User blog:Faenor of the Silver Laurel/The Battle

'Let 'em have it, boys!'

Muskets crackled and spat and smoke rolled along the line as Gondorian troops, the 37th Regiment of Fusiliers, unloaded a volley into the charging Umbarans. Their white uniforms were soaked in blood, mud, and gore, while the black-garbed fusiliers of the Guard behind them had yet to see action. Ahead of the breastworks, a sea of red marked the positions of Umbaran troops, living and dead.

It was the third attack today on the Gorgoroth lines. Gondor had been pushed out of Núrn not in months but in weeks, taken by storm. Hastily constructed breastworks and trenches formed their only defense here at the moment. Colonel Elion cursed the day Gondor decided to begin producing heavy artillery; it couldn't keep pace with the infantry, so they had been forced to leave most of it behind. More red-garbed troops began forming up below them.

'Reload!' he shouted, and his men began tamping down powder with their ramrods. 'By the Powers, don't fire until I give the order!' Elion quickly checked his own armaments. Pistol, sword. Gondor still opted to use heavier, two-edged swords in combat over the sabers now preferred for horseback and close quarters.

A shout in the Harad language went up along the Umbaran lines, a battle-cry that made the wooden parts of the defenses quiver and shake and the Gondorians manning them to look at one another nervously.

'Steady, boys!' Elion called, raising his sword. 'You're all soldiers of Gondor! Your ancestors fought the great evil that once lived in this land; are you going to give up what they spent their lifeblood to purchase?!' In response, the troops roared, a wordless cry that shook the earth and drowned out the Umbarans.

The sea of red surged forward a second time, and Elion gestured wildly with his sword to the bugler. 'Sound all soldiers to resist attack, boy! Put your heart into it!' The youth, who couldn't have been more than sixteen, nodded and began to play out a loud tune. Southron shouts turned his attention back to the front. They were halfway up the slope; he could see some in the advance quite clearly.

'Present arms!'

Gondorian fusiliers took aim at the advancing Umbarans, muskets swaying from weight and nerve.

'Wait for it...'

The Southrons and corsairs got closer, and their skirmishers began to take a knee, starting to fire on their position. Cries were ripped from men as they were shot and killed, the wounded continuing to scream in pain as they were dragged out of the lines and new men took their place. Puffs of black smoke told of the Umbaran artillery below, and even Elion flinched a little when a shot exploded nearby, peppering them with dirt and gore.

'Steady...'

More men died, and a man next to the colonel stumbled, grasping for his throat as blood welled up around his hand. He was quickly thrown over the breastworks by the men who had been standing near him, now just another sack to block enemy fire. The Southrons were nearly upon them now; they were less than twenty feet from the breastworks. Elion blinked.

'Now, lads! Let 'em have it! Open fire!' he shouted, and Gondorian muskets spat smoke and flame, sending a rolling white cloud up all along the line that choked and blinded. 'Second rank!'

The second rank presented and fired while the first were kneeling, reloading; but Elion could see that the Umbaran troops were beginning to mount a new assault. He tapped a messenger, thrusting a piece of paper he had written some orders on earlier in case this happened into the man's hands. 'Take this to the howitzers, and by Eru, don't get shot.'

The man saluted and ran off, but Elion paid that no mind. 'Fix bayonets, boys, and ready yourselves!' he called, gripping his sword tightly. He knew they couldn't hold off the enemy, not with the amount of volleys his troops could put out. The standard for most nations was three rounds a minute in any weather; Gondor's troops could barely manage two, on a good day. Dol Amroth had different standards, but Elion's one advantage was his bayonets. Bullets and bayonets conveniently ignored bravery, he had found years ago, serving as a lieutenant under Marshal Alqua.

'For Gondor!' he bellowed, and his men echoed the call. 'For Gondor!' resounded across the plains and foothills. The red wave reached them  and his men let off a point-blank volley before thrusting forward with bayonets fixed. Elion sidestepped a musket's butt and brought his sword down on the Umbaran that had thrown the blow, the heavy sword cutting into him easily. He waved his sword in the air, flashing the sunlight off the steel.

'Valar help us, but I hope you got there.' he muttered, and his hopes were rewarded when white puffs of smoke and the distant whump of artillery alerted him to Gondorian howitzers, painstakingly dragged through Núrn, fought for, lost, recovered, and dragged up the long Gorgoroth slope, before finally being unlimbered. Shells began exploding in the midst of Umbar's troops; Elion couldn't say much for the accuracy of the infantry, but it was a firm belief in the army that the artillery could hit anything they wanted within a thousand yards, no matter what that thing might be.

Elion killed another enemy soldier and looked around. Time seemed to move slower as he surveyed the battlefield; the wavering Umbarans, the nervous Gondorians, the balance of power shifting and swaying. In a single instant, Elion decided his course of action. They would court-martial him for it if it failed, but victory would wipe away dishonor.

He waved his sword at the Ithil Guard behind him. 'Up and at 'em, lads!' Elion prayed they would follow the order; they didn't have to. He was a colonel in the Gondorian army, but they weren't his regiment. The guardsmen looked at one another for a moment; then one raised his musket, shouted 'King and country!', and charged forward, quickly followed by the rest, shouting 'King and country!' and 'For Gondor!'.

'Charge 'em, boys! Charge 'em!' Elion shouted as they ran past, leaping into the trenches and mixing with the regulars, bayonets thrusting and muskets crackling. The sea of red wavered, roiling like an exposed muscle, before beginning to retreat. Elion shook his sword and leapt out after them, grabbing the standard of Gondor in his other hand and thrusting it into the arms of a soldier. 'Sound the charge! Don't let them reform!' he shouted, not knowing whether his bugler was still alive.

He still was, or another man had taken his place, as a merry tune began spilling out over the glacis and the trenches, white-garbed Gondorian troops following close behind. Elion swept off his cap, wiping his brow as troops poured over the breastworks around him amid the howl of artillery and the crack of muskets, the smack of shot slamming home and the pained cries of men when their bullet found them.

'By Eru, I think we've done it-'