From the morning officers' meeting and conversations with Max, I learned how the defense plan for Pfeildorf was evolving. Olger Hoch had quickly decided that the city's population had to be evacuated. However, in recent days, an emergency retreat plan for the troops had also been finalized. Unfortunately, it could hardly be called ideal. Ferries and boat crossings were set up along the city's riverbanks, but there was no possibility of constructing a proper bridge. We had too little time left. Still, a detailed evacuation plan was drawn up, including withdrawal routes for cavalry and infantry. They even wrote down an emergency exit algorithm for us.
After the presence of Chaos Dwarfs in the enemy army was revealed, orders were given to expand the fortifications in front of the city and scatter the cannons over a larger area so the enemy couldn't knock them out with a few powerful volleys of their own artillery. Many guns were taken off the walls and placed on redoubts. Militiamen were urgently digging the last ditches intended to hold back the enemy onslaught. Soldiers and artillerymen were not involved in this. They were saving our strength.
Our battle tactics were intended to be entirely defensive.
— If the enemy has a lot of artillery... — one of the engineers remarked. — Can't he just iron us out until he breaks our resistance?
— A reasonable point, Mein Herr, — Olger Hoch replied to him. — But we are dealing with a horde of Chaos filth. Reason has long since abandoned most of these heretics. Even if the Dwarfs have the cold blood to maintain a long bombardment, the savages from the north will surely crawl all over us as soon as they see us.
After the officers' meeting and a bit of morning drill, Erik organized a truly magnificent lunch for us. Unfortunately, no goblin meat this time. He managed to procure fresh venison. It was provided to us by Imperial Jaeger as thanks for saving three of their comrades in the fight against the Dawi-Zharr.
The cook compensated for the toughness of the wild meat by preparing meatballs in a spicy tomato sauce. Erik used a truly staggering array of spices, drawing not only from his old stocks but also from what he managed to trade from the servants of various aristocrats. Some noblemen had brought personal chefs on the campaign. This might have been considered a whim if I didn't know how important good, hearty food is when everything else around is going to hell and life is generously throwing one trial after another at you.
We ate right near the redoubt where we would have to hold the defense. We set up a simple table and poured two barrels of inexpensive beer into mugs. In addition to the usual squad, we were joined by several artillerymen and a Magister of the Jade Order, who turned out to be quite sociable for a wizard. His other colleagues didn't really reach out to us, keeping their distance. The Life wizard's name was Gerard, and he took pleasure in describing the capabilities of his school of magic to us.
— You'll be able to heal even the severely wounded after the battle, won't you? — Adora addressed him with subservience, clearly trying to make a good impression on an important person. — I've already seen what you are capable of, Master Gerard. You've managed to pull people back from the grave whom the Sisters of Shallya were already preparing to bury.
— The power of the Wind of Ghyran is not limited solely to healing, — the wizard replied to her. — I am capable of directing my power against enemies. Not directly, of course. However, suddenly sprouting sharp roots or slabs of earth raised by their might can cause problems even for the mad savages of the northern wastes.
— Instead of talking about sorcery, let us better offer our prayers to Sigmar, — Markus grumbled.
A friendly atmosphere prevailed, but behind this facade lurked a growing anxiety. Everyone in the army knew the enemy was approaching. Half an hour after our lunch, mounted scouts brought grim news. Moving unusually fast for its size, Tamurkhan's horde was already ten kilometers away from us. The Margrave's adjutants immediately spread this news across all fortifications.
— They'll be here by evening, — Max reasoned. — Attacking right after a long march is stupid, but this is cursed Chaos filth. Nothing with them is like normal people. My uncle in Nordland used to hunt Norscan raiders about five years ago. The stories we heard from him afterward... Sigmar preserve us! My uncle always drank like a dog, of course, but he didn't like to exaggerate and didn't know how.
In the end, our redoubt held three engines: two cannons and one Helblaster Organ Gun, as well as four wizards. Magisters of Fire, Metal, Life, and one little brat with Beast magic.
The composition of the Garbage Reiksguard squad included: Seventy-one infantrymen, mostly armed with spears. Sixty men, including Markus, and ten women, including Adora, capable of standing in line. Another nine women were not going to take part in the battle; they were tasked with caring for the wounded and household matters.
As for ranged weapons, we had nine crossbows and two arquebuses.
Separate elite units were: myself, Mugg, Liandra, Max, and Erik.
The elf had finally picked out a few pieces of armor for herself from the armory: a barbuta helmet, a cuirass, pauldrons, and leg guards. Max was now wearing full plate that an Order squire or a minor nobleman would envy. Mugg was cheerfully swinging a captured Dawi-Zharr axe. Erik wanted to give me a Chaos Dwarf pistol cleansed of heretical symbols, but I told the halfling to keep it for himself. He had much more experience with firearms. Plus, I would be more useful on the front line in melee.
There were also 14 artillerymen on the redoubt. Their sergeant had a cuirass and a pair of pistols. The rest wore no armor and were armed at most with hangers.
Directly in front of us was a line of fortifications with two light cannons. There, fifty spearmen with shields and a dozen swordsmen attached for reinforcement held the defense. They were assisted by local militiamen armed with crossbows, pistols, bows, and short spears. There were about thirty of them in total.
