22 Manufactured Morale (1/2)
Locked in a staring contest, again. Across the length of the battlefield, Corco looked over to his old foe, the Duke of Balit. Large as the bear he was named after, the duke stood in front of his command tent, unmoving, and stared up towards the top of the walls. This contest had been going on for days already. As the war between the forces raged on, with ever greater ferocity, the duke still wouldn't act. He would just stand there and stare. In the end, it was once again the prince who first lowered his sight. He took down the telescope and the appearance of the duke turned sufficiently tiny again, his looming presence reduced to a bothersome fly for now.
”What's going on over there?” Fadelio asked with worry.
”Nothing new. There was a bit of a commotion in their command tent a while ago, but it seems like Herak put his foot down and held them all in check. No cracks yet.”
”This can't go on. No matter how well we are holding for now, there will be a limit for the men, and it's not far off.” Worried, the warrior looked out, towards the foot of the walls. At the epicenter of carnage, the war had transformed the grassy ground into a hell of brown and red. Although all bodies would be removed in the short moments of ceasefire between attacks, there were still some overlooked limbs left here and there, strewn in between the broken weapons, shields and pieces of ladder. Uncomfortable, Corco looked up again, away from the signs of the massacre.
On the first day of battle, he had spat out everything his stomach could spare. The horrible sight of bloody murder hadn't even been the worst, even though the spurting blood, or desperate eyes of men falling to their doom below the walls had also left a deep mark in Corco's memories. No, worst had been the sounds and the smells. Swords of iron clanging into armor and breaking apart flesh with spurts and splatters, muffled by the screams of the slaughtered, as the air filled itself with the metallic smell of blood, ever-present. Still, he had to stay and endure. It was an embarrassment for the city, but no one else was any more qualified to lead the defense than Corco was. By now, the tenth day, he could stand up to the views of terror, but sound and smell were still too much for him. All that human life, wasted for the greed of a select few, only because they demanded dominion over free land for no good reason. The very idea made him feel even worse than the flying limbs of battle had.
”For now, we're holding well. The sandbags hold off the cannons and protect the gates. The barbed iron wires protect the sandbags from getting removed. Even when they accepted the huge losses and stormed past the barbs, we just had to throw more sandbags from the gateway arches and fill the space back up. Easy.” Corco reiterated their short-term strategy.
”I understand that the plan is good, but our men could still crack before we get it done. At first, we took them by surprise, but they've adapted well. When they came here first, they thought they had an easy job. Just fire the cannons a few times and storm the town for plunder. They didn't even bring other siege equipment. But now some time's passed and they've been getting at us with siege ladders. Their new protected rams are almost done as well, from the looks of things. We can't risk a sortie to destroy the rams, so we just sit there. That's way too passive, and bad for morale. What do we do?”
”We hold. It's the only choice we have,” Corco answered with a grim mien. ”They're not doing so hot either. I guarantee you that Herak didn't expect the war to last as long as it did and their morale must have suffered quite a bit. They're reeling too. By now, we just need to hold on, only a few days longer.”
”Still, it feels as if we're worse off in the deal. If anything more happens, I can see our people cracking first. I mean...” As his words trailed off, the warrior turned to look out into the city. Corco's eyes followed along, and once again saw the now familiar picture of the new Etra. There was still smoke rising from the east, but most of the fires had been extinguished by now. As Corco thought back to the previous night, his fists clenched to whiten his knuckles.
This sight was one reason Corco was so convinced that the Bornish troops were in trouble. After days of unsuccessful attacks, the duke had lost his cool as well, and had gone far beyond anything he could disguise as knightly honor. His loss of any pretense had led to the fiercest Bornish attack yet. The sight of flaming arrows sailing across the night sky had been beautiful at first, but soon the enchanting lights had returned back to earth and turned every single straw- and wood-covered house of Etra into a potential pyre.
Without remorse and without care for the lives trapped within the walls, the Bornish soldiers had followed their orders and turned Etra's eastern quarters into a blazing inferno. At least, Corco's pumps had finally come in useful. So far, his insurance business hadn't taken off, but now he was sure that the merchants of Etra would understand the value of a dedicated fire service. It was a small comfort to the prince, who could find no happiness in profits, not before all this suffering.
”Chief Commander Fastgrade!” Arms waving in panic, Brym rushed towards the walls from inside the city, over towards Corco. After the merchants' union had declared Corco as their chief commander, he had named his little brother as his adjutant, responsible for communication between the supply stations in the city's center and the troops on the walls. It would give the kid a reason to stay away from the front line, but at the same time keep him busy. Corco knew Brym far too well. If the brat had been asked to stay safe while they all risked their lives, he would have sneaked out by himself to do something stupid. For a smart kid, Brym was far too stupid far too often.
”What's wrong!?” Corco shouted back. At least there was a recent lull in combat as the Bornish got ready for their next attack. For now, they would be able to talk over a distance like this.
”There's trouble at the doctor's house! Some men are saying they won't fight anymore!” Brym screamed back. ”They say it's hopeless!”
Corco's jaws followed his fists' example and clenched as well. Fadelio's prediction had come true earlier than the prince had thought. This was bad.
”Fadelio, you take over command here. I'll be back as soon as I can.”
”Yes, boss. Good luck,” Corco heard from the back, before he disappeared down the stairs.
Soon, he found himself close to the city's center. In this place, far enough from the walls to escape the arrow fire, the merchant prince had bought an old stables and turned it into a field hospital over the past month. He entered the previously clean, disinfected room, only to be once again greeted by the metallic smell of blood and the sound of terrified, muffled screams. Even more so than the battlefield, this place was the worst the war had to offer. At least there were not too many men who had been injured so far. The crenelations had done their job and protected them from enemy arrows for the most part. However, as the duke's attacks had become more and more impatient, this space had been filled with human tragedy as well.