legion is pulling back all dispersed ambushes across the front. Colonel Kalishnikov plans to rally maximum forces and return to the fortress."
Warning us the enemy might pass this way, the messenger vanished.
"Pardon my ignorance, but isn't capturing an Astoria fortress good news?"
Jamal asked, gauging my mood.
"The plan was ambushes everywhere to trap escaping troops, then hit the shaken enemy and seize the fortress."
But that assumed small enemy groups—not a division escaping intact.
"That 6th Legion commander—should be fucking eaten alive!"
One glory-blind general, first to claim a fortress, endangered the whole Thracia army.
"Uh, so what now?"
"What do you mean, what?"
Roles reversed.
Our front-wide ambushes weren't hunters anymore—they were prey for an unseen Astoria division.
"Not just ambushes—even nearby legions can't relax."
A division was a heavy threat even to legions. Worst case, caught in a pincer.
"We have reserves for this, but the problem is not knowing where they'll hit."
Where to send reserves?
Recalling ambushes across this vast border was impossible.
Even Kalishnikov said "maximum" forces—distant or out-of-touch units would be abandoned.
Of course, we couldn't assume the escaped Astorians would rampage freely.
They'd abandoned the fortress for rear threats too.
They'd skirt likely ambush spots, bolt for the front lines quickest route.
And that route was probably here.
"So we're fucked?"
Jamal nailed it.
"Ha."
Thought we had prime real estate—turns out it's a grave.
"Pack up."
First, get out of the area.
No proof they'd pass here, no need to risk it.
Luckily, as royal cavalry, we had spare mounts aplenty—could turn infantry to mounted anytime.
"Fucking 6th Legion commander."
I cursed him again, watching the frantic withdrawal prep.
I could picture it.
How he'd taken the fortress.
No real fight—just grabbed it.
Watched intact Astorians slip away.
Glory-blind, spared his own troops.
Wrong move.
Even letting them go, hit them hard.
Couldn't shred to battalions, but break them up.
Then ambushes could've handled it.
No danger to the front.
"What about the prisoners?"
Jamal asked as I grumbled solo.
Regulars went to Kalishnikov, but we kept the commanders.
High-value ransom picks.
"Bind 'em tight, load on wagons."
Prisoners sorted, we prepped withdrawal fast.
But.
"Huh? Messenger. Forgot something?"
A rider returning.
Mistake.
Kalishnikov's man, but.
"⋯⋯Not the same guy."
Different from the victory herald.
Timing meant the colonel dispatched right after the first.
Bad vibes.
"Message from Colonel Kalishnikov!"
His stiff face turned hunch to certainty.
"Detachment now facing Astoria forces. Battle imminent. Outnumbered and tough, but we'll fight to the last!"
I sighed at last.
Half-day ride to 6th Legion detachment at best— if battle loomed when he left, it's joined by now.
Detachment likely wiped already.
If they met after rallying ambushes, maybe—but short-handed at camp? No chance.
"This shit again."
I looked skyward.
Things look good, then this.
But no time for blame.
The 6th's camp held my handed-off prisoners—battalion-sized.
Detachment falls, Astorians gain that boost.
No wonder the last stand.
"Your unit's closest now, Major Yannick. Please, rescue us!"
The messenger begged, near-kneeling.
"Major."
Captain Gaf shook his head.
Words unsaid with the messenger here. Lieutenant Staretska same look.
I got it.
No reason to risk a division for them.
Or: blame the 6th commander who caused this.
Didn't matter.
"All mount up!"
Reactions split.
"Th-thank you!"
Messenger lit up.
"Major! No! Too dangerous!"
Gaf and Staretska shouted.
"So we're abandoning allies?"
But this wasn't about blame.
Lives on the line.
"But⋯⋯!"
Gaf tossed his helmet, pleading.
Whatever.
"Bluecoats!"
"Sir!"
I asked.
"Allies request aid. What say you?"
Bluecoats replied.
"We go!"
I pressed.
"Why?"
Bluecoats in unison.
"Because they need us!"
No other reason mattered.
Numerical disadvantage? Irrelevant.
"We are Thracia's shield!"
Aid the weakest flank.
"Thracia's sharpest spear!"
Strike the strongest foe.
"Because we are Bluecoats!"
They thumped breastplates as one.
"There you have it."
Gaf and Staretska stared, horrified.
We looked like lunatics charging to doom.
Not wrong.
They wore blue coats as shrouds—with pride.
But we weren't suicidal fools.
They feared not death, but craved victory more.
And won—always, even outmatched.
"Unload the wagons!"
This time too.