The thin wind whipped twirling funnels of sand across the emptiness around him. One of the Byzantine guides had called them dust devils. Devils indeed. What else could live in a land disconnected from the Lord? Maximillian raised his visor and squinted at the horizon, or what he thought was the horizon. There was no color in these lands. The earth and sky alike were mottled shades of tan and brown, absent of life and virtue.
For several moments he stared, searching, but there was nothing to see. They had split away from Kaiser Henry’s main force of Crusaders over two weeks ago, but the Turkish Jihad had not yet been sighted. Without access to the great supply train that traveled with the main army, food and water was scarce. If they did not find a source of sustenance soon, men would begin to weaken and die.
Maximillian turned and looked at his companion. “The Lord is testing us, Otto. It is not enough that we bring force of arms to his Great City. We must be worthy of possessing the lands of Christ. I shall give thanks for the hardships we bear, for they serve to purify the souls of those who have taken up the Cross for baser reasons.”
Chancellor von Kassel opened his mouth to speak, but gust of wind blew sand in his face and his words turned into a fit of spitting and coughing. It didn’t matter, words were not necessary. “Thank you for coming, Otto. It is good to have a friend with me during these times. Sir Welf is a skilled and pious knight, but reverence has taken the place of friendship between us. I suppose it is so for many who did not know me in my youth. I threw off the shackles of sin long ago, but the memory of that taint is what keeps my soul pure and my loyalty to God alone. Those who do not know my past do not know who I am.”
Otto nodded. “I expect that Kaiser Henry has engaged the Egyptian Jihad by now. It is possible that we are all that remains of our glorious Crusade.”
All that remains. A curious thought, indeed. “If it is so, then it is because they failed the test of God.” The Chancellor did not respond. There was no need to. Maximillian knew his feelings about the Kaiser were obvious. Henry was a good man, to be sure, but he had fallen from the Light. Maximillian had hoped that by taking the cross Henry would come into greater communion with God, yet since their departure he had fallen further and further into sacrilege and heresy. He had mistaken earthly power for heavenly spirit. In his search for God, he looked only to the world around him, not the world within him. It was this failure of the soul that had led him to that pagan magician. A man that Henry mistook as a priest, but who was nothing more than a trickster and a charlatan. The years spent watching that man’s ‘miracles’ had given the Kaiser superstitions that some called silly. Maximillian called them heretical.
It had been nearly a month ago that he had decided to remove himself from the presence of the Corrupt. Perhaps Henry would succeed and the glory of the City of Christ would restore some piety to the fallen man, but Maximillian thought it more likely that he would lead them into doom. So, he had proposed to split off from the main army and save those who could be saved. From the fortress of Adana, he would spread true Christianity to these barren lands, creating a bastion of sanctity in a land of devilry. No matter what the fate of Henry’s soul, Christendom would be victorious.
A shout came from Maximillian’s left. He looked over to see one of his bodyguards pointing at the horizon. At first, he could see nothing but a blur, as if a green moss had covered the crest of a distant hill. Yet this moss was adorned with pennants and banners flying the unholy symbol of the Mohammedan horde. It was the Jihad.
“God help us…” Otto gave voice to the thoughts of all who could see the battlefield. The Turks had positioned themselves at the top of a cliff which dominated a vast, sunken land. There they had assembled massive siege engines; catapults and ballistae which could hurl deadly projectiles deep into the valley. The Chancellor turned to him, “If we descend these slopes, we will never rise again.”
Maximillian galloped forward to get clear of the main body of men. When he was 50 yards in front, he stopped and surveyed the land. To the west was a ridge which spanned the depression. From there, the Turkish position could be approached without descending into the Valley of Death. He turned and galloped back to the lines. “Captains! On my march!” He turned west and raised his sword. The battle had begun.
It took only moments for the entire army to shift direction, a sidelong movement which became obvious to the infidels almost immediately. Whoever commanded there had prepared for just such an act. Maximillian could see the entire body of the Turkish force begin to move towards the western ridge. “Double speed! Captains! Get your men into position!”
