TEATRC tribute & universe expansion

Julia jumped forwards as boiling oil washed over behind her, burning her colleagues to an agonizing death. She alone managed to enter the doorway at the base of the tower. Getting there was hard enough with the defenders raining arrows, bolts, bullets, rocks and the occasional bomb from above. And when they reached the doors of the wall tower north of the breach, a small trap window opened above the door and dropped boiling oil at the assailants. Now Julia was isolated as a waterfall of boiling oil covers the doorway.

Inside, three swadians of the city watch charged at her with swords. The three lounged their swords at her head and neck, but Julia stepped to the left and blocked all three swords with her brigadier shield. With the shield obscuring her sword arm, the nearest swadian did not see Julia swing her sword from above the shield. The broadsword loped of a sizeable chunk of flesh from the man’s forehead, white skull bone visible from the fatal wound. Before the dead man could even hit the ground, Julia kicked the body towards the other two swadians. One was hit by the dead body and fell to the floor with it. The other managed to evade it and made a quick thrust at Julia’s face. There was no time to evade; evading wasn’t really for brigadiers with their bulky armor and all. Julia just turned her head to the left and muttered a prayer of protection. The quick weak thrust hardly penetrated the brigadier barbuette helm. It did however rattle Julia’s head and the sword arm of the swadian. Julia then charged her right shoulder right into the man’s jaw. Now women were supposed to have soft shoulders, their physique concentrating on the hips. But Julia was a woman honored to wear armored pauldrons. Helmetless, the swadian’s jaw jarred at the blow. He held his mouth in pain. Julia then pressed her advantage by pressing her own broadsword into the Swadian’s chest. It took some energy, for brigadier broadswords were designed for cleaving and slashing and thus didn’t have much of a sharp point.

Julia looked at the remaining swadian, who was still down and struggling to push his “semi-decapitated” comrade away from him. Julia reversed the grip of her sword, preparing to deliver a killing stroke. Seeing her intent, the swadian struggled harder, but he was too late. Julia brought down her sword two-handed at the swadian’s throat, that’s usually the unarmored part.  Hitting the jugular, blood sprayed forth and covered her well polished armor and helm. Julia smiled, the blood would make her look scarier, a lesson thought to them by their own Deva. She remembered his words.
“Brigadiers are supposed to be awesome. What is awe? A mix of reverence and fear. I emphasize fear, it itself is a weapon that, when wielded properly could be more crippling than the sharpest of swords or the largest of cannons. So let me teach you how to….”
Most brigades shunned the doctrine, sticking to the “reverence” part. However, Julia’s commander insisted and applied it secretly to his brigade. He is of course, the Bloodied One.

Julia pulled her sword away and cried in pain. She clutched her left shoulder and found a blade sticking between her pauldron and chest armor. Bastard. The swadian managed to bring out his sword from under his dead comrade before getting killed. Julia pulled away the blade, a sick sucking sound parallels that of Julia’s moans of agony.

That’s going to leave a scar.

Well that’s just great. What man wants a lady with scars? Well, that’s what you get when you’re a soldier of Filaharn. But Julia hadn’t need to worry, because she already found someone: A fellow brigadier. The problem however is that brigadiers are not allowed marrying until they retire or at least become officers, like the first and second devas or like Sir Rugale the Martyr, which was very rare. So their relationship was kept in secret, which is soon going to prove difficult when Julia threw up this morning.

Julia was shaken from her deep thoughts when the sound of footsteps came from the stairs above. At the same time, Julia’s fellow crusaders arrived. The waterfall of boiling oil has stopped apparently, and more crusaders entered the door stepping over the burnt bodies of their comrades.

