Tyranny of Steel-Chapter 30: Symphony of War

It took the entire night for Ulrich to raise his levies and properly equip them with what little equipment he could spare. It's not like their lives mattered to him in the slightest. Of course, the levies had no idea who they were fighting or why such a significant number of them had been conscripted. Most of them had never held a spear before in their lives. If they had known they were going against Berengar, the son and heir to the Baron of Kufstein, and were essentially acting in open rebellion; they probably would have taken a stand against Lord Ulrich. Unfortunately, they did not know their opponent and merely did what they were told in fear of persecution.

As the sun rose on the next day, the sound of excavation could be overheard by the forces resting in their trenches. The rescuemen worked day and night to free Berengar, and now they had finally achieved their goal. As the wall of rubble collapsed around Berengar and the light of their lamps shone into the room, he shielded his eyes, as his eyes were not adjusted to such brightness. Then he felt a hand clasp on his shoulder, and he looked up, barely making out the haggard old face of Ludwig, who was covered in soot.

"Milord, I'm glad to see you're okay!"

Berengar began to chuckle and cough from the debris particles which filled the air.

"Apparently, I'm hard to kill," he said with a wry smile on his face as Ludwig dragged the young lord to his feet and began walking him out of the mine shaft.

"Aye, now let's get you to a field medic and see if we can do anything about those injuries of yours."

After exiting the cave, Berengar saw the hundreds of volunteers and the militiamen cheering for him as if they were watching a general return from triumphant conquest. In either of his two lives, he had never witnessed such a scene before. Maybe he was a little too rash to lose his faith in the common people. Some fresh air did wonders for the clarity of his head as he sat down on a stool and had a field medic disinfect his wounds, which stung horribly as the distilled alcohol killed the bacteria that had begun to fester.

The moment Berengar founded the militia, he was sure to start up a production line for first aid supplies and medic kits that those who became field medics could use to save lives on the battlefield. It was by no means a surgeon's kit, but it got the job done. He would never send an army to war without medics alongside them to aid the wounded. As such, the medics received both infantry training and basic medical training, or at least to the best that Berengar could remember. He never was trained as a proper medic; he just knew some basic first aid from his time fixing himself up after some scraps in his old life. After all, in his old life, the American health system was atrocious, and he'd sooner suture himself than go to the emergency room and shell out hundreds if not thousands of dollars for it. What he learned in his old life he passed on to his field medics so; at the very least, they could save some lives from minor injuries.

After being treated by the medic, Eckhard approached him, who patted him on the shoulder and informed him of the situation.

"Lord Ulrich has conspired against you with your brother to bring your demise in these mines. The foreman we captured spilled everything he knew about their plot. Last evening Ulrich approached us and demanded we leave; of course, we refused, and he vowed to return with levies. How should we proceed?"

s

Berengar was currently shirtless with many bandages wrapped around him. His body was covered in soot, grime, and dust, which blackened his otherwise flawless milky white skin. The pomade in his hair had collected the filth of the cavern, like moths to the flame. If one was not familiar with the young lord, they might have mistaken him for someone else. Berengar took a sip of water from the canteen he was provided and exhaled deeply. He felt like his entire mouth was filled with dirt and iron after inhaling the debris particles for the past few days. After gargling the water and spitting out the filth, he looked up at Eckhard with his reply.

"How should we proceed? We kill them all, of course! Every man who marches on this position is guilty of treason; I do not care if they simply follow orders. Let us show these traitors what happens when they march upon a trench line filled with 600 guns and the brave men who wield them!"

Berengar shouted his command loud enough for all the nearby militiamen to hear; once more, the cheering began, but this was not the cheer of men thankful that their lord and commander was safe. This was the cheer of men who were about to lay waste to their enemies and who reveled in it. Though when Berengar stood up and raised his hand, silence quickly followed as he began his speech.

"I look around me, and who I see are not peasants, nor serfs, nor commoners; but the people of Kufstein, brothers, fathers, and sons. Under my leadership, we have made great progress towards a new era, where a man's worth is not determined by the class he was born into, but by the hard work and effort, he puts into his community.

Many of you have been raised from the life of a serf, breaking your back every day in the fields so that you may grow crops for your masters. Now you work in factories and are afforded good wages and proper living conditions.

