Yeah, the game actually lets you get away with a lot of mistakes...
Though that was definitely one that would have me hitting Restart.
Though that was definitely one that would have me hitting Restart.
Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga
- Thread starter Rogue Attican
- Start date
Lords 12.04
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [COMMAND] This is the opportunity I have long awaited! A chance to make a real mark on history!
When the war in Antar ended and you returned home on half-pay, you had thought—no, you had feared—that your time in the sun was over. That all which awaited you was the comfortable and obscure life of a conventional country baron with its conventional obligations and conventional diversions—or else a pitiable position on the Cortes as one feeble voice in a throng of hundreds.
When the King died and you were called back to active service, some terrible part of you took it as a rare opportunity, a second chance to seize the glory and renown which you found yourself still harbouring a thirst for during your time at peace. Some part of you hoped that with the country in crisis and in need of help, you might once again ride forth to do some great deed which might carve your name into memory, to satisfy the heroic instinct which you had only half-slaked during your former years at war.
But you could have never imagined this: to be made the man on the spot in a time of unutterable crisis. To be the one in command of what might be the most consequential action in the country's history.
To be the shoulders upon which the fate of the Unified Kingdom may well rest.
It's more than you could have possibly hoped for, in those grey days of peace, more than you've ever imagined—perhaps more than what you think yourself capable of.
But if that's the case, then you will rise to the occasion. You've been given a chance for an immortal breed of glory. Now all you must do is seize it.
So, you draw yourself upright and step forward, towards the sovereign who has given you so perfect a chance.
"I will do all I can, Majesty," you declare. "I shall see this turmoil ended, with all means practicable."
They are words meant for posterity, words which you may well be remembered by. Yet you can barely hear them over the roaring of your own thoughts, over the high-flying beat of your own heart.
But the Queen does, and when she hears them, she lifts her chin, gazing upon you with the stateliest, most solemn of smiles. "Very good, my lord. You have my permission to set yourself to work."
The council ends quickly after that, with the Queen off to inspect the troops she has ordered assembled, and all her officers returning to their commands to prepare themselves for what is to come.
Or at least, almost all of them.
Colonel Lefebvre remains where he is—not that he has much of a choice. But before you can return to your own regiment, he beckons you over to where he's sitting, attended by a tall, earnest-looking Grenadier officer perhaps almost of an age with you, his burnt-orange coat showing clear evidence of fighting, but nothing of wounds.
"My lord, this is Captain Riley of First Battalion, the most senior of my officers still fit for action," he begins, motioning to the officer beside him. He turns. "Captain Riley, Lieutenant-colonel the Lord Reddingfield."
The Captain steps forward, a surprisingly guileless look of enthusiasm upon his features. "It is an honour, sir."
Introductions pass briskly. With speed of importance, there's hardly room for anything else. It's nothing more than an exchange of nods, enough to ensure that all is in order.
It is also not the real reason Lefebvre called you over.
"My lord," he begins, his voice low, a moment after dismissing Riley back to his command. "We have harboured much enmity for each other over the years, and I suspect you consider it as justified as I do. Yet you are still a soldier and an officer of the Queen, and it is by virtue of that similarity betwixt us that I would make a request of you."
Your eyes cannot help but narrow in suspicion. "Go on."
The Grenadier officer leans in towards you, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, as if disclosing some shameful secret. "I understand that it is the height of foolishness to ask that my men be kept from peril. We are soldiers, and more than that, we are Queen's Grenadiers—being thrust into peril is our prerogative and our profession. It is merely that…" His voice falters for a moment. He takes a breath, seeming more distraught in facing what he's about to say now than you've ever seen him in the midst of the enemy. "I have led these men for a long, long time, and I have already lost a great number of them today. I would ask that you do what you can to preserve those who remain."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "I will do my utmost, sir."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "I can offer no assurances, but I will try."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "The lives of your men are subject to the requirements of the service; no more, no less."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "I haven't seen such concern for life before from you, sir."
When the war in Antar ended and you returned home on half-pay, you had thought—no, you had feared—that your time in the sun was over. That all which awaited you was the comfortable and obscure life of a conventional country baron with its conventional obligations and conventional diversions—or else a pitiable position on the Cortes as one feeble voice in a throng of hundreds.
When the King died and you were called back to active service, some terrible part of you took it as a rare opportunity, a second chance to seize the glory and renown which you found yourself still harbouring a thirst for during your time at peace. Some part of you hoped that with the country in crisis and in need of help, you might once again ride forth to do some great deed which might carve your name into memory, to satisfy the heroic instinct which you had only half-slaked during your former years at war.
But you could have never imagined this: to be made the man on the spot in a time of unutterable crisis. To be the one in command of what might be the most consequential action in the country's history.
To be the shoulders upon which the fate of the Unified Kingdom may well rest.
It's more than you could have possibly hoped for, in those grey days of peace, more than you've ever imagined—perhaps more than what you think yourself capable of.
But if that's the case, then you will rise to the occasion. You've been given a chance for an immortal breed of glory. Now all you must do is seize it.
So, you draw yourself upright and step forward, towards the sovereign who has given you so perfect a chance.
"I will do all I can, Majesty," you declare. "I shall see this turmoil ended, with all means practicable."
They are words meant for posterity, words which you may well be remembered by. Yet you can barely hear them over the roaring of your own thoughts, over the high-flying beat of your own heart.
But the Queen does, and when she hears them, she lifts her chin, gazing upon you with the stateliest, most solemn of smiles. "Very good, my lord. You have my permission to set yourself to work."
-
The council ends quickly after that, with the Queen off to inspect the troops she has ordered assembled, and all her officers returning to their commands to prepare themselves for what is to come.
Or at least, almost all of them.
Colonel Lefebvre remains where he is—not that he has much of a choice. But before you can return to your own regiment, he beckons you over to where he's sitting, attended by a tall, earnest-looking Grenadier officer perhaps almost of an age with you, his burnt-orange coat showing clear evidence of fighting, but nothing of wounds.
"My lord, this is Captain Riley of First Battalion, the most senior of my officers still fit for action," he begins, motioning to the officer beside him. He turns. "Captain Riley, Lieutenant-colonel the Lord Reddingfield."
The Captain steps forward, a surprisingly guileless look of enthusiasm upon his features. "It is an honour, sir."
Introductions pass briskly. With speed of importance, there's hardly room for anything else. It's nothing more than an exchange of nods, enough to ensure that all is in order.
It is also not the real reason Lefebvre called you over.
"My lord," he begins, his voice low, a moment after dismissing Riley back to his command. "We have harboured much enmity for each other over the years, and I suspect you consider it as justified as I do. Yet you are still a soldier and an officer of the Queen, and it is by virtue of that similarity betwixt us that I would make a request of you."
Your eyes cannot help but narrow in suspicion. "Go on."
The Grenadier officer leans in towards you, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, as if disclosing some shameful secret. "I understand that it is the height of foolishness to ask that my men be kept from peril. We are soldiers, and more than that, we are Queen's Grenadiers—being thrust into peril is our prerogative and our profession. It is merely that…" His voice falters for a moment. He takes a breath, seeming more distraught in facing what he's about to say now than you've ever seen him in the midst of the enemy. "I have led these men for a long, long time, and I have already lost a great number of them today. I would ask that you do what you can to preserve those who remain."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "I will do my utmost, sir."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "I can offer no assurances, but I will try."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "The lives of your men are subject to the requirements of the service; no more, no less."
[ ] [LEFEBVRE] "I haven't seen such concern for life before from you, sir."
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [LEFEBVRE] "I will do my utmost, sir."
We might have to put them in danger, but it'd be silly to thrust them constantly in trouble for no reason when they're such an important unit in general.
We might have to put them in danger, but it'd be silly to thrust them constantly in trouble for no reason when they're such an important unit in general.
[X] [LEFEBVRE] "The lives of your men are subject to the requirements of the service; no more, no less."
The Grenadiers are the best soldiers we have, so this is probably a promise we can't keep. Since we don't have a good relationship with Lefebvre, staying professional in our refusal seems the most appropriate response.
The Grenadiers are the best soldiers we have, so this is probably a promise we can't keep. Since we don't have a good relationship with Lefebvre, staying professional in our refusal seems the most appropriate response.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [LEFEBVRE] "The lives of your men are subject to the requirements of the service; no more, no less."
Lords 12.05
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [LEFEBVRE] "The lives of your men are subject to the requirements of the service; no more, no less."
