"GONE?! What do you mean they are gone?!"
The Austrian peasant gulped, confusion clouding his face.
"M'lord...?"
Lothar Steffen grabbed the man by his shirt and yanked him forward.
"WHERE?!"
"Er... uh... Ea... East. M'lord. East, m'lord."
The Bavarian youth let out a bellow of rage; his face crimson and his veins throbbing. He shoved the peasant away forcefully, then turned and looked towards the rising sun. The man stumbled and fell into the dirt. He was too stunned to stand up. Why is he not happy? The Hungarian army is gone! It is certain victory.
The eldest of the Steffen brothers turned back to the dirty form sprawled on the ground. "How many are left?"
"Uh, not many m'lord. Not many at all. Just ruffians and merchants, no proper soldiers. Some with bows, some with axes, and a small mounted contingent." The man's eyes flicked over the ranks of armored knights and spearmen standing stretching down the road. "Nothing to compare with your men, m'lord."
Lothar Steffen scream in frustration.
It cannot be like this! Not like this! This was to be my grand blooding! The battle that would bring me fame and glory. A fearless General and his small group of loyal soldiers facing insurmountable odds against a vicious foe! All for the salvation of the innocent citizens of the Reich!
Lothar spat on the ground.
Outnumbered three to one! Hell, even two to one would have sounded good in the taverns. We outnumber them now two to one. How can I ever receive a Knighthood for a squabble like this? No one in the Diet will even notice the battle!
He shook his head and stared at the horizon. Smoke from the early morning fires could be seen rising from the distant smudge that was Zagreb. Smoke from cooking fires. The city was waking; breakfast was being prepared.
I have already left a large host behind to prove myself. If taking a small host was enough to get me noticed once, perhaps it will work again.
The Bavarian turned back to the peasant. He was on his feet again and was attempting to brush the dirt from what passed for his clothing.
"You."
The man stopped and looked up, a wary expression on his face.
"Yes, you. Go back to the city. Find some vagabonds and tell them that I will pay each of them half a silver florin if they open all of the city gates when my men come."
The peasant bowed. "Y.. Yes m'lord." He paused. "Now, m'lord?"
"YES BLOODY NOW!" Lothar put his hand on his scabbard and started to draw his sword, but the man was already off and running. The teenager turned to his lieutenants.
"Split the regiments into three groups. Send one each to the North, East, and South gates of the city. I want them to take the gatehouses and prevent anyone from fleeing the city."
One of the men cocked his head. "What of the west gate?"
"I will enter at the west gate with my personal guard. I will deal with the garrison personally. Once the gates are secured and you are sure that none can slip pass, advance through the streets towards the town square. Herd all the Hungarians you can find towards that spot, but do not, DO NOT, attack them. Do you understand me?"
The men all nodded. "Good, now go!"
One way or another, I am going to have my glory.
...
The gates pealed open before him, just as expected. He didn't even have to slow his mount to a walk. The first man into the city, that should count for something.
He paused momentary when he cleared the walls. Turning his head from side to side, Lothar realized quickly that there was no opposition to be found. He let out another yelp of frustration. "FIND ME SOMEONE TO KILL!"
They rode through the city, making as much noise as possible. Austrian heads poked out of windows to see what the commotion was about. After several minutes, the commoners started vanishing quickly, followed by the sound of crossboards being thrown across doors and windows. When they rounded the next corner, they found a large group of mounted swordsmen facing them. Lothar shrieked with joy and charged.
He had fought dozens of opponents in hundreds of individual combats during his short life, but it had always been with blunted practice weapons; the killing blow held back. Now, for the first time, he felt the added resistance as his sword dug into a body. He looked into the face of his wounded opponent and saw disbelief. He pulled back his arm and marveled at the extra strength required to drag his blade from its living scabbard. The dying wish to keep the instrument of their demise. Blood fountained.
Lothar laughed and turned to find his next victim. The Hungarian horse outnumbered his men two to one, but they were poorly trained. Half of them fell before the first of his own bodyguard was unhorsed. Through the din of battle, the pounding of boots could be heard further down the street. A large body of unarmored archers turned the corner and saw the battle. They drew long, curved swords rushed to support their horsemen. Lothar whooped with glee and kicked his horse into the thickest part of the melee.
Metal rang on metal. The shrieks of death surrounded him, echoing off the walls of the city. Echoing... He turned in his saddle and saw a group of Hungarian axemen assaulting a wall of Bavarian knights in the town square. His regiments had completed their cordon and arrived in the city as ordered. Despite the long axes, the Hungarians were not faring well. There were nearly fifty bodies scattered in the square and Lothar could not see a single Imperial uniform amongst them. They are dying too fast! They must fight harder!
He pulled back from the lines and galloped to his knights. "Pull back! Let them have the square! Do not attack these men!" The Bavarians looked at him and hesitated. He pointed his bloodied sword at the nearest knight. "I SAID PULL BACK!" He did not wait to see them comply, the axemen were going nowhere and his bodyguard were still heavily engaged. Only moments after he rejoined the struggle, the remaining horsemen broke and attempted to flee.
"STAND AND FIGHT! STAND AND FIGHT YOU COWARDLY BASTARDS!" Lothar began cutting down the fleeing Hungarians, but none would face him. His men followed suit and soon every last mounted foe was down. He turned his full fury on the archers, who were falling even faster than their brethren had. "Fight like men damn you!"
More footsteps thundered on the pavement and two regiments of Bavarian foot appeared in the rear of the Hungarians. Lothar gestured at them frantically. "DO NOT ATTACK! STAY WHERE YOU ARE AND HOLD YOUR GROUND! GODDAMN IT I SAID HOLD YOUR GROUND!" By this point his own guards were beginning to look at him warily. I will have my battle and the rest be damned!
But the young general's bloodlust was too much for the Hungarians and they attempted to flee as well. Lothar screamed in frustration. "No quarter! No quarter!" Another massacre began.
After a few moments, only the handful of axemen in the town square were left standing. They had slain over a hundred men, yet only seven of his personal guard were down. The axemen were trapped, they lined up in an orderly rows, a last ditch attempt at a protective battle line. Lothar's guard rode in to engage them.
They put up more of a fight than the cavalry and the archers, felling eight horsemen in the first moments of the melee, but their weapons were slow and unwieldy. Once they stuck in a body, they were nearly impossible to remove. Thus vulnerable after their initial success, the Hungarians were butchered like the rest.
It took Lothar a few moments to realize there was no one left to fight. I have won! I have won a great victory! I have personally slaughtered an entire army. He looked around the town square. It was covered with the bodies of the Hungarian dead. They were clad like peasants and their weapons were crude.
Lothar dismounted and tried to walk, but the thick tangle of limbs made him stumble and reel. Why are they not celebrating? My men should be celebrating... I... He staggered, his arm outstretched, before collapsing to his knees. Can't breathe... He tore off his helmet and gulped air into his lungs. It took him several moments to notice the stench. He was a victorious warrior, the bodies of his slain enemies lying scattered around him like cut wheat. A few still writhed and moaned. Glory... He vomited.
Re: Battle reports thread - King of the Romans PBM
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