Chapter 30: Waterborne Mounted Archers

“Fred, why don’t you use fire boats to attack as many warships as possible? Isn’t using nearly fifty boats to attack six warships a bit too wasteful?”

“It’s good that you’re thinking this way, Rodrick. I made this decision for a few reasons. First, our trap can hold at most eight warships. Any ships behind them, no matter how stupid, will notice something is wrong and won’t all pile in. If they can keep moving within a certain range, the fire boats will be far less effective and may not cause as much damage as we expect. Second, if we had more small boats, of course I would want to achieve more. But we only have fifty small boats, and ten of them have to be given to Kelsey and her group for mobile attacks. We can’t take that risk. If we burn, we have to make sure we burn them until not a single piece of wood is left. That will not only cause them huge losses, but also crush their morale. This is what it means to wound all ten fingers rather than cut off one. Do you understand?”

This was a conversation between Fred and Rodrick during the pre-battle meeting. Things happened exactly as Fred had expected—the Winstons lost one very thick finger, so thick that it clogged the river from before dawn until the sun was high in the sky.

When dawn came, Kelsey and her companions withdrew from the guerrilla battlefield where their hiding place had been exposed, and transported the city-defense equipment back into the city. Compared with their enemies, their losses were truly negligible. Fifty people, twenty ballistas. After burning six warships and killing nearly a thousand people, they had lost only three ballista strings—snapped by overexcited thieves who made mistakes while operating them. One person was lightly injured: Hook accidentally dropped a hook on his own toe while hoisting a ballista back onto the city wall.

The great victory spread through the whole city at once through official channels. Everyone in the city—especially the soldiers who were about to face the Winstons’ frontal attack—had soaring morale. When Kelsey, the planner, designer, and executor of this ambush, returned to the city, she received a hero’s welcome. A bright red carpet was laid out from the city gate, and crowds of welcomers stood on both sides. As a thief leader, Kelsey had never received such fanatical adoration from so many law-abiding citizens. Her beautiful appearance and legendary thief identity cast a dazzling halo over her victory. Many gentle, virtuous young ladies of great families and pretty girls of small families—who rarely even crossed their own thresholds—changed their wish to spend their lives serving their husbands and raising children, and vowed to follow the deep high-heeled footprints of Kelsey Ragg, the Pink Rose Blooming in Water, so that they too could become wild female thieves admired and loved by many handsome men and gentlemen. Not long after the war, the finely made, brightly colored “Female Thief” brand pink headscarves and the bold, fierce “Savage Girlfriend” became two famous products of Kampnavia.

Fred tacitly allowed this celebration that was in fact being held during a battle, but he added extra guards at the city gate in case anyone tried to cause trouble. While the celebration was taking place, the helpless Winston naval forces were still quietly waiting for their warships to burn out and doing their best to rescue the comrades who had survived. For a small-scale celebration, there was plenty of time. Of course, under the prior arrangements, once Kelsey and her group entered the city, the dock immediately went into combat readiness. Noncombatants were forbidden to come within thirty paces of the city gate, and even the red carpet was not rolled up.

“They need a victory to boost their courage, and they need a hero to lead the battle,” Fred said.

The last flame went out in the river water covered with corpses and pieces of wood. At the same time, the patience of nearly nine thousand maddened Winstons waiting also went out. Obviously, the plan to sneak-attack Kampnavia had completely failed, but the Winstons still held a huge advantage in numbers that could not be ignored. And what was even more likely was that the honor of being brave land cavalry and invincible warriors who had swept across half of Delanmaya made Duke Uthers de Rivera unable to give up this attack on the important forward port on the south bank of the Morning Light River. No matter what, the Winstons beat their war drums, blew their war horns, and charged at us with great fanfare.

It must be admitted that there was a reason Duke Rivera had been able to become the commander of the Central Army of the Winston southern expedition, holding a position in the Winston Army second only to Crown Prince Louis, the commander of the Imperial Army, who was known as the Embroidery Needle on the Battlefield. He successfully calmed the restlessness of the northern soldiers, who were used to fighting on land. He divided the remaining twenty-plus warships into several groups and moved them back and forth in front of the harbor, using the shipboard catapults and ballistas on the side decks to pour rain-like destructive ammunition onto the wide city wall. The broad deck of a large three-masted warship was enough to carry nearly thirty small and medium ranged weapons. Calculating from only half of the weapons on one side being in use, there were still fully two hundred ranged weapons volleying again and again at our city wall, which was neither thick nor firm. Such numbers and destructive power far exceeded the imagination of us, who had only taken part in hand-to-hand combat.

