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This battle report is taken from my story-campaign-bat rep thread on Warhammer Empire. Having received cush a good response for my last bat rep (Ogres vs Slann) on Lustria-Online & what with the story alnmost gauranteed eventually to have some Lizardman based armies in it, I thought I'd risk posting it here for your perusal. At least the jungle terrain behind the shoreline will make you feel at home!
If you want to see the army lists, background story and scenario notes etc, please go to the original thread: http://www.warhammer-empire.com/theforum/index.php?topic=29909.0
First part of the Battle of the Dunes - A Fearful Day
Nigh upon twenty packed boats of various sizes made their way towards the shore, the smaller ones riding the choppy waters and almost tossing their occupants overboard as they got close. Only the Arabyan Swordsmen wore armour and they were in one of the larger boats, so none were in too much danger. Besides, considering what faced them, high waves were the least of their concerns.
As the force splashed and waded through the surf the umpteen handgunners amongst them tried to keep their pieces high above the water. Being salty sea dogs of some considerable experience all had of course waxed their pans for protection and several were carrying glass jars with coils of matchcord inside so that it too would remain dry. Once upon the dry sand, while the handgunners poked the wax out of their pans, broke open the jars and fiddled with flints and steels to light their matches, the captains and mates immediately began ordering everyone into fighting bodies ready to advance up and over the scattered dunes. Ahead was the rising ground where, just before the thick tangle of the jungle, rose the fortified hill upon which the ghastly undead had placed their ‘Queen Bess’. Unexpectedly, the huge cannon was still aimed at the river, and stayed so while the undead mustered their own companies on the slopes in a grisly parody of the Tabrizian pirates’ deployment.
It occurred to many of the living seamen that if the great gun hadn’t shifted position then it might not be used against them in this battle. Perhaps Galdabash was more keen to ensure no boats used the battle as a diversion so that they might attempt to slip by? Though it was another, less tactical thought that was in the forefront of many a Tabrizian’s mind - it was entirely possible that amongst the undead foe stood some of their old accomplices and crewmates. This sent a shudder through all those who thought it, followed by a second shudder when the wondered whether by nightfall they too might join the undead ranks.
The field of battle was horribly empty of any form of cover. Between the dunes and the foot of the hill there stretched an open space, flanked on the right by the river mouth. On the expansive lower slopes of the hill were two thin lines of sharpened stakes, with a dangerously inviting gap in the middle that must surely have been left so that some form of counterattack could be launched. Unless, perhaps, Galdabash’s unliving slaves had simply not yet had time to complete their defences?
As the main battle line arrayed itself, the Estalian Captain Bartolomeo del Portes led his skirmishing company of Duellists up on the far right flank, across the rough ground along the bank of the river mouth. He had it in mind to steal the glory and sneak up to the Queen Bess while the rest of the army entertained the foe with their deaths. To his left Claudio Sagrada, acting as Engineer, emplaced a brace of cannons upon a dune, so that he could lend skilled help to whichever one took his fancy. Below him, towards the centre of the Tabrizian line, was the reluctant Captain Wilfred Mostert and his crew, standing sullenly while Mostert tried to look as if he was in a fighting mood that day.
The real centre of the Tabrizian line was made up of the three companies of Handgunners, provided by each of the captains present, as well as the fleet’s admiral Captain Bartholomeus Pasterkamp and his crew and the Slayer Dwarfs of Thodrin Hookhand. All in all, it was a solid enough looking centre. Out to the left was a mortar, occupying the same dune as an Arabyan detachment of crossbowmen. Beyond them marched the Black-clad Arabyan swordsmen, and finally out on the very left, a single cannon (the crew of which were fervently praying that they would seem insignificant to the foe and thus not draw their attention).
Grand Admiral Galdabash himself was present at the hill-fort, having returned from the interior partly to ensure his river mouth defences were still intact and partly upon some dark business that only he knew. Now that the Tabrizian fleet had arrived he was glad he was present, so that he could command his forces to fight rather more intelligently than they otherwise would. His shattered mind, however, was still unstable, and he knew that there might (as ever) be extended periods of the fight in which he barely knew what was happening himself. Not that he cared, being so filled with rage and hatred that any other thoughts faded into insignificance.