For an instant, a look of complete fury flashes across Lefebvre's face, then comprehension, then understanding. "Yes, you are right. My Grenadiers are fine infantry, the finest this country has ever put into the field, but they are still soldiers of the Queen, and if they must be…expended to preserve this country and the Crown which safeguards it, then I could not ask you to do otherwise."
The Grenadier officer's words come out like the pliers of a trained surgeon removing a musket ball from his own wound, sure and certain but pained all the same. When he looks over to where those of his men still on their feet are assembling in a column of companies, it is with both a fondness and a look of profound regret.
"I've always led them in, ever since I took command," he says. "This will be the first time they'll go into battle without me. I would implore you to preserve them, for the sake of the country, if not for my own. The Queen will have need of such men in the days to come, and—"
He shakes his head. "No, no, no," he mutters, addressing himself with a self-loathing condemnation as he looks away. "I cannot ask you for that."
For a moment, he's silent, but when he turns to you again, his eyes are sharp and clear. "Do what you must to secure victory," he finally says, his words filled with equal parts resignation and resolution. "I can ask no more of you."
The core of your force assembles with all the speed and efficiency of veteran soldiers—which you suppose they all are. Between the Grenadiers and your own Dragoons, you have under you a considerable portion of the army's peacetime strength; and for all of their broadcloth and civilian coats, Reyes' sharpshooters also form up into groups with all the practised motion of men who have long since gotten used to the idea of moving in step with the beat of a drum.
But there are others gathering in the wake of your force as well, hundreds of them: those who form into no companies, and follow no officers, for all that some of them might have been soldiers once. They are, for the most part, those who were rallied by members of the Reform Club, who showed up before the Northern Keep after the fighting had ended. They'd been spared the bitter taste of that action, and by the enthusiasm in their eyes and the brightness of their chatter, it's clear that they mean to remedy the lack by accompanying your own attack on the shore batteries.
They're hungry for action and glory. Perhaps you'll give them the opportunity to have their fill.
Your force sees nothing of Wulfram's men as it begins its advance past the empty windows of the Kian Embassy and down the wide roads of the Castle Quarter. At the head of your regiment, behind a screen of Reyes' Skirmishers, you and your Dragoons keep a close watch on the deserted streets ahead, as well as the dark cavities of doorways and windows which peer down from each side. You know some of the townhouses you're riding past belong to prominent members of the Wulframite faction, men who even now might be leading militia against the Queen's supporters—or waiting for you and your Dragoons to ride into their prepared ambush.
Yet no shots echo from the windows, no armed men pour out of the walled gardens. If there's anyone at all watching your force pass them by, they're little more than that.
It's enough to make your soldier's instincts verge into the realm of paranoia.
Surely, Wulfram must know that the Queen intends to come for him. Even if he hasn't guessed her intentions, then he must have seen something of the pursuit which dogged him after his reverse before the Northern Keep. Why has he not thrown out picquets? Why has he not posted a rear guard?
Perhaps he means to surrender already? But even then, surely, he would have sent out envoys under a flag of parley.
And yet, even as a light, seaward breeze picks up and begins to lift the powder-fog from the streets, you see nothing that might be construed as outposts or picquets, only a fugitive figure here or there, who quickly make themselves invisible the instant they're spotted.
Saints be damned! Where are they?
In the end, it isn't until you're within sight of the great bulk of the Shipping Exchange itself that you first see the enemy in arms; or rather, before they spot you.
It's only due to a stroke of good fortune that you see the flash of light reflecting off the panes of an opening window along the top gallery of the Shipping Exchange, only good fortune that your eyes are drawn to it long enough to see the barrel of a musket poke out and point itself towards you.
The warning is already halfway to your lips as you rein your horse in, but you know it won't be fast enough.
Thankfully, Reyes' men are faster. They see the threat too. In an instant, two dozen of them are on their knees, rifles up and ready. The thunder of musketry fills the street, accompanied by the dull impact of lead on stoke and the shattering of glass. An orange-coated figure tumbles out of one of the high, open windows, to land with a wet crunch on the cobbles below.
Under normal circumstances, to open fire without orders would have been a flagrant breach of discipline, enough to get a man flogged. However, you suspect that you would be a touch ungracious if you were to punish such initiative this time.
In any case, you have more immediate concerns: the fallen Marine is quickly replaced by another, and a dozen more besides. Soon the whole face of the Shipping Exchange is bristling with musket barrels, firing off one by one as you order a withdrawal.
It's clear enough now that the Exchange building is firmly in the hands of the Wulframites—and it will take quite some doing to prise it out of them.
You do not fall back far, perhaps only one or two hundred paces, enough to keep you well out of range of the enemy's fire—whilst keeping the object of your immediate plans in view as you consider your options.
It seems your fellow club members have proven rather overconfident in the estimation of their ability to resist professional soldiery. Either that, or they came to some accommodation with Wulfram and his rebels. Whatever the case, you doubt the Queen will be much pleased with them once this is over.
There's no question that you shall need to seize the Shipping Exchange now. You cannot afford to allow the Wulframites to hold so strong a point to your rear whilst you attack the shore batteries. However, it's just as clear that the enemy are quite well-established within the building, and are no doubt well aware of the importance of their position. No amount of persuasion or subterfuge is likely to eject them from it—which means it will have to be taken by force.
The only question is, who will you send in?
It won't be an easy affair, that's for certain. Even once the heavy doors are broken down, any assaulting force would have to move through the yard, subjected to fire from all directions. Then, upon fighting their way into the building itself, they would be obliged to advance room to room, hallway to hallway, against a determined and well-disciplined foe. Hard fighting is certain. Heavy losses for the attackers, inevitable.
Under ideal circumstances, the Grenadiers would be perfect for the job. Indeed, fighting amongst buildings and fortified positions is supposed to be their specialty—as their defence of the Northern Keep already demonstrated. However, the Grenadiers have already suffered their share of losses, and you have little doubt that they're neither as fresh nor as prepared for so difficult an engagement as they might have been otherwise. If you send them in, they'll almost certainly succeed, but whether they'll be in a state fit to fight after that is another question entirely.
For a moment, you consider your own regiment—but only for a moment. The task of storming the Shipping Exchange is one which might well almost intentionally be contrived to place your Dragoons at the greatest possible disadvantage: your men hardly have any of the necessary equipment to break into the building, and once they're inside, the tight confines of the corridors and galleries would almost certainly make your Dragoon sabres more hindrance than help, especially against men armed with muskets and bayonets.
Then there's the mob, the thousands of Royalist militia who followed Cazarosta from the Reform Club, and now you to the Shipping Exchange. They'll be even more poorly equipped for the job than your Dragoons, but they're fresh, and perhaps even more importantly, they're numerous. Send in the mob, and they'll be slaughtered, but they will overwhelm the Marines in the end—provided that you're able to convince them to press the attack with sufficient vigour.
Of course, there may be another option, one which would certainly avoid the heavy losses of a direct assault. Despite the enemy's strong position, you have one advantage which they lack: possession of a force which may strike at them whilst themselves remaining proof from retaliation. If you were to employ Reyes and his Skirmishers against the Marines holding the Shipping Exchange, you could very well slowly whittle away their numbers and their will to fight, without subjecting any portion of your force to risk. It would be a slow process—perhaps too slow—but it would work, eventually.
But is that time you can afford to lose?
[ ] [ATTACK] I would rather lose time than men: send Reyes and his sharpshooters in.
[ ] [ATTACK] We have no time for delays: send in the Grenadiers!
[ ] [ATTACK] I'll not sacrifice professionals to this slaughterhouse. Send in the militias!
For an instant, a look of complete fury flashes across Lefebvre's face, then comprehension, then understanding. "Yes, you are right. My Grenadiers are fine infantry, the finest this country has ever put into the field, but they are still soldiers of the Queen, and if they must be…expended to preserve this country and the Crown which safeguards it, then I could not ask you to do otherwise."
The Grenadier officer's words come out like the pliers of a trained surgeon removing a musket ball from his own wound, sure and certain but pained all the same. When he looks over to where those of his men still on their feet are assembling in a column of companies, it is with both a fondness and a look of profound regret.
"I've always led them in, ever since I took command," he says. "This will be the first time they'll go into battle without me. I would implore you to preserve them, for the sake of the country, if not for my own. The Queen will have need of such men in the days to come, and—"
He shakes his head. "No, no, no," he mutters, addressing himself with a self-loathing condemnation as he looks away. "I cannot ask you for that."
