Battle reports thread - King of the Romans PBM

**GeneralHankerchief** · 01-15-2008, 22:49

Milan, 1352

"He's what?!"

"Sick."

"He can't be sick! He has a battle to fight!"

"I suppose that's why we have you as a second general, innit?"

"Yeah, but... why... not the Plague?"

"No, we don't think so. Just a minor bug. He should be over it in a day or two."

"So why can't we just wait a day or two to attack?"

"Because the campaign season is almost over. Another day or two the bad weather will start and we'll have to play defense."

"So why can't Kaiser Peter lead the attack? He isn't sick too?"

"No, he's not sick. But that would ruin the situation. Herrmann, we need BHA Otto to lead the attack with the Legion der Krone in support. That's just the way it's going to work."

"...

...

"*#%!" said Herrmann Steffen, squire, aged 18, and that finished up the conversation with Count Fredericus Erlach's aide. He turned, departed to his tent, and began to make plans for this ridiculous attack that he was somehow in command of, over the true head of the BHA Otto and the Holy Roman Emperor himself.

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If numbers were the only factor, there wouldn't have been any problem, because the Imperial forces greatly outnumbered their French foes threatening Milan. However, the problem laid in troop quality. HA Otto and the Legion der Krone, while capable fighting forces, were battered and not of the best possible makeup. Meanwhile, the French had sent one of their elite armies to invade northern Italy, perhaps hoping to extend their war against the Reich to two fronts. It was Herrmann's job to make sure that the Italian Front would be a quickly forgotton affair.

His army prepared, he donned his armor and rode out to command. Feeling something lightly tap against the protective metal, he looked up at the sky.

