The King's Dragoons Ride Again: Let's Play Guns of Infinity!

The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Video Games > Let's Play! > The King's Dragoons Ride Again: Let's Play Guns of Infinity!

«‹›66 »

ShootaBoy: Jan 6, 2010; Anime is Bad.
_{Except for Pokemon, Valkyria Chronicles and 100% OJ.}

Keldulas posted:

Does it matter if they're both made of murder?

Couldn't have put it better myself.

# ? May 29, 2016 17:22

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Jun 2, 2024 03:39

Ikasuhito: Sep 29, 2013; Haram as Fuck.

Keldulas posted:

Does it matter if they're both made of murder?

Though it is a shame to lose that personal touch.

# ? May 29, 2016 20:54

ParanoidInc: Apr 27, 2013; You dun scuffed me for the last time you no-good Zayn boy!; Fun Shoe

We may have actual Loose Cannons but they get the job done damnit

# ? May 29, 2016 20:55

BurningStone: Jun 3, 2011

Would a more idealistic character get a different battle description, about glory and patriotism?

# ? May 29, 2016 20:58

Runa: Feb 13, 2011

I'd hope not, the bleak battle descriptions are boss

# ? May 29, 2016 21:34

Dong Quixote: Oct 3, 2015; Fun Shoe

Does it matter? More blood = better

# ? May 30, 2016 00:07

GyverMac: Aug 3, 2006; My posting is like I Love Lucy without the funny bits. Basically, WAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

T.G. Xarbala posted:

I'd hope not, the bleak battle descriptions are boss

The writing in this game is pretty solid. And its obvious the author is a history nerd, and I love the little details about gunpowder era warfare and equipment.

# ? May 30, 2016 20:11

Lord Cyrahzax: Oct 11, 2012

BurningStone posted:

Would a more idealistic character get a different battle description, about glory and patriotism?

It is slightly different, yes, and other stats, especially Intelligence, change it too. It's similar to how Charisma can changes how conversations go. Asking Welles about Garrett, for example, would have been a bit more awkward with a lower score.

quote:

The more you think about it, the more the dichotomy of 'banecasting vs. machinery' seems to you a false one; if banecasting is capable of killing a certain number of the enemy, and machinery can kill a certain number more, then why choose betwixt the two? Why not employ both, in the situations which they are best suited to, for maximum effect upon the enemy?

Indeed, is that not what has just happened, with such grievous losses inflicted upon the Antari by the use of both the power of Cunaris's banecasting and the power of GG&T's new shells working in concert? You certainly could not see why such a formula should be dismissed as a fluke as opposed to a precedent for future repetition.

After all, the aim of war is no more or less than to kill the enemy, and if that can be done more effectively with both methods working in concert than with either one separately, why bother to employ either method alone at all?

quote:

You are ripped out of your thoughts by a low, rippling reverberation: the splintering crackle of musketry made dull echo by the vagaries of distance and terrain. The sound comes from your far left.

You turn to see drifts of white smoke rising from the positions of Castermaine's brigade as his distant infantry make first contact with the enemy, emptying their volleys into the leading edge of the peasant masses before them. Puffs of smoke from within the Antari bloom in reply, their distant pops rendered soft and muzzled by a far-too-great stretch of creation.

From more than five kilometres away, the first clash looks like a battle in miniature, all of war's fury transplanted into abstract blocks of smoke-spitting soldiery, packed so close together that individual soldiers are difficult to tell apart from each other.

Then, a fresh volley of musketry, still echoing, still muffled, but sharper, much sharper. It comes from the positions of Tollmark's brigade, adjacent to your own. They too have made contact with the enemy.

A moment later, your ears seem to fill with the rattle of battalion volleys, some ragged, others crisp; some are far to the left, others close and almost right ahead of you. All along the line, the crack of infantry muskets fills the air as the Antari close into range.

quote:

Within moments, the sound of the battle becomes a jumble of echoes and gunshots. The isolated white drifts of smoke turn into great sheets of acrid, breathable debris. At Blogia, the very sun had been blotted out by the powder-smoke. Today, it is only thanks to the stiff morning breeze that you can see any of the battle at all.

Even so, you can snatch nothing but glimpses in between the heavy veils of powder-fog; a battalion there, falling back by companies as they bleed the enemy for every pace of ground, and there, a handful of Antari falling back across the river, firing wild parting shots as their orange-coated adversaries cheer and reload for the next rush.

