A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor-Chapter 990 - Opposing Schools of Strategy - Part 3
990: Opposing Schools of Strategy – Part 3
990: Opposing Schools of Strategy – Part 3
He was the only reason that so many men could exist with such unity.
Through the strength of his Command, he bound thousands of wills to his own, and used them as tools of war, and it was Oliver who was given the sword’s task of cutting through that immense foundation, stabbing at the unified enemy through its very heart.
“What are your orders, Oliver?” Verdant said.
Oliver had all but frozen, as he wheeled his horse around, evaluating their position.
His men cut down any Verna soldier that tried to get close to him, finding their vitals even through the loose fabrics in which they were dressed.
It was a good question, and one that Oliver wasn’t hastily answering.
The temptation of running at the enemy General, and testing all he was worth, it was nigh on overwhelming.
The only thing that held him back was the worry for his men.
They were in so deep into the enemy ranks now that they too were beginning to suffocate.
Unlike the Karstly main arrowhead to their right, the Patrick forces had been made to fight continually through denser numbers, clashing with where General Khan had kept his formations tight, unlike where he’d adopted so much space on the right.
Every inch of breathing room that they had they had to fight for.
There was never a chance to take a breath, and it was beginning to show on the faces of the men.
There wasn’t a single one of them that wasn’t drenched in sweat.
“COME ON, COME ON, COME ON!” Firyr yelled a taunt as he ran a man through with his spear, making a show of energy, but even his movements were slower than they usually were.
From the back of her horse, Blackthorn was in much the same position.
The mobility of the animal that she rode was reduced by the number of men around her.
Frustration was written quite evidently on her face.
In such a position, she would have much rather have been on the ground, where she could at least make use of her superior footwork.
“TIGHTEN!” Jorah called, having to slow the advance of his men in order to plug the ever-widening gaps in their formation, as the Verna men managed to worm their way through the smallest of openings like the worst of rots.
About the only man that seemed to be in his element was Kaya.
With how close the combat had become, his fists were working with the utmost of efficiency.
He dropped man after man with the barest of effort.
In comparison, his cousin Karesh was struggling to make his greatsword work amidst the pressing tension.
It was rare that he was given enough room to give it a good swing, and his frustration too was beginning to mount, as he felt himself continually starving for more room.
The Patrick forces were trapped in between the spacious right hand side of the Verna formation, and the overwhelming denseness of the left side.
Their momentum had all but died, as they used the last of it to fulfil General Karstly’s initial order.
Only Yorick’s men were able to take advantage of the spacious right.
The cavalry moved as one, wheeling in and out of combat, in charge after charge.
They refused to let themselves get drawn into prolonged melee, knowing full well that their speed was their advantage.
It was a continuous ebb and flow, like the waves of the sea lapping on the shore.
Oliver watched them perform that most basic of cavalry tactics, and he found his inspiration.
Inka roared a challenge from the rear, drawing ever closer.
To their front, there was no escape.
They didn’t have the speed to, not anymore.
Oliver supposed that he might have been able to push himself there on his own might, but he feared to ask too much of his soldier’s will, seeing how drained they were becoming.
He knew they needed efficiency.
“JORAH!” Oliver shouted.
He saw his blonde retainer’s head twitch, though he was trapped sword against sword with a Verna man, and he didn’t have the opportunity to turn around.
“MATCH YORICK’S MEN!
WE WEAR THEM DOWN, UNTIL THE WAY OPENS FOR A TRUE CHARGE!”
To a stranger, that instruction likely wouldn’t have been met with the sort of results that Oliver wanted.
It wasn’t as if Oliver had put his wants perfectly into words.
But with the Commanders that he’d spent years with, fighting and training alongside them, it was an entirely different matter.
Jorah’s sword went up in the air, and Kaya beat back the man he’d been engaged with.
Orders began to fly, and men began to move, as they adopted Oliver’s want.
“Verdant,” Oliver said.
“You will have to guide the Blackthorn men to the same conclusion.
Lasha does not yet have the control over them to get the positioning that we wish for.”
“At once, my Lord,” Verdant said.
His horse Casper sprung away with the same eagerness of his master, fighting through a crowd of men to reach Blackthorn’s side.
“YORICK!” Oliver shouted.
“THE SAME RHYTHM!
KEEP THE SAME RHYTHM!” He said, praying to all the Gods that Yorick would understand his intentions.
He put a touch of Command in his voice all the same, and he saw Yorick raise up his sword in acknowledgement, before he dove in for another attack.
With three hundred of his men falling back, Oliver took command of the final hundred.
“Firyr!” He said, pulling up alongside the bloodthirsty Syndran.
“Hah?” Firyr said, turning to him with a face stained with blood.
“In the middle of a fight, Captain – I ain’t got time for discussion.”
“Heads need to fly, Firyr,” Oliver said.
“As the others retreat into position, you and I are going to collect the tokens they need to pay for their absence.
You understand me, Firyr?”
“STORMFRONNTTT DOGGGG!” Inka roared in the lilting tones of the Verna, stained by anger, just as his colourful clothes were stained by blood.
By now, he’d collected three hundred men of his own, and they were galloping behind him, with order reinstilled.
In the calm pool that made up the rest of the dense left region that General Khan had created, they stood out.
