Chapter 172: A White Flag
King Konrad of Alemannia rode at the head of a column that stretched for three miles across the muddy Austrian plains.
Surrounding him were ten thousand Ironstorm Jaegers. Behind them rolled fifty Gatling carts and thirty heavy field cannons.
"Vienna is less than ten miles out, Your Majesty," General Kaelen reported, riding up alongside Konrad.
Kaelen’s uniform was dusted with the chalky grit of the road, but his eyes were sharp. "Scouts report that Archduke Ferdinand has mobilized the city garrison and the remnants of the Imperial army. They are blocking the main approach to the capital."
Konrad nodded slowly, adjusting his silver sash.
He had no intention of engaging in a protracted siege of Vienna. He wanted to break Ferdinand’s army in the open field, march through the gates, and dictate terms in the Archduke’s own throne room.
"Numbers?" Konrad asked.
"Forty thousand, Sire," Kaelen answered, his voice dropping slightly. "But there is a complication. Ferdinand knows he cannot match our firepower. So, he isn’t fielding a traditional vanguard. He has conscripted the peasantry of the surrounding Austrian villages. He has placed nearly fifteen thousand unarmed civilians at the front of his formation, intending to use them as a human shield to absorb our Gatling fire while his knights close the distance."
Konrad pulled back on his reins, bringing his destrier to a halt.
Using civilians as a meat shield was a barbaric tactic, devoid of any tactical elegance.
It was the move of a cornered rat. And worse, it threatened to ruin Konrad’s carefully constructed public image.
He was painting himself as the enlightened savior of Europe, not a butcher of Austrian peasants.
Konrad spurred his horse forward, breaking from the marching column and riding toward his heavy artillery batteries.
"Captain Brandt!" Konrad called out.
The artillery commander, riding alongside a team of draft horses hauling a massive Swabian mortar, snapped a salute. "Your Majesty!"
"Ferdinand has placed a civilian buffer at the front of his line. I want zero casualties among those peasants. They are future taxpayers." Konrad dictated.
Brandt blinked, confused. "Zero casualties, Sire? How do we break their charge without firing into the vanguard?"
"By ignoring the vanguard entirely," Konrad answered. "Unlimber the siege mortars. You will calculate a ballistic arc that sails over the civilian ranks. You are going to drop your high-yield fragmentation shells into the center of Ferdinand’s heavy knights and pikemen."
A vicious grin spread across Captain Brandt’s face. "Plunging fire, Sire. It shall be done."
Konrad turned his horse and galloped back to the front of the infantry column.
He drew his saber. "Jaegers!" Konrad bellowed. "The enemy has placed innocents in their crosshairs! You will hold your fire! When the mortars strike the rear, the civilians will break and run! You will let them pass! Only when the armored knights charge will you unleash hell! Do you understand?!"
"Understood!" ten thousand voices roared.
The Alemannian army continued its march, closing the distance to the Austrian lines.
As they crested a low ridge, the reality of Ferdinand’s tactic became visible.
Stretching across the plains were thousands of terrified Austrian peasants — men, women, and teenagers — armed with pitchforks, scythes, and wooden clubs.
They were weeping, shivering in the cold, being shoved forward by the spears of the Imperial halberdiers standing in the ranks behind them.
Deep in the center of the Austrian formation, Archduke Ferdinand sat atop a white palfrey, his gilded armor shining.
He watched the Swabian vanguard approach, a manic hope gripping his chest.
He fully expected Konrad to unleash his machines into the peasant mob, exhausting his ammunition and bogging his infantry down in a mountain of civilian corpses.
Instead, the Swabian infantry simply stopped marching.
"What is he doing?" Ferdinand muttered, raising his spyglass.
Three hundred yards away, the ranks of the Jaegers stood perfectly still, their rifles resting at their sides. But behind them, unseen by the Archduke, Captain Brandt’s mortar crews were cranking the elevation gears on their squat cannons.
"Maximum elevation!"
"Ignite fuses!"
Thirty iron spheres, trailing sparks, shot vertically into the sky, arcing high over the heads of the Austrian peasants.
Ferdinand looked up.
The shells bypassed the vanguard, plummeting into the densely packed ranks of the Imperial knights and halberdiers.
Thirty twelve-pound fragmentation shells detonated in the heart of the Austrian army.
The sheer concussive force flipped armored knights off their horses, while the steel shrapnel shredded the unarmored pikemen.
Entire companies were vaporized in an instant, replaced by expanding clouds of black smoke and flying dirt.
The Austrian commanders, expecting to push the peasants forward, suddenly found themselves being atomized from the sky.
Realizing the Swabians were not firing at them, and terrified by the explosions tearing apart the army behind them, the fifteen thousand peasants broke.
They dropped their pitchforks and ran, scattering to the flanks, desperate to escape the slaughter.