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"Rain," he said. "Bad weather will start in a couple of days, my foot."

~~~~~~~~~~

Count Erlach, dressed mildly, rode up to meet him.

"You ready?"

"Why? You wanna relieve me?"

"No, just providing moral support until the fighting starts. Then I'm back in my tent. The doctors are already mad that I'm going out in the rain to meet you. You know what you're going to do?"

"Yeah," said Herrmann. "March up, wait for Peter to come, and then kill 'em all."

"They've got cannon," said Erlach. "Waiting could be costly."

"What are you, the devil's advocate?" Erlach just smilied. "Besides, it's raining, which will affect the gunpowder, and there's a crosswind, which will make accuracy tough. We also hold the advantage in archers, which means that us waiting will probably hurt them more than us. I hope they're stupid and won't force the issue. Me and the Kaiser will just-"

"The Kaiser and I."

"Thank you," said Herrmann, voice oozing sarcasm. "You know, that's just what I was thinking about on the eve of commanding a huge battle when I'm not even a knight. Don't forget to use proper grammar when giving orders. I'm so glad you decided to leave your tent to give me moral support, you know?"

"Calm down," said Erlach, chuckling. "Go on with what you were going to say."

"The Kaiser and I will just sit there firing arrows until the rain stops. Elite fighters can't dodge arrows, right?"

"Sounds smart. What happens if and when they do force the issue?"

"Either prepare to receive or prepare to flank. The Kaiser's not stupid. He'll do the same if they go for me."

"Ah, so you're going in together?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, your aide gave me all that *#%! about me leading the attack, but when you're actually on the battlefield, that doesn't really matter too much, you know? I don't want HA Otto to get chewed up just for the sake of technicalities. I'll wait for the Kaiser, then we go in together and save Milan."

"Good plan," said Erlach, musing. After about a minute he spoke up again. "And if they charge you right at the start?"

"Then the boys had better hold long enough."

"Well, good luck."

"Yeah, thanks. Get well." Count Erlach rode off, leaving Herrmann to command.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

All right, I wanna get knighted, I wanna get knighted, then I can lead armies for real - no, I need to stay in command, don't go nuts, this plan requires coordination, if I charge in recklessly then everything gets shot and we take stupid losses - no, that doesn't matter, we'll go in and the Kaiser will go in, and I don't care how e-lite those French troops are, they won't be able to take the pressure coming on them from two sides - no, it's not about that, go in piecemeal and they'll take us down one by one, and besides, the Plague's everywhere, it's not like we can just replenish our troop supply - no, it won't make a difference, and it's time to get knighted-

"Herrmann?"

"GAH!" Herrmann looked around, startled. It was one of Erlach's escort, looking at him oddly. "What?! I was thinking!"

"I know, sir, but Kaiser Peter's men are advancing."

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Herrmann looked around. "So they are. Very well. Advance to crossbow range!"

With a lurch, the line moved forward, slowly, deliberately, in coordination with the line on their flank. A distant thudding sound emanated from the enemy cannons, and a second later a couple of spearmen laid dead on the ground, but most of the enemy ammunition missed their targets wildly.

"Test arrow."

A crossbowman in the front line stepped up, loaded an arrow, and fired into the rain. It fell several yards short.

"Continue advance."

March. Thud. Plop. Plopplopplop. Scream.

"Test arrow."

This time it found its mark. A French Aventurier fell face-down into the mud.

"All missiles FIRE!!!"

This time several hundred arrows were unleashed, many hitting their targets, some killing them outright. A second later, to the west, Kaiser Peter gave the same order, and the French army was trapped in a deadly enfilade.

The Imperial forces got several volleys in while the French forces shifted formation. It appeared evident that they were going for the Kaiser's army first, the more dangerous, better-led force that would damage morale more if their leader fell. They began to charge uphill, with Peter calmly waiting to receive. Herrmann, right as he was giving orders to prepare to flank, stood up in his sattle, transfixed as one regiment of Imperial cavalry countercharged the French mass, hitting some Lancers on their right flank. The roar of one man could be heard even on the other side of the battlefield.

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"That would be Cervole, the crazy nut," Herrmann said in awe. "Man, he must really hate the French."

There was a pause as he watched the duel go on, and then realized that he was still commanding.

"Oh, oh yeah... CHARGE!!!"

Some units went straight into the fray; Herrmann held some in reserve, filling them in as necessary when it appeared that a French regiment was doing better than it was supposed to. It was altogether an efficient process, Herrmann staying out of the fight, ordering his men in what would become a swift and decisive destruction of an elite French army.

Once the outcome had become clear, he finally personally intervened, providing the final hammer blow that shattered remaining French resistance and sent them running six different ways, to be mopped up equally as efficiently by the Imperial cavalry.

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In the end, little trace of the French army remained. Both Imperial Armies remained intact and still in fighting shape. Herrmann noted that his personal retinue suffered zero causalties, which probably meant that knighthood would be put off yet again. He didn't mind. The important thing was that the French were expelled from Italy.

Efficiently.

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**TinCow** · 01-20-2008, 00:14

Bologna, 1354 AD

Sorry, no time for a full report. It was mainly a lot of cavalry charges, as the screenshots make clear.

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**AussieGiant** · 01-20-2008, 18:22

Daruzzo 1354

From the Diary of Arnold, Duke of Austria and Chancellor.

Another season of under achieving!! Franconia is like quick sand, Austria is little better with the exception of Johann, plus my army commanders seem to like getting each other killed. Bavaria is hit and miss while Swabia is nearly paralyzed for a variety of reasons. And reason's don't come into consideration for the enemy. Outremer seems the only place where things can be done with any degree of certainty.

This was simple.

Intercept the relief force,

knock down the gates with the catapults,

kill everything in sight,

sack the place,

then leave. It all went according to plan.

The start:

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Team One:

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Team Two:

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The trap:

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The captain dies:

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Race for the gates:

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The catapults do their job:

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The second trap:

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Game over:

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Stats:

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Sacked:

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Nothing has changed:

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**GeneralHankerchief** · 01-21-2008, 06:13

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Milan, 1354
Part I

There were four armies:

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Kaiser Péter von Kastilien’s Legion der Krone, his personal Imperial Army, containing the largest consistent of Knights in the entire Reich. Bruised and battered from numerous engagements but with little chance of reinforcement, not if the army wanted to stay “clean” and plague-free; its veterans some of the finest fighting men in the world, always game for a fight. Commanded in actuality by Herrmann Steffen, the young Bavarian who had received so many accolades for coordinating a large-scale attack against the French...

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The Otto von Kassel Memorial Army, commonly abbreviated as BHA Otto, commanded by Fredericus Erlach. Aside from the Kaiser’s army, one of the only “clean” forces remaining in the entire Reich, its preservence being so desperate to the Bavarian cause, because, for it, there were no reinforcements...

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The Gerhard Steffen Memorial Army, also known as BHA Gerhard, commanded by its namesake’s son and Bavaria’s Duke, Lothar Steffen. He and its Tribune, Friedrich Karolinger, had been running around together since the Cataclysm, desperately fighting here and there, picking its fights, bleeding the Byzantines. A Plague army, it would be able to receive reinforcements from diseased Innsbruck, if enemy soldiers and the Black Death didn’t completely annihilate it first...

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The Byzantine Army of Northern Italy, named so after becoming the only de facto Greek army in the area. It had seen its compatriots gradually beaten back in the Bavarian reconquest, but knew that its fate would not be the same, not when it was composed of the finest troops in the entire Empire, ready to avenge its numerous defeats in Italy and the Outremer after the Reich had gotten itself back together. Anxious, but not nervous at facing three large armies, it was “clean,” fresh, and powerful, ready to break the Imperial hold on Italy forever...

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These four forces converged on the great city of Milan one fall day in 1354, ready to destroy each other and claim the lands between the Po and the Alps for themselves.

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The Central Battle

Herrmann Steffen, commander of the Legion der Krone while Kaiser Péter was resting, once again found himself coordinating and leading a massive engagement against an elite army near Italy. At eighteen years old, he had already experienced two major horrors of life in war and disease and had rapidly matured from the naïve figure that had entered the Diet only a few years ago. Although he was slightly more confident now that he had some experience leading an attack of this magnitude, he still knew that he bore the immense responsibility of seeing this one through. The lives of thousands of good Imperial soldiers laid in his hands, including his father, two other Bavarian nobles, and Kaiser Péter himself.

Herrmann surveyed the land around him. It was a moderately wooded, rolling area that offered neither enough cover or open ground to use either to his advantage. The only heights of any consequence were to the southeast, where Duke Lothar’s army would first have to climb and then charge down to engage the Byzantines. Herrmann’s army was north of the Greeks and would be facing them initially. Count Erlach’s force would come in from the west.

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Kaiser Péter, at Herrmann’s insistence, would be present at the battle to inspire his own troops and, more importantly, drive the fear of God into the Greeks. However, maintaining his right to the benefits of reserve duty to the end, the Kaiser refused to take part in any strategic or tactical discussion, trusting the young Bavarian to make the right moves. However, his aides had no such inhibitions, and for two days right up until the actual fighting began they had been fettering around Herrmann, offering unsolicited advice and suggestions.

Finally, with the two initial armies deployed, Herrmann called them in for a final discussion of tactics.

“All right men,” he began. “I’ve just received word that all of our reinforcements will arrive in a timely matter. This makes things that much easier for us, since we’re going to need all the help we can get today.

“My plan is to pretty much do what I did against France last campaign season,” he continued. “We, the initial army, will sit tight. We’ll draw them into a missile duel if necessary, but we will not engage them until Lothar and Erlach are up.”

Lothar, one of them noted silently, and not “Father.” The boy is growing.

“As much as I respect this army’s fighting prowess, getting into a general engagement without backup would be suicide. We also have to keep in mind that two large French armies are approaching Milan from the west and will probably have to be dealt with in 1356.”

Jonas, the Kaiser’s veteran warrior, spoke up. “How long will it take for the Bavarians to get here?”

“I estimate around forty-five minutes for Erlach, and about five minutes after that for Lothar. Maybe less if he hoofs it. We’re going to have to stand around and take whatever punishment they give us for forty-five minutes. After that it won’t get any easier, but at least we’ll be able to fight back. Forty-five minutes.”

“Easier said than done,” someone said.

“Damn right it is,” Herrmann shot back. “But it’s got to be done for us to have a chance. They come, we hold. Any more questions?”

Silence.

“Good, then get back to the Kaiser and tell him what’s going on. Once the Bavarians are in position, we move.”

They all got back to their positions and watched as the Greek army moved slowly in their direction. The Byzantines would pose more of a problem to Herrmann and his men than the French did. They were more numerous, more agile, and more adaptable to enemy tactics. They had a thousand different ways of coming at you, each method more lethal than the previous. They had excellent infantry and enough cavalry to shatter the hardiest of battle lines.

And they had archers. It was the archers the enemy commander had decided to unleash upon the Legion der Krone first, hundreds of foot archers, horse archers, and crossbowmen, each advancing upon the Germans, each firing with the air of one who knew his craft inside and out. There were enough men where was there was no break for the men in yellow in black; no blessed moment where the men knew that they were safe, at least for another couple of seconds.

“Crossbows, return fire!” Herrmann screamed. “Everyone else, for God’s sake, keep those shields up!”