So intent are you upon watching the battle ahead, that you do not even notice the sound of hooves approaching from behind until Lord Renard pulls his bay mare up against Faith with an obviously nervous officer�his brother�in tow.

"Go on," your Lieutenant whispers to the Cornet. "Say what y'came here for. Ain't becoming t' let a colonel's badge give pause to a Findlay, wot?"

The younger officer closes his eyes and takes a breath before nudging his own horse forward. "His Grace's compliments, sir," he begins in the half-stilted, half-frantic tone of a man too terrified of the words in his mouth to relax. "He wishes me to convey to you the news that Lord Hugh reports First Battalion, 5th of Foot to be heavily pressed by the enemy, and that you are to provide one of your squadrons as reinforcement, if you deem it acceptable to do so."

The Cornet's last words come out as a rapid jumble. The young officer's face is nearly beet red, whether it be from embarrassment or the fact that you did not see him take a single breath in his entire report, you are not quite sure.

In any case, you have more pressing matters before you. While Hartigan's battalion might need aid at the moment, deploying one of your squadrons to assist him would mean you would have fewer men at your disposal later.

To your side, both Lord Renard and his brother await your reply with bated breath. Will you send someone to answer Hartigan's call for aid? If so, whom?

I shall send Garret and Fourth Squadron.

Cazarosta and Third Squadron will go to Hartigan's aid.

I shall go myself.

I cannot spare the men this early in the battle; Hartigan will have to make do.

Don't think you're getting these squadrons back. If you send them, they're going to be committed.

quote:

As of the Spring of the 611th year of the Old Imperial Era

Sir Alaric d'al Sancroix
Age: 39
Rank: Lieutenant-colonel (Brevet)
Wealth: 50
Income: 0

Soldiering: 24%
Charisma: 50%
Intellect: 60%
Reputation: 48%
Health: 40%
Idealism: 52% Cynicism: 48%
Ruthlessness: 95% Mercy: 5%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear bane-hardened armour and wield a bane-runed sword.

You can speak, read, and write the Antari language.

Sixth Squadron, Royal Dragoons
Senior NCO: Staff-sergeant Lanzerel

Discipline: 64%
Morale: 52%
Loyalty: 44%
Strength: 75%

# ? May 31, 2016 19:45

my dad: Oct 17, 2012; this shall be humorous

Let them die.

# ? May 31, 2016 19:52

Dong Quixote: Oct 3, 2015; Fun Shoe

Sorry, Hartigan. Infantry should be able to hold the line on their own.

# ? May 31, 2016 20:05

Average Lettuce: Oct 22, 2012

Send Cazarosta. Less chances of him trying to kill us again.

# ? May 31, 2016 20:18

Slaan: Mar 16, 2009; ASHERAH DEMANDS I FEAST, I VOTE FOR A FEAST OF FLESH

ButtDoktor posted:

Sorry, Hartigan. Infantry should be able to hold the line on their own.

Against peasants? Pffft, No

# ? May 31, 2016 20:51

AJ_Impy: Jun 17, 2007; SWORD OF SMATTAS. CAN YOU NOT HEAR A WORLD CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE? WHEN WILL YOU DELIVER IT?; Yam Slacker

Garrett, we'll send the protagonist and ourselves at real threats.

# ? May 31, 2016 21:04

The Merry Marauder: Apr 4, 2009; "But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy. She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. She is the champion and vindicator only of her own."

Ignore, the infantry can do its bloody job.

# ? May 31, 2016 21:14

Leif.: Mar 27, 2005; Son of the Defender
Formerly Diplomaticus/SWATJester

gently caress a Hartigan

# ? May 31, 2016 22:47

ParanoidInc: Apr 27, 2013; You dun scuffed me for the last time you no-good Zayn boy!; Fun Shoe

The Merry Marauder posted:

Ignore, the infantry can do its bloody job.

This, the prince hasn't even sent the church hussars or their new professional line infantry at us yet

# ? May 31, 2016 23:35

CottonWolf: Jul 20, 2012; Good ideas generator

I'm sure Hartigan's got this. He certainly should have going up against the rabble.

# ? Jun 1, 2016 11:18

Alumnus Post: Dec 29, 2009; They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.; Pillbug

Ignore.