By contrast, our counterattack was not as strong as the enemy’s attack. In the first place, our ranged weapons were only about a quarter of our opponent’s. What was more, their targets were far smaller than ours, and they could move freely on the river, which greatly reduced our accuracy. Soon we were pressed so hard by their rain-like stones and bolts that we could not lift our heads, and our casualties were extremely heavy. Soldiers with broken bones lay on the ground twitching and groaning. Beside them were comrades whose chests had been pierced by bolts. Many heavy weapons were smashed into heaps of ruins by stones falling from the sky.

“He moved the tactics of mounted archers onto the water, this guy…” Fred shook his head and sighed. He had once told us about the scene of cavalry attacking a city described in books. In front of a small city on flat terrain, cavalry with an overwhelming numerical advantage usually would not give up their advantage and directly attack the city wall. Instead, they formed various formations and moved back and forth beneath the city, using specially made cavalry longbows to ruthlessly shoot a splashing rain of arrows at the defenders. The sky-covering arrows were like a huge dark cloud rolling up from the flat ground. In an instant, they blocked half the sunlight, then fell from above as bloodthirsty killers on the city wall, taking away the fragile lives of the defenders. Among his stories, the one that impressed me most was this: one hundred and twenty years ago, when Chirakun, the Iron-Blooded Emperor of Portchirala, led a hundred thousand iron cavalry sweeping across the Farvill Continent, he showed beneath Minsko City—defended by only four thousand soldiers—what happened to those who offended his majesty. A hundred thousand iron cavalry circled the city and shot in turns for a whole day, absolutely refusing to accept surrender. When his knights climbed the city towers the next day, they met no resistance. Arrows on the city wall were piled up like mountains. In front of every battlement opening lay one or more defender’s corpses. Every corpse was stuck full of arrows, and some even had their arms and lower legs shot off by such dense arrow rain. Even the tall shelters did not save many soldiers’ lives in the face of such a crazy, indiscriminate attack. Of the four thousand defenders, fewer than five hundred remained, and most of them had dull eyes and broken minds. After enduring a whole day of uninterrupted mounted-archery torment like locust plagues and hail, the defenders’ last remaining sanity completely collapsed. No one knew how terrifying that scene had been. The book only recorded that after the war, Minsko City had to build a larger warehouse beside the original military supply warehouse, specifically to store those arrows. Even today, on the city walls and roads of Minsko, many arrowheads can still be seen stuck into the brick and stone like wedges.

At this moment, our enemy was more like a waterborne mounted-archer force holding a huge advantage. Their ranged weapons, four times ours, made them race far ahead in this contest of exchanging fire.

Fred gave the order for everyone to take cover in the shelters on the city wall, keeping only a few weapons for a symbolic counterattack.

“Let them keep throwing. They can’t have piled their ship holds full of stones,” Fred said fiercely, a little sulkily. Although his words were not wrong—our enemies did not have the jaw-dropping logistical support ability of Emperor Chirakun. Even a large three-masted warship, after carrying nearly three hundred soldiers, could hold only a very limited number of bolts and stones for long-range attacks. But that did not mean we should give up the chance to keep the enemy pressed outside the dock and hide behind the wall shelters counting the sky-filling meteor shower of stones.

“If I had enough catapults…” Fred gritted his teeth as he looked at the smug group of warships and waved his fist in frustration. At this moment, my brave and wise friend finally showed a little of the boyishness that matched his age.

Finally, the frequency of the warships’ attacks gradually decreased. This was a sign that the Winstons’ ranged ammunition was about to run out. At the same time Fred gave the order to return to battle stations, the enemy commander displayed extremely high coordination and command ability. Four warships whose ammunition was exhausted made a large arc on the river outside the harbor, turned their bows toward the dock, and charged at full speed. Meanwhile, the other warships continued firing over a wide area, providing powerful cover for their vanguard.

“Concentrate your targets! Front four warships, volley fire!” Fred shouted. His order was repeated loudly one after another by the messengers and spread across the crescent-shaped city wall in an instant. Having received the order, the catapult crews and ballista crews stopped exchanging fire with the enemy and aimed at the four warships that were rapidly approaching. Huge stones and sharp bolts poured down on those four brave warships with shrieking wind. The sound of wood splintering was still clearly audible even in such a noisy moment. At last, a warship flying a golden flag was pushed past its limit by the damage from a huge stone. At the distance of one bowshot from the dock, it let out a terrifying tearing sound. We could even see the planks on the side of the hull breaking apart layer by layer, and the whole warship split in two in the middle. A great amount of river water poured into the hold and swallowed in the merciless torrent the soldiers who had not yet had time to reach the deck. Even the soldiers who were on the deck mostly did not escape this terrible disaster. Some whose reactions were a little slow were thrown to the ground by the enormous shock, and then they were either skewered like meat on sharp wooden splinters sticking out at an angle from the shattered hull, or crushed to death by falling masts, or dragged into the deep river together with their comrades in the hold.

With the proud, delighted shouts from the soldiers around us, another warship was successfully stopped in its tracks by us. Compared with its companion, it was lucky. It did not suffer complete destruction; its mainmast simply broke in the middle. The broken mainmast twisted the sail ropes into a tangled mess, causing the ship to completely lose control. It drifted slowly east with the current, withdrew from the battle circle, and in an instant was nowhere to be seen. If they were lucky, perhaps they could just drift downstream like that and accomplish the feat of a broken ship drifting all the way into the sea.

Although we did our best to stop the warships from reaching the shore, the fewer than one hundred ranged weapons the enemy had left us were truly unable to smash their charge in such a short time. A few breaths later, two warships full of holes completed their mission, delivering two full shiploads of battle-hardened war machines onto the dock. Behind them, more giant warships that had exhausted their ammunition formed ranks and rapidly closed in on the dock at a speed we could not stop. With such a high rate of shooting, even the city’s abundant stores could not fully meet the need. When the third wave of Winstons reached the shore and the attacking warships could no longer achieve greater results, Fred also received Riley’s report: the catapult stones were used up, and there were not many bolts left.

“Stop shooting. Prepare the first line of defense at the dock.” He looked at Riley meaningfully. “Riley, I’m leaving the city wall to you, and all the remaining bolts as well. I think you know how to use them to the greatest effect.”

Riley met Fred’s gaze and straightened his back. “Just watch me!” He turned and ran toward his post.

“As long as the Winstons haven’t climbed up the city wall, you don’t need to report,” Fred shouted at his retreating back.

“As long as I’m here, they won’t get up!” Riley’s voice came back, carrying the proud confidence of a young commander.

Below the city wall, Rodrick led one hundred Light Infantry, five hundred Spearmen, and two hundred archers in five layers of defense. His task was to hold the road from the harbor to the city gate as tightly as possible and delay the Winstons.

Rodrick, from a family of military officers, carefully followed traditional defensive tactics. On the wide road, which was wide enough for four carriages to travel side by side, he set up three rows of barricades made of sharpened wooden stakes, one behind another. These were originally powerful tools used to restrict cavalry charges, but now their greatest use was to block the charge of the Winston Heavy Infantry and cause a little trouble for the Winstons’ advance. Behind the barricades were five layers of shelters built from sandbags and thick, sturdy ship planks collected from the dock and shipyard. Behind each shelter layer, about a hundred soldiers formed defensive formations. The two hundred archers were positioned right beside the city gate, ready at any moment.

The first group of Winstons to come ashore did not rush to attack. They quickly steadied their position, used the tall tower shields they carried to form a temporary two-layer defensive circle, and protected the dock area very well. Arrows shot by human strength were unlikely, at such a distance, to have any chance to fly over the shields and hurt the enemies who had just gotten off the ships. Kampnavia’s harbor was not big enough to hold more than twenty giant warships at once, and the Winstons had long been prepared for this. Four warships were moored at the dock, and every ship organized its defenses immediately. The warships that followed came alongside the ship in front one after another, and wide wooden planks were fitted between the two ships to make a path wide enough for five people to pass at the same time. Whole ranks of Winston soldiers filed out along this temporary road on the water. We could only watch helplessly as our enemies came off the ships in lines, steadily strengthening their position bit by bit.

“If only we could set a fire right now…” Fred muttered to himself, with a little helpless regret. We all knew this could only be a beautiful fantasy. The Winstons, who had already received a painful lesson from fire, would never give us a second chance.

At a single order from a burly officer, Winston Heavy Infantry, wearing heavy armor and holding huge shields and great swords, appeared in neat ranks at the gap in the defensive circle. Their plate armor covered nearly their whole bodies. Even their heads were covered by fully enclosed metal helmets, leaving only a slit to observe the scene straight ahead. Their whole outfit looked so heavy that they moved forward at a speed so slow I found it hard to imagine.

What was this? A charge? At this speed, rather than calling it a charge, it would be more fitting to call it a stroll. I began to feel contempt for our enemy.

I soon learned that I was wrong—seriously wrong.