For a moment, he's silent, but when he turns to you again, his eyes are sharp and clear. "Do what you must to secure victory," he finally says, his words filled with equal parts resignation and resolution. "I can ask no more of you."
-
The core of your force assembles with all the speed and efficiency of veteran soldiers—which you suppose they all are. Between the Grenadiers and your own Dragoons, you have under you a considerable portion of the army's peacetime strength; and for all of their broadcloth and civilian coats, Reyes' sharpshooters also form up into groups with all the practised motion of men who have long since gotten used to the idea of moving in step with the beat of a drum.
But there are others gathering in the wake of your force as well, hundreds of them: those who form into no companies, and follow no officers, for all that some of them might have been soldiers once. They are, for the most part, those who were rallied by members of the Reform Club, who showed up before the Northern Keep after the fighting had ended. They'd been spared the bitter taste of that action, and by the enthusiasm in their eyes and the brightness of their chatter, it's clear that they mean to remedy the lack by accompanying your own attack on the shore batteries.
They're hungry for action and glory. Perhaps you'll give them the opportunity to have their fill.
Your force sees nothing of Wulfram's men as it begins its advance past the empty windows of the Kian Embassy and down the wide roads of the Castle Quarter. At the head of your regiment, behind a screen of Reyes' Skirmishers, you and your Dragoons keep a close watch on the deserted streets ahead, as well as the dark cavities of doorways and windows which peer down from each side. You know some of the townhouses you're riding past belong to prominent members of the Wulframite faction, men who even now might be leading militia against the Queen's supporters—or waiting for you and your Dragoons to ride into their prepared ambush.
Yet no shots echo from the windows, no armed men pour out of the walled gardens. If there's anyone at all watching your force pass them by, they're little more than that.
It's enough to make your soldier's instincts verge into the realm of paranoia.
Surely, Wulfram must know that the Queen intends to come for him. Even if he hasn't guessed her intentions, then he must have seen something of the pursuit which dogged him after his reverse before the Northern Keep. Why has he not thrown out picquets? Why has he not posted a rear guard?
Perhaps he means to surrender already? But even then, surely, he would have sent out envoys under a flag of parley.
And yet, even as a light, seaward breeze picks up and begins to lift the powder-fog from the streets, you see nothing that might be construed as outposts or picquets, only a fugitive figure here or there, who quickly make themselves invisible the instant they're spotted.
Saints be damned! Where are they?
In the end, it isn't until you're within sight of the great bulk of the Shipping Exchange itself that you first see the enemy in arms; or rather, before they spot you.
It's only due to a stroke of good fortune that you see the flash of light reflecting off the panes of an opening window along the top gallery of the Shipping Exchange, only good fortune that your eyes are drawn to it long enough to see the barrel of a musket poke out and point itself towards you.
The warning is already halfway to your lips as you rein your horse in, but you know it won't be fast enough.
Thankfully, Reyes' men are faster. They see the threat too. In an instant, two dozen of them are on their knees, rifles up and ready. The thunder of musketry fills the street, accompanied by the dull impact of lead on stoke and the shattering of glass. An orange-coated figure tumbles out of one of the high, open windows, to land with a wet crunch on the cobbles below.
Under normal circumstances, to open fire without orders would have been a flagrant breach of discipline, enough to get a man flogged. However, you suspect that you would be a touch ungracious if you were to punish such initiative this time.
In any case, you have more immediate concerns: the fallen Marine is quickly replaced by another, and a dozen more besides. Soon the whole face of the Shipping Exchange is bristling with musket barrels, firing off one by one as you order a withdrawal.
It's clear enough now that the Exchange building is firmly in the hands of the Wulframites—and it will take quite some doing to prise it out of them.
You do not fall back far, perhaps only one or two hundred paces, enough to keep you well out of range of the enemy's fire—whilst keeping the object of your immediate plans in view as you consider your options.
It seems your fellow club members have proven rather overconfident in the estimation of their ability to resist professional soldiery. Either that, or they came to some accommodation with Wulfram and his rebels. Whatever the case, you doubt the Queen will be much pleased with them once this is over.
There's no question that you shall need to seize the Shipping Exchange now. You cannot afford to allow the Wulframites to hold so strong a point to your rear whilst you attack the shore batteries. However, it's just as clear that the enemy are quite well-established within the building, and are no doubt well aware of the importance of their position. No amount of persuasion or subterfuge is likely to eject them from it—which means it will have to be taken by force.
The only question is, who will you send in?
It won't be an easy affair, that's for certain. Even once the heavy doors are broken down, any assaulting force would have to move through the yard, subjected to fire from all directions. Then, upon fighting their way into the building itself, they would be obliged to advance room to room, hallway to hallway, against a determined and well-disciplined foe. Hard fighting is certain. Heavy losses for the attackers, inevitable.
Under ideal circumstances, the Grenadiers would be perfect for the job. Indeed, fighting amongst buildings and fortified positions is supposed to be their specialty—as their defence of the Northern Keep already demonstrated. However, the Grenadiers have already suffered their share of losses, and you have little doubt that they're neither as fresh nor as prepared for so difficult an engagement as they might have been otherwise. If you send them in, they'll almost certainly succeed, but whether they'll be in a state fit to fight after that is another question entirely.
For a moment, you consider your own regiment—but only for a moment. The task of storming the Shipping Exchange is one which might well almost intentionally be contrived to place your Dragoons at the greatest possible disadvantage: your men hardly have any of the necessary equipment to break into the building, and once they're inside, the tight confines of the corridors and galleries would almost certainly make your Dragoon sabres more hindrance than help, especially against men armed with muskets and bayonets.
Then there's the mob, the thousands of Royalist militia who followed Cazarosta from the Reform Club, and now you to the Shipping Exchange. They'll be even more poorly equipped for the job than your Dragoons, but they're fresh, and perhaps even more importantly, they're numerous. Send in the mob, and they'll be slaughtered, but they will overwhelm the Marines in the end—provided that you're able to convince them to press the attack with sufficient vigour.
Of course, there may be another option, one which would certainly avoid the heavy losses of a direct assault. Despite the enemy's strong position, you have one advantage which they lack: possession of a force which may strike at them whilst themselves remaining proof from retaliation. If you were to employ Reyes and his Skirmishers against the Marines holding the Shipping Exchange, you could very well slowly whittle away their numbers and their will to fight, without subjecting any portion of your force to risk. It would be a slow process—perhaps too slow—but it would work, eventually.
But is that time you can afford to lose?
[ ] [ATTACK] I would rather lose time than men: send Reyes and his sharpshooters in.
[ ] [ATTACK] We have no time for delays: send in the Grenadiers!
[ ] [ATTACK] I'll not sacrifice professionals to this slaughterhouse. Send in the militias!
[X] [ATTACK] We have no time for delays: send in the Grenadiers!
This is exactly the sort of work the Grenadiers are made for. We can't waste time with the sharpshooters and sending a disorganized mob to storm a position held by professionals sounds like a terrible idea. Especially ones who have plenty of practice fighting the same kind of force from Antar.
This is exactly the sort of work the Grenadiers are made for. We can't waste time with the sharpshooters and sending a disorganized mob to storm a position held by professionals sounds like a terrible idea. Especially ones who have plenty of practice fighting the same kind of force from Antar.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [ATTACK] We have no time for delays: send in the Grenadiers!
Sigh.
This is going to kill our standing at the club.
In the saboteur route you can swing by and muddle the negotiations in a way that keeps the exchange free, so you don't need to spend any time on it in this section.
This is going to kill our standing at the club.
In the saboteur route you can swing by and muddle the negotiations in a way that keeps the exchange free, so you don't need to spend any time on it in this section.
IamtooSleepy
I came here to be an ant
Yeah, I take a quick look and it seem correct, and iirc, the discipline at the beginning of chapter 11 was 45, which mean...
We were off by 3. oof.
At least we didn't spend the preparation time to do "one last inspection". If we do that, it would bring discipline up to 47, which would have it failed by 1. Again. I will be a lot more annoyed in that case.
And this is why Kian doctrine for fighting Takaran is boiled down to "use infantry to pin them down, then bombard them with as many artillery as we can"
I suppose having someone finally sit after who know how many hours of fighting is not exactly the worst idea.. But it still sound hillarious.
Fun fact: This choice actually did increases Lefebvre relation.
Oh, dear. I completely forget about this.
[X] [ATTACK] We have no time for delays: send in the Grenadiers!
Lords 12.06
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [ATTACK] We have no time for delays: send in the Grenadiers!