# ? Jun 1, 2016 13:33

Lord Cyrahzax: Oct 11, 2012

quote:

"Cornet," you begin. "Please convey to His Grace my regrets, as I do not find it practicable to detach a squadron at this moment."

The younger officer nods quickly and bolts off, forgetting even to salute, leaving Lord Renard behind, his features tinged with a sedate incredulity.

"Y'ain't going to send anyone?" your Lieutenant asks. "Ain't that what we're here for, t' answer calls for assistance?"

"We are," you answer, "but Lord Hugh has six hundred men and a good position at his disposal, he faces soldiery of markedly inferior quality to his own, and the battle has barely even begun."

"And that is reason to deny him his request for aid, is it?" Lord Renard asks in reply, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "We ought to just sit here and let his men fight and die because he got enough men to spare the loss?"

"I am not an Old Calligian sorcerer, sir, to be able to conjure fresh squadrons of horse from thin air," you growl back. "If I send a squadron to reply to every call for aid I receive, then I shall soon find myself with no forces at my disposal to deal with any later crises. Understood?"

The young lordling nods. "Understood," he replies, though he seems far from happy about it.

quote:

Your next few minutes pass with some anxiety; what if you misjudged? What if Hartigan had understated the danger? What if his battalion is already disintegrating, routed by a force which might have been repulsed had you sent aid?

Is it quite possible that the battle is already lost, the Antari already across in force, thanks to your misguided conscientiousness?

Yet as the battle rages on, as the muskets crack, the cannon boom, and the powder-smoke grows thicker, you see no sign of any such disaster; no fresh riders from brigade, no sounds of Antari battle-cries from the near side of the river, no streams of panicked men fleeing for the rear screaming 'all is lost.'

It seems that the First of the 5th has held. You have made the right choice.

Or so you hope. It is the sound of fresh hoofbeats that brings you back to the here and now, not from ahead but from behind you; another young galloper from brigade headquarters.

Only this officer is obviously not a member of Cunaris's staff. His horse rides up lathered and blown, its grey flanks splattered with mud. Its rider is in no less ragged a state, his face stained with black splotches, two bullet holes showing prominently upon his parti-coloured Highlander cloak, and carrying with him the reek of death and spent powder.

"Begging your pardon, sir, I come from the young Havenport by way of brigade headquarters," he reports hurriedly, greeting you with only the most cursory of salutes.

Not 'His Grace' but 'the young Havenport.' That could only mean one man. "How fare the Highlanders, sir?" you ask. "Still holding out?"

The young Highlander officer nods wearily. "Aye, but 'tis hard going; the Antari have gotten some of their light horse across and are now using them to harass our flank companies. Young Havenport requests a squadron of Dragoons to drive them off."

I'll send Garret and Fourth Squadron to the Highlanders' aid.

Cazarosta and Third Squadron should suffice to give the Highlanders a hand.

The Highlanders will have to make do; nobody can be spared.

I'll lead my own squadron in.

# ? Jun 1, 2016 13:36

my dad: Oct 17, 2012; this shall be humorous

Go, Garret, go!

# ? Jun 1, 2016 13:47

Average Lettuce: Oct 22, 2012

Send Cazarosta

# ? Jun 1, 2016 13:54

Nothingtoseehere: Nov 11, 2010

Keeping horsemen from skrimishing with infantry at will? This sounds like an actual job for the Royal Dragoons!

This seems a job for Caz

# ? Jun 1, 2016 13:58

AJ_Impy: Jun 17, 2007; SWORD OF SMATTAS. CAN YOU NOT HEAR A WORLD CRY OUT FOR JUSTICE? WHEN WILL YOU DELIVER IT?; Yam Slacker

Garret, this is yours.

AJ_Impy fucked around with this message at 15:01 on Jun 1, 2016

# ? Jun 1, 2016 14:05

The Merry Marauder: Apr 4, 2009; "But she goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy. She is the well-wisher to the freedom and independence of all. She is the champion and vindicator only of her own."

Garret. Have to save Cazarosta to charge uphill.

