This is based on my own IS TEatRC game, where the Swadians have kept a peace (and sometimes an alliance) with us for a while, and based on the back story of the two nations being the divided remnants of the Ellisians. This is supposed to take place before any major meeting between the Imperial State and other empires/states/nations, with the gunpowder-army strategy still a mystery to the world.
To the Hand of Emperor Sigismund Augustus
Journal of Gustav Octavius, General of the Holy Swadian Empire
Our brothers in arms of the Imperial State, hereafter referred to as the Kaiserlicher (after their own language and idiom), are a most intriguing military force, unlike any with which I have served or, indeed, against which I have fought. They worship, dare I say it so blasphemously, at the foot of technology; their military is a machine built on the gun, and the implications of a force so armed are... terrifying, to say the least. One evening, I asked my host, General Adolph Von Baeseler, about his military's tactics and strategies. After a noticeable hesitation, he gave up a bit of knowledge, which I have included in the addendum to this document. When pressed, however, he fell silent, presumably because I was probing into State secrets; I take special care to write “State” as such, as the Kaiserlicher nation is one that is wholly nationalistic, not even allowing religious worship in the way of their utter pride for their homeland. Despite Your Grace's likely interest in this matter, I do not push the issue of religion when speaking with my hosts; I quite enjoy having them in a hospitable mood.
I was fortunate enough, if that is the right word, to witness my hosts' combat prowess when they engaged a formation of Ellisian deserters. The enemy was nothing to ignore; their hundred-some footmen and horsemen outnumbered my host's primarily-infantry numbers two-to-one, and I will be the first to admit that I feared for our safety. I was none-too-pleased when I remarked that there was nothing to be ashamed of with regards to a tactical retreat, when faced with numbers twice one's own; I will say, though, the bruise Von Baeseler left on my ego was not insignificant, as he literally laughed away my concerns. “With these numbers,” he said dryly, “the Ellisians should be running from us”. Realizing I would not sway him, I acquiesced and told my bodyguard to be ready to ride at the first sign of weakness on the Kaiserlicher troops' part.
Folly, in retrospect, to make such a declaration; my men likely think me a coward, especially with the way in which Von Baeseler's men crushed the opposition. Of course, at the time, we didn't know what we do now. The battle began much like any other would, except Von Baeseler pointed out the nearest hill and directed his men atop it. My allies consisted almost completely of the elite Kaiserlicher Guard, veteran soldiers whose service was long and successful, and they were consequently armed with well-honed double-barreled rifled guns. Their accuracy was unlike anything I have ever seen; through their crafting skills, the Kaiserlicher gunsmiths were able to manufacture weapons of uncanny precision, as I would find out.
I watched as the Ellisian Footmen pushed forward, screaming a war cry; they rapidly pushed past the point where an archer contingent would have engaged, and I shifted nervously on my horse. Were the Kaiserlicher gunmen not going to fire on the enemy? Was their a method to their madness? The enemy infantry had slowed from a full jog to a labored hike up the incline upon which we were situated, but nonetheless they were far too close for comfort. I was just about to tell the horsemen with whom I trusted my life to follow me off the battlefield, when I heard Von Baeseler's voice ring out. “Front rank... take aim!” Half of the Kaiserlicher Guard presented their arms, sighting targets; I was told that, unlike any other army, the Imperial State taught its soldiers to aim at individual targets, as their weapons were accurate enough to engage whatever targets the shooters chose. And so it came to pass that, at perhaps 60 paces, Von Baeseler cried “FIRE!” The crack of the many guns fused into one loud cacophony of sound, and the enemy line crumpled; at least half of the opposing soldiers fell, the survivors' screams overpowering the gunfire.
The wounds these weapons rend are not insignificant.
The standing enemies wavered, looking around for their commanding officer; but the few horses that had been in the charge were riderless, thrown from their saddles by the hail of metal. Von Baeseler gave them no chance to recover, though, giving an order for the Kaiserlicher Guard to “Fire at will!” The gunfire was much less concentrated, the disciplined soldiers firing one at a time in a ripple down the line, each waiting to see that their target was not taken down by the previous shooter; the Kaiserlicher military is nothing if not efficient. As quickly as it began, the 'battle' was over; the captain of the Kaiserlicher Dragoons gave a charge order and they ran down the routed enemies that remained, shooting from horseback with their pistols rather than sully their pristine cavalry sabres. Von Baeseler rode over, the battle over so far as he was concerned; his hand swept the battlefield, the moans of the dying men only serving to make the butcher's yard that much more horrifying. “So, Gustav,” he said familiarly to me, and I nodded in acknowledgment. He caught my eye, and the look in his was nothing short of frightening; he enjoyed this slaughter. “Now, you know, what the Imperial State is capable of. May our two empires be strong, together, and we will wipe these scourge from Calradia.”
May God forbid we ever war with them, Your Grace.
At your service,
General Gustav Octavius