Re: Steel and Gunpowder

The Pope’s Hounds currently held the high ground. Even with the advanced Swabian wheellocks and Eckhard’s Gatling carts positioned at the doors, firing upward into heavily armored assassins taking cover behind stone pillars meant casualties on the ground floor were a certainty.

"Listen to me," Konrad hissed, his voice dropping so low it barely reached the ears of the three people hiding with him.

"When the shooting starts, you do not stand up. You do not move unless I drag you by the collar. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Konrad," Katarina whispered back.

Cellini just nodded, clutching his tube of stolen Milanese ledgers tightly against his chest. "Just kill the bastards quickly, Viscount. I have no desire to bleed out on a northern floorboard."

However, before they could kill the assassins, Konrad needed to give the specific orders.

He risked a quick glance over the edge of the overturned table, locking eyes with Marshal Eckhard.

The old veteran was standing near the main iron doors, his broadsword drawn, waiting for the signal.

Konrad raised his left hand, flashing three specific tactical gestures that they had drilled into the officers for months.

Clear the balconies first. Secure the Duke. Musketeers to the walls.

Eckhard caught the signals instantly.

He turned to Captain Lukas von Richter and the other commanders holding the pike square.

"Swabia!" Eckhard roared. "Fire at will! Clear the high ground!"

The very second Eckhard shouted the command, the assassins on the balconies pulled their triggers.

Choking white smoke filled the enclosed room.

Heavy lead bullets rained down from the upper walkways, tearing into the tables and shattering the stone floor.

Several Swabian halberdiers in the front ranks grunted as the high-velocity rounds punched right through their armor.

They collapsed into the spilled ale, their blood mixing with the ruined wedding feast.

"Return fire!" Lukas screamed over the noise.

Hundreds of Swabian wheellocks fired upwards in a coordinated volley.

The sheer volume of lead tore through the railings of the balconies.

Stone pillars splintered. The black-armored Vatican assassins jerked and twisted as the Swabian bullets shattered their steel cuirasses, sending their broken bodies tumbling over the edges to smash into the floorboards below.

Though the initial exchange was bloody, the raw firepower of the Swabian army began to overwhelm the hidden Hounds.

And then, the Gatling carts at the main doors opened up...

A continuous, devastating storm of lead swept back and forth across the upper guest building windows, suppressing the assassins and pinning them down against the stone.

"Move!" Konrad barked, grabbing Duke Wilhelm by the gold chain around his neck.

"Wait! Wait, damn it!" the Duke shrieked, scrambling clumsily on his hands and knees.

Konrad yanked the fat lord forward.

The first priority, other than clearing the immediate shooters, was securing the Duke.

If Wilhelm caught a stray bullet in the head right now, before the legal ledgers were properly handled, the strategy fell apart.

Konrad needed him alive as a hostage and a bargaining chip.

"Keep your head down, Wilhelm, or I swear to God I will leave you here to get shot!" Konrad growled, dragging the Duke toward a fortified stone archway near the kitchens.

Katarina crawled quickly right behind them, entirely ignoring the heavy dirt and blood soaking into her expensive wedding gown. Cellini scrambled right on her heels, the Italian mercenary entirely keeping his head low while cursing loudly in rapid Florentine Italian.

Lead bullets cracked viciously through the air just inches above their heads. The white smoke was blinding now, burning their eyes and lungs.

Thus, they finally managed to throw themselves behind the stone pillars of the kitchen archway, shielded from the crossfire above.

Konrad shoved the terrified Duke against the back wall. Wilhelm slid down to the floor, gasping for air.

"Watch him," Konrad commanded, looking at Cellini. "If he tries to run out into the hall, break his legs."

"With absolute pleasure, Viscount," Cellini smirked, finally drawing his rapier and resting the razor-sharp tip against the Duke’s neck.

Wilhelm froze, terrified to even swallow.

Konrad turned his attention back to the battle raging in the Great Hall.

The Swabian veterans were doing exactly what they had been trained to do.

The pike squares held the ground while the musketeers reloaded and fired in rotating volleys.

Bodies were piling up. Konrad saw at least thirty of his own men lying on the floorboards, their black armor soaked in dark blood.

It was a massive loss... every single Swabian soldier was trained and incredibly expensive to equip.

But the Pope’s Hounds were taking significantly heavier casualties. The balconies were painted in blood, and the incoming fire from the upper walkways was slowing down.

