Following Rosler's whistle, the attacking party approached the enemy's formation step by step.
Claude stood in the middle of the first row. The speed and parallelism of both sides were based on him. He walked numbly into the 800-meter firing range.
Claude was extremely nervous. It was a gamble with his life on the line. Nobody knew if he would be the one to survive the enemy's bombardment.
Claude wasn't the only one. Almost all the soldiers were nervous.
Their footsteps became stiff and heavy as they inched forward step by step amidst the sharp whistle.
As a soldier, walking on the battlefield was an inescapable fate. Claude only regretted being caught off guard by Rosler and not having the chance to test out his own methods of attack.
However, Rosler had already received orders from the eldest prince to lead the Ranger Tribe in the offensive. As a member of the tribe, Claude had no way of going against him.
If he were to clash with Rosler now, he would only be at a disadvantage. Nobody would care about the opinion of a petty sergeant major. Rosler was more than willing to treat him like a chicken.
The enemy didn't open fire at 700 meters. The enemy still didn't open fire at 600 meters.
The atmosphere grew tenser and tenser. Sweat trickled down Claude's forehead. At that moment, he felt as though time had passed for an eternity. It was as though everything had stopped in his mind. Only the piercing sound of the whistle was clear and ear-piercing, urging him to move forward uncontrollably.
After another long yet short moment, four loud explosions rang in Claude's ears. Four plumes of white smoke rose from the distant Wilf Ridge.
Claude saw four black dots grow bigger and bigger as they flashed across the sky. The sound of watermelons being smashed and uncontrollable cries of agony could be heard behind him. There was also the constant shouts of officers and the sounds of commotion.
The enemy had fired their cannons.
For some reason, Claude felt less anxious all of a sudden. He felt like he was walking again and his steps became more energetic.
The copper whistle continued to sound in their ears, urging them forward. The team continued to move forward.
After a minute or two, the cannons on the hill fired again.
Claude heard four more loud explosions and saw four puffs of white smoke. He saw the black cannonball approach from afar and grow bigger as it crashed into the formation behind him.
This time, he could even hear the shrill whizzing of the cannonballs in the air. Cries and wails could be heard from behind him. It seemed that some soldiers were trying to escape. But soon, a cry of pain was heard, followed by a loud warning from the officer. "Kill all who try to escape!"
Perhaps the first five attacks had consumed too many artillery shells, but the enemy on Wilf Hill only fired six or seven rounds of artillery before ceasing fire.
However, the barrage of cannons still inflicted heavy casualties on the attackers. Even after walking for a long time, Claude could still hear the cries of pain coming from behind him. They were the agonized cries of the wounded soldiers before they died.
He swore that he would never forget what he had just seen. Of course, that was if he could survive the attack first.
During the last barrage, he was certain that he would die for sure.
The cannonball grew larger in his eyes, and he felt that the cannonball was coming for him.
At that moment, Claude felt like he was frozen in time. He forgot everything else and his mind went blank. He watched as the cannonball slowed down and became clear. He could even see the slow spinning of the cannonball. He could even make out the runes on its surface.
Claude wanted to dodge, but he found that he couldn't move at all. He could only watch as the cannonball flew towards him.
But in the end, the cannonball brushed past him a foot away from his shoulder. Claude's consciousness returned to his body and he felt himself walking forward again. At the same time, he heard the sounds of bodies falling to the ground and cries of pain behind him. A warm liquid splashed on his back and the stench of blood assailed his nostrils.
Three hundred meters away, Claude was still walking forward. He saw that the enemies in Wilfford Hill had already lined up and were aiming their muskets at the advancing troops on the slope.
At the same time, he saw people busily shoving a greyish-white cloth bag into the muzzles of the cannons before pushing it into the depths of the cannons with long rods.
Those were grapeshot shells. The soldiers at the front tensed up and Claude was no exception.
They would have to face the grapeshot shells in another two hundred meters. Cannons relied on luck to fire solid shells and it was up to luck to hit the jackpot. Faced with the barrage of grapeshot shells, the soldiers at the front knew that death was upon them and they couldn't avoid it.
Claude still maintained his rationality. He gestured for the soldiers in his line to keep up and not slow down as he gave an order. "Send my order. Get down and fire when you're within a hundred meters of them. Our first targets are the four cannons."
The sharp whistle seemed to have softened a little. Claude looked to the left and saw Rosler walking diagonally to the left, widening the distance between him and the troops. This time, he was five to six meters away from them.
It was no wonder he was able to retreat unscathed from the previous two attacks.
Damn it, you're so far away from the troops. The enemy will definitely aim at the troops and not you.
Leading the troops to attack and showing off your bravery in front of the first prince, only to pull away at the last moment to save your own life.
Claude gnashed his teeth in hatred at Rosler. You sent so many soldiers to their deaths, yet you're able to retreat with your life intact. Dream on.
Had he not been in the front row, he would have really wanted to shoot Rosler from the back. However, he could only think about it. If he really did that in front of so many people, he wouldn't be able to escape punishment even if he survived the battle.
At a distance of two hundred meters, the enemy troops on Wilf Hill raised their muskets and took aim at the approaching troops on the hill.
Claude's heart began to race. He felt as if all the enemy's guns were aimed at him. He continued forward, but the first row's footsteps had already begun to slow down. Unknowingly, the left and right sides had fallen behind by two body lengths.