# ? Jun 1, 2016 14:12

ParanoidInc: Apr 27, 2013; You dun scuffed me for the last time you no-good Zayn boy!; Fun Shoe

my dad posted:

Go, Garret, go!

if poo poo really gets crazy we want the protagonist available to deal with it

# ? Jun 1, 2016 14:47

Dong Quixote: Oct 3, 2015; Fun Shoe

Garret

# ? Jun 1, 2016 18:33

Leif.: Mar 27, 2005; Son of the Defender
Formerly Diplomaticus/SWATJester

Garret

# ? Jun 1, 2016 20:07

GyverMac: Aug 3, 2006; My posting is like I Love Lucy without the funny bits. Basically, WAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Caz! Away with you!

# ? Jun 1, 2016 20:19

CottonWolf: Jul 20, 2012; Good ideas generator

Stopping flanking manoeuvres is what we're good at. Hop to, Garret.

# ? Jun 1, 2016 20:31

Alumnus Post: Dec 29, 2009; They are weird and troubling. We owe it to our neighbors to kill them.; Pillbug

Bugger 'em! The Highlanders are tough old sods; they can handle things fine without us.

# ? Jun 1, 2016 20:39

Lord Cyrahzax: Oct 11, 2012

quote:

You turn to your senior Lieutenant. "Findlay, you are to go to Captain Garret and inform him that he is to take his squadron forward, make contact with Lieutenant-colonel Havenport of the Highlanders, and render what aid he sees fit," you command. "Having done so, you are to return directly to me, understood?"

Your subordinate nods eagerly in reply. "Of course, sir."

Without wasting a second, you turn to the battered Highlander officer. "Sir, I must oblige you to accompany Fourth Squadron, so that you may show them the way to your battalion's position."

The Kentauri officer cannot hide the weariness of his countenance as he is faced with the prospect of riding back into the fray, but he is not without enthusiasm, either. "Very good, sir. Thank you, sir."

You nod back in acknowledgement. "Saints go with you, gentlemen!"

Without further delay, the two junior officers give parting salutes and turn their horses away, spurring them towards the position to your left where Captain Garret and his untested squadron await their orders.

You can only hope they will be up to the task. "Gentlemen!" announces a voice from your left, carefully pitched to carry over the background noise of the battle. You turn in time to see Captain Garret drawing his sabre as he sits next to the Highlander officer. "My Kentauri friend here has informed me that the enemy are in want of another partner. It would be damned rude for us not to oblige, would it not?"

His squadron replies with a round of laughter of that strange sort driven half by nerves and half by genuine amusement. "Damned rude, sir!" one man shouts back with an informality that few other officers would have tolerated.

"Then it's time to show 'em what we can do!" Garret declares with a jovial ease. "Squadron! At the trot! Advance!"

With that, Fourth Squadron begins to lurch forward, settling into the trot by fits and starts as the inexperienced riders jostle their mounts into motion. They are not the best-drilled of men, but within a few seconds, they manage to get themselves all going in the same direction, into the powder-fog.

You watch your men disappear into the smoke with a head full of errant thoughts.

For so much of your career, you have fought at the head of your men, leading them into a battle where you would share their risks and their victories. As the commander of a patrol, a troop, even a squadron, you were where your men were.

Now, you are to simply look on as dragoons under your command ride off on your orders, while you are left behind, perched upon your unmoving saddle.

It's not right; I should be going myself.

I suppose this is the price of high command.

I actually prefer this; it puts my neck in rather less danger.

# ? Jun 2, 2016 00:29

devildragon777: May 17, 2014; They'd be a lot more scary if they were more than an inch tall each.

It's not right to just delegate murdercrimes, we should be committing them ourselves!

# ? Jun 2, 2016 03:10

Dong Quixote: Oct 3, 2015; Fun Shoe

I suppose this is the price of high command.

Leave the skirmishes to the LTs. We'll satsify our bloodlust whe we run down fleeing Antari at the end of the battle, like light cav should.

# ? Jun 2, 2016 03:35

Ikasuhito: Sep 29, 2013; Haram as Fuck.

I actually prefer this. This allows me to dictate my horrors and it ensures im alive to enjoy them. Whats not to love?

# ? Jun 2, 2016 04:24

Fuzzy Mammal: Aug 15, 2001; Lipstick Apathy

ButtDoktor posted:

I suppose this is the price of high command.

I'm sure it will come down to some personal fighting soon enough.

# ? Jun 2, 2016 05:03

Leif.: Mar 27, 2005; Son of the Defender
Formerly Diplomaticus/SWATJester

Keeping us away from the warcrimes?

That poo poo ain't right.

That poo poo ain't right.

