Rise of the Horde

487  Chapter 487

The air hung thick with the smell of burning rubber and scorched earth. Acrid smoke stung the eyes, blurring the already chaotic scene. Lieutenant Faris, his face streaked with grime and sweat, watched as another tent collapsed in a fiery heap, consumed by the rolling fiery balls.

The orcs, situated on higher ground, overlooking their position, were rolling down a gruesome wave after wave upon the Threian artillery position. Not just fireballs – grotesque, burning spheres of pitch black unknown substance, but also boulders, launched with brutal accuracy, each a potential killer.

"Lieutenant, we're losing men!" Sergeant Verden, his voice hoarse, shouted over from the rear. He gestured to a group of Threian infantrymen, scrambling to put out a fire that had ignited their supply cart. One lay still amidst the flames, a horrifying testament to the orcish attack.

"I see that, Sergeant," Faris yelled back, his voice strained. He wiped his sweaty hands on his already bloodstained tunic. The ground trembled under the impact of another boulder.

The Threian artillery position, once a well-organized encampment, was now a scene of utter devastation. Tents were aflame, wagons overturned, and the earth churned up by the relentless barrage of rocks and fire.

The once-properly positioned cannons were scattered, two blown to bits and beyond repair, one still functional but it's operators were too frightened to continue using it as they have witnessed what happened to the other two crews that were blown to pieces along with the weapon.

Among the chaos, the Threian Marksmen – a grim-faced bunch – reloaded their "boomsticks," the crude but effective muskets crafted by the dwarves. Their faces were grim, etched with the knowledge that every shot was a gamble, a roll of the dice against a foe who held the high ground and the advantage of a relentless bombardment.

Each shot produced a small cloud of smoke that quickly got lost in the bigger one caused by the inferno, making their impact insignificant. Each booming discharge of the musket brought a brief moment of hope, swiftly replaced by anxiety as they witnessed comrades hit by falling rocks.

One marksman, a young man named Kero, nervously reloaded his musket. He'd already seen two of his comrades fall, their bodies a horrifying spectacle of pulverized flesh and bone under the relentless barrage.

Fear, cold and stark, gnawed at his insides. He took a deep breath, the stench of burning flesh filling his lungs, and peered through the smoke, his hand shaking as he aimed.

"Fall back!" Faris's voice cut through the roar of the fire and the crashes of falling rocks. "Abandon the position! We're at a disadvantage here!"

The order, though expected, was like a stab in the heart for the men. To abandon their position, to leave their wounded comrades to the mercy of the orcs… it felt like a defeat. But they knew they had no choice. The assault was too intense. Staying was suicide.

"Sergeant, take point," Faris commanded. "Form up a rearguard. Cover the retreat."

Verden nodded grimly, signaling to his squad, and his men began a slow, agonizing withdrawal amidst the chaos, dragging wounded men away from the inferno. The orcs' high-ground advantage was absolute; their rocks and fireballs continued to pound the Threian retreat. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Damn these Orcs!" Kero cursed, cradling his musket as they struggled to climb the treacherous, rocky incline towards the orcish position. The terrain was harsh, treacherous, and offered little cover. Another man near him screamed as a rock shattered his leg.

"Keep moving, damn it!" Verden barked. He had to stay focused, he had his men to look after, the wounded, the disoriented. A heavy rock hit near them, making them all fall to their knees, but they kept moving. He could hear the other Threian Infantrymen moaning and groaning.

"These damn orcs," a voice muttered from behind Verden. He recognized the voice of Kero. "They must pay for this. This bloody massacre."

The retreat was a slow, agonizing death march. The orcs continued their assault, their accuracy terrifying. The screams of the dying mingled with the crackle of flames and the thunder of rolling rocks.

"Lieutenant, we can't hold them off much longer," Verden shouted, his voice filled with desperation. "We need to take cover and regroup."

Faris watched as his men fell, one by one, under the merciless waves of rocks and fireballs. The stench of burning flesh and sulfur was overwhelming, thick enough to choke him. He felt a surge of bitter despair. This was a defeat, a massacre.