“And when they shot their missiles, the sun was hidden by the multitude of their arrows...”

“Shut it!” Herrmann yelled. “Entirely different situation! Entirely different!”

But for forty-five horrible minutes for the Legion der Krone, one could not tell. All they knew was that they were getting shot to death by an army that outnumbered and outclassed them. They couldn’t move in to fight, for that would mean certain death. They couldn’t retreat, because, well, they were Kaiser Péter’s men and Kaiser Péter’s men did not retreat. So they stood, covering behind their shields, taking terrible punishment while their crossbowmen did their best in a failing effort to make things as difficult for the enemy.

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Of course, and annoyingly for Herrmann, the few people that seemed immune to the bombardment were Kaiser Péter’s aides, who were still flickering back and forth between their Emperor and the temporary commander, still offering unsolicited advice.

“Sir? Sir Herrmann? Do you think that, under the circumstances-”

“What?!” Herrmann snapped. “Is the Kaiser dead?”

“Uh, no sir...”

“Is he injured?”

“No, sir...”

“Then why are you still here? Stay with your Kaiser. I have things well in hand!”

“Very well, sir.” The man rode off, and immediately another one took his place.

“Sir, we’re taking heavy bombardment!” he said. “Too much more of this and we’ll risk losing our offensive power!”

“Thank you, I’m aware of that! I’ve ordered our crossbows to concentrate fire on their missile troops; it’s in their hands!” The second aide nodded, rode off, and a third took his place.

“Sir Steffen, we can’t take much more! We need to move somewhere!”

“Well, how do you suggest we move? Retreat?”

“No, not retreat!” the man sputtered. “Withdraw a bit. You know... out of range! Give the men some time to breathe!”

“NO!” Herrmann finally exploded. “NO, we are not withdrawing! We are not moving! If we withdraw, we lose time to fire back and the Byzantines with their horse archers do not, so we lose even more men and don’t make them pay anything for it! And if we do withdraw it means they will pursue us, which means it will take even more time for Lothar to get here and engage them, which means they get to focus on us longer! No, we are not moving! We are going to stand here and take whatever comes at us because that is the only thing we can do!!!”

After that there were no more aides, for which Herrmann was immensely grateful.

Finally, forty-seven minutes after the bombardment began, Duke Lothar Steffen’s army ascended the heights to the southeast, ready to hit the rear of the Greek army. To the west, several trumpets blew, announcing that Count Fredericus Erlach was in position and ready to strike.

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The Byzantine army split. Herrmann wasn’t really watching the entire thing and made little note of how many regiments went where. Mercifully, the barrage lightened up a bit as many of the archers were diverted. This relief did not last long, however, as a good portion of the Byzantine cavalry, backed up by two regiments of Dismounted Latinkon, charged right for the depleted Legion der Krone.

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“Prepare to receive cavalry!” Herrmann bellowed. “Prepare to flank! Hold your ground! They don’t have any reserves!”

The thunder hit.

Several men went flying; one landing and impaling himself on an unsuspecting Imperial cavalryman’s lance. There was a great lurch in the Imperial line, and for a moment Herrmann thought that the Byzantines were going to break through everywhere, that he had asked for too much of his army, that they were all going to be run over...

The charge stopped dead.

Herrmann blinked for two seconds, analyzing the situation. Then he sprang into action, ordering the line to be extended, ordering the Byzantine forces to be flanked. With the initial momentum no longer a factor, the fight soon devolved into a bloody melee, the Imperial infantry quickly gaining the advantage due to their superior numbers and the fact that they were fighting stationary cavalry, but then things evened up as the Dismounted Latinkon arrived...

“We can’t take much more of this,” Herrmann said. Nodding at the nearest of Kaiser Péter’s personal retinue, he gave his orders. “Blow the horn. The Kaiser’s personal horn and charge right into this mess. That should send ‘em running.” The cavalryman nodded and complied, and Herrmann watched as the great mass of horses and men to his right threw its weight into the fray. There was a pause, and then...

“They’re breaking!”

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In a few seconds, it was over on the entire line. Some men were routing, some men were withdrawing, but all of them were breaking off the engagement with the Legion der Krone. Herrmann didn’t bother going after the routers, knowing that his remaining missile troops would pick many of them off. The central battle, for all intensive purposes, was over, with a costly Imperial victory.

Instead, he rode around, surveying the battlefield for the spot for where his army’s intervention would be most decisive.

**GeneralHankerchief** · 01-21-2008, 20:20

Part II
The Western Battle

Count Fredericus Erlach, Hero of Ajaccio, Overseer of Genoa, Commander of the Otto von Kassel Memorial Army, marshaled his troops in from the west as fast as he could. Having seen the makeup of the enemy army from reports, he knew that a lone Imperial Army would not be able to stand up to the constant shower of arrows and deadly weight of cavalry for long. Any time he sensed his army slowing down, he shouted for them to speed up and gave them some encouragement as well. It would be a tough day for his boys. They needed all the help they could get.

Count Erlach, a professional soldier, was beyond musing that his army shouldn’t have even been in the fight. It was holding land west of the city of Milan, watching the twin French armies approach, and guarding against any potential move they might make. They were supposed to stay out of this fight. They were supposed to have earned some rest.

That all changed two days ago, when word came that Herrmann Steffen had decided to pull the BHA Otto into the upcoming battle as well. Erlach remembered receiving the order, accompanied by an attachment of the makeup of Byzantine forces. He studied it for one minute, and then quickly moved into action. They had marched, not caring about preservation, not caring about the lack of reinforcements. They had passed by the meat grinder of the city to the north and continued marching all the way up until the four armies met.

BHA Otto finally stopped and waited. It was extremely disconcerting to watch and do nothing as the Legion der Krone was torn apart by the endless volleys of arrows, but Herrmann Steffen had ordered a coordinated attack, and Lothar Steffen was still not up. Looking through his field glasses and viewing the young commander yelling, Count Erlach surmised that one of the Kaiser’s aides was being told as much.

After a couple of minutes, Erlach shifted his gaze to the southeast. The heights were finally occupied by Lothar, Friedrich Karolinger, and the rest of the plagued BHA Gerhard. Turning his eyes back to the Legion der Krone, he saw Herrmann’s gaze fixed on that spot as well.