As one, the entire Crusade army broke into a run. It took only a few minutes to reach the assembly point atop the ridge, but the Mohammedans had moved with devilish speed. A giant mass of men surged forward on the horizon. They would be on the Crusaders in moments. “Form up! FORM UP!”
The sun rose from the north that day; a glowing ball of fire ascending the sky. At first, Maximillian took it for a good omen, but as suddenly as it had appeared, the sun ceased its ascent and began to fall. As a body, the entire Crusade army stopped and looked up as the great ball of fire passed overhead.
The flaming ball of pitch crashed down to Maximillian’s left.
The army stood mesmerized by the sight, their formation stalled and their lines disorganized. The trance was broken as a second ball of pitch tore through the easternmost line of crossbowmen, barely missing Chancellor von Kassel’s bodyguard. Men screamed and flailed as they were covered in sticky, burning mass.
“God help us.” There was no safe haven on the battlefield, no place they could take refuge from the artillery. Though the lines were not yet formed, Maximillian knew they had no choice. The only place the catapults would not fire was into their own lines. It was death by fire or death by blade. He lowered his visor. “CHARGE!”
As the Crusaders surged forward, the Turkish mob came forward to meet them. The main body clashed along the crest of the ridge, while the catapults continued to rain devilish fire on the line of crossbows which had remained in the rear. Maximillian moved to the left flank of the line, watching for breaks and encouraging his men. Otto rode with him. Suddenly, the Turkish lines parted and a mass of heavily armored horse charged straight into the German spears. A dozen men fell almost instantly. No orders were needed. Maximillian and the Chancellor moved in unison. Around the left flank they galloped, then reversed course and engaged the Turkish horse.
For several minutes, Maximillian knew nothing but battle. Ringing steel, shouts of pain, and screams of terror. His trance was broken as a fiery ball flew right into the middle of the engaged German spearmen. Either the Turkish artillerymen had superb aim, or they did not care about hitting their own men.
“MY LORD! SIR MANDORF!” Maximillian turned and saw Sir Welf behind him. “A large mass of infantry is coming up out of the valley on our right. Hundreds of them! They will flank our line within minutes!”
Before he could respond, another ball of pitch exploded into the German lines, incinerating several spearmen at once
The entire infantry line was already committed, the only men left to hold the flanks were the cavalry. If all four brigades moved to meet the flanking Turks, they would surely hold the line. But even with such a move, the catapults would continue to fire and the Crusaders would be decimated. “Sir Welf, tell the knights to hold back the right flank at all costs. AT ALL COSTS!”
The Teuton grinned broadly, pleased with the prospect of meeting the Infidel charge head-on. “NO! Not you, Sir Welf. You must take your Teutons around the left flank and deep into the enemy rear. You must stop the Turkish artillery before it kills us all!”
“My Lord, the two brigades of German knights will not be able to hold off hundreds of axemen on their own!”
Mandorf nodded. “Those who fall in the service of God shall live on forever at his side.” He crossed himself. “NOW GO!”
Maximillian turned back to the fight. Otto’s men had dropped many of the Turkish horsemen, pushing deep into their lines. Yet one man still stood his ground, his position surrounded by the fallen horses of half a dozen German knights. As Maximillian turned and galloped towards the Turkish general, the rain of fire continued.
Mandorf’s gallop had drawn the attention of several nearby knights and spearmen. As a body, they turned and followed; moving as one, deep into the Turkish right flank. The infidel saw Mandorf’s approach and lifted a horn to his lips. A loud double note sounded, and at once a dozen armored horse pulled out of the main line and came galloping to his side. Maximillian lifted his sword and held it shoulder-high as he kicked his mount into a gallop towards the enemy. With a mighty swing, he brought the blade down onto the back of an engaged horseman. The man screamed as the blade cleaved his shoulder from his spine; his armor opened like a split berry.
Time seemed to slow. A lifetime passed in mere moments. Men fell on both sides and the ground was stained red with the blood of pious and heretic alike. Through it all, the enemy catapults continued to fire and Germans continued to burn.
