Chapter 119
Chapter 119
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 119
Chapter Title: Battle of Crécy Plains (4)
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The early summer sun was beating down fiercely on the earth right now.
"Fuck, even the sun hates our guts. Why's it gotta be this damn hot?"
"It's early summer now, Corporal Max. It'd be weirder if it wasn't hot."
"If we're gonna have a war, why not do it in the cool fall? Wouldn't kill us."
While the infantry under my command griped about the heat, or how they wanted to get laid, or how they'd confess to their girlfriends next month after this war ended and they got discharged...
In stark contrast to the relatively relaxed infantry, the crossbowmen and mages up on the hill were moving with frantic urgency.
"You moron! I told you to stick arrows in the ground! Get that quiver off your shoulder—sling it over properly!"
"What the hell kind of crossbowman are you? You didn't even plant that pavise shield in front of you—what are you waiting for?"
"Fixing it now, sir!"
"Hurry up! Reload fast and check that goat's foot lever works smooth!"
The crossbowmen pre-loaded bolts into their weapons ahead of time, while the mages tested their staffs—the tools for unleashing spells—to make sure they functioned properly.
Officers and NCOs darted around, stressing that every soldier needed at least thirty arrows planted in the dirt, ready to fire.
"You idiots! Secure those helmet straps tight, and when you duck, cram your whole body inside that shield!"
"Forget the rest—just shoot straight and survive!"
"You know the drill: shoot arrows until the knights close in, then grab your pavise and fall back!"
Just like that, officers were kicking shins here and there to drill the steps into the soldiers' heads when...
One soldier bellowed at the top of his lungs.
"Enemy crossbowmen and mages have entered three hundred meter range!"
The moment those words hit the air, the officers and NCOs—who'd been chewing out the troops seconds ago—along with every soldier, loaded arrows at blinding speed and angled them toward the enemy at forty-five degrees.
I raised my baton and swung it down from high to low, barking my orders.
"We've marched into arrows before under normal circumstances, but not today! Use those pavises we prepped yesterday and the planks ripped from doors to shield your heads! Hug the hill behind you tight!"
Planks over our heads would slash the odds of fatal arrow wounds, and sticking to the hill would block direct shots.
"Advance! Keep advancing!"
"Set those long spears down for now—raise shields overhead!"
"The shield you're holding isn't just for you—your buddy next to you, senior or junior, is counting on it for their life!"
To avoid eating an arrow myself, I dismounted and huddled under the shields with the men.
"Now! Loose arrows and spells at the bastards!"
"Duck under shields to reload or chant—pop up like lightning to fire, then dive back fast!"
"The one who survives is the strongest son of a bitch!"
The ranged battle kicked off in earnest, and from the hill right ahead, I could hear the mages chanting spells.
About two minutes later...
"Brace for arrows and spells! Brace for arrows and spells!"
With the warning cries for incoming ranged fire, arrows thudded into my shield, sending jolts through my arms.
"Argh, fuck."
"No shield, and I'd be dead. Filthy bastards."
"Just hold out a bit longer—we've got this. Hang in there."
Occasionally, screams rang out from soldiers or officers pierced by arrows that punched through shields or caught them with spells.
But it seemed our brigade—and the Reich Empire forces overall—weren't taking heavy losses.
Still, with a grueling back-and-forth of arrows and spells ahead between us and the enemy, we couldn't afford to slack off even a little.
And so, crammed under my shield, I endured what felt like an eternity, praying only for the ranged barrage to end.
"Franco crossbowmen and mages are falling back!"
"Fire! Fire!! Take down one more!"
"Avenge Sergeant Otto!!"
At those shouts, every infantryman flung up their shields and stood. Tens of thousands of arrows arced toward the enemy in a single volley.
To exaggerate just a touch: the sky went dark as the arrows blotted out the sun, plunging us into shadow.
The enemy troops on the receiving end scrambled to flee even a second faster, desperate to escape the arrow storm.
"Gah! You crazy fuckers!"
"Don't look back—just run!"
"Don't try to block it! You can't, you idiots!"
Just as we seized the upper hand in the ranged fight and the infantry started feeling smug inside...
The enemy knights began charging toward us from hundreds of meters out.
Barring catapults, our attacks couldn't touch them at this range. Fifteen thousand Franco knights thundering forward—each hoofbeat shook the ground like an ongoing quake, vibrations climbing up to our feet.
And naturally, that rumble only grew fiercer as the knights closed in on the Reich infantry lines.
I'd blocked lance charges plenty of times as an infantryman, but the terror of thrusting spears at enemies barreling down like five-hundred-kilo chariots never got easier.
If watching from back here had me this tense, the front-line troops and junior officers must be feeling it tenfold.
"Fuck, fuck. Can I really survive this and go home? Can't see 'em great from behind the hill, but we've gotta stop over fifteen thousand knights charging."
"Shut your whore mouth, rookie. Think you're the only one scared shitless?"
"Ah, fuck. These newbies get soft treatment these days—that's why they yap like that. We'll fix 'em later."
It was obvious: the one cursing in fear was a green private; the one telling him to shut up was a lance corporal or corporal.
The ones plotting hellish hazing for those privates—to drown out the enemy terror with fear of their seniors...
Those had to be the sergeants or NCOs, making sure every man could plant his spear and hold the line.
That's when the provost major—handling lone enforcer duty—sidled up to me, eyes asking if we should execute a few to restore discipline.
"Killing any now would just tank morale."
As I'd said, excessive friendly executions did more to make troops think the commander was insane than enforce iron discipline.
Under a mad commander—even Admiral Yi Sun-sin's invincible turtle ships would get shredded in one fight.
No win in sight? Soldiers knew it too—it'd just crater morale for nothing.
In that blood-boiling tension, murmurs rose from the crossbowmen and mages ahead.
"Tilt your crossbows to forty-five degrees and aim! Don't know what that is? Copy the guy next to you!"
"Land one more bolt on them—that's our ticket to victory!"
"No wasted shots—make every one count!"
The crossbowmen grumbled at officers yelling three times louder than usual...
But their bodies, drilled thousands of times on reloads, responded faster under the pressure.
Fear of facing knights head-on couldn't override ingrained training—muscle memory kicked in smooth.
Seeing that, I figured gauging the enemy knights' momentum just before clash would help our defense.
"I'm heading up the hill quick to check their charge. I'll be back before they reach us—no worries."
With that, I climbed the three-meter rise and peered down at the foe.
Rainbow-dyed lance pennons fluttering atop a horde of silver-armored horses and riders—ten thousand knights in perfect formation, thundering on.
And from hundreds of meters away, their roar carried clear:
"Montjoie Saint Denis!"
Excommunicated heretics—no better than heathens—invoking a Deus saint for victory.
Let's see which side Deus favors, shall we?