“We’re ready,” Fredericus said to his men. “Sound trumpets. Prepare to attack.”

BU-AAAAA BU-AAAAAAAAAAA

The army got a few paces when they noticed the Byzantine army break off into three separate parts. Erlach saw a detachment head up a hill; a fierce cavalry charge aimed at the center; but he wasn’t concerned with that. Much to his dismay, it appeared that the bulk of the Byzantine force was headed west. He would receive the brunt of the attack.

“That’s good, men, it means they’re scared of us the most!” he yelled, but he knew that he wasn’t fooling anybody, he wasn’t even fooling himself. Instead, all he did was brace himself for the upcoming impact and catch a glimpse of what was happening in the center; the fearsome charge had been stopped, thank God...

Too late, Erlach realized what was happening. The great mass was concentrating itself on his left flank.

“Uh oh...”

WHAM.

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“Right flank, swing around! Counter-flank! Reserves, move up! Refuse this line! Come on men, no time to lose!”

The orders given were rational and proper, but would they be enough? In a little bit the Byzantines would have to fight on two sides, but there were just too many of them, and they were too good... His left flank was rapidly disintegrating, the only thing saving it were the heroics of one unit of reserves, somehow arriving long before other infantry in the area. It soon became a battle of position vs. weight, and weight was still winning out...

Taking a deep breath, Count Erlach ordered his own escort to join the fray in a desperate attempt to throw a powerful counter-punch.

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A lot of Byzantines died, but the mass (for that was what it was, not being anywhere near close to a line) didn’t move. Soon Count Erlach found his experienced men, the battle-hardened survivors of Ajaccio, getting sucked in farther and farther.

“Get out!” he screamed. “Get out and prepare to charge again!”

The men turned their horses and rode for freedom, and found it a lot easier to ride back out the other way, for there were only a few men blocking their path rather than the iron wall of purple. Things got complicated, however, as after they cleared the Byzantines they ran smack into the Imperial wall of spearmen that was finally getting up.

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I don’t know whether to hug them or kill them, Erlach thought, for while the spearmen would certainly help in the battle they were blocking his escape, and the Byzantines behind him were closing in.

“Clear a path, dammit!” he yelled. “I’m not the enemy! They are! Close up on them!” It took some time for the spearmen to get out of the way, and a few more in Erlach’s escort perished fighting the Greeks to the rear off. Finally, however, things were righted. The Count was free, the spearmen were in, and the battle was now at an impasse rather than it being a losing effort.

Another side effect of the spearmen coming up was that Count Erlach was unable to charge his men back in, at least from the front. It was difficult enough to get them out of the way when they were coming at you from the front. Making them part from the rear, while they were locked into combat, was impossible.

Fredericus could only wait, not even able to give orders. Every single melee unit was locked into combat, and his archers were already firing as fast as they could. The western battle had descended into a brutal fight to the death, and the Imperial commander could only watch.

The fight dragged on, with Byzantine numbers and experience finally being able to tell. Fredericus Erlach’s BHA Otto, one of the few “clean” armies left in the field, was slowly being wrecked. Of course, the Greeks were paying a terrible price too, but they were part of the all-powerful entity known as Enemy. Enemy always had more troops. Enemy could absorb losses. Enemy had two fresh armies marching to Milan from the west. This kind of stand-up fight benefited Enemy, for while there were precious few reinforcements for the Germans, Enemy could always spawn more...

...a horn blew. Erlach looked in the direction. Intervention. Two regiments, two strong regiments of blessedly heavy Imperial cavalry, backed up by a good contingent of infantry, were charging straight into the Greek rear.

The escorts of Péter von Kastilien and Herrmann Steffen, fresh from their victory in the central battle, had committed themselves to the point where the most Byzantines were concentrated. Herrmann would deal with the consequences of choosing Erlach over his father Lothar later. For now, he had picked the spot where his intervention would be decisive. And when the initial blow came, several Greeks unfortunately agreed with his decision.

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Dozens of Byzantines went down. The two escorts successfully extricated themselves from the battle before their infantry joined them and charged in again, killing yet more Greeks. Count Erlach’s infantry, buoyed by these reinforcements, fought harder, abandoning their grim resolve in favor of a “let’s kill ‘em all!” approach.

Herrmann’s infantry arrived, further unbalancing the odds. Count Erlach found an opening in his infantry and charged in for good measure. Squeezed in from three sides by infantry and faced with three regiments of heavy cavalry wreaking havoc in their center, the once-mighty Byzantine mass broke and headed for the rear, running for their lives out of the one spot where they had not been encircled.

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Fredericus, spotting Herrmann, sidled over.

“A good day, Sir Steffen!”

Herrmann did not respond. Clearly, even the glory of having initiated the final charge that broke a good portion of the enemy army did not match up with the earlier horrors he had seen in the central battle. He looked around for a minute, analyzing the situation, and finally spoke to the Count.

“Count Erlach, I’m putting you in charge of my infantry. I want you to mop up; hunt and kill any routers you may find. Once you’re done that join us at the southeastern battle if it’s still going on.”

“You got it, Herrmann,” Erlach said, not sure if he should have said sir or not. While Herrmann did have overall field command of the battle, he was not yet a Count and thus considered lower in the feudal hierarchy. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

But Herrmann was already gone, taking his and Kaiser Péter’s escort to the southeast, where Lothar Steffen and Friedrich Karolinger’s plagued army were fighting to keep the heights against the still-game Byzantines engaging them.

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**GeneralHankerchief** · 01-22-2008, 23:06

Part III
The Southeastern Battle