The prospect of flaming death was putting terror into the hearts of even the most valiant Crusaders. If Sir Welf did not silence the Turkish artillery soon, the line might break. On the right flank, the German knights held back the mass of flanking infantry, but they had paid a huge price. Two thirds of the men were down and the rest were being pushed back. As Mandorf watched, two more were pulled from their saddles.
If they broke, the line would be flanked and the army would be destroyed. Yet there were no men to spare. Mandorf prayed. He parried a slicing cut by a curved sword. Flaming pitch crashed down into a group of horsemen to his right. Christian and Muslim alike were engulfed in writhing flames. “Lord above, hear my prayers! Deliver us from evil and spare our earthly forms so that we may spread your Truth!” He thrust his sword forward; sparks flew as it met sharpened steel. “GOD, GIVE ME STRENGTH!”
Mandorf threw aside his opponent and spurred his horse forward. A dozen paces ahead, the Turkish general saw him coming and lifted his sword to parry. When they impacted, the battlefield went silent. For a moment, it seemed as if all had stopped to watch the meeting of God and Devil. Yet, the mass around him still surged, swords still swung, and mouths still moved. The ringing sound of the impact had echoed through his helm and momentarily deafened him. As sound slowly returned to the world, Mandorf turned around and looked at the Turkish general. He lay on the ground, his head cut cleanly from his body; his sword broken in two at the spot it had met Maximillian’s. The Crusader looked at his own blade. It was unmarked. It had cleaved through watered steel, armor, flesh, and bone, and it had not so much as a nick about it.
“The Lord is with us.”
As if in agreement, a sea of shining armor appeared over the crest of the ridge far to the north. The Teutons had arrived.
With the Mohammedan commander fallen and the artillery captured, the Turkish morale broke. The main line crumbled as the men turned to flee. Mandorf rode them down as Chancellor von Kassel led three regiments of spearmen to the aid of the knights. With their army broken and the force of numbers no longer on their side, they broke as well.
“We have won!”
Maximillian turned to see Sir Welf breathing heavily, his horse sweating profusely. “Yes, but we are not done.” He gestured towards the mass of fleeing men. “Capture them all.” The Teutons joined Chancellor von Kassel and the remnants of the German knights as they chased the routers into the valley. None of the infidels escaped.
…
Two hours later, Sir Welf returned. “It is done my Lord. We have captured over 700 of the Mohammedan soldiers; nearly three-quarters of their strength! They had a great supply train as well. We have more than enough food and water to reach Adana. What do you wish done with the prisoners?”
Mandorf looked over at the crowd of disarmed men, surrounded by a ring of German steel. “They are the servants of the Devil. We must make an example of them.” He dismounted and took off his helmet. As he strode towards the captured army, he drew his sword. Its unmarked face glittered in the fading light.
...
One week later, the Crusade approached the fortress of Adana. Word of the defeat of the Turkish Jihad had not reached the stronghold, as no one had survived to report it. The place was nearly empty of soldiers, all having been called away in service of the Devil. The Turkish Crown Prince was the only significant fighting force present, supervising the construction of yet more artillery to use against Christian sons.
The reduced garrison did not even notice when a German spy slipped inside the walls and opened the gates. A group of engineers was pushing a pair of ballistae along the wall road when the mass of German knights entered the fortress. The Teutons spread out into the town as Maximillian’s own men put the artillerymen to the sword.
When the infantry entered, the Crown Prince made a valiant charge into the sea of spears. His death was quick.
Mandorf turned to survey his new holding. It was a mighty fortress with a double-ringed wall of immense thickness. Within its confines was sufficient space to train many armies of holy Christian warriors. “Yes, this will do nicely.” He turned to a nearby sergeant. “Find all Mohammedan priests and put them to the sword. Strip their temples bare, melt down their holy symbols, and then tear the structures down to the foundations. Tell those who live here that they can renounce their devil worship or they can die.”
Maximillian Mandorf knelt to pray.
Christianity had arrived in the Holy Lands.
Re: Battle reports thread - King of the Romans PBM
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