Captain Riley cannot help but glance warily at the bulk of the Shipping Exchange as you give him his orders. Still, he doesn't voice any objections. He knows that you have neither the time nor the resources to entertain objectives. Either the Grenadiers will take the Shipping Exchange, or they will die trying.
"—up until you breach the yard, Intendant Reyes and his men will be able to provide cover, but once you're in, you shall be on your own," you explain. "There are staircases into the galleries at each corner of the yard, each gated off by a wrought-iron gate at the bottom and a heavy door at the top. You'll need to breach those. The first corridor beyond that door is narrow, but they all open out into wider rooms, so you must beware of an ambush there, as well as from the stairwells themselves, as they extend to the very top floors."
The Grenadier Captain listens attentively to your advice, then nods firmly. "It will be done, sir. I cannot answer to my losses, but it will be done. Saints be willing, it will be done quickly."
You nod back. "Then set yourself to work, sir. And Saints go with you."
The Grenadiers waste little time getting themselves into action. Under cover of a constant patter of fire from Reyes' sharpshooters, Captain Riley leads an advance party which quickly moves up to the rear gate of the Exchange with bayonets fixed. There's a great rattling of iron, then the sound of splintering wood.
Then the doors swing open.
"Saints guard the Queen! Tierra and Victory!"
The moment the advance party is through, the rest of the assembled Grenadiers go in after them, closing the three hundred paces to the opened gates with such good order that they even manage to keep their company formations as they run, full-tilt, for the opening. One by one, the companies charge through, shouting at the top of their lungs until the last disappears into the cavernous entryway to the great stone building.
Then, you can see nothing.
There are, of course, ways to chart the passage of the fighting: the sound of splintering and musketry coming out of the windows, the dull thumps of hand grenades going off, of windows shattering from stray pistol balls, the wisps of powder smoke which seep out from higher and higher along the building as the Grenadiers fight their way up.
Yet beyond such vague indications, you have no idea how the assault is going, how many enemy there are within, how many losses your own force has taken. You can only guess as to whether your assault is on the verge of victory or the edge of collapse. You can only sit in your saddle and wonder, as the minutes seem to stretch out into an eternity.
Then, at long last, a figure appears at the open entranceway again, one of Captain Riley's ensigns. You need only to see the elation on his exhausted face to know what he means to tell you: the enemy has surrendered, the Exchange is yours.
The Exchange is yours, but not without cost.
You suspect that your fellow Shipowners must be looking upon the day they admitted you into their number with chagrin now, given the complete ruin your command has made of their headquarters. Crittenden's Marines fought hard, and Captain Riley's Grenadiers hadn't acted daintily in dislodging them. Even the prisoners now gathered in the courtyard are testament to the stiffness of the enemy's resistance, for there are perhaps only a few dozen of them in all, and you don't think you see a single one of their number unwounded.
As for the rest, you see what's left of them as well. The galleries above the yard are saturated with the stink of death and the stench of powder. There isn't a room without bodies, not a wall or a piece of furniture not pierced with bullet holes and sword cuts. Some of the carpets are so soaked with blood that it wells up in your boot prints as you walk over them. You cannot help but shake your head at the waste. At such brave and gallant men cut down in defence of an indefensible cause.
Especially since they did not die alone.
"I am very obliged to you for your instructions, sir. We lost thirty or so killed and at least that number wounded, but had we not known where we were going, we may have surely lost more." Captain Riley reports as he bandages a fresh wound of his own along his forearm. "I believe that we have at least a few companies which may be of sufficient strength to sustain another assault, but I am rather ashamed to say that I do not know how they are to perform against a determined foe."
It isn't the news you would have liked to hear, but it is perhaps what you were expecting. The Grenadiers may be able to face another engagement, but you cannot think they'll be in any condition to fight after that. You suppose you shall have to answer to Colonel Lefebvre too, for the losses you've made his beloved regiment sustain.
But that, at least, is a matter for later. For the moment, you must attend to other matters, for you yet have a building to secure, a battle to plan.
And a city to retake.
"Well then," Captain Garret remarks as she peers through her field glass. "I suppose that makes the Duke of Wulfram's intentions clear enough."
You nod in agreement as you look through your own telescope, your eyesight probing through the thinning powder-smoke as it's pushed away by the seaward breeze, towards the emerging outlines of Crittenden's fleet…
…and the vast flotilla of boats laden with people as they row from the docks to the waiting ships.
"They must must have started as soon as they retreated to the shore batteries," Cazarosta notes as he stands impassively next to you. "The Marines at the Shipping Exchange were less intended to inflict losses or serve as an earnest point of defence than to simply delay us, to win them time to evacuate."
"Damn me, if that's the case, why do we not ride out and stop them?" Blaylock growls as he too watches the ongoing evacuation, his knuckles clenched white around the brass tube of his own field glass. "Every minute we waste up here will mean another minute for those traitor bastards to get away! And every one of them that gets away will be able to raise rebellion somewhere else!"
"Because not all of them are evacuating." Sandoral replies, his own field glass directed not at the distant spectacle of Wulfram's evacuation, but at a far closer object. "Look at the shore batteries."
Sure enough, the low stone fortifications of Aetoria's shore batteries are still swarming with armed men: Marines, dismounted Cuirassiers, even great swarms of Wulframite militia, all of them piling up makeshift barricades, cleaning weapons, and passing out ammunition.
In other words, preparing for an assault.
"So long as Wulfram holds some portion of the shore batteries, he may cover the majority of the docks with fire and prevent us from moving troops freely into the docks," Reyes adds, a sour look on his features. "They were designed that way by Edmund II's engineers, specifically to prevent an opposed landing. I suppose the principle works just as well for an opposed embarkation, too."
"Then we must assault each one of the shore batteries in succession to stop Wulfram's evacuation, something which Wulfram and his advisors must know as well," Sandoral concludes. "No wonder he seems so intent upon defending them."
You suppose there's nothing for it then. If you're to stand any chance of stopping Wulfram here, then you'll need to take the shore batteries as quickly as possible.
Which only leaves the question of how…
[X] "If we assault each shore battery simultaneously, we could end this much quicker."
As it stands, the assumption has been that you would assault each of the shore batteries in sequence, one after the other. It would be a hard, grinding affair, doubly so because Wulfram would be able to concentrate his forces on the battery then being assaulted, rather than being forced to cover every approach. However, if you were to assault every part of the shore batteries at once, you would not only be able to move more quickly, but you would also pin down the enemy at every angle.
There's a risk involved, of course, but given the current situation, surely it would be a lesser hazard to try and end Wulfram's evacuation quickly and destroy as much of his strength now, rather than commit to a slow approach which would almost surely allow the enemy to escape with no small portion of their fighting men and materiel?
Some of your officers nod; they're evidently thinking the same thing. Others…
"We don't have the numbers," Garret points out. "If we assault the batteries in sequence, we may concentrate our own forces and use the relatively confined approaches to our advantage. Assault them all at once, and we will be spread thin—"
"And vulnerable to being flanked," Reyes interjects grimly. "We don't know how many of Wulfram's men are still in the city. If we extend ourselves to assault every battery at once from the landward side, we will be showing our backs to them. If we are surprised from the rear, we will be too spread out to regroup."
"Or do anything else, for that matter," Captain Riley adds. "On an open field, we could communicate with flags or rockets. Here, with so many buildings in the way? We would have to communicate by galloper, and one finds that hard enough without having to navigate through the sort of maze the lower docks are like."
You nod. You cannot help but frown, but you nod nonetheless. Under normal circumstances, any one of those reasons would be enough to make a sensible officer put paid to such an approach. With all three, not even a madman would countenance such a plan.
One at a time, then; you suppose you have no better options.
[X] "Once we take the shore battery guns, could we not use them to drive off Crittenden's fleet?"
"Why not?" Blaylock asks. "There'd be no need to take the whole line of batteries when we could reduce the whole fleet to kindling with just one of those monster guns, and they're already pointed the right way, ain't they? Can hardly evacuate an army without any ships, can they?"
Sandoral nods. "The guns in the northern and southern sections wouldn't have the angle, so we'd still have to capture the centre section, but that's still better than being obliged to take the whole lot, surely?"
But Riley and Reyes are both shaking their heads. "That presumes we're able to take a gun in any condition to be fired," the Intendant replies. "If the batteries are in danger of falling, then Wulfram's men will surely spike them—any officer with the presence of mind would give instructions to that effect—Castermaine certainly would, if Brockenburg doesn't."
