Chapter 337: Surprise Attack Part 2: Sudden Retreat

August saw the Ammary troops pull back and clicked his tongue. Shaking his head, he wondered what to do. Make them think it wasn’t his plan and charge in, or hold the line and think of something new. August stayed silent, not giving the command. Charging the false retreat may make his enemy underestimate him going forward, but the Ammary troops were skilled enough to wipe out his forces with one wrong move.

Watching, he looked around. From the side, he saw the heavy cavalry charging at the Ammary lines, men already waiting with extended spears. The eruption as the two clashed was deafening, and August watched as the majority of the horses cleaved their way into the enemy’s lines, trampling over anyone who dared to be in their way. A couple of riders fell, as a sea of spears and swords stabbed down, trying to bring them down.

"MEN!" August shouted as loud as he could, "HOLD FIRM!" August looked around, wondering what to do. The Ammary line had faltered slightly from the flanking attack, but they were prepared and allocated enough for it. There was only one thing he could do: stand his ground. He had already tried to trick his enemy and was seen through.

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William looked up at the Commonwealth line and smiled, glad he was right. Looking at the cavalry attacking his men’s flanks, he clicked his tongue but ignored it. There was nothing he could do about it now; he had already prepared as best he could. Now all he could do was trust, as Marcus said, hope they had enough numbers to offset the damage. Taking one more glance at it, he sighed in relief. Despite how it looked, he could tell his men weren’t completely outclassed.

Blowing on his whistle in a certain pattern, he waited for a response that came a few seconds later. Moving back over to where he started, William stood one row away from returning to battle. Counting down the seconds, he finally blew and moved forward. His men attacked fiercely. It was overwhelming for the Commonwealth forces. While they had leadership and a form of structure, they were nothing compared to the well-oiled machine of the Empire. Every man had a purpose in the battle. To stray from that was to betray his teaching and way of life.

William was just as much a part of that machine as the lowest-ranking soldier. The only difference was that he had to worry about everything, whereas his men only had to worry about their lives. Looking around, his eyes focused on the Templars. They were the biggest threat, his only real enemy. They were strong, and their leader was renowned for a reason.

When focusing closely, he could see Michael in the distance. The golden hilt on his sword made it look like his blade was flaming every time he swung. Even when wearing a helmet, William could tell that under it, he still had the same calm eyes that looked at the world without hate.

Opposite Michael, he saw Marcus. His face was stoic, radiating an unshakable will, stopping Michael from getting the upper hand. Each swing the two men made was perfectly calculated to block the other’s man. Their eyes scanned the battle surrounding them, and each rattled off commands and dictated the flow of war without being distracted from the person before them. One wrong move and it meant death. It was mesmerising and William had to force himself to look away and focus on the bigger picture.

Blowing the whistle, he clenched his spear tightly. Moving forward, he didn’t hesitate and struck out, impaling a man through the head. Pulling it out of the shield wall closed, defending against the enemy’s counterattack. It opened, therefore, more and the Ammary troops attacked at once, before closing up again like a turtle.

William watched what was happening in front of him with one eye, attacking when needed. His other looked around. The left was fine. The cavalry charge was dangerous but manageable. Marcus held the right, with each side breaking only when Michael or Marcus fell.

Refocusing on the situation in front, William looked at it analytically. It wasn’t a weak defence, but it could hardly be called unbreakable. It just needed constant pressure. "MEN! PREPARE TO PUSH!" William gave the order, and each man carried it down the line. Everyone quickly resuffled as best as they could, and once he was happy, William counted three seconds in his head.

Blowing the whistle, a loud shout came from each soldier as they rushed against the Commonwealth forces before stabbing out. The wall closed up once they pulled their swords back, and William blew again, his men pushing again. The sudden change in intensity behind the attack made the Commonwealth forces panic. They quickly tried reorganising to deal with the new attack, but struggled due to the constant pressure.

August looked over to the middle line and clicked his tongue. He didn’t expect such a sudden, heavy attack. "SUPP..." He stopped himself from giving the order. Sending support there meant weakening his own line. His mind spun, but he came to one conclusion looking at everything. It was unwinnable.