"Eckhard!" Konrad shouted, stepping just slightly out of the archway cover so the Marshal could see him through the smoke.

The scarred veteran spotted him and immediately ran over, ignoring the stray bullets snapping past his shoulders.

Eckhard slid behind the pillar. "The high ground is nearly broken, Lord Konrad!" Eckhard reported. "The Gatling carts are chewing them to pieces! We will have the balconies secured in five minutes!"

"Good," Konrad nodded. "But we cannot focus on the ceiling. If the Vatican actually coordinated this strike with the remaining Bavarian forces, or if there is a secondary mercenary unit waiting outside... we need to lock down the perimeter right now."

However, Eckhard was already on the same page.

"I already gave the order," Konrad stated. "Take the second and third musketeer companies. Get them out of this hall and send them up to the outer walls. If a foreign army comes marching up to our gates while we are busy dealing with these holy rats inside, we need all the lines secured and guns pointing outward."

"Captain von Richter is already gathering the men for the wall defense, My Lord," Eckhard confirmed with a grim nod. "We won’t let a single soul breach the main gates."

Konrad looked back at the Duke of Bavaria, who was still held at sword-point by the amused Italian artist.

As the gunfire inside the Great Hall finally began to die down, replaced by the groans of the wounded and the orders of the Swabian captains securing the blood-soaked balconies, a new sound cut through the smoke.

It was the deep blast of a war horn sounding from the outer courtyard.

Konrad gripped his wheellock pistol tightly. He stepped out of the archway, staring through the white smoke toward the open doors of the Great Hall.

The common people who had run toward the doors of their homes earlier were now screaming again, but this time they were running back toward the keep in terror, seeking the safety of the Swabian pikes.

The indoor battle was over... the Pope’s hidden Hounds were either dead on the shattered balconies or pinned down, slowly bleeding out under the relentless watch of the Swabian veterans.

Konrad turned his head. "Eckhard," Konrad barked. "Get your men moving right now. Send your fastest runners to the outer walls. Order them to ask the musketeers exactly what they see coming up that road!"

"At once, Lord Konrad!" the Marshal grunted, ignoring his own exhaustion.

He turned to the nearest squad of halberdiers. "You three! Run to the main gates! Get up on the ramparts and tell Captain von Richter to report the enemy numbers!"

The three Swabian veterans sprinted across the spilled ale and broken benches, disappearing through the doors toward the outer defenses.

Duke Wilhelm let out a pathetic whimper from his spot on the floor.

The fat Bavarian lord was hugging his knees.

"It is a second vanguard..." the Duke stammered. "My generals must have sent another host! They are going to breach the gates and kill us all in the crossfire!"

"If your generals sent another army, Wilhelm, then you better pray they brought a coffin for you," Konrad stated, keeping his wheellock pistol tightly gripped in his hand.

Konrad reached deep into a specially tailored inner pocket of his doublet. He bypassed the extra lead bullets and powder flasks, his fingers closing around a cylindrical object.

He pulled it out into the light of the archway.

It was a revolutionary piece of Swabian glasswork.

A brass spyglass, nearly a foot long when fully extended, crafted with highly polished, curved glass lenses that Konrad had personally ground in his private forge.

He stepped slightly out of the archway cover and tossed the brass tube to Marshal Eckhard.

Eckhard caught it with his hand, familiar with the advanced tool.

He had used an early prototype during the Savoyard campaign, and he knew exactly how much of a massive tactical advantage it provided.

However, Benvenuto Cellini forgot about the dead assassins for a second. The Italian mercenary’s eyes instantly locked onto the brass instrument.

"Wait... is that a focused optical tube?" Cellini gasped. "But the Venetians are only just beginning to experiment with layered glass. How in the did a muddy Swabian warlord perfect a portable lens?"

"Hmm?" Konrad looked at his Marshal. "Eckhard. Get up to that breached balcony on the second floor. It has a clear line of sight over the outer walls. Tell me exactly what we are dealing with."

"Cover me!" Eckhard roared to his men.

Two heavily armored Swabian veterans raised their shields, forming a protective roof over the Marshal as he climbed the stairs toward the balcony.

The few remaining Pope’s Hounds were too busy bleeding to death to take a shot at them.

Eckhard reached the edge of the railing. He kicked the corpse of a Vatican assassin out of the way, ignoring the slippery blood on the stones.

He raised the brass spyglass to his eye, extending the interlocking tubes to focus the lenses on the distant valley road.