"Let them pass!" Konrad commanded, sitting atop his destrier as the screaming civilians flooded past the immovable ranks of the Jaegers.
With his human shield gone and his center collapsing under the vertical mortar bombardment, Ferdinand’s desperate gambit was shattered. The Archduke realized his army was about to dissolve into a rout.
"Charge!" Ferdinand screamed hysterically, drawing his sword.
"Close the distance! Do not let them reload!"
The surviving Austrian knights, perhaps ten thousand heavy cavalrymen, spurred their mounts forward.
They abandoned their infantry, launching a thundering charge across the muddy plains, intending to crush the Swabian lines before the Gatling carts could spin up.
Konrad watched the heavy cavalry approach. "General Kaelen," Konrad said quietly.
"Jaegers! Form squares!" Kaelen roared.
The Alemannian infantry moved. hey folded their lines into hollow squares, locking their wicked triangular bayonets onto the muzzles of their rifles.
In the center of the squares, the Gatling crews locked their carts into position...
"Unleash!" Kaelen bellowed.
Ten thousand grooved rifles and fifty Gatling carts detonated. The front ranks of the Austrian cavalry charge simply disintegrated.
Horses were flipped end-over-end, crushing their riders in a tangle of snapping bones and shrieking steel.
The Gatling carts swept back and forth, their rotating barrels spitting an unbroken stream of lead that literally chewed the cavalry charge to pieces.
Archduke Ferdinand, riding near the rear of the charge, was thrown from his white palfrey as the horse took a stray round to the chest.
He tumbled into the mud, his gilded armor heavily dented, his ears ringing.
Ferdinand dragged himself to his knees, gasping for breath. He looked up, wiping a layer of mud and blood from his eyes.
His army was gone...
The plains were carpeted with thousands of dead and dying horses, their armored riders scattered like broken toys.
The few surviving Imperial knights were throwing down their weapons and raising their hands in sheer terror.
Ferdinand stared in horror as the ranks of the Swabian infantry parted.
Konrad brought his horse to a halt ten feet from the kneeling Archduke. n.
Ferdinand stared up at the Swabian King, his jaw trembling.
Konrad leaned forward over the pommel of his saddle. "I am claiming Vienna," Konrad dictated, his eyes locking onto the Archduke. "And I am claiming you. Hand over your sword, Ferdinand."
...
Within the chambers of the Hofburg Palace, the remnants of the Austrian high command were descending into madness.
The catastrophic news of the massacre on the plains had reached Vienna mere hours ago, carried by a handful of blood-soaked cavalrymen who had managed to flee the Swabian guns.
Archduke Ferdinand was captured...
And King Konrad’s column was currently parking its artillery just outside the city’s walls.
"We barricade the gates! We arm the guilds and the street sweeps!" roared Baron von Reischach, a red-faced nobleman slamming his armored fist against the council table. "Vienna has never fallen! We have stockpiles of grain in the lower crypts, and the walls are thick enough to withstand a month of bombardment! If we submit to this heretic, we are betraying the Emperor!"
Lord Helfrich, the Master of the Coin, stood up.
"Have you lost your meager wits, Reischach?" Helfrich shrieked, his voice cracking. "Did you not listen to the scouts? The Swabian King possesses mortars that fire explosive fragmentation shells over the walls. If we arm the street sweeps, Konrad will turn the Vienna into a slaughterhouse by noon. Surrender is our only avenue of survival."
"To surrender the capital of the East is treason." Reischach bellowed, drawing his dagger and pointing it at the treasurer. "I will hang you myself before I let you raise a white flag!"
At the head of the table, Chancellor Wenzel sat in silence.
As the Archduke’s primary minister, the defense of the realm had fallen squarely onto his aging shoulders.
He listened to the fanaticism of the barons and the terror of the bureaucrats...
"Enough," Wenzel finally said.
The room slowly fell silent, all eyes turning to the Chancellor.
"Baron Reischach, put your dagger away," Wenzel ordered. "There will be no siege. We will raise the white banner from the highest spire of St. Stephen’s Cathedral. I will ride out and negotiate with King Konrad myself."
Reischach looked horrified. "Chancellor! Emperor Charles will have your head for this!"
"The Emperor is in Spain, Baron, and King Konrad is at our doorstep," Wenzel replied, standing up and straightening his robes. "I will bear the stain of this surrender. My life is a small price to pay to save the citizens of Vienna from being atomized."
...
Three miles outside the city.
King Konrad stood near his command tent, watching as teams of Ironstorm Jaegers combed the battlefield.
They were collecting every single spent brass cartridge, every dropped Swabian rifle, and every piece of shrapnel they could find.
Bartholomew, Konrad’s chief financial advisor, approached with a ledger tucked under his arm.
He adjusted his spectacles, pointing toward the silhouette of Vienna in the distance.
"Your Majesty," Bartholomew announced, a rare smile crossing his face. "The watchmen report a white flag flying over the cathedral."