Penzberg, Deutschland
May 11th, 8:15 am
Celestia’s sun is barely peeking above the treeline. A fine morning mist settles across the field. All and all, it is a beautiful morning. Stepping outside into the cool breeze, General Windstar looks around towards town. The vacant streets send an eerie shiver down his spine, causing him to take a drink from his coffee. Turning towards his men’s camp, he notices that they are making ready for the coming battle. Taking a deep breath, he starts to make his way to the steeple where he plans to view the battle. His stops in his tracks when several cracks of musket fire echo from the trees. A minute later his two brigades run past him towards their position. One of his officers, a captain, rides up to him, pulling Windstar’s horse with him. The captain's name is Captain Hans Becker, one of the captains from the night before.
“Sir.” He says with a salute. “The Saddlers are coming! They just tripped the pickets!” Mounting his horse, General Windstar follows his men to the field. He positions his men along a stone wall. Glancing behind him, he takes note of the cannon crews loading their 12 pound howitzers. Running down the road across the field were his scouts, retreating back to his lines. Behind them another fifty yards was a column of Arabian soldiers.
Once the scouts were at a safe distance, the cannons opened fire. The four kilogram shells slammed into the Arabian lines. One shell lands in front of the column killing six infantrymen. Another shell takes out a section of fencing along the road allowing the infantry to move into the field, off the narrow road. Once in the open, the Arabian are able to move into their firing lines. As the Saddler’s return fire, the dismounted dragoons continue to send seemingly never ending fire with their repeaters. The howitzers blow massive holes through the Arabian lines, taking out as many as four at a time. Seeing that the fighting is starting, General Windstar heads to his steeple for a better vantage point. Climbing the long staircase to the steeple, he is greeted by a couple of his generals. The thunderous blasts from the cannons can still be plainly heard from his spot. Pulling out his binoculars, he looks out over the battlefield.
“Half a brigade to the southwest, and another half to the south.” He pauses for a moment. “They're coming at me with one brigade? We've got the best damn ground around. They must be up to something, but they're converging on one spot.” He scratches at his chin as he thinks. Windstar watches as a howitzer shell explodes a few feet above some Arabian soldiers, raining hot shrapnel into the line. Moving his view back to the Arabian treeline. He spots several 12 pound cannons pointed towards his men. “Shit!” He says under his breath.
“What is it, Sir?” One of the generals asked.
“They've brought in their damn cannons.” Windstar answers. He watches as the cannons exchange fire.
On the ground, Captain Becker oversees the men. Ducking his head, to avoid getting it taken off, he watches in horror as a cannonball slams into the axle of a howitzer behind him. Splinters and shrapnel embeds itself into the unfortunate crew. Officers and other nearby soldiers do their best to help drag the unfortunate cannon crew to safety as they call for a field surgeon. Some of the men are dragged away clutching their wounds. Others lay limp and unmoving. The Captain’s eyes drift across the scene, until they land on one from the crew. A boy, of about 19, lay on the ground still. His eyes are completely devoid of life. He notices blood flowing down from his neck where a large gash is. The sight forces the Captain to look away, as sadness begins to fill up in him. A large volley of gunfire brings his attention back to the battle. After another hour of fighting, the wavering Arabian brigade orders a withdrawal, as another brigade begins its attempt to crush the Deutsche defense. The dragoons take the brief break to regroup and fill the holes in their line.
As the Deutsche waits for the next enemy brigade, General Windstar rides up to the line. Riding up to Captain Becker, the general notices a look of grief in his eyes.
“Captain, are you alright?” He asks.
“Fine, Sir.” He answers with a quick salute.
“How are we doing?”
“Not bad, Sir. Not bad at all.” Captain Becker says proudly. “We got them out in the open and they came right to us. We're figuring at least 8,000 in this division.”
“Hmm. It will take them a while to get all of them in line. Mostly likely all morning.”