In front of this line were more redoubts and fortifications. They were to be defended by fairly battle-ready units of the provincial army.
Time stretched in anxious anticipation. A light rain was falling, and the heavens were draped in a gray shroud. Because of such weather, I already began to miss the sun.
We spent the final hours before the battle in prayers and conversation. Max constantly tried to strike up a dialogue with Liandra. He still somehow hoped to woo the elf. The girl answered in monosyllables or didn't grace the man with her attention at all. Max didn't give up. He continued to tell stories about the military glory of his worthy family. He described in detail which of his grandfathers fought orcs, beastmen, Norscan raiders, and bandit bands. The whole point of these monologues boiled down to an attempt to show how many enemies humans had defeated for the good of the whole world.
Seeking to attract Liandra's attention, the guy only brought upon himself Markus and several of his Sigmarites, who began to fervently pray for the health of the sergeant's heroic relatives. Such company finally scared the elf away.
And then...
Then they came.
Their harbinger was a sorcerous fog, crawling over us in a wave from the direction of the forests and fields. The white haze moved like a living creature. A giant amoeba trying to swallow as much of the surrounding space as possible. The fog was thick and moved against the wind. White clouds stretched before us like a screen from river to river.
People on the fortifications fell silent, peering anxiously into the smoky veil. I could see Olger Hoch standing in full armor beside his war griffon. The old Margrave looked impressive despite his age. A bright plume of red and black feathers stuck out of a complex helmet that Olger held under his arm. His hand-and-a-half sword emitted a faint silvery shimmer. An enchanted weapon.
Gathered around the Margrave were dismounted Imperial Knights and Greatswords — veteran infantry armed with zweihanders.
Hoch raised his free hand in a cautionary gesture, likely forbidding the artillery from firing blindly and bombarding the impenetrable fog. But soon the first targets appeared before our eyes.
It turned out to be a straggling crowd of beastmen, cultists, and mutants. Exactly what the average Imperial imagines when the Ruinous Powers are mentioned. There were many of them. At a glance, three or four thousand. They trudged forward as if gripped by despair. Tired, almost mad, armed with whatever they could find. Short-horned Ungors, cultists in tattered rags, distorted mutants looking like living corpses that had been rotting in a swamp for months. The fog cleared slightly where these monstrosities walked. One could notice a countless swarm of insects circling near those writhing bodies.
— Not bad, — Stefan chuckled. — We'll manage even without Karl Franz. It seems the only dangerous thing they have is the dragon.
— It's a trick, — I countered. — Cannon fodder to discharge our guns and distract us.
— I agree with the Reiksmarshal, — Max added. — A crowd of such miserable bastards couldn't have made it through the pass. The border garrisons would have stopped them.
Olger Hoch didn't fall for the trick. Our artillery remained silent. The crowd of cannon fodder moved forward. It seemed the Margrave intended to leave them to be torn apart by the regular skirmishers and soldiers of the first defensive line.
Following the wave of shit-infantry, clouds of various flying filth rose from the fog toward the gray evening skies. Small fry like harpies and furies with wings like bats. Larger creatures: giant flies plus manticores, both wild and with riders. And against the background of the swarm of unholy creations, a Chaos Dragon soared as a giant shadow. The monster was showing off. The dragon unleashed streams of green fire and brown steam from both its maws.
One look was enough to realize how much the enemy outmatched us in terms of flying cavalry. The Imperials at Pfeildorf had just under ten pegasi and two griffons. How many winged beasts had Tamurkhan brought? Hard to count quickly, but we were talking about many hundreds of small creatures, fifty medium ones, and a dragon that we had absolutely nothing to counter in the air. The enemy completely controlled the skies.
Screeches, roars, and wails from the crowds of cannon fodder filled the space. And then the shots rang out. As the first volleys of Imperial skirmishers mowed down the cannon fodder, the main forces of Tamurkhan's horde emerged from the fog. The mood in my squad changed abruptly.
— Gods help us... — the recently cheerful Stefan sighed in a dull voice.
— That much meat would have fed an entire ogre tribe all winter, — Mugg said thoughtfully. — It's going to be tough for us.
The Mammoths and Giants immediately caught the eye. Dozens of huge hulks emerged from the fog, and the trembling of the earth from their steps already reached even us. These were not just wild beasts. On the backs of three dozen War Mammoths rose battle towers and nightmare altars shimmering with sorcerous power. The Giants were encased in gargantuan armor, and their hands were replaced with iron hook-blades.
The horde's monstrous creatures didn't end there. Besides mammoths and giants, one could see the lower-slung, brownish-green, barrel-shaped bodies of Toad Dragons. Extremely rare and extremely foul beasts. Tamurkhan himself was riding one of them now. I saw him. In fact, he was hard to miss. Warlord, conqueror, monster. He didn't try to lose himself among his countless minions but rode at the head, holding a colossal axe in one hand.
I felt a vague unease grow into a fear that I had almost forgotten. Tamurkhan was like none of the enemies who had tried to kill me before.
