Chapter 1507: Chapter 55: Siege (Part 25)
[Trench]
Smoke filled the trench, burning the eyes so that they couldn’t be opened.
Tamas covered his mouth and nose with a damp cloth, but every breath still felt like it was burning.
The enemy launched attacks from multiple directions, gunfire and the screeching of metal coming from both the front and the rear.
The Devil’s Fire cleaved the snake-like trench into segments, each “body” of the snake was a battleground, fighting to the death for every foot, every inch of ground.
Tamas led Peter Buniel and his subordinates in a southern advance.
The trench dug by the United Provincials was extremely narrow, seemingly designed to prevent even spreading arms, forcing two people to squeeze past each other side by side, so Tamas himself was blocking the passage tightly.
In his left hand, he held a makeshift shield, fashioned from wooden planks and a plank breastplate, the wood taken from an ammunition barrel, and the breastplate stripped from a United Provincial’s corpse.
Indeed, the United Provincials were armored.
But when the company soldiers swam ashore, most brought only their personal weapons.
In the trench where even turning was difficult, the advantage of “iron-clad meat” was self-evident.
This thought twisted Tamas’s heart in anguish.
This psychological torment was more intense than any physical pain he suffered.
While rushing the beach, his left foot stepped on something unknown, slicing open a gash, yet he felt nothing.
It wasn’t until Peter Buniel exclaimed that he noticed.
But his subordinates, those who entrusted their lives to him and trusted him unconditionally, were bleeding, sacrificing; what was this injury compared to that?
So he cursed Peter Buniel, who wanted him to stay back, yet seeing the company’s captain’s aggrieved expression, he felt a pang of guilt.
Fortunately, this excess emotion occupied his mind only briefly. Once he engaged in combat, he immediately cast out all distractions, focusing intently on leading his subordinates to clear the trench.
Tamas held the makeshift shield, wielded a short knife, and walked at the forefront of the squad.
Peter Buniel, burdened with a sack full of grenades, followed a step behind him.
Behind him were the other soldiers.
None dared to raise their heads, bending as low as possible, nearly to a crouching level.
Because both sides were firing at them, there was no “reverse slope” safety in the trench, bullets whistled overhead, some falling directly into the trench, hitting the walls and sending up bursts of earth.
The North, the United Provincials’ cannons also fired, though it was unclear what they targeted.
Everyone could only lower their heads, leaving everything to luck.
In the trench dug by the United Provincials, every twenty steps or so, there was a turn.
Depending on the terrain differences, the inside or outside of the turn would expand into an extra space for storing supplies or garrison defense.
Tamas was well aware of the United Provincials’ setup because the Centurion had taught him about these things.
Therefore, during the advance, whenever approaching the end of the passageway at a turn, he exercised the utmost caution.
When just a step away from the turn, Tamas inserted his short knife into the wall of the passage and asked in a deep voice, “[Paratu dialect] Is anyone there?”
No response came from the recess at the turn.
Tamas extended his hand backwards towards the company’s captain without turning his head.
Behind him, Peter Buniel immediately placed a heavy, cold iron lump, resembling a goose egg, into his hand.
Then, Tamas heard the sound of the Fire Striker clinking Flint.
Immediately afterward, Peter Buniel urgently patted him on the back.
Tamas unhesitatingly shoved the iron lump into the recess at the turn.
The two cooperated flawlessly, requiring no extra words.
Almost at the same time Tamas withdrew his hand, the iron lump exploded with a roar inside the recess.
A blast of air surged violently from the recess, colliding with the corner of the passage and spilling out to both sides.
The Alchemical Smoke settled in the trench was briefly blown aside, only for more suffocating gunpowder smoke and dust to immediately fill the trench.
Tamas pulled a short knife from the wall and rushed into the alcove, only to find the mutilated corpse of a United Provinces soldier inside.
Tamas didn’t know if the man died before being blown apart, or if he died after.
None of that mattered; what mattered was that he had once intended to kill him and his men, and now he was dead, unable to harm them any further.
Tamas left a few warriors to guard the alcove and continued to advance.
