Steel, Explosives, and Spellcasters

If they only had muskets, the Herders could leisurely advance to within a hundred meters, form a line at their leisure, and then lay siege,

But once the defending army possessed cannons, the Herders had to strike from five hundred meters away.

Even five hundred meters was not safe, as the extreme range of a six-pounder cannon exceeded three thousand meters—though at that distance, catching a shot was more likely than hitting the target.

In less than a minute, the Herder cavalry had charged to within fifty meters; the cannons only had time for one round and were hurriedly reloading.

Behind the palisade, there was silence.

Jeska's squad was no longer the rabble that fired guns to bolster their courage; all the musketeers were waiting for orders.

Caltrops, trenches, breastworks, palisades—the Bridgehead Fortress's defenses consisted of these four layers from the outside in.

The Herders stopped at the caltrops, some dismounted to draw bows and notch arrows, while others started to pull up the caltrop stakes.

"Now! Fire!" Winters yelled using a spell to amplify his voice.

He pulled the trigger in rapid succession, "click, click" as the flintlock sparked, and two lead balls flew out of the barrel, taking down a Hong Lingyu Herder leader beside the caltrops.

After Berlion's modifications, the double-barreled rifled gun could hit whatever it was aimed at.

Above the bastion, the musketeers followed Winters's lead and pressed their firing levers, and a volley of gunfire erupted, with lead balls flying everywhere.

The closest Herders were killed on the spot, those who weren't dead were lying on the ground trying to hide, using just arm-thick caltrops as shields.

After the volley, the battlefield returned to silence.

"[Herde Language] Stand up!" a Herder leader shouted from behind the smoke: "[Herde Language] Their muskets can only be used once! Hurry, pull the stakes!"

The Herders got up from the ground amid scolding; it seemed like the shooting really had stopped, and they began pulling up the caltrops again.

What greeted them was the second volley, killing the scolding Herder leader with two lead balls.

"Second squad! Reload!" Winters shouted, waving the military flag: "Third squad! Prepare!"

The drummer beside the Centurion beat a frantic rhythm, urging the musketeers to act.

Those who had finished shooting stepped back to reload, while another team of musketeers hurried to the wall to line up their shots.

Previously, after firing a volley, militiamen musketeers would fire at will.

However, Winters noted that many musketeers were afraid to shoot, and once they started firing at will, they would hardly send out a few lead balls during the whole battle.

Hence, Winters divided all the musketeers into ten squads, taking turns and alternating volleys.

It was immediately apparent whose gun had fired and whose had not.

"Third squad! Fire!" Winters roared.

The drums fell silent as Xial swung the mallet, striking it hard against the gong.

"Gong!" The gong sound cut through the noise of the battlefield; it was the signal to open fire.

The third squad of musketeers pressed their firing levers, releasing another volley of shots.

Next to each shooting position stood a Centurion taking notes. Military law had been read beforehand: After the battle, those whose guns did not fire would be severely punished.

"Third squad! Reload!" Winters immediately ordered: "Fourth squad! Prepare!"

The drummer played the quick drum again. The sound of the high-frequency drum helped one team of musketeers retreat and the next team take their place.

This tactic was not simple; each musketeer had to finish reloading within the time of nine volleys, and also be cautious of friendly fire and accidents.

With drums, gongs, and voices, the ten squads of musketeers clumsily took turns.

Watching his subordinates in disarray, Winters was not satisfied.

In his view, the militia were still too clumsy; with more training, this rotating firing tactic would be much smoother.
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"Fourth squad! Fire," Winters's voice grew hoarse as he thought, "I need to find someone to take over the command shouting for me."

Centurion Montaigne was still not satisfied, but the feelings of the Herders were completely different.

In the past, two-legged humans' muskets took a long time to reload after firing once.

But the Herders of the Terdon Tribe were astonished to find that the muskets of the two-legged humans inside the earthen fortress never stopped firing.

The gunfire continued relentlessly, lead balls falling like rain, volley after volley, pinning the Herders outside the caltrops so they couldn't lift their heads.