“Oh well, one problem at a time.” thought Julia.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Albecht looked at the dilapidated copper denar that he held at his hand. It can barely buy a drink in today’s economy, but this particular one was priceless in its sentimental value. It was the first ever coin that he and his younger brother had earned, doing work at a storage house when they were too young to even know what a woman’s flower is. They have promised to each other to keep their first ever pay. The reason was not that deep; on the contrary it was just for naught. But Albecht was thankful that they did. He never thought that this simple memento would later serve to remind him of his dead sibling. His copper denar which he fashioned into a necklace served to remind him of his brother Stefan and his guilt. For Albecht killed Stefan.

Albecht closed his fingers on the denar, his haggard face melancholic.

“Oi, Al! Get your men downstairs, we need reinforcements down the tower.” A fellow wall watch who appeared from the stairs yelled at him.

Albecht hid the coin under his leather vest and muttered a short prayer to God while nudging his men downstairs.

When Albecht and his men arrived at their assigned tower wall, all seemed as usual, except for the alarm bell ringing. But when they entered, all is in chaos.  Climbing up winding stairs that snaked inside the huge tower, Albecht’s squad came across wounded men being carried down into the tower’s chirurgeon’s floor. They felt the heat haze of emitting from the boiling room floor. They strained their ears when the passed through the room filled with alarm bells. Albecht’s squad was on reserve duty, helping with carrying dead or wounded bodies to the chirurgeon and awaiting any further instructions. Albecht brought his men to the rooftop in order to see the situation at hand.  But now it seems they are being summoned downstairs, which means that the enemy is inside.

Albecht’s squad found the enemy swarming on the third floor, one of the tower barracks that allowed temporary quarters. The bunks used to belong to landsknechts, but news is that half of the landsknecht force assigned on this section of the wall was killed in the blast that opened a breach in the “impregnable” walls of Vienna.  No servants of the empire lying down for a nap this time. Instead, some dead bodies of both the defenders and assailants lay mangled over the floor and bunks. Blood ruining the otherwise white cots of the beds. The fighting was still intense though, as those that remained of the three city watch squads try to fight off the enemy. Albecht and his nine men charged into the fray. With the arrival of ten fresh swords arms, the swadians managed to push back the enemy towards the staircase. But not without cost though. Three watchmen died under a volley of musket fire point blank, when a squad of enemy gunners formed up when the swadians were preoccupied. Four more of Albecht’s men died under a ferocious counter charge of just two Lowlander Infantry. Another died from a well aimed throwing axe. Albecht took a quick peek on the staircase leading to the second floor. He swore his heart skipped a beat when he saw the polished plate of a squad of brigadiers climbing up.

****.

“Charge down men!” ordered Albecht. The remaining watchmen ran into the staircase. The first swadian stopped when he saw what was coming. But the others who didn’t see the threat pushed him forward. Albecht was panicking. “What to do, what to do...” he thought as he looked around the room hoping for something that would help him. As if God answered his prayer of plea that he did not know he was even muttering, Albecht saw a pot filled with boiling oil laid on the floor; a dead body lying beside it. “They must have put it down when they saw the enemy already on the same floor.” thought Albecht.

The watchmen sergeant heard the screams of his fellow swadians being slaughtered. Despite having higher ground, watchmen don’t stand a chance against professional soldiers. Fueled by fear induced adrenaline, Albecht picked up the boiling pot of oil which was supposed to be carried normally by two men. His ungloved hands blistered at touching the hot metal; the heat, threatening to singe his graying beard. Albecht carried the pot as fast as he could towards the staircase. When he reached it, he bumped into the first brigadier that managed to climb up. Some oil, rocked by the bump, jumped at Albecht’s leather armor. Thinking fast and not yet feeling the pain, Albecht literally shoved the pot of boiling oil at the brigadier. The blazing mixture burned the brigadier’s head; he didn’t even have time to scream. The others did though, as the rest of the boiling oil flew mid-air and splashed into the rest of the squad before spilling further down the stairs. Albecht looked away from the gruesome sight and felt something very hot on his chest. His armor! Albecht quickly took of his burning leather chest armor, burning a part of his beard and eyebrows in the process. Luckily no harm was done, save for some shortened beard hair. He could still feel the hot sensation though.