While his mind was in balance, he acted quickly and ordered his force for battle. His Handgunners he emplaced in the stockade at the hill’s summit, there to provide something in the way of gunfire but more importantly to act as a last defence should anything get close to the stockade and Queen Bess. A little further down the slope he placed his two small cannons, or ‘carronades’, where they might fire over the heads of the rest of his force arrayed even lower downhill. Then came his battle line, including three massed bodies of regimented zombies behind the storm-poles, with two bloated corpses shambling in their rear. His three captains were amongst them, though a pair of them shared command of one of the regiments (one carrying the army battle standard) thus leaving the rightmost regiment of undead pirates without an officer of any kind. He himself stood to the left of the centre, leading his company of massive zombified Ogres; while out on the far left moved his large pack of Scurvy Dogs, ready to be unleashed upon his command to move at speed against the foe.
The crews of the two carronades stood like statues, what remnants were left of their minds being entirely empty. Only the firing of their pieces could snap them out of their catatonic state, for then they would reload just as they had done in life so many times, going through the sequence of motions with barely any need for thought.
In the massed ranks and file of Zombies, however, there was a species of thought. Each individual could hardly be said to have had much ‘on their mind’ but as a body somehow they became more than the sum of their parts, from which was born a brooding anger ready to spur them on to hack, slash and kill for their master.
Galdabash himself glanced to his left, and raised his huge curved blade in the air ready to signal his dogs. The two cannons paired upon the enemy’s right had caught his eye, and he now knew exactly what he wanted his dogs to do.
Claudio Sagrada, meanwhile, had no idea just how fast those dogs could run. If he had known he would surely not have stood there quite as pleased with himself, idly imagining that the two cannons he commanded were like a pair of monstrous pistols that he could wield as if he were a giant. He even had a smile on his face as he entertained himself with his musings! That smile was not going to last.
Captain Bart, admiral of the fleet and commander of the landing force, stood with his own crewmen. His first mate Lisbeth Boone, one of a number of very tough women amongst the fighting pirates of Tabriz, stood to one side of him pointing out which enemy regiment she reckoned was the strongest; while one of the ship’s younkers, the youngest of the foremast men, blew rather annoyingly upon a horn to the other side. The captain’s standard was carried by an old hand in the front rank, with ostrich feathers added to denote that his was the first company, the general’s regiment, for that was what he effectively was now that he had landed and led an army upon dry land.
Suddenly there was an eerie sound, a sort of growling or gurgling, that lolled across the field from the direction of the foe. It sent a chill down the spine of every living man arrayed there, a chill turned into a shiver by the sight of movement from the foe. Galdabash’s magically animated force of walking corpses had as one began their advance. The fastest of all the undead were the Scurvy Dogs who fair-leapt across the field in a very good mockery of living hounds. It was obvious they would reach Claudio Sagrada’s dune-top battery, and that only Wilfred Mostert’s company were close enough to attempt to get in their way. Mostert himself desperately glanced about to see if there was anything else he could do, or anyone who might be able to step in and do what was needed instead of him. When he saw that the hideous form of the vampire Lord Galdabash himself, leading his fearful undead Ogres was heading in his direction too, it suddenly did not seem such a bad thing that he and his men might have to fight the snarling dogs. They had to be an easier opponent than the towering monsters and a vampire infamous throughout the southern hemisphere.
Upon the hill, the three large bodies of zombies also moved forwards, shambling through the protective screen of sharpened stakes towards the cowering foe in the distance. Not one of them cared what bullets or balls might plough through their ranks, nor even if a grenado from the foe’s ‘murdering piece’ would tear them apart. Maybe when you cannot even recall your own name it is hard to care about what happens to you?
Although the zombie rank and file might not have been thinking about enemy’s shot, the firing of their own artillery pieces - the two carronades on the slope above the regiments of zombies - had a rather mixed effect. While one tore through Captain Thodrin’s Slayer Dwarfs to kill three of them in one moment, the other blew itself up. Apparently gun maintenance in Galdabash’s rotting army was not a priority. The gun in question scattered rusty shards of iron from its barrel for many yards around the smoking remains of its now smoking, worm eaten carriage.
Captain Mostert had no real choice, for he could not stand and watch while the cannons were destroyed – not when the battle in many ways depended on the effectiveness of those same cannons. With this in mind he and his men charged at the festering dogs, just managing to intercept them at the foot of the dune.
As Mostert reluctantly led the desperate charge, the rest of the army made its opening moves. On the far left flank the Arabyan Swordsmen marched around the stony ground before them, while in the centre Thodrin’s dwarfs took a more direct route towards the hill. Captain del Portes and his own men, experts in swordplay all, picked their way along the bank of the river slipping on the wet stones.
