After fiddling a bit with the ship’s wheel, Tim frowned. The ships had been anchored so close to the beach and were so close to each other that he couldn’t really steer the ship out of its current position without spending an inordinate time doing so.
The original plan had been for him and his men to capture a few ships, then turn the captured ships around to shoot the other ships with their cannons.
However… with the current situation….
Hm.
Tim abandoned the steering wheel and hopped down to the lower level of the ship, where his men had prepped the cannons already.
“Colonel! What are you doing down here?” One of Tim’s men spotted him running down the stairs.
“Plan has changed. We’re shifting our focus to shoot the enemy soldiers assaulting the city. Make sure to not hit the walls, though! I need four...no, six men to come up to the main deck with me.”
“Yes, sir!”
Tim ran back to the main deck with several men in tow. They ran to the bow of the ship, where the ship’s lone main cannon was situated.
Tim began to shout orders over the noise of the ship’s cannons.
“Alright guys. We’re going to be using this cannon to shoot the other ships.” I want an assembly line, okay? You guys start there, at the ammunition. Pass it along to the next , and then the last two will load it. I will aim and fire the cannon. Understood?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Get to it!”
A few seconds later, shots began to fire out of the ship’s main cannon, smashing right through the side of the ship next door.
With only one cannon to shoot, Tim didn’t have the firepower to destroy and entire ship. So, he had to choose what to “disable”, and he quickly did - the other ship’s cannons. If they couldn’t destroy the entire ship, then they would stop the ship from being able to fire shots into the city.
Between shots, Tim glanced at the city.
How was fight there going?
At the southern wall, the commanding officer was Horace, the Lieutenant General of the First Army. He was actually from the Peslir Kingdom itself, so two nights ago Rojan had paid him a visit.
“Horace, you’ll be fine, right?”
Horace had sighed, then closed his eyes and chuckled. “It’s what needs to be done, but if you’re asking me to not care about killing my countrymen, then I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Of course not. I just ask that you don’t let it impact your performance tomorrow. Remember, we’ll save far more people in the long run.”
“...I know.”
But as Horace gazed upon the battlefield, it was sadness that clouded his eyes. Each body that fell seemed to pierce his heart - he understood clearly that it was under his direct orders that his fellow countrymen were falling.
Yet, he didn’t forget his duty - to his friends, his allies, to the future of this world.
“I want two dozen men sent to the left. You, yes you. Send a message to the right for me - they’re going through their cannonballs a bit fast. Tell them to slow down their shooting unless the enemy is going to overwhelm them.. Otherwise they’re going to run out of ammunition before the battle’s over.”
“Yes, sir!”
Horace returned his gaze to the battlefield in front of him. It would be a painful one for him, yet.
…
At the southern gates, something strange was happening.
In the center of the southern entrance, a pile of bodies had accumulated near the center, higher than even some of the armored individuals on either side of it.
Standing atop the pile of bodies were Wren and Rojan. The Peslir soldiers in front of them, and their own soldiers behind them, both stood where they were, unwilling to approach.
Why?
Although the two looked fairly normal, their actions in battle weren’t. Between Rojan and Wren, the two were responsible for most of the bodies they so disrespectfully stood upon.
On the Peslir’s side, the soldiers couldn’t help but slowly back up, out of the entrance-way. After all, although they were soldiers, they didn’t sign up to throw their lives away. And the ones closest to Rojan and Wren, they couldn’t even maintain a proper grip on their weapons as they palms sweated, and their knees and arms shook from fear.
For the defenders of Venite City, however, the backs of their two commanders almost seemed to emanate a sense of purpose, strength, and reliability…
*Ahem*
“Wall of shields! Fortify!”
One of the troop officers kept his wits about him, and saw that the situation was ripe to march over the pile of bodies and shove the Peslir Kingdom’s troops back out of the entrance to the city.
Hearing his commands, the Venite City soldiers closed ranks, lifted their shields, and marched in tempo. From wall to wall, it looked less like a group of human soldiers, and more like a solid block of shields advancing.
This was known as the “turtle shell” technique - and it was a very effective defensive technique for holding positions and for pushing against masses of troops. It was also infinitely more effective in an enclosed space, such as the one they were in now.
As the formation moved up to them, Rojan and Wren settled into the formation as well, blending in with the rest of the soldiers, and moved to force the attackers out of the entrance.
Remember, all this while, the archers on the walls were raining arrows onto the attackers outside the walls.
Although each soldier carried a shield, they couldn’t stop arrows from all angles, at all times. Eventually, some arrows slipped past shields, maiming their targets.
Slowly but surely, the invading forces were pushed away from the city, and soon enough they were routed from the city, in full retreat.
Watching their enemies running as fast as they could from the city, the defenders’ cheers rose to the sky.
On the north side of the city, although the wall was a little worse for wear, with all of the cannon shots it had sustained, the Peslir Kingdom’s fleet was in absolute tatters. Half the ships were no longer sea-worthy, and the other half had been taken over by the defenders’ forces.
What soldiers remained from the Peslir Kingdom’s naval force had long been surrounded and captured. With the boats stolen or taken out of commission, there was no way for them to escape by sea, and the city’s northern wall spanned the entire length of the outcrop of land they had landed on - so there was nowhere for them to run.
Altogether, they’d captured about a thousand members of the Peslir navy.
As the battle came to a close, all those in the city let out a sigh - although they didn’t really care who would win the battle, they also didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, either.
Rojan and the defenders of Venite City had little to be disappointed about, as well. In total, they’d lost just over two hundred soldiers. Of course, they made sure to provide some extra money and convey their condolences to the fallen soldiers’ families.
But as the day came to a close, Rojan and Wren sat atop the edge of the southern wall.
“Well, this battle was fairly easy.”
“Yeah.” Rojan nodded. “But that was because they didn’t do their homework. You know what they call us, right?”
“The Generation of Terrors?”
“Quite a rude name, really. But still… I can see why. We’re the product of many things… many, too many. It would be strange if we
hadn’t
turned out the way we are, hm?”
“Indeed.”
Rojan glanced at Wren. “It won’t be long until they send others from our generation to fight us, you know.”
“I believe you’ll be ready for them.”
“I appreciate your faith in me, but there are some real monsters out there.”
“Well, we’ll worry about them then. For now, let’s enjoy ourselves. We’ll get back to work tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
As Rojan gazed upon the city from the southern wall, he couldn’t help but allow a small smile to creep onto his face.
Before, he’d always fought for others. But now, he had a city for himself.
His first city.