The men of the Gerhard Steffen Memorial Army were the backbone of Bavaria. Others serving in BHA Otto may have denied it, and their commanders, Lothar Steffen and Friedrich Karolinger might have said that they were just doing their jobs, the fighting men knew it was true. Ever since the Cataclysm they had been the sole force in Italy fighting off the waves of Byzantine invaders. They had gasped at the ferocity of the assaults and mercilessness of the Greeks and gritted their teeth as they were slowly pushed farther and farther north. They finally rejoiced when they received some form of reinforcement in the form of Dietrich von Dassel’s battered Army of Light, and experienced as much agony when the brand new army from Innsbruck went to Swabia in a doomed cause. Various armies and commanders had entered and left the Italian Theater, but they were the constant. They and Lothar Steffen, and later Friedrich Karolinger, after he joined them from his Austrian adventures. They had plunged into a city, knowing full well that it was suffering from the Plague and that most likely they would get infected, but still did not hesitate, for there were Bavarians under foreign control in there, and rescuing them was far more important than their own welfare.

Late in 1354, the combined effects of attrition and the Black Death were catching up to the men of BHA Gerhard. Earlier in the year they had blasted a Byzantine army near the Po to, once again, help unite Imperial Italy. They could have stopped there for the campaign season, stopped there and rested, and nobody would have said anything because they had already fought a battle and their unit was one of the most blooded in the entire Reich. But they pressed on, propelled by their hailed commander and his tribune, because there was a much larger fight brewing near Milan and, once again, they would be required to keep Bavarians safe.

On the day of battle, the Gerhard Steffen Memorial Army entered the field understrength, tired, and sick, but still ready to - as they always did - fight their hardest against the enemy, no matter the odds.

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Count Friedrich Karolinger, riding along with a contingent of Teutonic Knights, looked back at his Duke. For all the critics of Lothar Steffen – those who had said he was selfish, those who said he was manipulative, those who said he had murdered Kaiser Siegfried – the Count saw only a man who was devoted to his House and his people. Time and time again, the Duke put himself and everyone around him in harm’s way, unnecessarily, to ensure the safety of others. Count Karolinger didn’t mind being included in the “everyone around him” category. Not at all. He trusted his Duke absolutely and shared his thoughts regarding the greater good. Would he die if it meant his cause would be greater served?

Absolutely.

Before the battle, the two men spoke. Briefly, for at this point in their lives not many words needed to be exchanged.

“You know, if they focus on us, we won’t be able to hold for long,” Karolinger had said.

“I know,” Lother replied. Simply.

“We can’t just pull back either, like that one time on the hillside when the Greeks considered it a ‘victory.’ The other two armies are depending on us.”

“We’re depending on them, too,” said Lothar. “It’s the three of us in it together. Herrmann knows it. He’ll see this thing through.”

“You trust your son that much?”

“Until he came of age, you were to be my heir should I have died unexpectedly. Now, as you know, I gave that title to Herrmann, but not until he proved himself against the French. You know me, Friedrich. I’m not one to give away things to people who have not earned them. After I die, Bavaria will be in good hands with Herrmann at the helm and you and Count Erlach as the senior commanders.”

“Hopefully that won’t be for a long time,” Friedrich said.

“Yes, hopefully.”

Karolinger looked back at his Duke, wondering what the man was thinking. If Lothar caught his gaze, however, he did not acknowledge it, instead ordering his men up the southeastern heights.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

The heights were not that steep, but it was still a harrowing climb for the exhausted men. Timing was key in this move. Lothar was almost certain that BHA Gerhard would be arriving on the field last. If BHA Otto and the Legion der Krone were to have a chance at anything other than a bloody draw he would need to be present quickly.

The two generals looked down from their vantage point. The Byzantine army was recklessly hounding the Kaiser and Herrmann’s army. It looked like it had already taken a pounding, and the hand-to-hand combat had yet to take place. Somewhere in the woods to the west lurked Fredericus Erlach’s force. A second later, trumpets sounded from that direction.

Everyone was ready.

From the heights, everyone had the perfect view of what was going on. They watched the Greeks split into three directions; some heading for the Legion der Krone, most heading for BHA Otto. At first, it appeared that only a minor detachment was heading for them; however, Lothar cursed when he saw what it was: horse archers.

“Jesus,” he said. “Crossbows, do something about this, will you?”

The Imperial crossbows set their sights on the Byzantine horse archers, which had now gone into their Cantabarian Circle formation, giving the Germans a lesser version of what Herrmann and his men had experienced some time ago.

This annoying exchange went on for some time until Lothar shifted his gaze away from the missile duel to the bottom of the heights. This time he saw a more determined force marching up the hill, ready to engage his tired men.

“Oh God, the horse archers were a diversion! Crossbows, concentrate fire on the infantry! Bring them down! Bring them down!!!”
The crossbows obeyed, but the crafty Greek plot worked too well. The swiftest of their cavalry ran down the unprotected Imperial foot archers, much Lothar’s chagrin.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

“Here come the rest of them,” Karolinger said. “What are we going to do?”

“Unspoiled infantry charging right at us,” Lothar mumbled. “Unspoiled, fresh, full strength, well-trained, battle tested. We have no missile support, Erlach is in trouble in the west and it looks like Herrmann is helping him out instead of us.”

“They are coming up a hill,” Karolinger suggested.

“Two more French armies are coming at us from the west. These freaking Greeks are tying up three of our forces and seriously testing us.” Lothar was still in his detached state. “Damn it, will this never end? We’re all at risk of infection, I have no idea how two of my noblemen are doing or even if they’re still alive. If we win today, I can’t even shake my son’s hand and tell him ‘good job’ because I’m afraid of spreading the Plague to him. My boys have done everything I’ve asked them to and this is how they’re rewarded, with a determined Greek attack that they most likely won’t be able to stop?” The Duke’s voice gradually went back to its normal tone, and then stepped above that. “Is it asking too much to get some *#%!ing rest??!?!”

“Sir?”

“CHARGE, DAMMIT!!! We may not survive this day but at least we’ll show these bastards our rage!”

With the encouragement from their Duke, the men of the Gerhard Steffen Memorial Army, the backbone of Bavaria, screamed yells of fury and charged down the hill. Ignoring the sickness tearing through their bodies, ignoring their general feelings of fatigue and exhaustion, they harnessed their fury and frustration at being denied the chance to simply relax and get better, to be with their families, to see their children grow up. They harnessed all of that emotion, all of that anger, charged down, and let the Byzantines know exactly how they were feeling.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

