Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,110
They would fold back behind the third and fourth ranks, reloading as their counterparts fired. Each salvo would see them advance another ten meters until their lines were so close it was time for axe work.
The haze began to lift, dissipating the further they marched into the killing grounds. It was then the full extent of how destructive the cannons had been was realized. Body parts littered the cleared area leading up to the Goblin trenches. Hands gripped weapons. Heads lay, faces twisted in agony from being ripped away. An occasional torso formed a fleshy lump in the Dwarves’ path. The smell of viscera and blood was sickening. More than one Dwarf forgot himself and vomited.
Brug ignored the destruction. His gaze was locked on the milling heads poking over the battlements before him. Huge gouges were torn through the trenches. More bodies lay strewn over the tops. Fires burned in the tents and hastily constructed buildings behind the lines. Black smoke clung in thick clouds. The Goblins had paid dearly for being in Delranan but it wasn’t enough. Whole companies were seen hurrying back and forth to reinforce the lines at their most vulnerable points. Brug spied ranks of crossbowmen waiting, their foul quarrels loaded and ready to slay Dwarves. Armor piercing, the arrows could kill even the best of Brug’s forces.
However cunning the Goblins may be, they were no match for the raw power of the Drimmen Delf Dwarves. Brug gestured to the trumpeter again when the front ranks were within one hundred meters of the trenches. Overzealous Goblins leapt up, brandishing tulwars and swords. They shouted curses in their foul tongue, taunting the Dwarves. A lone flag waved proudly in the breeze. Dark blue, it bore a pair of crossed swords. The Dwarf line ground to a halt. Their boots stamped heavily.
Crossbowmen rose up, taking aim despite being out of range. Brug snarled with delight as his enemies foolishly abandoned the cover of the trenches.
Turning to his adjutant, the general said, “You would think after the pounding our cannons just delivered they’d be wiser.”
The adjutant grinned back. “Goblins ain’t never been wise, sir.”
“Indeed. You may fire at will.”
Saluting, the adjutant turned to his musketeers. “Front rank kneel! Second rank aim!”
Muskets rose. Dwarves squinted down the barrels as they zeroed in on their targets. For a moment everything paused, as if the world had stopped moving. The order to fire changed that. Bodies fell as a cloud of pale grey smoke filled the space between lines. The thunder of so many muskets being fired was deafening, though nowhere near as loud as the cannons had been. What had begun as foolish pride turned to panic. Those Goblins who survived the first volley scrambled back for cover. It was already too late. The second firing order smoothly filed forward to take position and fired. More grey bodies dropped in splatters of blood and gore.
Brug continued his attack until his front rank was no more than ten meters from the Goblin trenches. Scores of wounded tried crawling to safety. Brug ignored them and continued firing on those still battle capable. The sheer amount of dead and wounded rendered the trench units ineffective but reinforcements poured in. Several were cut down well before reaching the safety of the trenches. Dangerously low on ammunition, Brug decided it was time to let their allies into the fight.
“Trumpeter! Now!” he bellowed.
A series of three long blasts washed across the battlefield. The Dwarves parted ranks, catching the Goblins off guard. Confused, they stared curiously as a dark brown cloud emerged from the acrid haze. The ground began to tremble. Dwarves reloaded and prepared to fire without their enemy realizing. All eyes were fixed on the mass of warriors barreling towards the trenches. Brug waited until he guessed the Minotaurs were almost directly behind his musketeers and ordered a final volley. Goblins were harvested like wheat.
Krek bellowed and dashed past the already reloading Dwarves. His army followed at his heels. They leapt into the trenches with savage fury, hacking and crushing all who stood in the way. Krek reveled in the task, knowing it was revenge for old wrongs. A pair of large Goblins rose up in front of him. Each brandished heavy war bars. Krek raised his own, a favorite weapon since his time as a young bull.
The Minotaur king attacked the Goblin on his right, almost ignoring the other as he brought his weapon down with both hands. The Goblin tried unsuccessfully to duck away