"Open fire!"
Someone shouted from the enemy's position. White smoke rose from the neatly lined troops. Three rounds of gunfire rang out and the white smoke filled the entire formation.
Nobody could underestimate the incoming gunfire, but Claude felt as if he was drifting on a small boat in a stormy sea. Someone on the left fell to the ground. He had no idea where he was hit.
The soldier on the right gasped for air with his mouth wide open as if he was suffocating.
Claude glanced at him and saw that his face was contorted, but his footsteps were still following him.
An unfamiliar soldier at the back took two steps forward to fill the empty spot on Claude's left.
It wasn't that he did it willingly. Rather, it was a reflexive reaction from the long years of training he had been put through.
The first row was quickly filled up by the soldiers at the back. Everyone continued marching forward step by step.
At a distance of 130 meters, the enemy troops on Wilf Hill had finished reloading their muskets and raised their muskets once more.
Claude heard the soldier on the left praying to the god of war, praying that he would either be shot dead so that he wouldn't have to suffer the torment of being left in the mortal world, or that he would be able to return home and reunite with his family in one piece.
Claude looked at him. He was a soldier in his thirties and wore the uniform of a garrison soldier. He walked forward with his eyes closed while praying.
"Open fire!"
This time, the enemy's orders were clearer. Three consecutive rounds of gunfire followed by another barrage of attacks. Claude noticed that the first row was already riddled with holes. Almost half of the soldiers were gone in an instant. The remaining soldiers seemed to be in a daze and didn't move forward.
Claude wasn't hit, and neither was the soldier praying beside him.
This time, the unlucky one was the soldier on the right with a twisted face. He no longer had to be nervous. A bullet hit him in the chest, and he fell to the ground with a pale face. His expression was very peaceful, and he was no longer alive.
The whistle became even sharper and more ear-piercing. Soon, Rosler's hoarse roar could be heard. "What are you spacing out for?
Keep moving! "
The enemy on Wilf Hill was nervously reloading their muskets. They could still fire once more if they were within a hundred meters, but even if they were within a hundred meters, it would still be impossible to take down Wilf Hill because there were still four cannons filled with grapeshot waiting for the attackers to arrive.
The hill was only so big. Two cannons would be enough to cover the entire hill. With four cannons taking turns to fire, the attackers wouldn't be able to reach the hill at all.
I can't just throw my life away for nothing. I can use my own methods to take down Wilf Hill. But the problem is that Rosler is really a hindrance. I have to think of a way to get rid of him.
Perhaps the enemy troops on the hill were reloading their muskets, or perhaps because the first row had suffered heavy losses, the formation stopped there.
This time, Lieutenant Colonel Rossler couldn't stay on the side anymore. He rushed to the front of the team and waved the command knife in his hand loudly. "Form up immediately and move forward. Ignore the wounded soldiers on the ground and move forward. Those behind, follow up and fill in the gaps. Hurry up!"
There were quite a lot of corpses on the hill. They were the corpses of the soldiers who died in the first five attacks. They were all confiscated.
Even though it was June and the sun was high in the sky, Claude could feel the chilly wind blowing on the hill.
Looking at Rosler's contorted face, Claude had an idea. He got into position and yelled, "Those at the back, fill in the gaps! Line up with me as the benchmark! Hurry!"
Then, he held the gun in his left hand and used his right hand to draw the outline of a magic formation in front of his chest.
Rosler started to move to the left. He wanted to put some distance between himself and the formation to avoid becoming a target for the enemy.
Unfamiliar soldiers cut in from the back and formed a line with Claude.
Claude pointed at Rosler with his right index finger and chanted the spell in his mind. "Follow me, forward!" he yelled.
Lieutenant Colonel Rossler, who had just walked to the left side of the formation, suddenly froze. A transparent bubble cover had appeared around his body. Under the illumination of the sun, this bubble cover flashed with colorful light.
Almost all the enemy soldiers on Wilf Hill who had already loaded their ammunition pointed their muzzles at the huge bubble that shone under the sun. Even without waiting for the officer's order, many impatient soldiers opened fire.
The gunshots were continuous, Lieutenant Colonel Rossler, who was in this big bubble, couldn't help but tremble, he was shot like a hornet's nest …
"Get down!"
Claude yelled. He didn't know how many of his men were still alive. Perhaps the soldiers in Ranger Battalion would understand what he meant, but the soldiers from other battalions wouldn't. They would only pretend that he was injured and continue advancing.
There were two corpses at the spot Claude chose to lie down, which served as cover for him.
When he was around 120 meters away, Claude lit a match and placed it on the lid of a box of powder. He propped up his gun on the corpses and aimed at the figures around one of the four cannons before pulling the trigger.
As the gunshots rang out, Claude heard more than ten gunshots behind him. Quite a few of the people around the cannons were missing. Panicked cries could be heard from the enemy's formation. One of the cannons even fired a barrage of grapeshot. However, no one was within its range and the cannons were forced to retreat without any results.
Continuous gunfire sounded from behind him. He looked back and saw that the first prince's guards were lined up neatly in a square formation. They were using the maximum range of their muskets to fire at the enemies on Wilf Hill from 300 metres away.
However, they didn't seem to be doing too well. Only five or six of the enemy's men had fallen.