The charge was a glorious thing, and all of its participants were to be commended for their bravery. For a while, the rage and numbers and momentum of the Germans seemed to be defying the odds and pushing the Greeks back down the hill. For a while.

Time passed. The Byzantines dug in. The fighting continued. And ever so slowly, the Imperial forces lost their advantage. The superior, clean, rested Byzantine troops kept fighting, kept pushing. The glorious charge down the hill turned into a battle of attrition. And, much against Duke Lothar’s hopes, the exact opposite situation happened with the southeastern battle than with Fredericus Erlach’s duel in the west. The mood on the Imperial battle line turned from a “let’s kill ‘em all!” rush of adrenaline into a grim resolve, to simply kill, find someone else to kill, and keep fighting until you finally drop cloud of gloom.

The Duke’s various blasts of the horn, charges on the flank, and shouts of encouragement did little. The backbone was beyond such petty things. This was the situation they had been given, they knew what was at stake, and they would do their best to see it through, even if that meant every last one of them would die doing so.

Lothar Steffen was not particularly a religious man, but he found himself praying for something to change. His men did not deserve this. Not at all. And then he saw it: a full regiment of Dismounted Latinkon charging up the hill, on the opposite flank.

Is this how you treat these men? IS THIS HOW YOU TREAT THEM?! Punish me, not them! All they have done is their duty! “Karolinger!” he yelled. “Do something about the flank!!!”

Friedrich Karolinger nodded, and without hesitation, sent his escort into the mass of steel awaiting it.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

A quick and deadly charge, leaving the enemy infantry temporarily shocked, and in that moment an equally quick retreat, positioning to do the very same again. So it went for the men of Friedrich Karolinger’s escort and the Dismounted Latinkon, much like the final minutes of that cursed Battle of Bern with Hans’s glorious last stand, his cavalry wrecking the almost-victorious rebel infantry, transforming the day from a tragic defeat into a draw or even a victory.

Karolinger charged again and again, pushing the flanking Byzantine infantry down the hill, down to the point of the now-concluded central battle, where trees and corpses littered the ground, hampering the mobility of the Germans. The Latinkon were finally able to surround their pursuers, and the brutal melee began once more, for this time there was no escape...

Lothar watched it all from the heights, agonizing over what he had ordered. He wanted nothing more than to charge down and help his Count, his friend out, but there was still a desperate battle going on at the hill slope; more a grudge match now, both sides having bled each other out and now ready to personally slaughter each other. Lothar, as always, did his best to help out, to ensure that his poor veterans got out with some semblance of organization, but it was a failing effort...

BU-AAAA BU-AAAAAAAAAAAA

From the northwest, two regiments of cavalry were making their way to the hill as fast as they could. Even from this distance, Lothar could tell that the horses were pooped; their riders’ armor scratched, dented, and bloodstained. They were still driving as hard as they could. The Byzantines were broken, the central and western battles won. The threat on Milan was over, for the time being. They were still driving as hard as they could, for they knew what was still at stake. They were riding to save what remained of what was once a wonderful army.

The escorts of Péter von Kastilien and Herrmann Steffen struck into the Byzantine rear again and again, an agitated Lothar weighing the army’s need against Karolinger’s. Finally, when the enemy line had thinned to his satisfaction, he caught his son’s eye.

“Herrmann-” he gasped, “Karolinger – down the hill – center – surrounded-”

Without a word, Herrmann Steffen turned his escort back down the hill, driving even harder – if that was even possible – to where the battle had began, where the Byzantines were determined to get something more out of this day. They had already wrecked three armies – by the looks of it, BHA Gerhard had taken the worst, and that was saying something considering the conditions of the Legion der Krone and BHA Otto – and were now looking to take away the life of a good nobleman in Friedrich Karolinger.

A handful of Dismounted Latinkon were gathered around an even smaller handful of Karolinger’s escort. The flashes of the sword were slower than usual, more deliberate, each side being too tired to do anything more. At first, the match seemed to be even, a one to one ratio of Imperial deaths for Greek deaths. But the Byzantines had the numbers to begin with, and soon one to one turned to three to two, to two to one, until finally the last Imperial horseman, Count Friedrich Karolinger of Innsbruck, fell to the ground.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

“NOOOOOO!!!” Seconds away, Herrmann screamed in fury. The Greeks has shattered his armies, ruined many lives, and now this, now Karolinger. He charged into the Byzantine infantry with such a ferocity that, even fresh off their victory, they started running.

“No quarter,” he muttered. Continuing to scream and yell, he charged around singlehandedly, personally cutting down each and every one of the remaining Dismounted Latinkon that killed Karolinger while the remainder of his escort simply watched in awe.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

When it was finally over and the rage had passed, Herrmann sat motionless for several moments and then collapsed off his horse. He slowly rose, clearly physically and emotionally drained from the day’s work.

“The body,” he croaked.

Herrmann and three members of his retinue together worked to pick up the corpse of Friedrich Karolinger. Together, on foot, they carried it back up the hill to the southeast and silently laid it down at the crest, in front of Lothar Steffen, who had just finished off the remnants of the Greek forces that had engaged him.

The Byzantine army threatening Milan had been destroyed, but at a terrible cost. Almost two thousand Imperials had fallen that day, 500 more than the Greeks had lost. BHA Gerhard was finished as a fighting force, offensive or defensive. They were little more than garrison material now, and their morale was shot after losing Karolinger so late in the day. The other two armies, the Legion der Krone and BHA Otto, did not fare much better.

The Battle of Four Armies was officially over. But, that night, as Herrmann Steffen sat by himself, nursing a small fire, there were more battles to come. The two strong French armies still lurked to the west, not caring at all about the slaughter that had just occurred. To them, it was just a military opportunity, an opportunity that was sure to be exploited.

