Re: Steel and Gunpowder

"The horses, My Lord Count," Farkas whispered. "I cannot count the horses. There must be forty... fifty thousand Sipahi cavalry alone. The Akinji light riders are swarming the flanks like a plague of locusts. The supply wagons... the ox-carts... it is endless. The horizon is literally bleeding men."

Count István Báthory stood frozen.

Just minutes ago, the Count had boasted of his two thousand heavy knights and his obsolete, brightly colored Hussars.

There were well over a hundred thousand men setting up a siege line just two miles from the fortress walls, yet there was no chaotic shouting, no disorganized bickering among rival noblemen, and no drunken revelry.

Tents were erected in perfect grids. Trenches were instantly excavated by thousands of specialized sappers.

"We have eleven thousand men," Count István muttered. "Eleven thousand starving, freezing men with rusted spears. We are a pebble standing before a tidal wave."

"We cannot hold the walls against that artillery train, Count," Farkas stated, lowering the spyglass. "When those bombards open fire, the ninety-degree masonry of our gatehouse will shatter into powder within the first hour. If we do not surrender, we will be atomized."

Before Count István could formulate a response, the clatter of iron-shod boots echoed up the stairwell of the battlement.

Bursting through the door was Gábor, the Chief Quartermaster of the Veszprém garrison.

The man was panting heavily.

"My Lord! Commander!" Gábor shouted, collapsing against the parapet as he pointed a finger toward the northwest, the opposite direction of the Ottoman horde. "The scouts! The riders just returned from the northern ridge! They have sighted the relief force!"

Count István’s head snapped around so fast his gilded neck-guard rattled.

"The Emperor!" Count István bellowed, a hysterical laugh bursting from his chest.

He grabbed the Quartermaster by the shoulders, shaking the man.

"Tell me you saw the double-headed eagle, Gábor! Tell me the Austrians have arrived!"

"We saw them, My Lord!" Gábor gasped, his eyes wide. "Thousands of banners cresting the western hills! The black and gold of the Holy Roman Empire! The red and white of the Austrian Archduchy! There are tens of thousands of men marching down into the valley!"

The Count released the Quartermaster, turning his back on the Ottoman encampment and staring triumphantly toward the northwest.

"I told you, Farkas!" Count István roared, drawing his broadsword and thrusting it toward the sky.

"The Emperor Charles V and Archduke Ferdinand did not abandon us!"

"The trap is sprung! The Imperial vanguard will strike the Ottoman flank, and we shall ride out and crush the Sultan’s dogs in a glorious melee! The Kingdom of Hungary shall not fall today!"

Through his spyglass, Farkas watched the Ottoman cavalry march alongside the infantry.

He saw the Ottoman commanders calmly handing over their records to the supply officers.

As the Ottoman column approached the walls of Veszprém, a voice echoed across the plains.

"Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!"

The Arabic words rolled across the mud and stone like a shockwave. God is the greatest.

"La ilaha illallah, Muhammadur rasulullah!"

Count István Báthory’s sword slipped from his fingers.

Commander Farkas lowered the spyglass, his face devoid of hope.

The Holy Roman Empire had defected... The Kingdom of Alemannia was locked behind its walls.

Farkas looked toward the center of the battlement, where the supreme commander of the fortress, Count István Báthory, stood alongside General Kovács, the commander of the heavy cavalry.

"The Ottoman left flank alone possesses enough heavy siege bombards to reduce our ninety-degree masonry to gravel within a matter of hours."

"If we do not negotiate terms of surrender immediately, we will be atomized."

General Kovács’s face flushed a deep crimson. He stepped forward.

"Surrender?" Kovács roared. "You speak with the tongue of a coward, Farkas. We do not lay down our arms and bow to a foreign Sultan simply because he brings a larger mob of rabble to our gates."

"..." Farkas sighed.

Count István Báthory slammed his fist against the crenellations.

"I will hear no more talk of surrender!" Count István bellowed. "We will not hand the keys of Veszprém to the Ottomans. We have high walls, deep moats, and our own artillery. If they attempt to march their Janissaries against our gates, we will shred them with grapeshot. With our men on these walls, we can hold the line!"

Farkas stared at the two noblemen, a sense of exhaustion washing over him. "Our granaries are near empty. Our powder stores are limited. We cannot endure a protracted bombardment."

"We do not need to endure a protracted bombardment," General Kovács sneered. "The Imperial treaties are signed and sealed. The relief force is already on the march. We simply need to accelerate their timeline."

Count István nodded fiercely.

He turned to Gábor, the Chief Quartermaster of the garrison.

"Gábor!" the Count commanded. "Select your three fastest, lightest riders. Give them our finest surviving mounts. They are to slip out through the northern postern gate before the Ottoman Akinji cavalry surrounds the valley. They must ride northwest without stopping until their horses collapse."

"What is the message, My Lord?" the Quartermaster asked, pulling a scrap of parchment from his tunic.

"Tell the Austrian commanders and the Emperor’s generals that the siege has begun," Count István dictated. "Tell them to abandon their supply trains if they must. Tell them to force-march their heavy infantry and bring their artillery to the front immediately. If they arrive by tomorrow morning and strike the Ottoman flank while they are distracted by our walls, we will ride out and crush the Sultan’s dogs in a glorious melee."

Gábor offered a bow.

With the messengers dispatched, the Hungarian generals set about mobilizing their defense grid.

For the next several hours, the fortress of Veszprém was a hive of shouting officers and panicked peasants... The 6,000 peasant levies were shoved onto the battlements, shivering in the air as they clutched their hunting spears.

The Hungarian artillery crews loaded their bombards, preparing to trade fire with a superior enemy...

Farkas remained on the highest watchtower, his spyglass glued to his eye.

The enemy did not rush.

By mid-afternoon, the Ottoman bombards were fully entrenched and aligned, their muzzles pointed at the main gatehouse of Veszprém.

Farkas braced himself against the wall, waiting for the shockwave of the first volley that would signal the beginning of their extermination...