Jason’s men crouched or sat silently as they listened to the occasional clang of metal on metal and the dull plodding of approaching feet on the dirt track. The gunners’ assistants were careful to shield the glow of their slow-burning match cords from the view of the road. Men loaded powder and balls into their barrels and filled their flash-pans, readying match cord to set them off.

The 40 deadly gun teams in the forest waited for their quarry to approach with bated breath. Other townsfolk who were playing the part of spearmen were hidden a few paces behind the gunners, positioned in as tight a formation as possible while remaining invisible from the front. Twelve more men - the Doughboys - were placed on the leftmost portion of the town’s army, closest to the enemy. Since they were the group most trained in their weapons, Tyler wanted them to be able to flank the enemy and fight close-in if needed.

Five soldiers walked around the bend in the road and came into view, chatting and grumbling back and forth. Jason watched with bated breath as they passed the leading edge of the ambushers. They must not expect any resistance if they’re so relaxed. But where’s the remainder of the force?

“This can’t be everyone, right?” Jason asked Tyler in as low a tone as he could muster. “Where are the rest of them?”

Tyler raised his eyebrows and pointed his chin. Coming into view were clusters of men and horses, followed by a few wagons at the rear. “They must have decided to send those five as a screening force ahead of the main body, there,” he quietly replied. “But it’s the sloppiest show of it that I could imagine. The five men don’t have the horses they need for extra mobility, and they’re not paying attention. That’s good for us, though.”

Jason nodded. “So, we wait for the rest to get into our kill zone and then launch the attack.”

“Yes,” Tyler continued. “Ignore the screening element. Though I wish we had more men who knew how to fight to guard this flank in case the invaders come back and try to make trouble.”

Nothing we can do about that now, Jason thought.

Five minutes later of anxious waiting, he decided it was time. They’re just about where we need them to be. The sloppy column traveling down the road was entirely flanked by the stationary townsfolk when Jason tapped Tyler on the shoulder and gave him a short, decisive nod.

“Ready!” Tyler broke the forest’s silence with his booming baritone voice, and the gunners stepped out from their hiding places to aim.

Most of the enemy column didn’t react beyond looking towards the source of the noise, though the veteran soldiers scattered throughout the line immediately drew their weapons and started shouting, “Enemy!”

Those less prepared didn’t get a chance to understand what was happening before Tyler yelled “Fire” and 40 gunners’ assistants went into motion. Rolling thunder covered the meadow, and Jason could hear screams of terror and pain. Smoke added to the cover of the forest but made clear the location of the attack. In the distance, almost two dozen men clutched at bleeding appendages.

We’re screaming too, Jason noted with anguish. One of the gun teams was heavily injured when their barrel exploded, not ten yards from their Lord. He didn’t have the time to check and see if they would survive, so he tore his eyes away and looked to the enemy as his teams started their slow reloading process.

---

What insanity do we face? The enemy commander thought as he tried to regain control of his troops. His left arm bled profusely and he pressed his other hand to the wound as he regained his feet. The leader’s horse wasn’t the only one that had thrown its rider, and disarray was everywhere he could see. Rally. Assess. Attack or Retreat. The mantra that was drilled into his head over many years gave him a path forward.

“To me, men! To me!” he shouted. “Form up! Weapons out!” The veteran’s eyes scanned the surrounding forest and he frowned at how much movement was visible in the gloom. So wide a line. Must mean hundreds of men. From Brighton? He thought furiously.

They haven’t charged yet. Why?

---

Time is our friend, Jason told himself as the muskets became ready one by one. Please, please give it to us.

“Ready. Fire!” Tyler roared again when the time was right.

---

The invaders found a semblance of order and were in formation, weapons drawn, waiting for instructions. Their small contingent of archers quickly began sending arrows into the trees. The commander did not know if they were having any effect but applauded their effort. Still no charge. We’re formed up, but will we rush into a trap? Why are they waiting?

“Charge!” he commanded and his line started forward with determined visages, armor clanking, moving faster with each step. He took his own step forward, gritting with pain, the blood from his wound seeping through his fingers.