Garret frowns. "I don't suppose there's any easy way to un-spike them, is there?"
"If it were easy, it wouldn't be so regularly resorted to," the Grenadier answers with a somewhat apologetic look. "As far as I understand, un-spiking a gun would require a cannon foundry's tools, and the larger the cannon, the more involved the task. For the shore guns, it would take a week, if not more."
A shame, then. Too much to hope for, perhaps. Part of you imagined that there might be some half-secret artillerist's trick which could un-spike the guns, but you suppose there are no such simple solutions in reality.
It seems that if you're to stop Wulfram's evacuation, you shall have to do it the hard way.
[X] "Intendant, how much covering fire could your Skirmishers give us from here?"
Reyes looks one way, then the other as he rubs his chin with his off hand. "Quite a great deal, I could imagine. From here, we could have clear fields of fire which put us within range of half, if not two-thirds of the length of the shore batteries."
An encouraging answer. Assaulting the shore batteries will be difficult regardless of your advantages, but it would certainly be made easier if a force of rifle-armed Skirmishers were able to cut down the enemy from above while you sent the main thrust of your force up from the street. Indeed, with the sort of accuracy Reyes' sharpshooters possess, you suspect that they might even be able to pick off individual targets—say, officers and sergeants—at ranges which would be considered impossible for muskets. The thought of the enemy's defense collapsing as its commanders are cut down from three hundred paces cannot help but fill you with a rather terrible, dreadful excitement.
But Reyes shakes his head. "There's only one problem, sir." He motions you closer and drops his voice low enough so that only you can hear. "The men won't do it."
"Saints above, why not?"
"If you leave us here while the main force assaults the shore batteries, we'll be anchoring your extreme flank," the Intendant explains. "They will be isolated from support, exposed; if any remaining Wulframites in the city should attempt an attack, they will come here first, and—" He takes a shaky, shuddering breath. "My men will not allow themselves to be exposed in such a matter, not after what happened on the River Kharan."
Of course. You remember what had happened then; you were there, holding the Dragoons in reserve as Cunaris commanded the right-most brigade of the Duke of Havenport's army. Reyes and his Experimental Corps of Riflemen were supposed to screen the extreme right flank, out of any immediate danger. But Prince Khorobirit and the Antari knew of a river crossing which had evidently been missing from any of Havenport's maps. They sent four hundred Church Hussars against Reyes and his Rifles and had almost wiped them out. No wonder Reyes and his men are so hesitant to place themselves in a position they might see as similar. The spectre of annihilation haunts them, and will continue to do so until it is dispelled.
"This is not Antar, and I am not the Duke of Havenport," you reply, as firmly as you can. "You will have protected positions, the advantage of height, and a means by which to signal us quickly."
"Any position might be isolated and stormed with sufficient numbers," the Intendant protests. "If they do—"
You don't let the man finish. Instead, you put your hand on Reyes shoulder. "Do you trust me?"
"I…" He lets out a sigh. "Yes. You've been honest enough in all your dealings with me. Yes, I trust you."
"Then trust me now. Your. Men. Will. Be. Safe. Here." You look into his eyes. "And if there's even the slightest sign of danger, I will ensure that your position is made secure at soonest possibility."
The Intendant looks down, then back up. Then he nods, slowly. "Then I take you at your word, sir. If you give the order, I will do all I can to see that my men follow it."
You give one last nod before turning back to the rest of your assembled officers. That is all you can ask of him.
[X] "Have we any word from Lord Palliser, regarding the guns he took from the Takaran Embassy?"
"We have," Captain Garret replies. "The last galloper from the Northern Keep reported that they've recovered some of the weapons in the Takaran Embassy."
"Only some?"
Garret shrugs. "Evidently, most were stored under lock and ward, and it is to take several hours to remove them, at least. Much of the rest was taken as trophies by the force that stormed the Embassy. Some of them might still be retrieved, but that will take time we do not have, and there's no telling where the rest might be."
You frown. You were expecting some loss to confusion or plunder here and there, but not anything quite like this. "How many are left accounted for?"
"Reports claim about eight hundred muskets, five hundred pistols, all dragonlocks."
Some of your other officers nod with appreciative looks. True, such a haul might only be a fraction of what was initially seized, but over a thousand dragonlocks—with enchanted locks that don't require priming—is no haul to scoff at. You daresay if you were to hand them out to the militias with you, such an armament would not only increase their fighting power immensely, but it would provide a great boost to their spirits, as well; an indication from the professional soldiers in their midst that they're worth taking seriously.
Some of your other officers are evidently of the same line of thinking, as they mutter and nod to each other with approving looks. But Garret herself seems less than entirely enthusiastic about the idea.
"It will take time, however," she adds with the apologetic tone of a farrier informing a child of the necessity of putting down a well-loved pony. "It will be no small thing to move up nearly fifteen hundred firelocks and the ammunition we would need for them. It will also take time to distribute them. Perhaps…"
She hardly has to elaborate. For all that such weapons might augment the fighting power of your force, the time needed to put them to use is time the enemy will be using to complete his evacuation. As commander in the field, it's your responsibility to seek out every practicable advantage you can before battle is joined, but if doing so here means leaving Wulfram's forces stronger in the long run…
That is a sobering dilemma, not just for you, but for your other officers as well—and one you'll have to address, sooner or later.
[X] "Very well, let us see to the disposition of our forces."
It is customary, you think, to have a map for occasions like this, where the outlines of a battle are set and the great movements of its participants are planned, but however detailed, no chart could compare to the view which already greets you from atop the roof of the Shipping Exchange. With the smoke blowing out ever further to sea, you can make out almost every detail of the nearest set of shore batteries, even without the benefit of your telescope.
You can see the makeshift barricades set up by the defenders of the first set of batteries, blocking off the narrow staircases leading up to the gun platforms from the street. You can see the glimmering steel of the dismounted Cuirassiers lined up behind them, their horses already being led to the docks, where they're waiting to be embarked.
And you can already see the boats pulling back from the waiting ships of Crittenden's fleet, coming to whisk away yet another portion of Wulfram's strength to safety, to carry them far from your reach, where they may regroup, recover, and raise fresh rebellion against the Crown.
At least, unless you're able to put a stop to the evacuation, and soon.
Your forces are already formed up in the wide boulevards below. The Grenadiers, standing by company in their ordered ranks of burnt orange. Your own Dragoons, arranged by troop and by squadron. The street militias, still fractious and unruly, but formed up by their leaders into something which might have passed for quiet and order before the eyes of anyone but a seasoned soldier.
When you say the word, they'll go forward, but before you do that, you have a whole range of obstacles to consider first. Given the narrowness of the approach, only one force will be able to assault the batteries at a time, and once you've committed to the attack, you shall have to press on until every part of the batteries are taken without interruption, lest the Wulframites be given time to prepare fresh defences. That means you'll have to make any last-minute preparations now. Anything that might secure your advantage or weaken the enemy must be done whilst all your senior officers are still assembled on this roof.
Because after that, there will be no stopping until the whole of the shore batteries are taken.
[ ] [TURN] No more delays. It's time to launch the assault!
[ ] [TURN] I'll only take one of the PREP actions listed below.
[ ] [TURN] Two of the PREP options ought to be enough.
[ ] [TURN] We need every advantage we can get. Check all three of the PREP boxes.
[ ] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[ ] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
[ ] [PREP] If we could organise the militias properly, they may prove more effective.
Captain Riley cannot help but glance warily at the bulk of the Shipping Exchange as you give him his orders. Still, he doesn't voice any objections. He knows that you have neither the time nor the resources to entertain objectives. Either the Grenadiers will take the Shipping Exchange, or they will die trying.
"—up until you breach the yard, Intendant Reyes and his men will be able to provide cover, but once you're in, you shall be on your own," you explain. "There are staircases into the galleries at each corner of the yard, each gated off by a wrought-iron gate at the bottom and a heavy door at the top. You'll need to breach those. The first corridor beyond that door is narrow, but they all open out into wider rooms, so you must beware of an ambush there, as well as from the stairwells themselves, as they extend to the very top floors."
The Grenadier Captain listens attentively to your advice, then nods firmly. "It will be done, sir. I cannot answer to my losses, but it will be done. Saints be willing, it will be done quickly."
You nod back. "Then set yourself to work, sir. And Saints go with you."