That. poo poo. Is. Wrong.

# ? Jun 2, 2016 07:44

Thesaya: May 17, 2011; I am a Plant.

Ikasuhito posted:

I actually prefer this. This allows me to dictate my horrors and it ensures im alive to enjoy them. Whats not to love?

# ? Jun 2, 2016 12:28

Lord Cyrahzax: Oct 11, 2012

Okay, a three-way tie. Not something I honestly ever expected to see, but the next vote wins.

# ? Jun 2, 2016 18:05

KYOON GRIFFEY JR: Apr 12, 2010; Runner-up, TRP Sack Race 2021/22

it aint right, those other guys are stealing my war crimes

# ? Jun 2, 2016 18:10

Adbot: ADBOT LOVES YOU

# ? Jun 2, 2024 03:39

Lord Cyrahzax: Oct 11, 2012

quote:

You know that it is what the service requires of you. Lieutenant-colonels cannot follow the movements of every detachment under their command. You must remain behind and coordinate the rest of your command, not hare off at the head of single squadrons.

Still, there is a hollowness, a certain wrongness to it. For all of your career as an officer, you have been able to justify your authority based on the fact that ordering your men into danger meant ordering yourself into danger. Yet now?

Now things have changed; you might well send men to their deaths while remaining in perfect safety�no, not might, must, for it seems to you the very essence of high command, to give orders and wait in near-complete security, knowing that even as you sit, your men are dying for the sake of your decisions.

So this is what Cunaris must feel like every day.

No wonder he always seems so full of melancholy.

+2% Idealism

quote:

There is no sign of Garret's squadron now. Even the dark outlines of its men and horses have been swallowed up by the battle, the sound of their hooves and the jangling of their equipment drowned out by the dull cacophony.

For a second, you think you hear the distinct rattle of Dragoon carbines firing in volley far ahead, but for all you know, it could have simply been the rifles of the Experimentals or a trick of your mind; your brain letting you hear what you want to hear over the background noise of battle.

You strain your ears to see if you can hear it again, in the hopes that the source of the sound was something more tangible, but you get nothing but the dull pops of musketry and the throaty booms of cannon, sounds which have long since gotten used to.

It is not until the thought crosses your mind that you realise that you have gotten used to it; the crack of musketry, the boom of cannon, so terrifying to most, to you as mundane as the rattle of a waggon wheel. You have been at war for a substantial portion of your life, and you have gotten used to a great many things: the sounds of battle, long spells on horseback, sleeping in the cold, the comforting weight of your helmet and sabre�

When you first began your service in the King's Army, all of those things had been so foreign to you. When the war ends, will you find your old life just as strange?

That is a thought you ponder for some time as you tune out the sounds of battle to which you have grown so accustomed.

You are not sure you come to a satisfactory answer.

quote:

It is only when you feel a fresh gust of spring air upon your neck that your thoughts are interrupted. With a start, you realise that the wool of your tunic has begun to pull and billow, that the powder-smoke begins to bestir itself, lifted by the blustering howl of a rising wind. Bit by bit, the grey haze is torn away by the sudden wind, its smoky tendrils receding like an army of fog being driven into the sea, revealing more and more of the field in its wake.

Before long, you can see all the way to the masts of the fleet anchored in Kharangia's harbour, to the tops of HMS Rendower, where the King's banner flies from the mainmast, lifted into its full glory by the rippling wind.

That is not to say that the wind has rendered the field entirely clear. Great columns of haze still rise from the gun batteries and the entrenchments at the river crossings, where the shadowy outlines of infantry battalions spit volleys into the enemy infantry, a rippling storm of fire and lead birthing fresh masses of powder-smoke like the burning edge of some immense thundercloud, lit not by lightning but the fire of ten thousand infantry muskets.

Yet for all of the awe-inspiring fury of the Tierran infantry's defence, it does not seem to be enough. Beyond the smouldering blocks of line infantry, you see fresh columns of Antari advancing in ever-greater numbers. With them are mixed companies of Church Hussars, bane-runed sabres gleaming in the filthy sunlight as they splash across the river, piling in with the enthusiasm of men on the verge of victory.

And they are; at two points along the centre, you can already see the ranks of powder-stained orange begin to give way. One distant company of men fall back out of the smoke in good order, bayonets fixed as they are beset by a pursuing swarm of enemy horse. Closer to your position, you see the whole of the 13th of Foot being pushed out of their entrenchments bit by bit by an immense mob of Antari peasantry.

