“Not—”
His answer was drowned out by a wave of sound. Two waves, actually, coming so close on top of each other that they smote the ears like a single thunderclap. The first, the Vanbert battle cry—the real cry, the full-throated one which announced an assault, not a javelin volley—followed instantly by the first full volley of the Reedbottom gunners sheltered inside their wagons.
Helga stared. Shocked into silence, first, by the overwhelming power of the charge itself. Ten thousand men smashing down on their enemy like a sudden tidal bore. Then, by the fact that the wave . . .
Broke. Was shattered, in fact. Hammered down, before the wave could even crest.
Another roar—all gunfire, that. The only sounds coming from the Confederate infantrymen were screams and shouts of confusion.
Another roar of gunfire. Three volleys fired in quick succession, from the three guns each crew at the porthole had ready.
From here, Helga knew, the rapidity with which the Reedbottoms could fire their volleys would decrease. Slowly, at first, as guns were exchanged for others already loaded. Then, much more rapidly, as the already-fired guns had to be cleaned and reloaded.
But she thought it would be enough. Those first three volleys had almost ruined two full brigades. Confederate tactics and armor, so effective against all previous opponents, were almost the worst imaginable under these conditions. At point-blank range, there was almost no way any of those heavy bullets could miss. They’d hit a man in the next rank, or the next, even if they missed the first.
Next to her, Jessep was almost snarling. “One of ten, I’ll bet, or close to it. In the first clash, less than a minute. By the gods, that’s ruinous. If Tomsien doesn’t—”
“He won’t,” said the voice confidently. “No way he could, really. He doesn’t have time to react himself. He probably can’t even see what’s happening.”
Adrian’s finger pointed. “See? The second rank’s already piling forward. Having to climb over the casualties of the first, which slows them down even more. They’re just as confused as Tomsien. Reacting by training and ingrained habit.”
Another volley. Helga could see hundreds more infantrymen being hammered aside or down. Another volley. Hundreds more. Another volley. The same. The third rank of the two front brigades was now having to clamber over the corpses of their comrades. Beginning just a few yards in front of the wagons, it seemed as if the Confederates were piling up an earthwork made of their own broken and bleeding bodies.
Not even a Confederate army could sustain a frontal assault in the face of such casualties. So, beginning with the file closers and first spears, they reacted by training and instinct again. The Confederate battle formation was designed to outflank and envelop an enemy as much as overwhelm it.
No way here, of course, to use the celebrated “wedge” and “saw.” The first being triangular formations designed to split apart a phalanx or barbarian mob; the second being a corresponding inverted triangle to trap them—both, together, designed to maximize the advantages of the short stabbing assegai against unwieldy long swords and pikes. The Confederate brigade formation was far more flexible than any phalanx, and could always outflank an enemy.
Sure enough. The second block of two brigades was not even trying to follow over the first. Each brigade was breaking, one to the right and one to the left, moving as quickly as such large bodies of men could move in formation. They would start hammering the laager elsewhere.
Which would—
Helga almost gasped.
“That’s what I was about to say,” continued the voice. “Tomsien won’t be able to stop the flanking maneuver. It’s too automatic, too traditional, too ingrained. Even if he was as smart as Helga’s father, I doubt he could stop it. Tomsien probably won’t even think to try until his next two brigades have been shredded.”
For a moment, something like Adrian’s own smile came to his face. And the next words were almost spoken in his own voice. “I could have told them, y’know? Any graduate of the Grove could. Mystic Form, and all that. How do you outflank a circle?”
“Damn me, lad, but you’re right.”