Aside from two relatively young war elephants that nearly lost their footing when stepping off the riverbank onto the frozen, exposed riverbed because of the sudden change in ground texture, everything unfolded according to the plan made before the battle. Ten hundred-man companies surged out from their resting positions, converging on the Gift army's small beachhead from several directions.
From the ground, their formation looked chaotic, but it was in fact carefully arranged. If someone could look down upon the battlefield from above at that moment, they would see that the first wave of Golden Company soldiers charging forward remained tightly grouped by hundreds. Their speed gradually increased from the center outward, forming an overall semicircle. Gaps were deliberately maintained between companies to avoid excessive losses from artillery, yet they were not so far apart as to become isolated. You were my vanguard, I was his flank. They supported and coordinated with one another, and even in the charge they kept pace with the war elephants, neither hindering the beasts nor blocking their path.
Without exchanging words or constantly looking back at signals, relying only on a brief pre-battle briefing, the soldiers carried out seven or eight tenths of their lord's intent. This displayed the combat quality of the so called strongest mercenary company.
...
"Boom..."
As expected, puffs of white smoke rose from the opposite bank amid a series of faint flashes. More than a dozen of the strange powder weapons fired the moment the Golden Company crossed the riverbank and began their charge. With a thunderous roar, over a dozen iron balls whistled toward the attackers.
Hours of continuous bombardment had dealt a heavy blow to the Riverlands army's morale, but it had also allowed the Golden Company to form a basic understanding of these weapons. Thanks to their dispersed, phased advance, most of the cannonballs missed, slamming into the riverbank and blasting small craters. The war elephants had their ears plugged beforehand, so the roar had limited effect on the sensitive beasts. The flash and impact caused brief panic, but it failed to slow the mercenaries' momentum and instead opened a window for the second wave to advance.
"Go!"
At Strickland's shout, the drumbeat changed. Five hundred archers who had been waiting rushed down from the riverbank, forming ranks as they ran.
After listening to cannon fire for hours, Strickland had already grasped the weapon's firing rhythm. The brief pause after each volley was the safest moment. Using those few seconds, the archers could advance to optimal range and provide fire support for the first wave.
The casualties saved by seizing such a short interval might be small, but any experienced commander knew that battles were often decided by slight differences in losses and morale. Even a lion used its full strength to hunt a rabbit. Facing an enemy rumored to have defeated the White Walkers, he would not waste any chance to gain even a slight advantage.
One thousand five hundred soldiers and seven war elephants pounded across the frozen riverbank in a rumbling wave. Golden banners, gilded armor, and elephants draped in gold cloth merged into two surging tides of gold, crashing toward the Gift army, a small patch of black gathered along the river at the beachhead.
The second round of cannon fire sounded sporadically, but its effect was worse than the first. Observing the battlefield, Strickland could not see a point of failure. He felt slightly relieved, though also somewhat regretful.
Perhaps he should have waited and allowed more of the enemy to land before ordering the charge.
Even if they won now, the enemy would lose only the first two hundred men who had crossed. That could not be called a crushing blow or a great victory.
He raised his spyglass again, wanting to see how this formidable enemy would respond to what seemed an unsolvable situation.
As expected, the shield bearers planted their great shields into the ground, leaning them together to form a wall. Behind them, the second rank of Gift soldiers quickly removed the two large iron balls that had hung around their necks, cut the ropes to separate them, and then...
Then Strickland understood why they carried torches in broad daylight. Through the narrow circle of his lens, he clearly saw the black-clad soldiers bring the iron balls close to a torch, light something, turn sharply, and hurl the round objects with force.
Incendiary bombs.
Strickland recognized them instantly. But the clash was already imminent, the two sides nearly colliding in close combat. There was no time to warn his men. He could only hope the winter cold and the soldiers' instincts would minimize the fire's effect.
Two hundred meters. One hundred meters. Closer still.
Archers from the Gift army on nearby boats loosed their first volley, causing dozens of casualties. Golden Company archers reached their positions and returned fire amid the third round of cannon shots. Arrows arced overhead, embedding into the massive shields or falling into the rear ranks, striking soldiers who had just stepped off the pontoon bridges. Cries and screams rose in scattered bursts.
Meanwhile, the ten hundred-man companies at the forefront began their practiced maneuver as they neared the shield wall.
This was not something ordinary peasant levies could accomplish. It required veterans in the majority, officers from centurions to corporals who were calm and experienced, who knew how to maximize impact and minimize losses.
The first thousand infantrymen slowed slightly, edging closer to the nearest war elephants. They shifted from advancing shoulder to shoulder into following behind the elephants, transforming from a loose semicircle into seven cone-shaped assault formations, each spearheaded by a war elephant.
They drove straight into the Gift army's shield wall.
Amid heavy breathing and battle cries, company commanders saw the round balls arcing over the enemy shields. No one panicked. The Golden Company had fought countless battles across many lands. Thrown weapons were nothing new.
Based on the white smoke trailing behind them, the officers quickly made the same judgment as Strickland, incendiary bombs. To their surprise, however, the enemy seemed to have misjudged the distance, giving the order to throw two seconds too early. Dozens of black spheres dropped directly in front of the charging formation, not striking a single soldier.
Though no one had the breath to laugh aloud, morale surged at the sight of such an apparent mistake. Battle cries grew louder as the mercenaries accelerated.
If they were incendiary bombs, why had they not shattered or ignited upon impact?
Not every officer was swept away by excitement. A few noticed the anomaly. But the battlefield changed in the blink of an eye. They were only dozens of meters from the shield wall. The round objects had landed right before their boots. There was no time to stop and analyze. They were pressed forward by comrades behind them, stepping over the iron balls while shouting warnings.
"Watch out for the incendiary bombs. Do not touch or step on—"
The warning was swallowed by a deafening explosion that erupted at close range.
(To be continued.)