“The point is, Sir, is when General Wilhelm gets here, he won't have his full army. Most likely a couple of brigades. The Saddlers will be here this afternoon with everything they've got.” Captain Becker sighs. “Now then, Sir, what shall you have me do now?”
“Well, the Arabians will be back in a little bit. If they have any brains, they'll know they're looking at least a brigade in front of them. They won't want to wait for their whole division to get in line. They're still trying to beat our infantry here. They won't need a whole division against us though.” He pauses for a second. “Has
Colonel Elmwood reported anything to the west?”
“Nothing, Sir. Everything has been here, in the south.”
“Hmm, I'll have him leave his position, move alongside your men. It'll strengthen our lines.” He chuckles slightly. “That way those Saddlers will run into two brigades, instead of one. That’ll keep them busy till Wilhelm gets here.”
“Very good, Sir.” Captain Becker says with a smile.
General Windstar rides off to Colonel Elmwood’s location, to reposition his position. Approaching the lime green earth pony, Windstar orders him to position himself alongside Captain Becker’s men. With that, General Windstar returns to his lookout.
Another two hours of fighting have passed and Windstar is getting worried. It is almost one in the afternoon and there is still no sign of Wilhelm. Ammunition for both cannons and rifles are starting to run low. Casualties are steadily increasing. Officers yell to fill the holes in the lines as cannons and gunfire drown them out. The Saddle Arabian army was surprised to see another brigade in front of them, however they soon got over it and kept their advance. General Windstar is getting desperate. He decides to head back down towards the field. He pulls out his pocket watch to check the time
“12:47. Damn it Wilhelm. Where the hell are you?” He huffs.
As he's about to head down, something in his mind tells him to search for Wilhelm one last time. Sighing, he pulls up his binoculars and looks out. Out in the distance several figures are riding up on horseback. One is carrying a Deutschland flag. Further behind them is a column of infantry. Tears begin to well up in his eyes at the sight of reinforcements. Heading down to greet General Wilhelm and his 10,000 men, Windstar informs Wilhelm of his situation.
Wilhelm orders his men to have four regiments move to the sides of the Arabian position. Another three regiments are to strengthen the center. His plan is to have the side continue to squeeze the Arabian lines together, in order to trap them in a bowl of musket fire. All Windstar’s men have to do is to hold out until the infantry is in position.
Upon reaching the central front, the infantry reinforcements quickly take up positions alongside Windstar's men. The dragoons breathe a sigh of relief by the arrival of the infantry. As the new Saddler brigade begins its advance in the Deutsche position, they are met with a torrent of musket fire. The arrival of the infantry allows some of the dragoons to step back and replenish their ammunition. General Windstar and General Wilhelm view the battle unfold from a distance. They watch as an enemy limber chest explodes behind one of the Arabian cannons.
“Looks like you and your boys put up a good fight.” Wilhelm states, turning towards Windstar.
Windstar chuckles slightly at this comment. “That we did. Tell you what though, you couldn't have arrived at a better time.”
Both Generals notice something that catches their eyes causing both of them to pull out their binoculars.
“You see what I see?” Windstar asks. Wilhelm is quick with a reply.
“Jawohl, they see my infantry with your boys. They're going to try and flank us.” He smirks. “Little do they know, they're walking into a trap.”
“Tha-” He is cut off from a cannon blast nearby. “That they are, General.”
As the Arabian army continues to push forward through the center, several regiments are diverted off to the left of the Deutsche position, in an attempt to flank the new infantry reinforcements. In order to flank the enemy, the Arabian army must cross through a small tree-lined stream. The first regiment lets out a battle cry and rushes across the stream and through the trees. Break through to the other side, the Arabians are met with a dark blue line slowly approaching them. The sunlight reflects off their bayonets creating a glare to the Arabians. The 4th and 16th infantry regiments of Deutschland halt their movements and take aim. A wall of smoke covers the infantry as the bullets strike down the enemy invaders. As the Deutsche infantry reloads, the Saddlers take aim. They unleash their own wave of musket fire, bringing down several dozen soldiers. The Deutsche infantry fires another wave of lead into the unfortunate Arabian lines. This time they begin to march forward again, forcing the Arabians back across the stream. The Saddlers take cover behind the thin treeline. Many still have to reload for the coming wave of Deutsche infantry. Just a minute later, the dark blue uniforms of the infantry appear on the opposite side of the stream. Again the two sides exchange fire, leaving hundreds dead on either side.