Even the Chaos werewolf, who had posed a mortal threat to our squad, was a pathetic pup compared to this sinister hulk soaked in the corruption of Nurgle. Before us was not one of many pawns whose names the wind of history would blow away along with the dust, but a true Chosen of the Dark Gods.
Are there heroes among us capable of challenging him? I doubt it. Likely even such a monster can be brought down by gathering a good crowd against it, but the enemies were simply more numerous now.
I shook my head, trying to drive away the dark thoughts.
Behind the giant monsters came the infantry. No longer a pathetic crowd, but dense ranks of terrible warriors. Armor-clad Chosen, Plaguebearer demons, horned Gors of the beastmen, Trolls afflicted by Nurgle's blight, and even Ogres, whose tribe Tamurkhan had managed to conquer. Thousands of Norscan riders rode on the flanks. Raiders from the northern wastes, come for the chance to pillage the lands of the Empire. However, among the light cavalry were armored Chaos Knights. Riders on dark-green horses or some monstrous beasts, with spikes protruding from their rotting bodies.
The fog, which had recently tried to swallow as much space as possible, now conversely began to disappear, converging into a single point. After a few minutes, all the cloudy haze vanished, swallowed by the staff of a hunched sorcerer. A Fimir Dirach. A caster of an ancient race. He was surrounded by armored brethren. One-eyed, hunched like old men, but dangerous and cruel Fimir warriors.
The receding fog revealed another horrific sight to us. Along the rear of the Chaos army rode... an armored train! There was no other way to describe this infernal machine. A black locomotive with gilded inserts, belching clouds of steam from its funnel, pulled dozens of wagons with Dawi-Zharr artillery pieces mounted on them. Mortars, cannons, rocket batteries. Terrible inventions of a malicious mind, created to satisfy the endless greed of the Chaos Dwarfs.
On the wagons of the artillery train, one could see both the Dawi-Zharr themselves and Orc and Ogre slaves chained directly to the platforms. These strongmen were obligated to feed the heavy shells of the colossal guns.
In addition to the artillery train, other machines could be seen moving thanks to steam engines or the demons trapped within them. The maws of Hellcannons — the most common artillery among Chaosites — glowed with unholy fire. Above all this soared monstrous Great Taurus and other strange Dawi-Zharr creatures.
From the veil of gray clouds, another giant figure emerged. A second dragon! It was even larger than the first. A two-headed wild monster without a rider. A grotesque spawn from the very heart of the frozen Chaos Wastes. It flew, and a blizzard swirled around it.
The heavens were changing color. From ordinary gray clouds, they shifted to something dark green. Corrupted energy was changing reality. Before us was not just a host of bloodthirsty madmen and monsters. The Chaos Gods themselves were watching this battlefield now. Their demons scratched at the barrier between the mortal world and the churning elements of the Immaterium, seeking to catch even a glimpse of the coming slaughter. The shadow of evil spread its wings over Pfeildorf.
— It's over for us, over... Gods, save us! — someone from the squad wailed.
Max grabbed me by the unprotected part of my arm and hissed right into my ear:
— Pull yourself together, Captain! Give orders! Don't let them panic.
Right. I'm the commander.
— Silence! — I tried to bark, not sparing my vocal cords. — Stefan, Karl, step back! Don't crowd!
These calls proved very timely. An artillery-magical duel was breaking out between the armies. Greenish lightning flashed inside the darkened clouds. Several Chaos sorcerers flying on manticores sent fireballs and toxic-purple flashes toward our army. From the fog above one of the redoubts, a huge blade materialized, which began to swing like a pendulum, easily cutting through the earthen rampart and slicing in half the unfortunates caught under the dark spell. Over another section of the forward fortifications, a sphere of green sludge bubbled right in the air. People who saw this scattered in different directions. Just in time. The sphere soon burst, pouring a waterfall of filth onto the ground. Tiny Nurglings, bloated like balls, hopped out of it. They immediately exploded, drenching the caught soldiers in splashes of acid.
Our mages tried to give an answer. From the flank opposite us, lightning struck the flying monsters. A Magister of the Wind of Fire was casting something. His red hair stood on end, his eyes glowed, and a mad smile played on his face. The sorcerer whispered the words of a spell, and clouds of black smoke and even sparks burst from his mouth.
— That's it, — he said, completing the spell, and burst out laughing. — Look!
I peered out. Right where Tamurkhan was marching on his Toad Dragon, flames flared up. Fireballs rained down from the heavens like a storm. The fire completely enveloped the Chaos leader.
— You did it, Herr Sorcerer! — several men from the squad rejoiced, but I did not share their excitement.
Tamurkhan emerged from the fire as if nothing had happened. Boiling slime bubbled on his shoulders and the glossy hide of the Toad Dragon. Dirty yellow steam rose from the figure of the terrible chieftain. He was not harmed in the slightest. He still calmly held his axe with one hand, pointing it forward.
The crowd of cannon fodder was still killing itself against our outer fortifications when the rolling volleys of artillery rang out. Both ours and the enemy's. A moment later, the world turned into raging fury.
A whistle, the trembling of the earth, an explosion, and no other sounds but the ringing in my ears. I think I was lying on the ground...