The Wheels of Fortune
Somewhere near the Uneasy Watchman - The Year is 2146
Yani heard the boyar’s low voice, urging the rest of his unit awake, moving slowly closer. Despite all the campaigns and battles he had survived, he had only slept fitfully, too aware of the importance of this day.
His special unit had moved up through the woods under the cover of darkness well after the sun had set last night – muffled cloth had been wrapped around both the horse’s hooves, and the wheels.
The Knyaz wanted them to be a surprise.
Even when the main Kislev force had left Rakhov, they had lingered out of sight of any ‘interested’ eyes, and followed nearly a whole day later. With Rakhov being on the southern edge of Kislev, it always was full of merchants or travellers, - far too easy for watchful spies from the enemy provinces.
When Makari’s troops had met up with the Middenlanders at Fort Grigory, prior to crossing the Talabec, Yani and his comrades were still some hours behind, and they had slipped across the river themselves, quietly, and again at night, in the barges still reeking from the deposits of some Lancers’ nervous horses – Georgi had complained bitterly, casting doubts on Lancer parentage, after losing his footing in the darkness and acquiring a sticky addition to the seat of his pants.
There had been much stifled laughter from his fellows, despite the order for silence.
Georgi had felt obliged to ‘disembark’ straight into the river, for some impromptu laundry, and had to run hard for some time to catch up with the rest of them, and still a faint aroma hung around him – enough to ensure he’d not had a sleeping companion downwind of him last night.
Now though it was serious. The battle would be joined at sun up, and already the faint trace of light were taking the edge off the darkness.
Boyar Krishnev reached Yani, and beckoned him to follow. They made their way through the fairly sparse trees to the edge of the woods, and Yani realised this position had been chosen well. There were not enough trees to hamper their progress, but still sufficient cover, and the open ground in front of him sloped gently away towards the enemy position.
He and Krishnev were some 50 yards behind their own troops; - away to his right were rank upon rank of Middenland warriors, arrayed in battle lines extending far beyond his vision. Yani guessed that at their flank would be the fearsome White Wolf knights. He felt a kinship with these men who chose not to hide their faces behind visors and helm, who let their long hair flow, and let the enemy see the fury in their faces as they charged.
He fleetingly wished he were with the Ungol archers who were drawn up on the left flank, their horses quietly obedient and still. Above their heads he could see the plumes of the Lancer regiments beyond.
But no – he and his commander, Krishnev had a special role to play today.
He and the boyar alone crouched in the apparent gap in the allied line, some 80 yards wide.
Krishnev spoke quietly: “We wait Yani, - the plan is to get the Stirlanders to advance at least to the bottom of the slope. If our horsemen can dart around their front ranks, maybe we can draw a few units into a rash charge, and then it’s our turn.
You wait here and I’ll bring the boys forward as far as I can, and you keep watch.”
The boyar melted back into the trees, and Yani realised daylight was upon the battlefield. Almost immediately he heard a series of distant muffled eruptions, and an eerie silence before the explosions of cannonballs tearing into the ground of the slope, and then the jeers of the blue warriors to his right at the enemy gunners poor range.
Immediately the Kislevites to his left were away down the slope, where he could make out the first lines of the Stirland ranks – green and yellow banners fluttered lightly in the soft breeze.
He heard the horn from a Lancer unit as it broke into a charge at some skirmishing archers – the eerie whistling of the feather banners proved too much for some, and only a few knelt to loose a shaft at the oncoming horsemen. They paid the ultimate price as the lance tips pierced through the paltry leather doublets with ease.
The ornate banner waving above the large block of halberdiers was instantly recognisable – Stirland’s 1st State Halberds; the proud unit Graf Martin had ‘conveniently protected’ at Hel Fenn. Yani sensed a faint tremble from the regiment witnessing the skewering of their fellows, and the onrushing proudly plumed cavalry, but they held, shouldered their shields, and raised their weapons firmly in two hands at the ready, - today there were no sacrificial Ostermarkers.
Suddenly the deft riders from Kislev veered to their left with graceful precision, towards a new target of deadly handgunners on the right flank of the Halberds. The riflemen, preparing for a supposedly safe shot, suddenly found themselves the main centre of attention.
Yani saw the puffs of several handguns pointing aimlessly in the air as frightened trigger fingers spasmed involuntarily, and then the Lancers were amongst them and his vision was obscured, as Stirland’s finest faced a new threat.
As the Lancers veered left, the Ungols came across their rear diagonally and moved across the front of the halberdiers firing volley after volley into their ranks – frantic troopers tugged to bring their shields back into protective duty, but the deadly arrows found many a mark.
Yani was suddenly aware of Krishnev at his shoulder, and looked to his right where the Middenland troops had advanced a few yards down the slope –it was obvious that the Stirland artillery had found it’s range, as bodies and craters daubed the once green landscape. He was surprised how, caught up in the attacks of the Kislevites, he had been so unaware of the carnage so close to him.
“Soon I think” said his Boyar, pointing back to the Kislev cavalry. The Lancers had controlled their rout of the handgunners and wheeled into the flanks of the halberdiers, but were now slowly dropping away. The front ranks of the Stirlanders taunted by the archers just yards in front of them were inching forward, anxious to swat the light cavalry raining arrows at them, and then it became a stumble as the second and third ranks seemed to push and goad their frontline comrades forward. At the same time Yani was aware that troopers from the rear were coming around to try to flank the Lancers, extending the Stirlander frontage.
Krishnev and Yani started to tread gently backwards, the boyar’s hand was raised, and suddenly there was a seemingly outraged roar from the green and yellow ranks, and they surged forward. The nimble steeds of the Archers were away and up the slope, and the surviving Lancers broke too.
The horse archers were coming virtually directly up the slope towards Yani, and now obscured his line of sight to the halberdiers, but he could still see their Standard advancing quickly, as the expert bowmen turned in their saddles to continue their stinging taunting barbs flying, further enraging the crazed Stirlanders.
Krishnev’s hand had dropped and the growing rumble sounded behind Yani, as the wheels picked up speed.
He turned and reached out to grasp the proffered arm and placed his foot on a convenient spar and hoisted himself over the side. Jerolf handed him the long polearm in his left hand and then swung his own to a two-handed grip.
“I want to see their faces.” He shouted above the din, with a faint smile on his face, and turned towards the Stirlander lines.
The Horse Archers spurred their horses forward, and slipped past Krishnev's special regiment. Yani and his comrades aided by the slope and the whips of the drivers were at full pace as the halberdiers suddenly realised what they faced. Anger and rage had enhanced their energy up the slope – now fear and trepidation drained them of strength and breath.
The War Wagons smashed into the ragged lines – hardly a halberd was raised in defiance as terrified men sought only to avoid the snorting armoured horses and the crushing impact of wheels and plated timber.
Any brief relief at finding the narrow gaps between the heavy chariots was swiftly ended as Yani and his fellow crewmembers slashed and stabbed at the dazed troops.
Stirland’s finest were destroyed within a mere 100 yards, but the wagons rolled on and through the gap in the enemy lines, and then with a signal from Krishnev, they wheeled right.
Above the rumble of the speeding wheels Yani was conscious of the Lancers and Ungols galloping alongside and behind him, and he heard the bray of Middenland trumpets from the slope they had left.
As their impetus hurled them towards the exposed flanks and rear of the Stirland line, from his elevated position he could see the headlong charge of the blue warriors, and the stricken surrounded soldiers between them.
He hefted his weapon again - it was as good as over.
