Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters-Chapter 398 - 44: Turu, Haug, and Naiman

Chapter 398: Chapter 44: Turu, Haug, and Naiman

After the skirmish, the convoy was in complete disarray. The surviving Paratu People were gasping for breath, slumped on the ground in all directions, their spirits and energy completely drained by the fierce battle they had just endured.

Some militiamen were holding the bodies of the fallen, weeping bitterly. These were their relatives and friends.

“Who speaks Herders’ language?” Pierre, carrying a musket, walked among the wagons. “Is there anyone who speaks Herders’ language?”

He was met only with head shakes or outright silence.

“Herders’ language? No one understands it?” Pierre asked again when he saw a surviving Paratu Person.

“I do.” A lean figure climbed down from a wagon. “What’s it about?”

“You speak Herders’ language, Hunter?”

Bell had taken a blow to the head and his consciousness was still somewhat fuzzy. “A bit. Before my mother passed, our whole family lived in the Bitterwater Tribe.”

“Come with me.” Pierre turned to lead the way. “The lieutenant needs a translator.”

…

As the curved needle threaded with cotton pierced through the flesh, the company’s barber-surgeon Pero was stitching up the wounds on the colonel’s shoulder.

Colonel Jeska was sitting heroically on a keg of gunpowder, listening to Lieutenant Bard reporting the casualties.

Over two hundred of the supply train’s militiamen and wagon drivers were killed or injured, mostly from the routed forces. Those who fought at the wagon fort accounted for fewer casualties.

Dozens more were missing, presumably having run into the wilderness amid the chaos.

Not to mention a number of horses and wagons that were lost…

“Enough! Stop reading that!” the colonel said impatiently, waving his hand. “Just hearing it makes my blood boil. It’s worse than useless innkeepers.”

Bard put away the list and said soothingly, “We can’t help it. The supply train’s goods belong to the state, but an innkeeper’s goods are his own.”

Facing the sudden attack from Herders light cavalry, Jeska’s militiamen and wagon drivers almost offered no resistance. They abandoned their horses and supplies and fled for their lives, resulting in a total rout.

Conversely, the small tradesmen “hitching a ride” for protection fought desperately to protect their wagons, wielding sticks and pitchforks to fight for their lives against Herders Cavalry.

For many of them, the goods on the wagons constituted their entire wealth; to have it stolen meant financial ruin.

“What about the Herders?” Colonel Jeska took a large swig of strong liquor to dull the pain.

“A few ran off, Lieutenant Cherini and his men are in pursuit,” Bard reported calmly. “Lieutenant Montaigne is tallying up the remaining living and dead Herders.”

Jeska glanced at Bard beside him and rasped, “You did well today.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The praise was rare from the one-eyed colonel, but the cavalry lieutenant remained as unfazed as ever.

…

There weren’t many Herders soldiers, and there wasn’t much they could do.

The number of militiamen and wagon drivers in the supply train was close to six hundred—a sizable force.

Forget six hundred people; even six hundred pigs couldn’t be killed by the Herders in a short time, not to mention there were over three hundred Paratu traders following behind.

The advantage of the Herders lay in their surprise attacks and the fact that the escort forces were spread out over a wagon train more than one kilometer long, each fighting for themselves.

If they had brought incendiaries and set fires aggressively, coming in and out quickly, the Paratu People would have had no way of countering them.

But the Herders had not chosen to burn the supplies—Colonel Jeska explained it as greed. In the Herders language, “fighting” and “robbing” were the same word; all Herders wanted a piece of the action.

When faced with particularly stubborn resistance from the traders, the Herders didn’t force a direct confrontation but instead turned to attack the frantically fleeing militiamen and wagon drivers.

Afterward, the attention of most Herders was drawn away by Colonel Jeska and Lieutenant Montaigne, significantly reducing the pressure on the rear of the convoy.

When Andre returned to the convoy, he found Bard directing the traders to form a makeshift wagon fort.

After discussion, they decided that Andre would lead the still able Dusacks to strike out and ascertain the situation.

That set the stage for Andre to lead the charge into the wagon fort, shouting the battle cry of the Third Legion.

…

Barber-surgeon Pero struggled to stitch up the cut, but his hands shook so badly that he couldn’t tie the knot.

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Bard patted the barber’s shoulder and took over the tweezers.

“We need to round up those who scattered,” Colonel Jeska pondered aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“We can’t stay here long. We must set out as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bard quickly tied the knot and cut off the thread.

The colonel took another gulp of strong liquor and, while dressing, bellowed, “Where’s Montaigne? Tell him to hurry up. Does it take this long to clear a battlefield?”

…

Winters was busy treating the wounded, identifying and collecting bodies.

Militiamen were gradually discovering several Herders who could still move, but Winters, wanting to interrogate, couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

Colonel Jeska, with his sword in hand, strode over. “What’s with the dawdling?”

Winters saluted. “Colonel, what should we do with the Herders?”

“What should we do?” Colonel Jeska was perplexed. “Finish off the dead ones, kill the living. Hurry up; we’re moving out.”

Winters said nothing, just nodded his head.

“Gather the troops, get organized. Let those traders clean up the battlefield. Collect the armor and weapons for ourselves; the rest can go to them. They’ll be happy to have it.”

Winters nodded again.

The colonel added, “Oh, and don’t forget to cut off the ears of the dead Herders—take the ones with earrings.”

“What?” Winters frowned. “Why?”

“Why? For money!” Colonel Jeska laughed, at a loss for words.

Pierre, dragging the young Hunter along, called from a distance, “Sir, Bell speaks Herders’ language!”

“Someone understands Herders’ language?” Jeska’s eyes lit up at once.

Pierre, noticing the colonel was present, hastily saluted.

“Which of you speaks Herders’ language?” the colonel asked the two little Dusacks.

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