Things would have been different if they hadn’t been caught off guard; his men would have had time to prepare themselves, but they didn’t get the luxury. August tapped his thigh, trying to think of a way. Anything to salvage the situation. It wasn’t a battle he could risk losing, but it felt like he didn’t have a choice.

Looking over at the Templars, he wondered what they were doing. Were they helping or had Michael abandoned them aswell? It didn’t seem like something the church would do, but as August had been clearly told, they were fighting two different wars. They weren’t allies, just people with the same enemy.

August sighed and reached for his waist. The situation was unfavourable, and in a situation where every man counted, it was better to lose some ground but save his army. Grabbing the small horn tied to his waist, he blew hard. Each soldier heard it and knew what it meant. Before they were caught off guard without any real leadership, but once a clear instruction reached the men, they tightened their formations and slowly retreated. William watched and smiled. He didn’t need to decimate his enemy here, only force them away. He needed a foothold off the island. Only then could he send support to Alfred.

Only Michael was annoyed by hearing the call for retreat. He could tell the Commonwealth forces were losing, but his Templars were not. They held firm. Looking at the man opposite him, he swung his sword and knocked Marcus’s away. ’Where does he get this energy?’It was like fighting a mythical beast that didn’t tire. Michael was impressed but knew he couldn’t continue. If he stayed, it was only a matter of time before he and his Templars were surrounded.

"FALL BACK!" Michael shouted and took a step back. Marcus watched with a smug smile, but inside he was amazed. Michael was old. Yet even at his age, he not only kept up with him, but each attack was powerful. He expected him to be skilled, but it was as if he were fighting a man his age. Marcus shuddered at the thought of what Michael must have been like in his prime. As an old man, he must have been one of the best on the continent. When he was young, he surely had to have been the best.

MArcus took a step forward, unrelenting in his attacks. He put more weight behind each attack, trying to find Michael’s limit. Even if he burnt himself dry, it didn’t matter. He needed to know the pinnacle. He had only grazed it; he wanted to force everything out of the man.

Michael could feel it. Each attack was heavier. He could tell Marcus had begun to ignore everything around him to focus on the fight. Michael did the same, only giving room to think about his retreat. If he didn’t, he would die. He was sure of it. The ball smashed against one another as they predicted each other’s next move.

They watched each other’s eyes, legs, arms, breathing, and how they blinked. Nothing was left to chance. To those around, it was a work of art, as if two performers came together to create the perfect fight sequence. Neither made a single mistake, throwing everything they had in trying to land the first blow.

Marics felt himself getting tired whilst Michael could feel his arms getting numb. They burnt themselves. With each clash of their swords, they could both feel the other weakening. Each time they told themselves the next attack would be it, the other stopped it each time.

There was a ferocity in both their swords, but everyone could see a noticeable difference. Marcus had a sword full of ferocity and animalistic instinct, whereas each of Michael’s moves was gracefully covering up a cold, calculating weapon of death. Each wondered who the first to give up would be, and it was Marcus. His body had already been injured before, and pushing it like this, it screamed at him to rest. Screamed he would die if he kept going.

Putting all his power into his next attack, he forced Michael to block before taking a step back. His men stopped to cover their commander and watched the Church slowly back up. A row of bodies lay around them all, from both the Empire and the church. Marcus let his sword drop from his fingers and breathed heavily. Watching Michael retreat, he smiled and took his helmet off, finally letting himself breathe.

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"Why did you call for a retreat?" Michael sat opposite August, looking at him with cold eyes.

"Why did you follow?" August smirked and took a drink from the wine in his cup. "You know why I called it. It was a losing battle."

"Maybe, but I could have killed A commander if you waited." Michael looked down at the sword lying across his legs. Stroking the blade, even after the battle, he put it through it, and it still looked brand new. There was a reason it was an heirloom of the church and why only the best of Templars could wield it.

"It’s not over. He will split his army now. One will head for the Emperor, and another will hold us off. That will be the chance." August finished the glass of wine he had. Dropping it on the ground, he went over to his carriage that stuck out amongst sleeping bags littered across the floor and went to sleep.’Even when running, he lives in luxury.’Michael didn’t know whether to be impressed or not.Closing his eyes, he didn’t move and quickly fell asleep.