There will be more fighting, Herrmann thought to himself. There always is.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

End

**econ21** · 01-23-2008, 23:55

The Relief of Bern, 1356, Part I

Staufen, 1356

“I feared the Swabian Household Army would be destroyed and prayed for the Kaiser and the Bavarians to deliver us. Instead, the armies of the Kaiser and the Bavarians have been all but destroyed, while the SHA has been spared.” Welf mused to his wife.

“Be careful what you wish for.” Eue commented dryly.

“Now, Swabia must deliver itself.” said Welf. “At least the Chancellor seems to have recognised our situation.” Although still infected by the plague, Staufen was now training significant forces – augmented by the arrival of regiments of proud Teutons riding from Frankfurt. If Imperial support continued, it would not be long before there was a second full strength field army in Swabia.

“Has the Chancellor approved your request to lead the SHA to relieve Bern?” asked Eue.

Welf nodded: “There was no one else.”

Eue laughed bitterly: “Tell me about it.” Her forced marriage to the upstart von Luxemburg still rankled.

Welf looked at his wife with a darkened expression, but then turned away. “I must leave immediately. The SHA is a poxed formation, but I will do my best to avoid infection.”

“You will avoid it. Or you will never see me again.” said Eue coldly, not looking up.

Welf nodded and silently left the room.

*****

Outside Bern

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“Is he clean?” demanded Welf.

“He bears no signs of infection, my Lord.” answered his chief retainer. “Apparently the city is now free of the plague.”

“Then send him in.”

A large man in worn armour entered the command tent. “Captain Otto of the Bern garrison, reporting, my Lord.”

Welf scrutinised the veteran – for a mere militia Captain, he had an impressively martial air. That the man had slipped out of the besieged city was an added testament to his bravery and skill.

“I understand, Captain, that you were a veteran of the battle of Bern – you fought with Duke Hans?”

“I had the honour, Sire.”

“Why did you fight for Hans – and not for Dietrich or Hummel?”

“I fought for duty and loyalty, Sire.” said the Captain defiantly.

“Indeed. Honour, duty, loyalty … good words, Captain.” said Welf approvingly. “But tell me, I thought Han’s army was wiped out almost to a man?”

“We took a beating, yes, Sire. But, I was lucky – my wounds still permitted me to serve in the militia.”

“A natural survivor, then. Good, the Reich needs that quality now, more than any.” said Welf and then he turned to business. “Captain, I intend to lead the Swabian Household Army to attack the French besieging you. Can you bring the militia to support us?”

“Yes, Sir!” barked the Captain without hesitation.

Welf paused and then said with slowly, with deliberation. “I intend to hold the heights overlooking the city. My army has many archers, but lacks the heavy infantry required to match the French in close quarter fighting.” The French army besieging Bern had eight regiments of knights, all of which preferred to fight dismounted. The SHA had only three.

The Captain paused for a moment and then said, cautiously: “But if you are on the heights, my Lord, and the French are between us, what are my militia to do?”

“Attack.” Welf could feel his own heart sinking at the cruelty of this command.

“Attack, Sire?” the Captain blurted out in dismay “Militia against knights, outnumbered three to one - we would be massacred!”

Welf fixed the veteran in a merciless stare: “Our only hope of victory is if the French become overconfident and attempt to drive the SHA off the heights. Your militia will buy my men time to deploy, they will tire the enemy, they will disrupt their formation … and they will induce the necessary overconfidence.”

For a moment, the veteran Captain scrutinised the calculating young man sat in front of him. What creatures was the Reich spawning in these hellish times?! Then he raised his eyes and looked straight ahead.

“My militia will attack as ordered, my Lord – for God, the Reich and the Kaiser.” The Captain declared defiantly.

“Very well, Captain.” replied Welf coolly. “But do not have them fight too hard, now. Do your duty and then get the hell out of there. The French have no cavalry so most of your boys should make it. Do not march out with any man too old or infirm to run.”

The Captain nodded with scarcely concealed disgust. Not only was his mission a hopeless one – it was even to be denied of honour.

“Captain…” said Welf, almost gently. “I have an opening on my retinue for a brave man who can do his duty. Survive this and I will reward you.”

“Duty and honour are their own reward.” replied the Captain brusquely, before marching out of the tent.

“Too damned good for the militia.” whistled Welf under his breath.

*****

From the heights above Bern, Welf watched the militia emerge from the woods in a battleline and advance towards the French. It was an impressive sight – they deployed in good order, like regular troops.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

But heading towards them was the large French army, resplendent in glinting armour and with many banners signalling the high valour of its knights. The French moved eagerly, as if scenting the weakness of their prey. But not so eager as to forget basic tactics. Four regiments of French crossbowmen were deployed in the advance guard and unleashed devastating barrages at the lightly armoured militia. The line of the militia seemed visibly to pause and rear up, like a stag wounded by a hunter’s bow. But then, lacking any missiles of their own, the men of the Bern garrison could only respond by rushing faster towards the pole-axes and voulges of the armoured mass opposing them.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Welf glanced guiltily around at the many crossbowmen of the SHA, deployed far from the militia, up on the heights - out of range of the French below them. What would the men think of him, holding them back – refusing any aid to the outnumbered and outmatched militia below?

Then Welf saw the clash of arms, as dismounted French noble knights broke through the lines of the crossbowmen in front of them and tore into the hapless militia. The French knight’s pole axes seemed to scythe down the Germans, already thinned out by the crossbow fire.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Within seconds, the militia regiments started to break – the men at the rear having no desire to share the fate of the unfortunates at the front. The rout was contagious and soon, all eleven of the militia regiments were fleeing the field.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

“Good work, Captain.” whispered Welf, under his breath. He watched patiently, as the heavily armoured French – bereft of any horse – tried vainly to catch the militia streaming back towards the safety of the city.

Always a man with a head for figures, Welf estimated that the Reich had now lost nearly a quarter of its men. French losses, he surmised, were negligible – after the battle, interrogation revealed the militia had accounted for only a wretched 13 of the enemy.

Welf looked around at the SHA deployed on the heights. “Now, it is all up to us.”

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: