Chapter 15: Showdown
Author's Note: There's a lack of sex in this chapter as it just didn't quite fit in with any of the scenes. I'll make it up to you in the next chapter. Enjoy.
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Jack took aim at one of the Swabian warriors now rushing his position only about thirty yards away. The man had just cranked the bolt back to eject his round before sliding it forward once more, taking aim at one of the
Numratha
in front of him and bringing him down easily. For once, the shoe was on the other foot, and Jack remembered what it was like to fight a more modern enemy. That Swabian didn't stand a chance once Jack brought the crosshairs to his chest, and a quick bang of the rifle ensured that he crumbled to the ground a moment later. He didn't have time to celebrate, as there were almost ten times as many of the Swabians as there were to Javans. If they didn't keep firing, they'd soon be overwhelmed, despite his slight advantage in overall numbers.
All along the line, the Javan marines kept up a steady pace of firing just like they'd been taught. This was just another battle for them, another dance with death that many of them would survive while others would stumble, only to rise no more. Already he could see the remains of several marines that had lost the dance, their corpses eerily silent and motionless where they fell.
Jack heard Greg roar over the sound of battle. "Focus on the rifles first, boys! Give them hell for thinking they can defeat marines!"
The marines all along the line gave a sudden roar of approval at Greg's words as the Swabians closest to their defensive line started to drop quickly. Many of them had simply rushed down the hill, taking no cover beyond crouching while they aimed their rifles. They quickly realized the error of their strategy when those in the first waves took horrendous casualties. The men near the middle and the rear learned to drop to the ground, using the terrain as best they could for protection. They were harder to pick off.
What made it worse for all of them was how the enemy clans would throw in their own tactics to mass firepower on the Javan lines. They were all too content to let the Swabians do most of the firing with their rifles. Only when most of the firing had stopped when the Swabians reloaded would they rush forward and take aim as one body, letting slip over a thousand arrows to come raining down on the line. Once that barrage was finished, they'd slip back behind the Swabians for protection.
It was a clever plan, and there were only a few times during the entire battle that Jack's line wasn't being fired upon by one of the groups. However, it did have a few weaknesses that they were quick to exploit. For one, the Andalucians hadn't figured out how to take cover against the potency of the NT-12 at short range. Every time they rushed forward, fewer of them came, their remaining comrades laying against the ground at the front of the lines. In time, the line of bodies became their only protection once they'd been significantly thinned out, but it also significantly reduced the threat of their aerial barrages.
Another factor that helped the battle was that the Swabians rifles didn't appear to fire as quickly as the NT-12. Jack had yet to see one up close, but he noticed just about all of them were bolt-action rifles, meaning each round had to be manually fed into the chamber before firing, compared to the NT-12 which was semi-automatic, therefore a new bullet was fed into the chamber once the operator had pulled the trigger. While it wasn't a huge difference between them, the difference in timing gave the advantage back to the defender.
That small difference had started to catch up with the Swabians by the time the battle was about midway through. Those that made it too close to the lines were often sitting ducks to the marines, especially vulnerable when they needed to reload. The protection of lying prone against the ground could only last for so long when you were too close to the line, and those men were rapidly mopped up.
The last phase of the battle became a shooting match between the exhausted enemy clans and Swabians behind the wall of their dead. Rarely did they venture forward to directly assault the Javan wall yet they were keen to keep pressure all along the line as long as they had their own protection. Rare groups of Andalucians would eventually press forward from that line, trying to attack local positions where it appeared the defense had thinned out. Most of those attacks failed miserably, quickly drawing the eye of all the defenders who then filled the attackers with measurable amounts of lead.
"Come out of that line and fight, you cowards!" yelled Greg at the attacking forces, safe behind their wall of bodies.
Many of the Javans added onto the taunts of their commander, only to have the enemy clans yell back in return. Many of those threats were in their ancient language, while just a small handful were in the common tongue—colorful comments about what they could do to their own mothers.
"They look pretty comfy behind that position, Jack," yelled Greg as he slipped in beside him. "I have half a mind to lead the boys out and see if we can take it on."
Jack shook his head rapidly. "Don't. You saw how much damage we did to them on the way down. Even with that many numbers, a frontal assault on our position was going to be a tough job. We weathered the storm pretty well from the looks of it, but I fear we'd take casualties that we couldn't replace if we attempted the same."
"Normally, I'd agree with you, but their line is just a pile of bodies. If we press hard with the full force, we might be able to take them all right now," said Greg.
"I'd rather not risk it, Greg," said Jack with a firm shake of the head. "They still outnumber us pretty heavily on the rifles. If it was just the Andalucians, I'd say go for it. But with the Swabians there, we need to stay point."
Greg looked like he wanted to say more but he bit his tongue, giving a short nod before returning his attention back to the line. Jack knew he was frustrated but like the good marine he was, he wouldn't speak about it publicly.
The last great charge came shortly after that conversation. Almost the entire right flank of the Andalucian clans sprung forward at once from their defensive line, their short swords barred and their bows left behind. From the looks of things, they hoped to close the remaining distance between the two lines rapidly on foot before unleashing with their short melee weapons in close quarters. It was a bold plan but one that was destined to fail.
For one, they had no support from the Swabians beyond the briefest of covering fire. All of them stayed put behind the line of dead bodies, not chancing the attack with their comrades. Without the Swabian spear in the front of the attack, the enemy clans had no chance. They were mowed down almost to the man, but not before several of them had reached the line. It was the furthest any of the attackers had gotten to their position, the high tide mark of the battle. Jack was just thankful that they were able to hold them off without much more difficulty.
From there the battle started to lose steam. With neither side willing to go across the no-man's-land in the middle, most of the firing died down in order to save ammunition. It persisted in that stalemate until nightfall. As soon as the sun dipped down below the western mountains, small groups of Swabians and Andalucians could be seen sneaking back up the mountain, abandoning their vulnerable position on the battlefield.
They left largely unmolested. Jack's own lines were too tired from the daylong battle to protest their steady retreat back to the mountains. He couldn't say he blamed them. It wasn't an eager warrior who went to battle in the night, especially after the draining day they'd just suffered. Many of them were content to rest up and fight again another time.
Although it was technically a win since the Swabians were leaving the battlefield, Jack knew that it was more inconclusive than it looked. They still outnumbered him in rifles if not in bodies, and they were far from beaten. Even his own lines were very precarious, made all the more worse by the threat of another enemy, the Occitanians, out at sea. Not to mention, there was still the report of his "reinforcement" clans who had halted in their place, no doubt wanting to see who would emerge the victor of this little contest.
"I have the final count of our forces," said Greg, slipping in behind him not far from the center line. "We lost fifteen more guys, meaning we're down to eighty effectives. I have thirteen wounded. Most of them will pull through. Some won't. One unlucky bastard took a bullet right through the eye. How he's still alive, I have no idea, but I doubt he will be in the morning."