A dire sight, but all is not yet lost. Havenport's reserve brigades are already springing forward to close up the gaps. In the distance, you see the rag-tag array of sailors and marines that is Havoc Matheson's Naval Brigade rush into the fray. Closer to your position, Viscount Weir's five battalions of Line Infantry march at the double-time towards the beleaguered crossings.

Within minutes, the Antari are pushed back to the river, but that is no excuse to breathe easy. Now, the King's Army has no more brigades in reserve. Should Prince Khorobirit manage to break through again, then Havenport will have no fresh regiments with which to stop them. The Tierran infantry teeters on the brink of collapse.

Yet for all the precariousness of the situation on your left, it is nothing compared to what you see when you look to your right. It is a sight fit to send a bolt of fear rattling down your spine, for at the very far side of the shallow river bend that anchors the Tierran flank, a column of Antari light horse are making their way across the river, along a crossing not on any of the maps, a crossing whose defence was not assigned to any unit of the Tierran Army.

The Antari light horse splash across the River Kharan. No musketry meets them, no cannon fire, no resistance whatsoever. Within a minute, they will be on the near bank of the Kharan and in a position to outflank the whole Tierran line.

quote:

Through your field glass, you watch the first of the Antari horsemen splash out of the water and onto the muddy riverbank. Even from the distance of a kilometre and a half away, you can see him raise his sabre in triumph as he spurs his mount forward, his comrades close behind, towards the low ridge that is the only thing separating him from Cunaris's brigade headquarters.

It is not until he tumbles from the saddle and strikes the ground that you hear the first sharp crack of rifle fire.

Suddenly, the brush-covered slopes of the ridge erupt in smoke as the dark shapes of the Experimental Corps, almost invisible in their green jackets, let loose in a precisely aimed fusillade. The leading parties of the Antari horse tumble to the ground in rapid succession, leaving their panicking mounts fleeing in all directions.

You find yourself smiling despite yourself as you watch the two hundred Experimentals pour fire into the enemy horse from their concealed positions. Their alacrity may have just saved the army.

Harried and cut down by the dozens by accurate fire from men they cannot see, the Antari flanking force falter, turn, and begin to fall back across the river.

From behind, you see the rise of a bright red streak into the mottled grey sky, its passage marked by a high whistle, a sharp addition to the rattle of muskets and the beat of field guns.

Then, it is all drowned out, rocket, musketry, and field artillery alike, by a thunder that seems to shake the very essence of creation.

quote:

Your ears begin ringing as the rolling thunder grows only stronger. The very air seems to tremble and waver before your eyes as you turn your field telescope towards the source.

You find it anchored in long rows along the sheltered waters of Kharangia's harbour: the massed floating fortresses of the Northern Fleet's line of battle, their broadsides wreathed in billowing rows of smoke as their heavy naval guns spit fire and fury and heavy shot at the Antari flank.

The spectacle cannot help but leave you slack-jawed. You have seen and heard cannon fire before in your decade as a soldier, but even the grandest batteries of land-based artillery are nothing compared to the terrific volleys of shot which now roar across the battlefield. The HMS Rendower alone carries more guns than the Duke of Wulfram had even brought to Blogia, each heavier than any field piece in the King's Army.

Now, no less than half of them are firing in unison, not as a lone battery but in concert with no less than a dozen other heavy warships of the battle-line, with each ship down the line unleashing the full might of their broadsides upon the far flank of the Antari, one after the other.

Even from nearly ten kilometres away, you can see quite well that the effect upon the enemy is terrible. Firing from unsteady floating gundecks, the Northern Fleet's broadsides land without precision or accuracy, but against a target as large as Prince Khorobirit's army, neither are hardly needed. No matter where they fly, every shot seems to find its mark, ploughing into the distant masses of Antari peasantry and sending up showers of dirt, stone, and broken bodies as they strike home.

By the time the last ship in the line fires, the ringing in your ears is so loud that the report of its guns come to you only as a dull pain. The Antari flank is in shreds, those of its number not dead or dying already milling about in confusion and terror or rushing away from the coast, fleeing from the pitiless mouths of the killing guns.