He could hear a man yell “Ready!” to the front. Then the white puffs of smoke appeared and the nightmare started all over again.

---

Jason saw the enemy line close the distance. We’re too slow. Come on! He mentally shouted.

Then Tyler yelled, and the cacophony of war returned in an instant. The musket balls shot out into the advancing ranks, and another scattering of men fell to the ground. Their pained shouts caused the rest of the men to falter and look around. Jason could practically see the indecision written on their faces. Almost a third of their ranks were wounded or missing from the charge.

To the far left of the town’s line, where the forest was closest to the road, Jason could hear the sound of clashing weapons. Hold the line.

The muskets were nowhere near ready, Jason could see. But the momentum of the enemy’s charge had slowed to a crawl. We’re not going to reload in time.

“Spearmen,” Jason yelled at Tyler.

“Switch!” Tyler boomed.

The townsfolk equipped with spears moved forward to receive the charge and stand with the gunners who still weren’t ready.

Would it work? Jason thought. “Yell ‘ready’ now,” Jason told Tyler urgently.

To his credit, the man didn’t question the order and did so in his thunderous voice.

And then, one cluster of men near the center of the charge slowed, stopped, and started backtracking.

“Fire at will!” Tyler yelled, though Jason knew it would have little effect. Several loud reports rang out. Those men are getting a medal, he thought with surprise. The lord turned his eyes forward to see the result.

The indecision of the attackers grew with each new gunshot that rang out as the loading process finished. Jason saw a man with a red sleeve yelling behind their lines, trying to urge them forward, but it was no use. The slowed charge turned into a full-on retreat, no man wanting to be the lone target of the deadly smoke that they didn’t understand.

Clusters of men and individuals moved back to the road and hugged the side nearest the river, hoping to stay out of range. Disorganized, most didn’t wait for leadership and continued running in the direction they had come from.

Three clumps of men and one lone individual discovered a small tin cup clunk down on the ground by their feet. A man in the largest group picked it up to get a closer look at the sparks.

Boom! Boom! Boom Boom!

Jason saw what had been a slow, disorganized retreat turn into a madhouse of sprinting men, not knowing which side of the path to avoid. He couldn’t hear any clashing weapons from the left of the line. I hope they held, or at least survived.

His men looked at each other, and soon the cheering began.

Reports trickled in from the rest of the line, and Tyler left the forest at the far end with a group of men and started rounding up the wounded enemy. The only casualties we have were from a burst barrel, thank goodness. Though I feel like I should feel guilty. We didn’t test all the barrels. But most of the men only had enough black powder to shoot four times, and we got dangerously close to running out. Good thing the enemy didn’t know that.

Jason took a group of spearmen and started walking the battlefield himself. Most of the rest of the line decided to do the same, without orders. A group of men began walking back down the road to retrieve the horses and wagons.

Jason’s stomach wasn’t fully prepared for the sights that greeted his eyes. Of the dozens of men strewn around the battlefield, about half were dead or dying. The other half tried to stem their flow of blood or apply crude bandages.

“Help them,” Jason told the men around him. They looked at each other in confusion.

“My lord,” a man spoke up, “these are the enemy.”

Jason crouched down near a man who was trying to bandage his leg. He started to help the injured soldier and received a pained look and a “thank you” in return.

Jason looked up at the rest of the men. “Would you rather live in a world where you are left on the battlefield to die or one where you’re patched up and live to see your family again? He’s not going to be fighting in this war again,” he gestured at the man’s bloody leg.

The men seemed unconvinced.

“Well, I want to live in the latter world,” he barked. “So go help them. That’s an order.” They spread out and found other wounded, some of the conscripted medics more enthusiastic than others.

Jason wiped the sweat from his forehead again as Tyler approached. “Congratulations, my lord,” the man said. “A complete victory. One of ours died, sadly, and three were wounded. That’s compared to twenty-nine of theirs remaining on the battlefield.”

He paused. “My lord, is that your blood?”

Jason looked at the hand that had wiped his forehead and saw with detached concern that it was glistening red.