The men out there want to take my life, but more importantly, they want to take away the life you have made for yourself, which I have worked alongside you all to implement.

I ask you not to put your lives on the line for some petty grievance in which I, your lord and commander, have suffered, but to preserve the way of life that we have all built and continue to work towards! Today is the day we stand up to those who would oppose the dawn of a new era, the dawn of the industrial era!"

Though it was not some epic speech of a lifetime, it was more than enough to rally the men who had begun to question their position in the line of defense and bolster their courage. As soon as Berengar had finished his speech, the enemy's horn roared in the distance, and with it, an army of 1600 men came marching towards the fortifications. However, by now, the defenders were fully enthralled by the rallying cry of Berengar and would defend this position with their lives if need be. The militiamen rushed to their positions and began to load their muskets, rifles, and cannons.

Berengar could not stand idly by; and walked over to Eckhard, who was busy commanding the forces to their positions.

"Major Eckhard, I require a musket!"

Berengar said in an authoritative tone to his second in command, which baffled the old knight. Berengar had not eaten in days; he barely had enough time to hydrate before the enemy showed up; he was covered in cuts and bruises. He was slightly concussed and had a fractured rib. Yet the filth-covered young lord stood there demanded a musket so he too could join the action. Eckhard, of course, could not help but voice his complaints.

"My Lord, do you really think that's a good idea?"

Berengar glared at Eckhard with a tyrannical stare as he boldly declared in front of his forces lined against the trenches with their muskets raised.

"I will not sit idly by while the men under my command put their lives at risk in the face of the enemy; now tell somebody to fetch me a musket!"

Eckhard could not help but admire Berengar's spirit; even in his condition, he chose to fight and die alongside his troops. He was truly a young lord worth following. Before Eckhard could even bark the command, a man came over with a musket and paper cartridge box tied to a belt and presented them to Berengar while kneeling.

"My Lord, I have acquired what you asked."

Berengar grabbed ahold of the equipment and attached the belt shortly after. He bit open a paper cartridge and began to reload his weapon; while he was in the process of it, he barked at the soldier who had brought him his weapon.

"Rise, I do not need every soldier to kneel at me every time they are in my presence; a salute is fine enough. You should have learned this in your basic training."

The man quickly snapped to attention and saluted

"Yes, My Lord!"

Berengar returned the man's salute before giving him commands

"Good, now take me to the frontlines. I want to be among the first line that gets a shot at these bastards!"

The militiaman was assigned to a support unit. He was initially thankful, but after seeing his Lord and Commander's enthusiasm for battle, he could not help but feel sorrow that he would not get to fight at the front line by the side with the young lord. After leading Berengar to the frontline, the man returned to his support unit with a gloomy expression. Berengar as the highest-ranking officer, had seized direct command of the front line, something in which the troops were pleased.

...

Meanwhile, Ulrich stayed behind his troops with his house guard; he was a cowardly man who refused to get his hands dirty on the field of battle. Alongside the house guard were the knights and men at arms. Essentially the entirety of his professional force. Ulrich's plans were simple; he would have the peasant levies charge at the enemy's defenses; after all, they completely outnumbered Berengar's militia. When the levies had removed the cavalry traps placed in front of the trench line, his Knights and Men at arms would ride through mining town and slaughter Berenagar's remaining forces.

While Berengar was covered in dirt, grime, and filth from the mines and had no proper armor, nor even a doublet to wear, Ulrich was covered head to toe in steel plate armor in the style which was common during this time which would later be referred to as the Churburg style. Currently, the visor to his great bascinet was open as he watched his peasant levies march towards the fortifications. He had very few archers. However, once they were within range, they would rain a volley down upon the unarmored defenders allowing his levies to rush towards the trenches.

His plan was all supposed to go smoothly, it would allow him to defeat Berengar and his militia and cover his tracks successfully. So when his archers advanced into the 400-yard range, which was still far beyond their capabilities, he did not in the least expect the cannons that were hidden undercover would begin to rain fire upon them. When the six cannons echoed with thunder as the canister shot flew out of their bores and rained upon the archers piercing their gambeson and mail armor as if it were made of tissue paper and scattering their limbs across the field, Ulrich nearly fainted from fright. He had never before witnessed cannons, let alone muskets. Instantly what little archers he had were decimated into piles of mincemeat, their bodies no longer recognizable. The first part of his plan was completely and utterly destroyed.