The Grenadiers waste little time getting themselves into action. Under cover of a constant patter of fire from Reyes' sharpshooters, Captain Riley leads an advance party which quickly moves up to the rear gate of the Exchange with bayonets fixed. There's a great rattling of iron, then the sound of splintering wood.
Then the doors swing open.
"Saints guard the Queen! Tierra and Victory!"
The moment the advance party is through, the rest of the assembled Grenadiers go in after them, closing the three hundred paces to the opened gates with such good order that they even manage to keep their company formations as they run, full-tilt, for the opening. One by one, the companies charge through, shouting at the top of their lungs until the last disappears into the cavernous entryway to the great stone building.
Then, you can see nothing.
There are, of course, ways to chart the passage of the fighting: the sound of splintering and musketry coming out of the windows, the dull thumps of hand grenades going off, of windows shattering from stray pistol balls, the wisps of powder smoke which seep out from higher and higher along the building as the Grenadiers fight their way up.
Yet beyond such vague indications, you have no idea how the assault is going, how many enemy there are within, how many losses your own force has taken. You can only guess as to whether your assault is on the verge of victory or the edge of collapse. You can only sit in your saddle and wonder, as the minutes seem to stretch out into an eternity.
Then, at long last, a figure appears at the open entranceway again, one of Captain Riley's ensigns. You need only to see the elation on his exhausted face to know what he means to tell you: the enemy has surrendered, the Exchange is yours.
The Exchange is yours, but not without cost.
You suspect that your fellow Shipowners must be looking upon the day they admitted you into their number with chagrin now, given the complete ruin your command has made of their headquarters. Crittenden's Marines fought hard, and Captain Riley's Grenadiers hadn't acted daintily in dislodging them. Even the prisoners now gathered in the courtyard are testament to the stiffness of the enemy's resistance, for there are perhaps only a few dozen of them in all, and you don't think you see a single one of their number unwounded.
As for the rest, you see what's left of them as well. The galleries above the yard are saturated with the stink of death and the stench of powder. There isn't a room without bodies, not a wall or a piece of furniture not pierced with bullet holes and sword cuts. Some of the carpets are so soaked with blood that it wells up in your boot prints as you walk over them. You cannot help but shake your head at the waste. At such brave and gallant men cut down in defence of an indefensible cause.
Especially since they did not die alone.
"I am very obliged to you for your instructions, sir. We lost thirty or so killed and at least that number wounded, but had we not known where we were going, we may have surely lost more." Captain Riley reports as he bandages a fresh wound of his own along his forearm. "I believe that we have at least a few companies which may be of sufficient strength to sustain another assault, but I am rather ashamed to say that I do not know how they are to perform against a determined foe."
It isn't the news you would have liked to hear, but it is perhaps what you were expecting. The Grenadiers may be able to face another engagement, but you cannot think they'll be in any condition to fight after that. You suppose you shall have to answer to Colonel Lefebvre too, for the losses you've made his beloved regiment sustain.
But that, at least, is a matter for later. For the moment, you must attend to other matters, for you yet have a building to secure, a battle to plan.
And a city to retake.
-
"Well then," Captain Garret remarks as she peers through her field glass. "I suppose that makes the Duke of Wulfram's intentions clear enough."
You nod in agreement as you look through your own telescope, your eyesight probing through the thinning powder-smoke as it's pushed away by the seaward breeze, towards the emerging outlines of Crittenden's fleet…
…and the vast flotilla of boats laden with people as they row from the docks to the waiting ships.
"They must must have started as soon as they retreated to the shore batteries," Cazarosta notes as he stands impassively next to you. "The Marines at the Shipping Exchange were less intended to inflict losses or serve as an earnest point of defence than to simply delay us, to win them time to evacuate."
"Damn me, if that's the case, why do we not ride out and stop them?" Blaylock growls as he too watches the ongoing evacuation, his knuckles clenched white around the brass tube of his own field glass. "Every minute we waste up here will mean another minute for those traitor bastards to get away! And every one of them that gets away will be able to raise rebellion somewhere else!"
"Because not all of them are evacuating." Sandoral replies, his own field glass directed not at the distant spectacle of Wulfram's evacuation, but at a far closer object. "Look at the shore batteries."
Sure enough, the low stone fortifications of Aetoria's shore batteries are still swarming with armed men: Marines, dismounted Cuirassiers, even great swarms of Wulframite militia, all of them piling up makeshift barricades, cleaning weapons, and passing out ammunition.
In other words, preparing for an assault.
"So long as Wulfram holds some portion of the shore batteries, he may cover the majority of the docks with fire and prevent us from moving troops freely into the docks," Reyes adds, a sour look on his features. "They were designed that way by Edmund II's engineers, specifically to prevent an opposed landing. I suppose the principle works just as well for an opposed embarkation, too."
"Then we must assault each one of the shore batteries in succession to stop Wulfram's evacuation, something which Wulfram and his advisors must know as well," Sandoral concludes. "No wonder he seems so intent upon defending them."
You suppose there's nothing for it then. If you're to stand any chance of stopping Wulfram here, then you'll need to take the shore batteries as quickly as possible.
Which only leaves the question of how…
[X] "If we assault each shore battery simultaneously, we could end this much quicker."
As it stands, the assumption has been that you would assault each of the shore batteries in sequence, one after the other. It would be a hard, grinding affair, doubly so because Wulfram would be able to concentrate his forces on the battery then being assaulted, rather than being forced to cover every approach. However, if you were to assault every part of the shore batteries at once, you would not only be able to move more quickly, but you would also pin down the enemy at every angle.
There's a risk involved, of course, but given the current situation, surely it would be a lesser hazard to try and end Wulfram's evacuation quickly and destroy as much of his strength now, rather than commit to a slow approach which would almost surely allow the enemy to escape with no small portion of their fighting men and materiel?
Some of your officers nod; they're evidently thinking the same thing. Others…
"We don't have the numbers," Garret points out. "If we assault the batteries in sequence, we may concentrate our own forces and use the relatively confined approaches to our advantage. Assault them all at once, and we will be spread thin—"
"And vulnerable to being flanked," Reyes interjects grimly. "We don't know how many of Wulfram's men are still in the city. If we extend ourselves to assault every battery at once from the landward side, we will be showing our backs to them. If we are surprised from the rear, we will be too spread out to regroup."
"Or do anything else, for that matter," Captain Riley adds. "On an open field, we could communicate with flags or rockets. Here, with so many buildings in the way? We would have to communicate by galloper, and one finds that hard enough without having to navigate through the sort of maze the lower docks are like."
You nod. You cannot help but frown, but you nod nonetheless. Under normal circumstances, any one of those reasons would be enough to make a sensible officer put paid to such an approach. With all three, not even a madman would countenance such a plan.
One at a time, then; you suppose you have no better options.
[X] "Once we take the shore battery guns, could we not use them to drive off Crittenden's fleet?"
"Why not?" Blaylock asks. "There'd be no need to take the whole line of batteries when we could reduce the whole fleet to kindling with just one of those monster guns, and they're already pointed the right way, ain't they? Can hardly evacuate an army without any ships, can they?"
Sandoral nods. "The guns in the northern and southern sections wouldn't have the angle, so we'd still have to capture the centre section, but that's still better than being obliged to take the whole lot, surely?"
But Riley and Reyes are both shaking their heads. "That presumes we're able to take a gun in any condition to be fired," the Intendant replies. "If the batteries are in danger of falling, then Wulfram's men will surely spike them—any officer with the presence of mind would give instructions to that effect—Castermaine certainly would, if Brockenburg doesn't."
Garret frowns. "I don't suppose there's any easy way to un-spike them, is there?"
"If it were easy, it wouldn't be so regularly resorted to," the Grenadier answers with a somewhat apologetic look. "As far as I understand, un-spiking a gun would require a cannon foundry's tools, and the larger the cannon, the more involved the task. For the shore guns, it would take a week, if not more."
A shame, then. Too much to hope for, perhaps. Part of you imagined that there might be some half-secret artillerist's trick which could un-spike the guns, but you suppose there are no such simple solutions in reality.
It seems that if you're to stop Wulfram's evacuation, you shall have to do it the hard way.
[X] "Intendant, how much covering fire could your Skirmishers give us from here?"
Reyes looks one way, then the other as he rubs his chin with his off hand. "Quite a great deal, I could imagine. From here, we could have clear fields of fire which put us within range of half, if not two-thirds of the length of the shore batteries."
