Chapter 220 Fear Of Being Sandwiched



The officers had finally reached a consensus after hours of intense debate, their minds set on a strategic plan. However, their moment of the resolution was abruptly shattered as the sound of chaos erupted outside the command tent.

"What happens?" asked Wilmot with urgency.

"It's an ambush, sir!" one of the officers shouted, hastily reaching for his rifle. "Blande soldiers have infiltrated our camp!"

Wilmot's jaw clenched with determination. "Sound the alarm! Get our forces in position!" he ordered. Hastily, he grabbed his rifle and rushed out of the tent, only to be greeted with a scene of pandemonium.

Blande had launched a swift and unexpected attack on their camp, catching them off guard. He can see the desperation in their eyes. 

Honk-

The blaring sound of horns pierced through the air, alerting all the soldiers in the camp. Soldiers hurriedly primed their rifles, pouring black powder down the barrels before carefully placing percussion caps on the nipples. 

"Form a defensive line!" Wilmot commanded. His voice cut through the chaos. Thanks to the hundreds of times of practice, lines were quick to form. Once he see the soldiers are ready, he shouted again, "Fire!"

As sparks lit the caps, the scent of gunpowder permeated the air. The rifles came to life, followed by the thunderous boom which echoed through the camp. The smoke produced lingers in the air, obstructing the line of sight and making it difficult to see clearly.

Amidst the chaos, Wilmot's voice rang out, urging his troops forward. "Reload! Push them back! Don't let them come near us!" he shouted as he fumbled with his own rifle.

The camp became a battlefield, engulfed in swirling smoke, flashes of sparks, and the deafening roars of rifle fire. Soldiers from the Blande assaulted the Ryntum lines but were met by a storm of bullets. Each discharge sent deadly projectiles hurtling towards the enemy, forcing them to falter and retreat.

Wilmot's eyes scanned the chaos. His finger never left the trigger. He was ready to fire at any given moment. After the smoke subsided and his range of visibility increased, the commander barked orders to his men. 

"Steady, soldiers! Aim true and fire!"

Bang-

The battle raged on. The air resounded with the sharp crack of hundreds of shots being fired. The rhythmic sound of loading, aiming, and firing became a symphony of defiance against the approaching enemy.

Slowly but surely, the tide of battle began to turn in favour of the Ryntum soldiers. The overwhelming firepower showcased proved Ryntum's superiority in terms of weaponry.

Faced with the relentless volleys, the ranks among the Blande forces started to waver and begin to thin. Casualties on their side keep mounted up.

"Press forward! Drive them back!" Wilmot shouted, giving Ryntum soldiers another boast of encouragement after seeing the enemy's dwindling line. His voice rose above the cacophony. "Reload and advance!" 

Align to Wilmot's order, the Ryntum soldiers pushed forward. Their rifle roared with fury, spitting out bullet after bullet.

In the end, the enemy's resistance crumbled under the weight of their assault and was forced to retreat.

The shooting gradually died down and the battlefield fell silent. As the smoke gradually dissipated, Wilmot surveyed the scene.

There's no sign of an enemy in sight. Only the scene of the destroyed camp, littered with fallen bodies and the detritus of battle left in place.

"Gather the wounded and get them treated! The rest remain vigilant! Although we have repelled them, who knows when they will come back." Wilmot commanded, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. "Also, secure our perimeter!"

As dusk approaches, torches were lit, casting flickering light upon the scene. The camp came to live with activity. Soldiers rushed to the field hospital carrying the wounded. 

Wilmot, his armour stained with dirt and sweat, surveyed the perimeter. He was aware that the enemy might launch another attack during the night. 

"Make sure to finish constructing the barricades first," Wilmot gives his order. To think that the four thousand or so Blande soldiers dare to rush straight to their camp. These people must be desperate to escape their cornered situation.

As the moon rose high above in the sky, its pale light cast an ethereal glow upon the camp. Wilmot returned to the command tent at the centre of the camp. 

"What's the extent of our losses?" Wilmot asked as his eyes scanned the room.

The officer who is responsible for providing the casualty report cleared his throat before responding. "Sir, we suffered a total of almost a thousand casualties. two hundred of them are dead while the rest is injured."

Wilmot's eyes widened in shock as the officer delivered the staggering casualty report. Silence enveloped the entire tent. 

"A thousand casualties..." He whispered in disbelief. "Two hundred dead..."

The magnitude of the loss was beyond what he had anticipated. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw, "They'll pay for it tomorrow." he declared, his voice firm and resolute.

Outside the command tent, under the pale moonlight, the Ryntum soldiers solemnly carried out the sombre task of burying their fallen comrades. 

The air was heavy with grief and tears.

....

"How many casualties on our side?" Kurt asked anxiously. 

"About eight hundred death." replied the soldier with a wearily. "The enemy has advanced weapons that we didn't possess and we suffered significant losses because of that."

Kurt clenched his fists in frustration. The cost he had to pay for this risky move was high. "You do as I told you right?"

The soldier quickly nodded. "Yes, sir. We used the fallen bodies as shields to protect ourselves from their relentless attack and get closer to them. But, as the distance between us and them decreased, our casualties spike so...we're forced to retreat."

Kurt sighed, tapping his finger rhythmically on the table. "Reach out to the units stationed in the south and west. Inform them to send some soldiers to reinforce our position here. However, make sure don't take too much manpower or else the Tetheswest might notice the difference in the number and take advantage of that."

The soldier nodded, "Understood, sir. I will contact them immediately."