The siege began without spectacle.
At first light, the guns were drawn forward.
Under the direction of General Bertrand, the Luxenberg artillery deployed in long, deliberate lines across the northern and eastern approaches to Beirot. Each battery was placed with measured care, angles calculated, distances marked, fields of fire overlapping with quiet precision. Nothing was rushed. Nothing was left to chance. The army had learned what haste cost.
Behind the lines, crates of munitions were stacked in careful order. Among them rested the sealed racks of rocket artillery, their iron casings catching the early sun. Officers glanced toward them, but no orders came.
"Not yet," Bertrand said when one of his captains raised the matter. "They are not for this."
The captain hesitated. "They could break the walls faster."
"Yes," Bertrand replied. "And we would spend them doing it. There will be a time when speed matters more than certainty. This is not that time."
So the rockets remained untouched.
At the signal, the first guns fired.
The sound rolled across the plain like a breaking storm, a deep thunder that shook the earth beneath the feet of every man present. Smoke billowed outward, thick and choking, as iron shot arced toward the walls of Beirot.
A moment later, the city answered.
From the ramparts, General Helmut Ibrahim's artillery roared to life. Three hundred cannons spoke in unison, their return fire striking the ground before the Luxenberg lines, tearing into earth and men alike. The balance was immediate, unmistakable.
This would not be a one-sided fight.
For the first few days, the exchange remained even.
Luxenberg guns hammered the northern walls, their fire steady and disciplined. Within the city, Ibrahim's gunners returned every shot with precision born of preparation. Bastions held. Walls shuddered but did not break. Each side tested the other, probing for weakness, adjusting aim, learning.
Bertrand moved constantly among the batteries.
"Lower elevation," he told one crew, adjusting the angle of a cannon himself. "You are striking the upper stone. I want the base. Always the base."
The gun captain nodded, relaying the order. The next shot struck lower, sending a spray of shattered masonry outward.
Elsewhere, an officer approached at a run.
"General, their southern wall guns are shifting. They are reinforcing the northern wall."
Bertrand studied the distant walls through a glass.
"Let them," he said calmly. "We are not breaking them today."
Within Beirot, Ibrahim did the same.
He stood upon the walls as the bombardment continued, watching the enemy's patterns emerge through the smoke.
"They are patient," one of his officers observed.
"Yes," Ibrahim replied. "They intend to wear us down."
"And we will answer them shot for shot," Another officer said eagerly.
Ibrahim shook his head slightly. "No. We will answer them wisely. Ammunition is not infinite."
He turned to the artillery commanders. "Control your fire. Do not waste it on empty ground. Make every shot count."
And so they did.
Days turned into a rhythm of thunder and silence. Dawn brought the opening volleys. Midday carried the heaviest exchanges. Nightfall brought a fragile quiet, broken only by the distant crack of occasional shots and the low murmur of men repairing what had been broken.
At first, the damage seemed minimal.
The walls of Beirot were strong, reinforced by Ibrahim's preparations. Stone cracked, but held. Towers lost pieces, but stood. The city endured.
But Bertrand was not seeking immediate destruction. He was shaping it.
By the end of the first week, the pattern changed. The Luxenberg guns no longer spread their fire evenly. Instead, they began to concentrate. One section of the northern wall received the brunt of the bombardment, shot after shot striking the same point, grinding the stone down with relentless force.
"Again," Bertrand ordered. "Do not vary. Do not shift. Break the same wound deeper."
The effect was gradual, but undeniable.
Cracks widened. Masonry weakened. The wall began to show strain.
Ibrahim saw it.
"They focus there," his lieutenant said, pointing through the smoke.
"Yes," Ibrahim replied. "They seek a breach."
He turned sharply. "Reinforce that section. Double the men. Bring up additional guns."
The defenders responded quickly. Fresh troops filled the threatened area. Sandbags were raised. Guns were repositioned to answer the concentrated fire.