11:25

"We will regroup and we will get our revenge," he shouted above the chaos and began to retreat with his men. "We will return, stronger, and make them pay for this!" His voice, though resolute, betrayed the exhaustion and pain that consumed him. He knew that the fight was far from over, that the orcs' victory was far from guaranteed, but the cost of this battle… it would haunt him for a long time.

Up high on higher ground, Maghazz's gaze followed after the retreating pinkskins. He was certain that they were already too demoralized to fight back properly.

"Do we give chase, Chieftain?"

He turned towards Khao'khen who was still staring intently at the burning Threin camp down below. The smoke was already thick enough to obscure their vision and the stench of burning rubber was too heavy that some of the orcs felt nauseous.

"Chief?" Maghazz questioned the chieftain who seemed to have his gaze focused on something on the abandoned burning camp.

"Stop the attacks! Let's go down and put out the fire!" Khao'khen suddenly ordered as he swiftly sprinted down from where they were positioned.

Maghazz was confused by the chieftain's order but he and the Verakhs obliged nonetheless.

As they chased after their chieftain, two squads separated from the rest of the group and went after the retreating Threians to verify whether they have truly abandoned their camp or not. It was better for them to be certain rather than be taken surprise if those pinkskins suddenly decides to return and fight back.

Khao'khen quickly jumped over the burning wooden walls and entered the smoke filled blazing camp. He covered his nose with one of his hands and headed directly towards what he was aiming for.

Near one of the burning tents, the long black tube of metal shined as it reflect back the roaring flames around it. That what he was after, and the pile of small sacks placed just behind it.

One of those giant cannons was still intact and its ammunition was still around. This is an unexpected gift from the Threians and he was not going to pass up upon it.

He also spotted some scattered muskets or refereed to as "boomsticks" by his warriors, their wielders already dead or dying, burnt or crash under the weight of the rocks that they rolled down.

"What are we here for, Chieftain?" Maghazz asked in confusion as he stood beside Khao'khen.

"The flames are too intense to be put out quickly," one of the Verakhs came to report. Around them were the other Verakhs trying to control and put out the fire but it was futile. The piled up Bufas Fruits burned intensely and the flames fed on the tents and supplies around the camp.

"Have some of the warriors carry that thing!" Khao'khen shouted as he pointed at the giant black tube that was pointed towards the Tekarr Mountains. "Don't forget to bring those pile of sacks along and be careful in handling them, they could blow you to pieces if it catches fire," he added.

The Verakhs quickly acted upon the order given by the chieftain and six Verakhs quickly carried the surviving "Thunder Maker" on their shoulders and headed out of the blazing camp.

A few of them quickly grabbed multiple of the piled sacks and sprinted away from the fire, carefully weaving through the place as they carried with them the dangerous material which could blow them to bits.

"What about those metal balls, Chief?" Maghazz questioned as he pointed at the pile of cannonballs piled up beside the position where the "Thunder Maker" was at before.

"Let's bring some of them back," Khao'khen quickly made a decision and grabbed two of them and headed out of the burning camp.

The two squads of Verakhs that followed the path of retreat of the Threians shadowed them while they retreat.

Alarmed by seeing orcs tailing them, the Threians took aim and fired with their "boomsticks" at the pursuing orcs.

"Hide!" one of the Verakhs shouted to alarm his comrades after spotting those small barrels directed at them. As his voice fell, the weapons of the Threians thundered and the sound of something fast hitting the trees, ground and rocks around them, echoed upon the ears of the orcs.

"Damn! Those things are fast!" One of the Verakhs cursed as he covered the wound on his left shoulder.

"And it sure does sting a lot," another one of them said while covering his right arm which got hit.

"Anyone else got hit?" their leaders questioned.

"We are safe here!"

"Here too!"

The others confirmed that they were safe from the previous attack.

"I guess those two are the only unlucky ones!"

Chuckles echoed out as the Verakhs maintained their position.