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!
Disclaimer: This excerpt from Man of War is currently in development. There may be typos, errors, omissions, inconsistencies and so forth.
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