An encouraging answer. Assaulting the shore batteries will be difficult regardless of your advantages, but it would certainly be made easier if a force of rifle-armed Skirmishers were able to cut down the enemy from above while you sent the main thrust of your force up from the street. Indeed, with the sort of accuracy Reyes' sharpshooters possess, you suspect that they might even be able to pick off individual targets—say, officers and sergeants—at ranges which would be considered impossible for muskets. The thought of the enemy's defense collapsing as its commanders are cut down from three hundred paces cannot help but fill you with a rather terrible, dreadful excitement.
But Reyes shakes his head. "There's only one problem, sir." He motions you closer and drops his voice low enough so that only you can hear. "The men won't do it."
"Saints above, why not?"
"If you leave us here while the main force assaults the shore batteries, we'll be anchoring your extreme flank," the Intendant explains. "They will be isolated from support, exposed; if any remaining Wulframites in the city should attempt an attack, they will come here first, and—" He takes a shaky, shuddering breath. "My men will not allow themselves to be exposed in such a matter, not after what happened on the River Kharan."
Of course. You remember what had happened then; you were there, holding the Dragoons in reserve as Cunaris commanded the right-most brigade of the Duke of Havenport's army. Reyes and his Experimental Corps of Riflemen were supposed to screen the extreme right flank, out of any immediate danger. But Prince Khorobirit and the Antari knew of a river crossing which had evidently been missing from any of Havenport's maps. They sent four hundred Church Hussars against Reyes and his Rifles and had almost wiped them out. No wonder Reyes and his men are so hesitant to place themselves in a position they might see as similar. The spectre of annihilation haunts them, and will continue to do so until it is dispelled.
"This is not Antar, and I am not the Duke of Havenport," you reply, as firmly as you can. "You will have protected positions, the advantage of height, and a means by which to signal us quickly."
"Any position might be isolated and stormed with sufficient numbers," the Intendant protests. "If they do—"
You don't let the man finish. Instead, you put your hand on Reyes shoulder. "Do you trust me?"
"I…" He lets out a sigh. "Yes. You've been honest enough in all your dealings with me. Yes, I trust you."
"Then trust me now. Your. Men. Will. Be. Safe. Here." You look into his eyes. "And if there's even the slightest sign of danger, I will ensure that your position is made secure at soonest possibility."
The Intendant looks down, then back up. Then he nods, slowly. "Then I take you at your word, sir. If you give the order, I will do all I can to see that my men follow it."
You give one last nod before turning back to the rest of your assembled officers. That is all you can ask of him.
[X] "Have we any word from Lord Palliser, regarding the guns he took from the Takaran Embassy?"
"We have," Captain Garret replies. "The last galloper from the Northern Keep reported that they've recovered some of the weapons in the Takaran Embassy."
"Only some?"
Garret shrugs. "Evidently, most were stored under lock and ward, and it is to take several hours to remove them, at least. Much of the rest was taken as trophies by the force that stormed the Embassy. Some of them might still be retrieved, but that will take time we do not have, and there's no telling where the rest might be."
You frown. You were expecting some loss to confusion or plunder here and there, but not anything quite like this. "How many are left accounted for?"
"Reports claim about eight hundred muskets, five hundred pistols, all dragonlocks."
Some of your other officers nod with appreciative looks. True, such a haul might only be a fraction of what was initially seized, but over a thousand dragonlocks—with enchanted locks that don't require priming—is no haul to scoff at. You daresay if you were to hand them out to the militias with you, such an armament would not only increase their fighting power immensely, but it would provide a great boost to their spirits, as well; an indication from the professional soldiers in their midst that they're worth taking seriously.
Some of your other officers are evidently of the same line of thinking, as they mutter and nod to each other with approving looks. But Garret herself seems less than entirely enthusiastic about the idea.
"It will take time, however," she adds with the apologetic tone of a farrier informing a child of the necessity of putting down a well-loved pony. "It will be no small thing to move up nearly fifteen hundred firelocks and the ammunition we would need for them. It will also take time to distribute them. Perhaps…"
She hardly has to elaborate. For all that such weapons might augment the fighting power of your force, the time needed to put them to use is time the enemy will be using to complete his evacuation. As commander in the field, it's your responsibility to seek out every practicable advantage you can before battle is joined, but if doing so here means leaving Wulfram's forces stronger in the long run…
That is a sobering dilemma, not just for you, but for your other officers as well—and one you'll have to address, sooner or later.
[X] "Very well, let us see to the disposition of our forces."
It is customary, you think, to have a map for occasions like this, where the outlines of a battle are set and the great movements of its participants are planned, but however detailed, no chart could compare to the view which already greets you from atop the roof of the Shipping Exchange. With the smoke blowing out ever further to sea, you can make out almost every detail of the nearest set of shore batteries, even without the benefit of your telescope.
You can see the makeshift barricades set up by the defenders of the first set of batteries, blocking off the narrow staircases leading up to the gun platforms from the street. You can see the glimmering steel of the dismounted Cuirassiers lined up behind them, their horses already being led to the docks, where they're waiting to be embarked.
And you can already see the boats pulling back from the waiting ships of Crittenden's fleet, coming to whisk away yet another portion of Wulfram's strength to safety, to carry them far from your reach, where they may regroup, recover, and raise fresh rebellion against the Crown.
At least, unless you're able to put a stop to the evacuation, and soon.
Your forces are already formed up in the wide boulevards below. The Grenadiers, standing by company in their ordered ranks of burnt orange. Your own Dragoons, arranged by troop and by squadron. The street militias, still fractious and unruly, but formed up by their leaders into something which might have passed for quiet and order before the eyes of anyone but a seasoned soldier.
When you say the word, they'll go forward, but before you do that, you have a whole range of obstacles to consider first. Given the narrowness of the approach, only one force will be able to assault the batteries at a time, and once you've committed to the attack, you shall have to press on until every part of the batteries are taken without interruption, lest the Wulframites be given time to prepare fresh defences. That means you'll have to make any last-minute preparations now. Anything that might secure your advantage or weaken the enemy must be done whilst all your senior officers are still assembled on this roof.
Because after that, there will be no stopping until the whole of the shore batteries are taken.
[ ] [TURN] No more delays. It's time to launch the assault!
[ ] [TURN] I'll only take one of the PREP actions listed below.
[ ] [TURN] Two of the PREP options ought to be enough.
[ ] [TURN] We need every advantage we can get. Check all three of the PREP boxes.
[ ] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[ ] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
[ ] [PREP] If we could organise the militias properly, they may prove more effective.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [TURN] Two of the PREP options ought to be enough.
[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
Will explain later, but.
E: So, this feels like the culmination of what we've done. We saved Reyes at the end of Guns so that he can help us now, and we only just recently lost time gaining the Takaran guns... so let's use them.
[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
Will explain later, but.
E: So, this feels like the culmination of what we've done. We saved Reyes at the end of Guns so that he can help us now, and we only just recently lost time gaining the Takaran guns... so let's use them.
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[X] [TURN] No more delays. It's time to launch the assault!
Every second we waste is a second Wulfram has to evacute his forces and make his cause stronger.
Every second we waste is a second Wulfram has to evacute his forces and make his cause stronger.
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...this is incredibly, amazingly short-sighted. We lost time to get the Takaran guns, and we're going to not use them.
We have expert Sharpshooters with us that can help make everything we do easier, when we have a significant lack of resources... and we're not going to use them.
We need the help we can get more than we need rushing into fights we won't be able to win without help.
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The guns are still there, and can be used to equip royalist troops in the war to come (at this point, I'd say it's obvious that this is the beginning of a civil war). If anything, prioritising the capture of as much of Wulfram's force as possible is taking the long view, sacrificing men now in order to weaken the enemy later.
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The Takaran guns matter because we're in a tense situation in which there is a serious lack of guns available to arm our militia. They're not, as far as I can tell, the greatest guns ever made by anyone, just guns that are available in this extremity to arm people.
They'll not matter if this turns into an extended civil war. But now we can have huge militias armed with actual military weapons without taking them from, y'know, our actual military... who kinda need them in a moment like this.
I mean, they're dragonlocks, which means they kinda are the best guns ever made. 10k of those will absolutely make a difference for the war effort.
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I legitimately don't know if we can actually win the battle if we don't do anything to improve our odds, and certainly we run the risk of making things obviously and immediately much more difficult on ourselves. We've already made decent time in rushing the seizure of the Shipowners' club, so I don't think we run a high risk of running out here just because we show some the sense to stack the deck slightly in our favor. At least most likely.
I'd argue that literally the very least we can do one action, because none leaves us deeply vulnerable to bleeding away forces we'll need...