As the Deutsche infantry continue its advances in the west, the 8th and 2nd infantry regiments push in from the east. Not having as much fighting, seeing as how the most of the enemy moved west, the two regiments were able to reach a good distance before being halted by the enemy. From their position, they could see the infantry regiments fighting in the center of the bowl. Their arrival takes the enemy completely by surprise. Reaching a good overlook over the center field, the two regiments take aim at the bulk of the enemy force. The Arabians, now taking fire from three sides, split their lines to combat the flank. This move however, leaves their central force the weakest. The Arabian counter attack to the east is easily cut down as they charge up the small hill.
Load ‘em up boys! Load ‘em up!” The colonel shouts after releasing a barge of musket fire. The Arabians return fire killing and wounding several men. The two regiments however, remain unmoving.
Across the battlefield, the two regiments in the west continue to push in. Soon the whole western half of the Arabian lines were clumped together into one mass. The two regiment colonels order their men to “Pick your targets!” Several volleys later, the four flanking regiments charge towards the now weakened counter attack. The two sides clash into a brutal hand to hand combat. Ultimately, the Deutsche infantry is the stronger force. The Saddlers’ counter attack flees into the center field.
With the sides closing in on the Arabians and the field piling up with their dead, the General of the Saddle Arabian force reluctantly orders a withdrawal from Penzberg. After an intense seven hours of fighting, the firing comes to a close; resulting in a Deutsche victory. The thunder of the cannons are replaced with an eerie silence accompanied by the groans and screams of the wounded. The infantry help to gather the wounded bringing them into town for makeshift hospitals. A group of infantrymen, carrying wounded, approach a moderately sized home. A maid answers the door after they knock.
“We would like to requisition this house to be used as a hospital. Is the owner of this home here?”
“Jawohl, they're here. They took shelter in the cellar when the fighting started. Come inside.” She says, letting them step inside. The group walks inside, taking their hats and helmets off as they enter. They set up makeshift beds for the wounded. The dining room becomes the operating room. Two soldiers approach the family in the cellar to inform them of the situation. While in the cellar, the two soldiers grab several bottles of liquor, to be used as a painkiller.
The surgeon does his best to get through the wounded. As he finishes patching up one soldier from the western flank, a new patient arrives. A sergeant from the dragoons. The soldiers who carried him in look up to him with hope.
“Can you help him?” One asks. The surgeon takes a look at the man laying on the table. Sorrow wills his eyes.
“This man was shot two times in the chest. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for him.” A single tear falls from the sergeant on the table.
The waves rock the steamship, as Peter rests himself against the side railing. Michael and Erik approach him, seeing as he's now several shades of green darker.
“Peter, are you alright?” Erik asks.
“How are you ok with these waves?” Peter asks.
“Probably because I basically grew up on the water.”
“What do you mean?” Michael questions as he moves to lean up against the railing.
“Seriously, you guys know nothing about me!” He says under his breath. “Well my grandfather started a fishing company. It did fairly well, and when he died, my father inherited the company. Now my brother and I work with my father on our ship.”
Michael lets out a stretch. “Well I know one thing. I can't wait until we get off this ship tomorrow and on to some dry land. Where are we docking again?”
“Uh, I'm pretty sure we dock at Trier.”
“Ah, ok. Then we take trains back to our hometowns.”
“Ja.” The group stands in silence for a minute before Erik turns to leave, stating he's getting himself a drink.