Steel, Guns, and the Industrial Party in Another World-Chapter 690: Taking the Offensive
TL: Rui88
“Stop them from escaping!”
Amur waved his great saber and roared out the command!
The orc soldiers beside him immediately drew their bows, shooting and killing the fleeing human civilians!
Screams rang out across the battlefield. Countless people fell to the ground, both orcs and civilians.
Joyce frowned.
“I need you to hold this position for the time being!”
Knight Lentria was utterly surprised. “What do you mean? You’re going out to fight?”
“Yes!”
“I advise you to be cautious.”
“Thank you!”
Joyce still gave the order, and the soldiers of the Third Battalion moved out from behind the breastwork to form ranks.
Amur laughed heartily. These foolish humans, without the protection of the fortress, let’s see how they could stand against his warriors of the plains.
“Warriors, assemble! Our moment of glory has come!”
“Roar! Roar!”
A chorus of howls rose around him. The orc warriors’ eyes widened, erupting with furious anger, vowing to avenge yesterday’s shame.
They no longer paid attention to the fleeing human civilians and began to assemble in preparation for close combat.
A regular drumbeat sounded from the Ordo army’s position, and the soldiers marched to the rhythm.
“So orderly!”
Amur clicked his tongue in amazement. Did the human commander have an obsessive-compulsive disorder? He must have put a lot of effort into training.
He had fought at Sunset Valley, and even the royal army from Crystal Shrine could not maintain such order while advancing.
“Warriors, forward!”
The orcs also began to move under his command.
Boom! Boom!
To Amur’s surprise, the strange weapons on Silvermoon Fortress once again let out a great roar!
Whoosh whoosh!
Before they could dodge, several dark shadows leaped into the orc ranks one after another, bouncing repeatedly. Casualties appeared once again.
The ranks were immediately thrown into chaos. Because of yesterday’s lesson, the soldiers almost subconsciously scattered.
“These madmen, aren’t they afraid of hitting their own men?”
Amur was both shocked and enraged. If he were commanding a ballista, he would certainly not fire when the two sides were close. Heaven knew who it would hit.
He gave the signal, ordering the troops to reassemble.
But wherever a larger number of soldiers gathered, the deadly iron balls would immediately come whistling, forcing them to scatter again.
To Amur’s surprise, the human weapons fired multiple times without hitting their own men once.
To be able to achieve such precision!
The Alda artillery was divided into three groups, firing alternately to ensure a relatively continuous stream of fire.
Because the unit they usually maintained was relatively small, they had ample ammunition to practice their skills. The artillerymen who accompanied the army on this expedition were all highly skilled veterans.
What’s more, before the orc army arrived, the artillery had already conducted detailed surveys and test firings of the area in front of Silvermoon Fortress. At what distance, what elevation angle, and how much powder to use were almost all readily available data.
The battlefield presented such a scene: the Ordo side was tight and orderly, while the orc side was chaotic and scattered. The two sides approached each other in completely different formations.
As a general, Amur could almost predict what would happen if this continued.
When the two sides truly engaged in close combat, the human weapons would likely cease firing to avoid friendly fire.
But so what? The scattered orc soldiers charging forward would inevitably face a dense forest of spears (bayonets).
The warriors of the plains were tall and strong, skilled in combat, but they only had two hands. When several times their number of weapons stabbed at them from different directions at the same time, they would be unable to resist.
But Amur still wanted to take a gamble.
Private Jose West knelt on one knee, his palms sweating nervously.
He had already aimed at an orc soldier. As soon as he heard the command…
“Fire!”
Crack! He pulled the trigger instinctively, his brain not even thinking.
The fierce fellow fell headlong sixty feet away from him and never got up again.
He breathed a sigh of relief, his muscle memory prompting him to immediately reload his ammunition.
The sound of the second rank of soldiers firing came from above his head, and several more charging orcs were brought down.
When Commander Joyce ordered them to advance and fight, Jose’s heart was in his throat, half nervous, half afraid.
After all, he had only been in the army for a little over a year and had never experienced real combat.
But an order was an order, and Jose followed the ranks, step by step, towards the orcs.
The artillery brothers behind them were reliable enough. The continuous fire prevented those hairy bastards from bunching up.
It was just that the whistling sound of the cannonballs flying overhead was terrifying. Every time Jose heard it, he couldn’t help but duck his head.
Fortunately, he had been through training and his legs hadn’t yet turned to jelly.
The veterans around him, however, were completely unconcerned.
In the Alda army, infantry-artillery coordination was a very important training subject.
Marquis Grayman demanded that artillery fire accompany the infantry’s attack, so that the enemy could not approach them in tight formations.
Of course, the prerequisite was not to hit their own men.
Jose fired mechanically again and again. Unfortunately, he ran into trouble; his gun misfired.
Damn it, a son of a bitch was charging straight at him!
Pfft!
As he stood there stunned, his comrade next to him stabbed the orc in the neck with his bayonet.
It probably hit the main artery. Stinking blood sprayed all over Jose’s face.
Blech!
He threw it all up.
Amur’s eyes almost shot flames of fury. He had lost his gamble.
He hated Silvermoon Fortress, hated this damned slope, but most of all he hated this unfamiliar human army before him.
Many warriors had charged close enough to them, and then were killed.
Because they could not cover each other.
As the front line engaged in close combat, the weapons behind the breastwork did not stop firing, but continued to threaten the troops behind.
This forced the orcs to fight almost by feeding troops in piecemeal.
What angered him even more was that the warriors’ bravery was useless. The human soldiers picked them off one by one with those firearms, as if shooting ducks in a lake.
The few who managed to charge up to them were also swallowed by the forest of bayonets.
The only consolation was that some warriors had switched to bows and arrows at the last minute, inflicting some casualties on the other side.
“Retreat!”
He had to make the painful decision.
The orcs retreated, this time for real.
Because the enemy was on horseback, Joyce did not give chase.
He led his soldiers back to Silvermoon Fortress, where they were met with rounds of cheers.
Knight Lentria looked at him with ever-increasing admiration.
Meanwhile, his own artillery commander, Bastian, had a look of relief on his face.
He asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong?”
“The cannon barrels were already starting to get hot to the touch. If the battle had continued, we would have had to temporarily halt our support for you.”
“Uh…”
Joyce was at a loss for words, his face even flushing slightly.
He had actually forgotten this point while commanding the battle.
Real combat was different from everyday drills. When a person was nervous and excited, they would forget many things.
The Lord of Light be praised, the hairy bastards had retreated first.
Although he was certain that even if the artillery had been forced to stop its support, the soldiers could have repelled the orcs with just muskets and bayonets—the two sides were of a similar scale, and although the orcs were slightly more numerous, they did not have an overwhelming advantage.
But allowing the enemy to form up and attack would undoubtedly have resulted in many more casualties.
He must absolutely consider this point in the future.