For a time, it held, but Bertrand did not relent. Each day, the bombardment grew heavier.
More guns were brought forward. New batteries were constructed under cover of darkness, their positions revealed only when they opened fire at dawn. The sound of the Luxenberg artillery deepened, growing into a constant, oppressive roar that seemed to press against the very air.
Inside the city, the strain began to show.
Civilians moved through streets choked with dust and debris. Buildings near the walls were abandoned, their structures already weakened by the repeated impacts. Soldiers slept where they could, their rest broken by the endless thunder.
Still, Ibrahim held firm.
"They will break before we do," one of his officers said, though there was less certainty in his voice now.
Ibrahim did not answer immediately.
"Perhaps," he said at last. "But not today."
The second week brought escalation.
Bertrand shifted his focus again, not abandoning the original point, but adding two more. Now three sections of the wall were under constant attack, each one hammered without pause.
"They divide our strength," Ibrahim muttered as he observed the change.
"Shall we concentrate on one and abandon the others?" his aide asked.
"No," Ibrahim said sharply. "If one falls, the others follow. We hold all of them."
But holding all meant stretching thin.
The defenders moved constantly, reinforcing one section, then another, never certain where the next concentrated strike would fall. Exhaustion crept in. Ammunition stores began to shrink.
Outside the walls, Bertrand watched the results with quiet satisfaction.
"They are weakening," Rapp said, standing beside him.
"Yes," Bertrand replied. "But not enough."
He lowered his glass. "Bring forward the reserve batteries. All of them."
Rapp raised an eyebrow. "All?"
"All."
The order rippled outward.
By the third week, the bombardment had become something else entirely.
Where once it had been a measured exchange, it was now overwhelming. Dozens upon dozens of guns fired in coordinated waves, their shots striking the walls in rapid succession. The ground trembled continuously. The air itself seemed to pulse with the force of it.
Within Beirot, the defenders struggled to respond.
Cannons overheated. Crews rotated as quickly as they could manage, hands blistered, ears ringing, bodies worn to the edge of collapse. Still, they fired back, though their return had begun to falter.
Ibrahim stood amid the chaos, his voice cutting through the noise.
"Hold the line!" he shouted. "They cannot sustain this forever!"
But even as he said it, he knew the truth.
They did not need to sustain it forever. Only long enough.
The first section gave way late in the afternoon.
A deep, cracking sound cut through the bombardment, followed by a collapse that sent a portion of the northern wall crashing inward. Dust and stone filled the air, obscuring everything for a moment.
"Breach!" a soldier cried.
Ibrahim turned instantly.
"Seal it!" he ordered. "All available men, to the breach!"
They rushed forward, forming a makeshift defence amid the rubble. Muskets were raised. Bayonets fixed. The gap was filled with bodies, living and dead alike.
Outside, Bertrand watched the collapse through the smoke.
"One," he said quietly.
He did not order an assault. Not yet. Instead, the guns continued.
The second breach came two days later, on the eastern wall. This time, the collapse was faster, the stone already weakened by days of punishment. Another section fell, opening a second wound in the city's defences.
Inside, the strain became desperation.
"They are breaking us," an officer said, his voice hoarse.
Ibrahim turned on him. "They are testing us," he corrected. "And we are still here."
But the truth was visible now. The walls were failing.
On the final day of the third week, the bombardment reached its peak.
Every Luxenberg gun that could be brought to bear fired in unison. The sound was not a series of explosions now, but a continuous roar, a force that seemed to erase all other sensation.
The third section shattered under the weight of it.
Stone gave way. Towers cracked. Entire stretches of wall collapsed into heaps of broken masonry.
When the smoke cleared, the reality stood plain.
Multiple breaches gaped in the defences of Beirot.
The walls still stood in places, but they were no longer whole.
From his position, Bertrand lowered his glass.
"It is done," he said.
Behind him, the untouched rocket artillery remained silent.
Ahead, the city lay open.