Without time, Marc dropped to his knees, as something knocked the hat off and ruffled his hair… I might’ve gotten a shave had it been any closer!

He swung his blade, but was too late. Even though all that chaos, there came screaming from behind. With a practised pose, he blocked the attack using his sabre, but the impact would leave a red welt running down his back. 

Marc rolled out of the way for a second attack, and quickly found his footing. There was a distorted smile upon that face red with anger… not to mention those dead eyes.

By his count, Marc saw Barón not once but thrice, each with all three incantations charging him with a sword drawn.

Such an impact would have taken the wind out of anyone, but his fury served to fuel Barón’s miraculous recovery. Marc’s arm was sore from the impact of his blade with the horse, and there was a visible gouge in the steel, but he was otherwise fine. I’m still more than a match for him. 

They stared each other down, circling as they approached. Before Marc could engage, another wave of horsemen burst through the smoke. The second officer was headed right for him, whereas another was going straight for Cornay. 

Marc took aim and fired his last round. The crack caused his Adjutant to turn back just as the horse dropped and slid along the ground. The horse was dead, inches away from the Adjudant.

Without time, Marc dropped to his knees, as something knocked the hat off and ruffled his hair… I might’ve gotten a shave had it been any closer!

Several had done the same, although Brébeuf lost his head in the exchange for downing a horse. They were down to eight men holding the line. 

Marc regained his footing, taking in a measure of where he was. Smoke saturated the air, it was so thick that he could barely see beyond fifty paces. He was surrounded by the sound of galloping horses, but their numbers were lost in the chaos. 

After the initial encounter, the cavalry had been cut in half, pushing left and right of his men over the crest. The heavy smoke played in their favour, sending several riders and horses hurtling into Frisian horses, followed by a ditch reinforced with wooden spikes.

It took everything he had to maintain composure as horse and rider were impaled. The sickening sounds  even caused his stomach to do somersaults. He swallowed down the bile, just as El Comandante got back on his feet.

Two…

He adjusted his position until the sabre protruded out his side while using his opposing arm to brace his blade. Every man had a patch of rawhide sewn into their uniforms in that spot to make this possible.

One…

It was too late for them to change their minds. As the rider swung down to land a blow, Marc bowed, lowering his head. The end effect was as surprising for the soldiers as it was for the riders, because neither side knew how this tactic would play out.

When the horse’s legs came in contact with the curved blade, it sliced through fir, skin, muscle, and sinew until it struck bone. While any sword could deal the damage, the curved blade did not embed itself in the bone.

The horse dropped, sending El Comandante over top. Still holding the reins, the man landed back first on the muddy soil. All told, Marc managed to dismount two cavalry officers in a matter of seconds.

Seven…

The shot left a puff of smoke in the projectile’s wake. His shot struck the horse dead in the chest… Still about an inch too high…

Six…

He spun the barrel to line up a fresh shot and holstered the pistol.

Five…

With the horses nearly upon them, Marc stopped cold with knees bent. 

Four…

He launched himself sideways to get out of the way of the horse and rider.

Three…

Marc dropped to his knees.

Two…

He adjusted his position until the sabre protruded out his side while using his opposing arm to brace his blade. Every man had a patch of rawhide sewn into their uniforms in that spot to make this possible.

El Comandante must have realised was holding the line. Barón buried his spurs into the horse’s side, the animal bolted towards them with his first and second just behind. As Marc hoped, the offers leading this charge were focused on him, while ignoring his men…

Ten…

When Marc yelled and ran into the fray, so did his men. The bizarre sight of infantry charging cavalry was a sight to be seen. Two riders even slowed down, unsure of what was going on, by then, el Comandante was beyond reason. 

Nine…

Marc pulled out his double-barreled pistol. 

Eight…

He took aim at that snotty third officer’s horse and fired.

When he took a knee, so did they, and lit their fuses without being promoted. Marc saw the fog exhaled by the horses. After holding his charge for a second, he threw the mortar and drew his sabre. 

One man, who he knew as Thiron, turned into a pink mist. Marc clenched his jaw, forcing himself to look ahead… We’ll mourn him and the others after this battle is done!

Two mortar rounds buried themselves into the ground twenty-paces ahead of the Spanish infantry. Several were cut down in the ensuing blasts, bathing the grass in blood. Whereas their throws caused several horsemen to be greeted by a face full of shrapnel. At worst the Spanish forces were below half their strength. That  bastard still hasn’t been knocked off his mount!

They lobbed another ten iron balls down the hill. While not intentional, their detonation coincided with that of the mortars. The impact at this range sent a shockwave washing over him, and earth to tremble below his feet.

There were another two rounds at his feet, but they were out of time. He picked up both, judged the distances and dropped the one with the longest fuse. There were risks, but they would not win without putting his life on the line.

The thunderous sound of horses at full gallop reminded him of heavy hail hitting a stone wall. He knew his men, and they trusted him, so every single one stood fast as the enemy barreled down on them.

Without waiting for the blast, he grabbed another mortar with a shorter fuse. By the time he gripped it in his hands, two blasts registered. Fuses were notoriously inaccurate, but his men might have picked up the wrong one by mistake.

Five seconds later the rest blew, creating off a wall of shrapnel that caught horses in their blast. I can hear horses and men screaming in agony.

The barrage of lobbed mortar rounds served as a signal to resume the heavy mortar strikes. This time both launchers were fired in near synchronicity. The risk was high for his men, if they failed to dampen the barrel well enough, the powder could ignite as they loaded the weapon. If that happens, so be it… They’ll hold their head up high when they meet Saint Peter.