189 Skirmish (1/2)
From atop Rupilo's hill, the dull thump of drums drenched the air in the familiar sounds of Medalan battle. As ordered by the rhythm of the drums, Rupilo's archers marched towards the foot of Corco's mountain.
Although the old Medalan troops and Corco's more modern pike and shot army were about to clash in a major engagement for the first time, the king wasn't all that worried. Halfway down the hill, his new troops had taken position in four rows. Just like they had been taught during their training, they went down on their knees in the snow, placed their muskets on their thighs and began the loading process. Meanwhile, the skirmishers of the central army at the foot of the hill showed far less coordination.
The almost one hundred men were loosely organized in groups of twelve. As far as Corco knew, the standard size of Medalan army units was chosen in ridiculous fashion, based on nothing but ancient numerology. Since twelve was considered an auspicious number, twelve warriors would always beat thirteen, at least as far as the ancestors were concerned.
Even those individual groups of twelve didn't show much internal cohesion. After all, warriors were no soldiers in the strictest sense, they were a societal class. As such, there were great differences in the speed and quality of their cultivation, as well as in their personal training. Since every warrior had his own path to improvement – dependent on how well they were received by their master and his family – they would also be bestowed with different amounts of 'blessings' from their benevolent lords. They were not allowed any private property, so everything they owned would be alms. Thus, they all wore slightly different equipment and all had slightly different levels of skill. With such a great difference between them, it was no wonder that they rarely trained together in formation.
Even worse, since full-on wars were the exception and stargazing brawls the rule, most Medalan battles were fought between small elite teams and often amounted to several simultaneous one-on-one duels. There was simply no need for these elites to ever learn how to march in a neat formation. This was even more pronounced for the skirmisher units at the foot of the hill.
The archery-focused warriors would fight like the ocean waves, at least that was what his old teachers had taught Corco. In Medala, the main purpose of archers was to weave in and out of range and harass the enemy front lines to lower morale or force an unfavorable charge. As such, the skirmishers consisted of small, mobile teams, more focused on evasiveness than on projectile density, something they would actually need against an organized group of ranged foes. Their equipment was even less suitable for this engagement than their formation. Since their main purpose was to harass traditional Medalan infantry lines, their arrows were much heavier than those of a regular army.
After all, these weapons were designed to punch through the heavy armor of the core infantry. Traditionally, these weapons made the archers terrors on the battlefield, cultivators who spent decades perfecting their craft and whose speed, range and power made them untouchable by anyone else. This time however, their greatest strength had become their bane.
Since the arrows were so heavy, they would have shorter range than one would expect from a bow. They would especially struggle to shoot uphill, further reducing their range. On the other hand, the gentle slope of the current terrain was perfect for the new muskets. Corco was quite confident that his new flintlocks would out-range the highly specialized Medalan bows.
In fact, Rupilo's tactics made sense in theory. After all, he would have seen the effects of a proper musket from his Bornish allies and would be well aware of the range of these weapons. Even with all the disadvantages heaped on top of one another, those bows would still fire their arrows farther than any of the muskets on Rupilo's side could.
Unfortunately for the army of the central kingdom, Corco's new muskets were the first batches produced in Saniya and had received significant upgrades. In this case, the biggest advantage was the new rifling that had been stamped into the inside of the barrels. Although the rifling was shallow and repeated use would quickly wear it out because of the front-loading nature of the weapons, the rotation added to the balls still improved both on accuracy and effective range by margins Rupilo couldn't even imagine.
As a result, the first volley of gunfire blasted its cracking sound across the battlefield long before the skirmishers were in position. Though their loose formation saved them from greater damage by the focused attack of Corco's line, the archers were still visibly shaken. Faced with an unknown threat, even the experienced warriors paused their slow, steady march for a moment. Up until now, they had thought themselves at a safe distance, but now men beside them sank into the snow screaming. Still, the well-trained warriors were only deterred for a moment and soon pressed on.
From the foot of the hill, Corco's new army must have looked like a group of beggars to the noble soldiers. Those new musketeers only carried simple, practical armor on their backs, fitting for the commoners they were. If only the archers could get into range, their higher rate of fire and better armor would get them a crucial advantage.
Yet once again, the warriors were sorely mistaken. Instead of using loose powder like the old-timey matchlocks of the Arcavians, these new muskets were loaded with powder granules, much more compact with a much stabler ignition. Even better, the entire charge – together with the lead ball – was encased in a paper cartridge. Both innovations significantly reduced not only the amount of powder needed per shot, they also cut down the reload time by more than half. At the same time, the new weapons had also been built as flintlocks, a massive step up from the matchlocks Borna still seemed to be using. The flintlock mechanism reduce the reload times even further, while it also allowed for much tighter formations.
A matchlock would be ignited manually, with a lute off to the side of the weapon. As a result, the gunman would need sufficient space to operate to his right, where he would carry a flame to ignite his lute. However, since the lute was no longer necessary for a flintlock, there was no more need for open flames or complex procedures, so the soldiers could stand much closer together. The result would be a veritable storm of bullets haling down onto their unsuspecting enemies.
Just as expected, under the heavy fire, losses among the enemy's elite skirmishers piled up. Accuracy at this distance was abysmal, but with so many projectiles being fired, enough still found their target; the damage began to add up. Somehow, pushed on by the battle drums in their backs and the war cries from among their midst, the archers managed to push past the foot of the hill and finally entered range.