Albecht took a deep breath to clear his mind in the moment’s respite. That moment hasn’t come yet. As Albecht looked up from his chest, he saw to his horror, a brigadier coming at him. The brute’s lower body and left shoulder was on fire; his face a mix of fury and agony. The man looked like the devil incarnate. The brigadier lost his sword along the way, and decided to grapple Albecht. Both men fell to the floor, the brigadier on top, his heavy armor making it easy to pin the swadian. The brigadier had both his hands strangling Albecht’s neck, both thumbs pressed hard against the swadian’s windpipe. Albecht panicked; his flailing hands going everywhere from the brigadier’s own neck to the strangling hands. His vision was getting fuzzy as he began to lose consciousness. He suddenly remembered his dagger. His right hand desperately prodded his waist and leg looking for the dagger.

As darkness began to fill the edges of Albecht’s vision, his hand found hold of his dagger. With his last ounce of strength, and with his sight reduced to a slit, Albecht stabbed his dagger at the brigadier’s neck. A spray of blood splashed at Albecht’s right eye, making it close reflexively. The brigadier’s death hold immediately lost its grip. With difficulty, Albecht pushed the dead brigadier away. Pain of burning sensation jolts Albecht’s mind back from falling to unconsciousness. His feet were on fire. Albecht quickly doused it with his singed hands. Still panting hard, he heard a lot of footsteps from the staircase. That’s it, Albecht has had enough, he just survived grappling a burning brigadier and there was no hope fighting alone against whatever was coming up from the staircase. Albecht ran in terror. He ran upstairs towards the fourth floor which opens up to the tops of the walls, an avenue for escape.

The fourth floor has opposite doorways that open to the wall walkways: one to the north, where the breach was, one to the south which lead to the last tower of the wall before it turned to the east. The floor was also the lower level of the tower cannon battery, housing two cannons. The room was alive as four men fervently reload a bombard, while another four paced themselves as they fired the other bombard. The room seemed to shake slightly at the recoil of the bombard, an effect caused by the vibration of the air. Albecht ran for the south doorway. Reaching the light, a fist suddenly came out of nowhere and gave a jarring punch at Albecht’s chest. Albecht was knocked back despite his momentum of his rout. A sword was then pointed at Albecht’s neck.

“Get back to your post sergeant.” said a voice.

Albecht gulped slowly, fearing that his moving adam’s apple might graze the tip of the sword. He recognized the man as the watch captain assigned to the tower.

Albecht regained his composure, but fear still grasped his nerves. “Th-the enemy, they’re on the third floor, I’m the only one guard left from the four squads that went down.”

From the stairs leading down to the third floor, a mass of footsteps could be heard. The captain recognized Albecht, albeit not knowing his name. He knew this particular sergeant was a veteran and would hold the line unless he knew there was no chance. The captain barked at the team of artillerymen.

“Gunners! Forget what you’re doing and form up around the stairs. Hold as long as you can.” He pulled away the gunnery sergeant whom was heading to defend the stairs. “Sergeant, get up stairs and tell the others to evacuate to the southern tower. Quickly!” The sergeant nodded and ran towards the stairs leading to the upper floors of the tower. When he reached the stairs, he turned around and said, “Captain, what of the wounded on the chirurgeon’s?”

“There’s no time, leave them.”

The Gunnery sergeant, and even Albecht could not believe what the captain did just said, both of them staring disbelief at the captain.

“Now!” yelled the Captain.

The gunnery sergeant at last followed and ran upstairs. The captain then turned at Albecht.

“Sergeant, get to what’s left of the wall to the north and tell the defenders to pull back to the south most tower, quickly now.”

Albecht was still reluctant to comply, wanting to run away at the very moment. The captain grabbed hold of his shirt and shoved him at the direction of the north door.

“Now!”

Albecht ran along the wall. To his left he saw the vast enemy host marching towards the breach; resplendent amidst the afternoon sun. Albecht saw its size many times before, but seeing it in motion was very terrifying.  To his right, he saw enemies marching on the wide street beside the wall, heading towards the tower no doubt. He also saw the ruined city blocks near the breach. Such destruction… He also saw the bell tower which belonged to the chapel in Stefan’s widowed family’s neighborhood. It reminded him of his guilt and grief and his responsibility of taking care of his brother’s family.
Albecht shook his head, and turned his head away from the east. This is no time for skulking. As he ran, he yelled the orders to the defenders. “Fall back! Fall back!”

“The captain orders a retreat to the south most tower!... Our tower is about to be lost to the enemy. Fall back now if you don’t want to be cut off!” He ran past crossbowmen and gunners, past the various mercenaries that bolster the armies of the Empire: Nirdamese archers peppering the enemy with long ranged fire, Murond pistoleers firing their pistols at the invaders inside the city, Albecht doesn’t know what damage a pistol could cause when the target is over a wall height away. He ran past besieger crossbowmen with their massive crossbows, He even saw another lone murond reloading one of the rare hand cannons. He ran past dead bodies pin cushioned by arrows or killed by musket balls, he even came across severed limbs and body parts whose cause escaped Albecht. From a distance to the north, Albecht saw huge boulders and flaming shots being hurled towards the walls and the city, He saw return fire coming out from trebuchet emplacements peppered throughout the city which was too far away and hidden amongst the buildings for Albecht to see. It was like gods were throwing pebbles at each other all at the same time and humanity were just tiny ants scuttling underfoot. Speaking of ants, when Albecht reached the end of the wall, where the breach started, he saw the invaders scurrying in the hundreds entering the breach, like ants swarming into an edifice of a dead animal.
At the end of the wall, what few remained of a squad landsknecht skirmishers traded shots with the enemy: firing their crossbows and handguns before stepping away from the edge to reload and hide from enemy missiles. Albecht recognized the sergeant of the skirmishers with his feathered hat, he approached him.

“The captain orders us to fall back, the tower is lost, retreat to the south most tower or risk being trapped.”

The sergeant nodded and ordered his men to fall back. Together they ran back towards the tower. The wall was mostly empty now, as the defenders heeded Albecht’s words. Then some siege ladders began to appear at the sides of the wall that faced into the city. “Ha”, thought Albecht, “when they climb up the wall they would find it deserted.” Then Albecht suddenly remembered that he was still on this wall. The other swadians have already realized that and ran faster. Albecht realizing it last, sprinted after his comrades in terror.

They reached their tower. Albecht saw many dead swadians and mercenaries on the floor as three desperate watchmen hold the room with their lives. Albecht and the skirmishers ignored the helpless swadians who were fighting brigadiers and instead ran for the southern exit. The southern exit was just beside the stairs leading to the upper floors, and swadians were still exiting from the upper floors. As Albecht reached the south exit a hand suddenly grabbed his leg. Albecht almost tripped but managed to right himself in time. He looked at his feet; a badly wounded swadian was lying on the floor clutching Albecht’s leg. He was missing his left arm, a crudely bandage stump replacing it. His scalp was bandaged, blood saturating the bandages, which was clearly too thin and inadequate. A bleeding hole was visible from his right leg, probably penetrated by an arrow or musket ball. The man must have limped all the way from the chirurgeon’s room, which was one floor above.

“Help me.” said the wounded man.

“Let go.” yelled Albecht. Albecht nervously looked back from behind him and saw the enemy dispatching the last swadian who decided to hold the room. Albecht must survive this, if he dies, who will take care of his brother’s family?

“Don’t leave me!” stammered the wounded swadian.
Albecht kicked the man’s head. The swadian lost his grip, and Albecht ran for the south most tower.