Outside the next alcove, when he asked in the Paratu dialect, a weak, dazed voice came from inside:
“Captain?”
Tamas rushed into the alcove, only to see a warrior leaning against the muddy wall of a trench, clutching his stomach, sitting askew on the ground.
“Gosha!” Tamas blurted out the warrior’s name and then crouched down beside him.
Gosha was only fifteen, and even before the Battle of Bloody Mud, he’d been fighting in Tamas’s squad. His real name was actually Igor, but everyone loved this little one so much they used his nickname.
Yet at this moment, Gosha’s face was wan, and he strained to tilt his head back, his eyes wide and fixed on Tamas. His barely fuzzy lips moved weakly, devoid of any color.
In Tamas’s eyes, Gosha suddenly looked much thinner, his already gangly face becoming even sharper.
Closer now, he saw that Gosha’s stomach was gashed wide open, intestines slipping between his hands and hanging to the ground.
Following Tamas into the alcove, Peter Buniel began to sob softly.
“I thought… I was mistaken…” Gosha didn’t shed a tear, but continued diligently to explain to Tamas, “I… I tried to stuff them back… but… they wouldn’t stay…”
“It’s alright,” Tamas said, feeling as if his heart was pierced by a thousand arrows, “I’m here.”
“It’s… it’s really good… I… I thought… I’d die here… all alone…” Gosha’s throat rasped, “United… United Provincials… went south… a lot of them… many, many…”
Tamas squeezed Gosha’s hand; he couldn’t use tender lies to deceive Gosha, nor could he face the death of this child.
“I’m sorry,” Tamas said softly, “Gosha.”
Gosha could no longer speak; he used the last of his strength to shake his head.
Tamas handed Gosha over to other subordinates, picked up his shield, and walked out of the alcove without looking back.
An endless fury churned within him, tearing at his chest, scorching his insides.
All other thoughts vanished; he only wanted to hurt the United Provincials in the cruelest way, to kill them, to tear them into shreds… No, even if he smashed every United Provincial on the island into pieces, it would not soothe his hatred.
The next section of the trench was empty.
The section after that, there were only three bodies, two were United Provincials, one was Tamas’s subordinate.
The section after that, two United Provincials were staying in the alcove; hearing the sound of the Fire Striker, they tried to rush out, but Peter Buniel had left the fuse extremely short, so the Horse-Tail Grenades exploded midway, blowing off the legs of the two United Provinces soldiers.
Tamas finished off the two United Provinces soldiers and continued sweeping south.
The further he went, the louder the sounds of battle became, but behind him it remained eerily quiet.
Tamas gradually realized that the United Provincials’ true main assault was not the landing site, but the fortifications at the southern end of Magit Island.
Understanding this, Tamas quickly advanced south with his subordinates.
After entering the open area at the southern end of Magit Island, the trench was no longer a single straight line, but split into three passages.
Not far away, on the flat riverbank, opposite Bishop’s Castle on the northernmost point of Riverheart Island, stood a small fortification. It was the core defensive structure of the United Provincials on the southernmost end of the island.
At the small fortification, fierce fighting was taking place.
Though the smoke was thick, Tamas could not clearly see who was attacking and who was defending.
But having discerned the United Provincials’ true intent, he was confident in making a judgment—it was the United Provincials attacking, the island’s troops were defending, the United Provincials had followed the same path he had, which was why he had found only dying or dead subordinates along the way, because those who could still move had retreated into the small fortification at the southernmost end.
Gunfire erupted from the high slope, the United Provinces’ matchlock guns were directing fire at Tamas’s forces inside the fortification,
on the riverbank, fire blazed as United Provinces commandos hurled alchemical liquid into the small fortification.
Tamas felt an overwhelming urge, he wanted to charge up recklessly and die with the United Provincials.
But he still had over twenty fighters by his side; he couldn’t lead these men into a death trap.
Weighing the pros and cons, Tamas did not immediately order an assault.
“Take out all the Horse-Tail Grenades,” Tamas said, pressing his lips together, watching the two forces clash on the riverbank, and ordered the lieutenant, “This time, make the fuses long.”