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Honestly if I had to choose, one action, it might be the Sharpshooters.
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- He
[X] [TURN] Two of the PREP options ought to be enough.
[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
[X] [TURN] Two of the PREP options ought to be enough.
[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
The sharpshooters will auto-win the first two assaults, but I'm not sure how the third one works. I don't think I've ever failed to save Grenadier Square.
[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
The sharpshooters will auto-win the first two assaults, but I'm not sure how the third one works. I don't think I've ever failed to save Grenadier Square.
Lords 12.07
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[X] [PREP] It's time to put Reyes' sharpshooters in position to cover the shore batteries.
Reyes hesitates when you give him the order. For a moment, you fear the Intendant is about to offer some last-minute objection. For a moment, you suspect he's working up the nerve to deliver one. But in the end, he offers nothing of the sort. He simply salutes and heads down the stairs to tell his men, still assembled in the Exchange courtyard below.
It takes only a few minutes to come to the conclusion that convincing the Intendant had been the easy part. Watching from your high vantage point, you daresay that the men themselves are being far more stubborn about the matter than their commander. But Reyes has their trust, to a far greater extent than you have his, and armed with your promises, he evidently makes some headway. One by one, his Skirmishers nod their assent, and at long last, they head up the stairs.
They come onto the roof in almost complete silence, as if they were already stalking their far-off prey. Some of them fix you with strange looks as they pass by. Perhaps they remember you from the day you rode to their rescue on the banks of the Kharan. Perhaps they're wondering if you mean to hold to your promises, or if you mean to prove their leader a liar for relying upon them.
Whatever their thoughts, they pass without a word as they find positions along the stonework of the Exchange roof. Some place rolled-up blankets and jackets and rest their slim-bodied rifles upon them. Others crouch behind stonework or chimneys, with the stillness of statues. From such positions, they'll be able to cover all but the furthest stretches of the shore batteries with deadly, accurate fire from above.
It's the sort of advantage which most officers in your position could only pray for, but it is one you still have to put into action. With every passing minute you spend in preparation, the Wulframites are free to continue their evacuation unmolested.
How much more time can you afford to allow them?
[X] [PREP] I'll send for the Takaran guns and arm the militias with them.
Though you waste no time in sending off a galloper for the Northern Keep, you know that it will be some time before you receive a reply. Even if your rider moves as quickly as he can and avoids ambush or misadventure, it will take time to load the guns and their ammunition onto carts, for horses to be found to draw them, and drivers to be found to carry them up to the Shipping Exchange—and that's before even considering the time it would take to manoeuvre such heavy conveyances down the streets, if carts can even be found at a time like this.
So it is with some surprise that you hear the sound of galloping horses and clattering wheels, not ten minutes later.
The convoy that approaches does so at a speed which no heavy cart might have managed, but that's because it isn't made up of such vehicles at all. No, this is an assemblage of a different sort: phaetons, calesas, a gracefully built coupé, driven with all the haste and dash of Old Kian war chariots, their precious cargo tied together in bundles and strapped to the seats.
Seats where the Kings and Queens of Tierra once took their ease, for every single one of the newly arriving carriages bears the gilded crest of the royal household.
The coach horses are royal too, as are the men driving them. You cannot credit why the Queen would send them. You suppose they must have simply been the closest and fastest transport at hand.
But you have no time to dwell upon the topic. You have fighting men to arm.
This proves rather more complicated than it sounds.
You have only so many weapons and so much ammunition, and you know full well that to put a loaded firelock in the hands of a man untrained in its use is more likely to cause harm to one's own forces than to the enemy. So, you must pick out those who already possess some experience with musket or pistol—a less common occurrence here in Aetoria than it would have been in the country.
Even then, there's more to be done: the mechanism of a dragonlock isn't so different from that of a flintlock, but the differences that do exist are not minor ones. The men—and women—you've armed must be tutored on the peculiarities of such weapons, on the basic functions of the dragonpearl and the lack of need to prime a pan.
You try to get it all done as quickly as possible, and those of the Reform who had gathered the militias in the first place do their best to assist you—those with some experience in such matters of their own, at least. In the end, you manage to satisfy yourself with the formation of two battalions' worth of men and women armed with the Takaran weapons. They're still ill-disciplined, undrilled, and most unfamiliar with their pieces, but they're now fully armed, and that ought to present you with some advantage, should you feel the need to employ the militias in an assault.
You can only hope such an advantage will be worth the time you've spent in assembling it. You have little doubt that Wulfram and his subordinates have used the time you've given them wisely—by continuing their evacuation and strengthening their defences. You must conclude your own preparations quickly, or else you may well attack only to find the enemy's position entirely impenetrable.
Or the enemy gone entirely.
[X] No more delays. It's time to launch the assault!
The time for preparation is over.
You've exhausted every practickal means of making your force ready for the long, hard fighting that is to come. Your counterpart standing opposite you atop the shore batteries has no doubt done the same. You can see some of the results of his work from your vantage point atop the Shipping Exchange: heightened barricades, carefully guarded approaches, cunningly positioned cross-fires. Every moment you've spent on strengthening your position has been similarly spent by the enemy, and you have little doubt that should you continue to delay, they will only continue to reinforce their position.
At least there aren't so many of them as there were before. That's plain enough to see. Where the whole of the Wolf's Head Cuirassiers had been waiting dismounted behind those barricades not so long ago, only a relative handful remain: a third maybe, perhaps even only a quarter.
But even that is no consolation. If the Cuirassiers are being withdrawn, then it could only mean that Wulfram's evacuation must be well advanced. It's yet another reason to eschew further delays and distractions, yet another reason to set your own plans into motion and begin the assault.
Only one question remains: what part of your force is to open the attack?
The Cuirassiers will be a hard enemy to fight, that's for certain. Outnumbered though they may be, any disadvantage they might derive from being out of the saddle will surely be made up by the strength of their positions. Their discipline, morale, and loyalty to their chief will stand them in good stead either way. They were once the best cavalry in the army, and perhaps still presume such a dignity. You'll certainly need to handle them carefully.
That's why you've reassembled your officers atop the roof of the Shipping Exchange once again, both to maintain a clear view of the situation that you're faced with, and to take stock of your own forces—to determine which one will be best suited to face Wulfram's own personal guard.
The Grenadiers would be the natural choice, of course. Running determined defenders out of fortified positions is practickally their speciality. Yet they've already had a long day of hard fighting. Even after some last-minute reshuffling, their companies are still heavily understrength, and the men within them still almost on the verge of exhaustion. Without conceit or bombast, Captain Riley assures you that they'll be more than capable of beating back the Cuirassiers. However, you receive no such guarantees as to their condition after they do.
Then, there are your own Dragoons—trained to move and fight on foot, they should have an advantage over the Cuirassiers, in theory. Yet they too have been worn down by the day's events, and only those in the regiment who were with you at Kharangia have any experience at all regarding the assault of a fortified position. In the end, your Dragoons may yet be able to overcome the enemy through sheer skill or energy or bloody-mindedness, but there's no question that your men will take heavy losses in doing so.
That only leaves the militias. The least organised, least disciplined, least equipped of your forces—but also the most numerous. From the roof of the Shipping Exchange, they almost seem like an army, standing in their loose ranks, weapons both looted and improvised in hand, ready to try conclusions with the enemy. Yet for all of their enthusiasm, you know that they will fall in windrows when sent against professional soldiers. Indeed, part of you suspects that they won't even survive their first clash with a determined enemy.
They're not ideal forces for a situation such as this, but that's the nature of battle. One is never given precisely the right tools for the job at hand. One can only pick the one he believes is least likely to break.
And hope that he has chosen rightly.
[ ] [COMMIT] "Send in the militias."
[ ] [COMMIT] "Commit the Grenadiers."
[ ] [COMMIT] "Order the Dragoons to dismount and attack."
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Kind of leaning towards sending the militia in, frankly. Standing bodies of trained men will be very useful soon and I'd rather not have them get utterly broken in the opening stages.
IamtooSleepy
I came here to be an ant
[x] [COMMIT] "Send in the militias."
I forgot if there is a check but you can actually get the queen to admit she went overboard with the compartmentalization. Lefebvre will back you up and she'll relent when her two senior military commanders both agree on something.
With how there is a time limit in the final battles, how should you use the militia and the takaran guns you got?
I never figured out what fight to use them.
With how there is a time limit in the final battles, how should you use the militia and the takaran guns you got?
I never figured out what fight to use them.