At last, a large number of Herde archers arrived at the front line.

These archers, donning double, even triple-layer heavy armor, crossed the caltrops and advanced all the way to the edge of the trenches, shooting arrows at the Paratu people on the wall.

Immediately, a few gunners who leaned out too much from the parapet were killed by the arrows.

The hard bows and heavy arrows of the Herders lost their force at longer distances. But the advantage gained in exchange was their "unstoppable" power at close range.

Especially the crescent arrowheads, which could even slice a wrist off an arm.

Winters wasn't surprised to see the Herde heavy armored archers approaching.

In life-and-death battles that had raged ten or more times, Winters knew every tactic of the Herders like the back of his hand.

Without exaggeration, among the surviving Vineta officers, perhaps no one understood the Herders' expertise better than Winters Montagne.

These archers were definitely carefully chosen valiant warriors, capable of wearing double-layer heavy armor, drawing hard bows, and with excellent archery skills, specifically tasked with sniping and suppressing Paratu gunners.

A smile appeared on Winters' face.

Elites? It's the elites I'm fighting against.

"Charging horses!" Winters bellowed, his shout amplified by magic, instantly drowning out all other sounds.

Upon hearing the code word, a large number of gunners suddenly stood up from behind the breastwork behind the trench, shouting in unison: "Uukhai!"

They had been hiding behind the wall, just waiting for this moment.

"Fire!"

The gunners behind the breastwork fired a ferociously vicious volley at point-blank range at the Herde elites, as if the faces were glued together.

Between the heavy armored archers and the breastwork, only a trench separated them, at a distance not exceeding four meters.

If they missed at this range, the shooters had every reason to consider swallowing their own guns.

As agreed, the cannons, which had been holding back, simultaneously fired.

Innumerable lead bullets danced in a crisscross pattern at the edge of the trench, the Herders had their fill of lead and iron grapeshot.

Winters felt his cheek suddenly wet, and touching it, he realized it was fresh blood splashed up from below the city.

As the smoke cleared, one in ten of the Herde heavy armored archers remained at the edge of the trench. Some were still alive, simply because no one had aimed at them.

The sound of drums and gongs still did not cease, volley after volley was directed at the enemy below the city.

It was just a small improvement, yet the killing efficiency was greatly enhanced.

The fighting spirit of the Herders completely disappeared, and they fled in disarray.

Almost without any casualties, the first assault was repelled.

Colonel Jeska, who was presiding over the central army, had someone call for Winters.

Upon meeting, Jeska wordlessly handed a cup of strong liquor to the lieutenant, his face betraying no happiness or sorrow: "Get some reliable men to repair the caltrops and drag away the bodies, don't let the Herders play their stacking-corpse siege tactic again."

"It's already taken care of." Winters didn't refuse the alcohol and gulped it down in one go.

There was silence between them for a while.

Suddenly, Jeska praised, "Well done."

The colonel rarely complimented people, and although he struggled to conjure a semblance of a kind expression, it turned out to be quite peculiar.

"Hmm."

Jeska gave up trying and reverted to his usual cool tone: "This alternating shooting tactic you've come up with is interesting."

Winters wiped his cheek and said, "It's not my own creation, rotational shooting has existed since ancient times. Ancient javelin throwers did this by taking turns throwing, and archers would also deploy in formations to release volleys sequentially."

"What's new in this world?" scoffed Jeska, shaking his head and pouring another cup of liquor for the lieutenant: "Everything is about improving upon what others have done. Since it's you who improved this tactic, it's yours. Montaigne tactics? Montaigne system?"

"Just call it rotational shooting, I don't want to name it after myself."

"Why?"

"The old marshal's improved phalanx is also just called the Great Phalanx, isn't it?" Winters said somberly: "Though it sounds arrogant to say it, I think I understand a bit of the old marshal's sentiment... I'm pleased, but I'm also afraid. I fear that one day, someone will also use this tactic against us."

Jeska patted the lieutenant's arm, saying nothing.