Chapter CLV – I will put enmity between thee and the charge.

55th of Spring 5860
Karabush, State of Karabush

On top of the walls of Karabush, was a party that was also participating in the battle between the Republic and the Empire: Harriet Tubman and co., who had all gathered on top of the walls to watch the battle unfold. The old woman was watching the battlefield like a hawk, muttering something or another under her breath with each movement that either of the sides made.

All of the men on the walls were watching with their lids half-closed, all of them equally on the way to starvation. The only thing keeping them up was hope at this point. Hope, and some coffee that Tubman had requisitioned from the basement of a merchant. It had been heavily watered down so that every man could partake in it, but it was coffee. Quite expensive because it was imported all the way from Ginye. Worth it since today is the big day.

The men’s hopes were almost immediately shattered when, even to those who were not experienced scouts like General Tubman, the enemy’s numerical superiority was obvious. The men of the Republic looked like a little sand castle which were about to be wiped out by an Imperial ocean coming down upon them… and even with musket fire and cavalry charges picking off the flanks, the pikes were still greatly outnumbered.

Kyauta asked the question that was on everyone’s mind: “General, when do we charge? Or, or do we take this opportunity to retreat-”

“Shush.” Tubman raised a solitary finger towards Kyauta’s lips. “Five…”

Kyauta was about to ask for what the significance of “five” was, only stopping because the old woman did just “shush” her out. A few seconds passed, thirty of them in total, before she gets her answer. The 1st Ranger Regiment fires, the sounds of gunpowder exploding being heard all the way from the walls of Karabush. and Tubman muttered a “six…”. She knows very well how many rounds of ammunition the allied regiment carries, ten rounds, and that they’ll all be out at the same time due to firing together in ranks.

Tubman took the half a minute of downtime to give her explanation “…at nine, we begin running down, to charge the enemy ourselves. Captain Ayomide should affix bayonets and charge once their ammunition runs out. We should arrive right after them.”

“What if she doesn’t?” asked Kyauta, looking at the musketeers down below which had turned into a cloud of smoke at this point.

“Then she’s not Ayomide” simply replied Tubman. “Seven. Line up the men right next to the gate, young lady. Get them ready to head out.”

The men of the Fifth Infantry Regiment and the local National Guard streamed down, Kyauta doing her best to get them into some sort of formation. Their relative inexperience, combined with how exhausted they are from the siege, made it to a job akin to herding cats.

“Eight…”

Tubman came rushing down too, pistol in one hand and axe on the other. She was counting down, to around when the next volley should arrive. The gates to the city were wide open to allow for their sortie. If they fail here, it’ll be laughably easy for their enemy to take the city. Not to mention that Brown and his men were completely surrounded… if they’re wiped out, there isn’t much of an army left for the Republic to defend itself. In short:

“Four, three, two, one… Nine! Liberty or death, folks. Forward, at a brisk walk. Don’t exhaust yourself by running until you can see the white in their eyes.”

So, the exhausted men marched forward, pikes pointing up as they rested on the men’s shoulders. The field strewn with men who died before they could make their way to the main engagement happening a minute’s walk away from Tubman’s regiment.

“Ten.”

In the distance, a last volley of musket fire. Followed by brief silence, before shouts of “Liberty or death!” ring out across the battlefield.

“That must be Ayomide’s regiment… Are we ready, folks? Drop your pikes down! Spread out as wide as you can!”

The enemy is getting closer and closer… so are their allies surrounded by the enemy. They’re too focused on defeating Brown and Shinasi’s regiment to notice Tubman’s regiment approaching them. A force of around eight hundred, with Tubman having lost many men to disease exacerbated by starvation. Nothing too shocking for siege warfare all in all. The old woman summons up the last of the strength left in her voice, raising her axe and replying to the battle cry coming from Ayomide’s regiment:

“LIBERTY OR DEATH!”

Suddenly, it’s as if life returned to her tired and beaten men. They joined in on the shout, and began running towards the enemy. To the enemy that was like an ocean they crashed down on, like a wave following an even bigger wave. Some of the Imperials were immediately slaughtered with their backs turned towards Tubman’s men, while those who turned around to meet their attack were pushed back from both sides as the pikes began marching forward. Now the roles had reversed, from the surrounding the fugitives to the fugitives surrounding them. Not to mention…

“The cavalry is here!”

The Casamonu Host had taken this opportunity to begin peppering the exposed sides of the enemy their arrows. Charging in wasn’t really possible since their horses could potentially trample their own allies.

Six thousand men remain versus three-and-a-half thousand.

Steadily, the Imperials saw themselves having lost their advantage and having lost so many of their own. Over ten thousand casualties, and for what? A remote town? A remote town, to be taken to fulfill the whims of some Chancellor many kilometers away. “fighting the Demon King” seemed less and less of an enticing prospect with each passing second. Peppered with voluminous musket fire on the way, then javelins, then the sharp tips of these pikes and now arrow fire from the cavalry…

To the outside observer, a rout may seem spontaneous, as if thousands of men are connected by a hivemind and have decided to give up all together. It begins with one man turning around, lost in the crowd, turning his back and running away from his comrades. Then another looks at him, looks at all the enemies approaching him, and decides that this is a good idea. And then another, and another… before their officer can regain control, his already decimated regiment has dissolved into thin air. Then the men of the regiment right next to them sees this, then the other regiment over, and… in a minute or two, the enemy line has completely shattered and given up on the attack.

The men of the republic marched and rode forth, to pursue the enemy and to capture as much of them as possible. Like petals in the wind, the once mighty army of fifteen thousand had completely dispersed into nothing.

Zero men remain against three-and-a-half thousand.

Corpses littered the once blooming spring fields, corpses covered with countless banners of noble houses and mercenary companies who have gone virtually extinct today after losing so many members. Helmets, spears, swords, so many human lives, so much material loss too… all to deny another their liberty. Thus, the dead shall remain dead, to be interred to their final resting place by roving bands of priests, graverobbers and then priests again. The standard result for any battle: a rich microcosm of waste and human suffering.

For today, all of the above concerns anybody none. The men of the Republic rest, to surely fight another day. Whether it is victory or loss, no matter how justified and righteous the fight, it is still a horrible fight.

On the 55th Spring of 5860, the Battle of Karabush concluded with a costly yet decisive victory for the Republic. A quarter of its men were made casualties, and yet they had survived for another day.