However, the cannons did not stop there; they quickly reloaded and fired a second bombardment of canister into the peasant levies, reaping the lives of dozens, if not hundreds, in the process. Their blood flowed onto the fields like a river and fertilized it in the process. At this point, the morale had already been broken among the levies, and they began to panic; even the warhorses of the Knights and Men at Arms began to become frightened. As Lord Ulrich saw his ranks breaking, he swiftly commanded the knights and men at arms to hold the line at any cost.

"If those peasant bastards start breaking ranks, ride them down! They will move forward or they will face the consequences." The knights and professional soldiers heeded their Lord's command and rode down their own routing levies. Very quickly, the peasant levies began to understand where they stood and were pushed forward out of fear into the line of fire. Though the cannons continued to sound off, taking the lives of dozens if not hundreds with every step, the levies rushed through it, knowing their only way out was forward and into death. Even Ulrich figured once they got close enough, those frightening thunderous weapons would have no effect.

...

Berengar, on the other hand, was making sure his men did not fire in panic; instead, with each bombardment of the cannons, their morale grew rapidly; many even stared dumbfounded at how effective their weapons were.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Do not fire until you see the whites in their eyes!"

This was a phrase Berengar continued to repeat to his musketeers as they held the line with their fingers firmly on the trigger. Despite the cannons blasting the ranks of the levies and the hundreds of losses, there were still close to a thousand troops who rushed towards their position. The number was staggering and frightening. Nevertheless, they knew Berengar would not steer them wrong as they waited until they were given the command to fire. Finally, when the first line of Ulrich's levies were within 25 yards of the trench line, Berengar shouted at the top of his voice.

"Fire!"

With that, the echo of close to 500 muskets went off in unison, each musket ball finding its way into the body of an enemy. Limbs were torn apart, holes the size of a fist were punched through chests, and the blood-curdling screams of those unfortunate enough to survive filled the air as the militiamen rapidly reloaded their muskets. By now, the average militiamen could reload their musket within 20 seconds after all were reloaded, including Berengar's he would give the commands of "ready", "aim" and "fire" as the symphony of war continued to rage upon the battlefield.

Despite losing hundreds of men with each volley, the peasant levies pushed on as their escape route was cut off by Ulrich and his professional soldiers, who by now would not dare move forward. Ulrich finally understood the absurd comment Eckhard had made to him the day prior, "The age of knights is already passed," as he gazed upon the horrendous destruction wrought upon his army by Berengar's volunteer militia. Luckily he was out of range of these crazy weapons; he began to feel as if the wrath of God was reigning upon him as his army collapsed and began to route, no longer fearing the men at arms behind them that were essentially acting as soviet commissars and reaping the lives of those who fled.

Right as Ulrich was about to give the command to retreat, he once more heard the thunder of the cannons and the whistle of the shot in the air, however this time, it was not a canister that was fired, but a solid ball. The 12-pound cannonball flew in his direction and punched through his chest blowing his body apart. The Lord who supported Lambert in his attempt to assassinate Berengar's life was completely and utterly dead.

s

Berengar laughed as he saw the man's body torn apart by the massive cannonball, as he thought to himself.

'Getting shredded by artillery fucking hurts, doesn't it!?!'

Instantly conjuring up the scene of his death in his previous life. Nevertheless, Ulrich was now dead, and his forces were routing. The knights and men at arms knew better than to stay in the confines of Kufstein, where they had just acted in rebellion. As such, they took off on their horses, fleeing the Barony and Tyrol altogether. Nobody would ever believe what they claimed to have witnessed on that battlefield, and it would be a long time before such a scene resurfaced.

Meanwhile, Berengar could not get rid of the orchestra of war that had filled his ears throughout the battle; despite the loud cheers of his men celebrating a battle that was won without a single casualty. Berengar had an epiphany, and would one day in the distant future, be quoted saying as follows.

"It was on that day when 600 men defended their position with their guns thundering in the dawn that the Grim Reaper was conjured. When I saw his ugly face, I recognized that I was not a dealer of steel and textiles but thunder and death. At that moment, I came to a sudden realization about my fate. One day I would be Emperor..."