Then, from the brush-obscured shadow of the coast, they ride up out of the smoke and onto the field. Even from so far away, you can pick them out as they form up in their triangular formations, squadron after squadron of white-coated lancers, cuirassiers resplendent in breastplate and helmet, line cavalry with their straight-bladed broadswords on their shoulders. All of them press forward, lances couched and blades held high as they push their mounts first into a trot, then into full gallop as they charge home into Prince Khorobirit's disorganised flank.

Your heart lifts at the sight. At Blogia, it had been the defeat of the Tierran cavalry which had signalled the loss of the battle. Here at Kharangia, it shall be the charge of that same Tierran cavalry which is to bring victory.

quote:

When the leading squadrons of the cavalry brigade reach the Antari flank, they do not so much make contact with it as they simply overrun it. The forward formations of onrushing men and horses plough into the mass of enemy foot with ease. Surprised and disordered, the mob of peasant infantrymen offer little more resistance than a field of wheat, more concerned with escaping the path of the charging regiments of horse than offering any resistance.

Far in the distance, you see the Antari cannon fire at the new threat, a desperate attempt to stem the tide. It does little good; more of Khorobirit's hastily aimed shot plunges into the retreating streams of his own men than the fast-advancing formations of your fellow Tierran cavalrymen.

Within moments, the far flank of the Antari army is in the process of disintegration. Masses of poorly drilled peasant soldiers fling their weapons away and flee in all directions, animated by a panick that even seems to infect Khorobirit's better-ordered line infantry. Only the Church Hussars and the enemy foot still engaged at the river crossings do not begin to flee, concerned more by the enemy before them than the enemy that now drives hard from their rear.

The enemy's centre is little better ordered, for even here do the homespun-clad levies begin to follow the cues of their fellows on the far flank, falling back. Only the handful of Khorobirit's line infantry hold the centre now, but unlike their already-fleeing counterparts, they seem to be wheeling about to make a fight of it, interposing themselves between the quickly advancing regiments of Palliser's brigade and the men still engaged at the central river crossings.

It is only on the near flank, directly in front of your own position and furthest away from the cavalry brigade, that the Antari seem to react with any kind of real vigour, for instead of falling back, the nearest portion of Khorobirit's army presses forward, perhaps animated by one last fool's hope of victory. The peasant levies press into the Highlanders with renewed vigour, but a far greater threat comes from further to the right. There, the three remaining line infantry battalions have formed up into a gigantic column, two companies wide and nine deep. They march across the Kharan with muskets shouldered and colours fluttering in the blustering wind, their boots splashing into shallow water to the beat of rattling kettle drums, every step bringing them closer to the shore where the exhausted Second Battalion of the 5th of Foot awaits them.

Yet that is not the worst of it.

For even further to the right, at the crossing where the Experimentals had first repulsed the enemy's flanking attack, the Antari have returned. This time it is not light cavalry which bears down upon the scattered contingent of green-jacketed skirmishers, but hundreds of Church Hussars, their armour glittering in the morning sun.

quote:

You hear from behind you the rising sound of hooves drumming rapidly against the packed turf. You turn in time to almost find yourself bowled over by the rearing horse of a Dragoon subaltern: Lord Renard's younger brother Laurent, his face as pale as a Takaran's in stark terror.

"Sir!" he exclaims, his hand shaking as he forms a hasty salute. No time for 'His Grace's compliments' now. Now, he points frantically to the front, where two thousand expertly drilled Antari infantry are about to collide with the Second battalion of the 5th. "Sir! Do you�"

"I see it, sir!" you reply.

The adolescent Cornet nods shakily before shifting his hand to where a solid column of Church Hussars now splashes across the Kharan towards Reyes's Experimentals. "And the oth�"

"I see it! I see it!" you reply with heated impatience. Must the silly boy really waste time asking if you had seen what is plain as sunlight before your eyes? "Speak your piece, Saints-drat-it!"

"It is His Grace's will that you commit all forces under your command to reinforce the threatened crossings," replies Cunaris's younger son, voice quavering. "He gives you full discretion over the deployment of your forces."

"Excellent! I have sat here uselessly long enough!"

"Am I to deploy all of my forces? Are things so dire?"

"I had hoped it would not come to this."

# ? Jun 2, 2016 18:15

The Something Awful Forums > Discussion > Video Games > Let's Play! > The King's Dragoons Ride Again: Let's Play Guns of Infinity!

«‹›66 »