Four booming blasts burst over the battlefield as the pirates three light cannons (Note: as DoW or Dwarf cannons) and mortar opened fire. A dramatic moment indeed, ruined only by the fact that not one of them hit their targets – doing little more than scattering dirt up into the air. Sadly, the handgunners (aiming like the cannons at the hulking undead ogres) failed also to do any damage. The result was that Galdabash failed even to notice that the enemy had just targeted his unit. His attention, like the gunners’ aim, was elsewhere.
Mostert and his lads did not do so badly against the scurvy dogs, hacking enough of them down to weaken the very magic binding them together in undeath and so another two, otherwise untouched by sword or axe, succumbed to the forces of nature and became simply dead once more. Mostert even started to think perhaps this day would not be so bad after all. He was wrong, about as wrong as a man could get, because the very moment he began to enjoy the hack and slash, Galdabash decided he and his ogres would smash into Mostert’s flank.
Annoyingly for Galdabash, due to the sheer size of the monstrous zombies he was leading, he found himself stranded out beyond the combat. Still, he reckoned he would have plenty of opportunity to kill before the day was out. Out in the centre of the field his three regiments of Zombies seemed to share his enthusiasm to get to grips with the foe, and they raced downhill. (Game Note: we forgot in turn two that none of these zombies could march, as per the rules of undeath, but by turn three when we realised it was too late to go back. Ah well, honest mistake!)
Of course poor Mostert and his crew did not stand a chance against the vicious and powerful foes in their flank. As they began to fall in droves those still alive thought better of waiting their turn. Within moments the entire regiment, Mostert amongst them, turned and fled pell mell towards the river. This was an unfortunate choice of direction for they poured through Bartolomeo’s Duellists, who where so overwhelmed by the sense of panic that they joined them in flight. Galdabash himself, however, ran forwards in pursuit and suddenly encountered one of Claudio’s cannons. The Tilean and his gunners, watching the streaming flight of men at the bottom of the dune and then faced with the horrendous visage of the Vampire Lord bearing down upon them, also chose to take to their heels – along with Claudio! No-one knows why, but the second crew chose instead to stand and fight. Perhaps they saw the first of the Duellists and Mostert’s crew splashing into the waters of the tidal river mouth and decided they would rather perish to Galdabash’s blade than drown slowly?
Thus it was that the Tabrizian right flank was utterly destroyed and dispersed. The sight of it would surely be thought to make all the rest despair, but instead it made them desperate to achieve what they came here for before the Vampire could turn his attention upon them. The entire line surged forwards as fast as they could march, aiming for the hill where Queen Bess sat. The zombies where in their way, but the pirates thought ‘damn them’ (ironic when one considers the zombies were indeed damned) and rushed on regardless. They outnumbered the foe in regiments and companies, and so thought that even if some Tabrizians were stopped by the foe, the others might still break through.
Second part of the Battle of the Dunes
As the Tabrizian seamen began their desperate dash, their mortar launched another grenado aiming for the huge cannon in the hill-top stockade. The crew hoped that by knocking out said beast early they could hastily leave this forsaken beach and return to the safety of the fleet. This time their aim was good, and although the grenado failed to harm the Queen Bess it did tear apart four of her five crew. Another shot like that and Galdabash could find himself without servants able to crew it (though there were still three zombies on the little carronade who might have skill enough left over from their past life to load and fire her). The last ‘surviving’ zombie gunner did not even flinch, instead merely leaning down to pick up the smouldering matchcord clutched in a dismembered hand at his feet. The Queen Bess was still loaded, and the only thought he had in the fragment of a mind left to him was to fire her when his master willed it.
The Zombie regiments in the centre were now close enough to launch their charges and all three of them did just that. The effect was overwhelming for the Tabrizian forces, for the undead just had weight of numbers on their side and the mere sight of them shambling onwards (and so close) frightened two of the pirate regiments so much that they first stumbled and then ran away. Captain Bart’s crew and his handgunners both streamed off towards the surf, leaving Thodrin’s dwarfs and Mostert’s handgunners in the centre, the Arabyan swordsmen to the left and the Estalian handgunners bravely attempting to make a stand on the right flank fighting off a regiment of undead that outnumbered them more than two to one.
A moment later the two foulest, most noisome undead creatures upon the field of battle, walking corpses bloated almost to the point of bursting by foetid gases and held in one piece only by rotting shrouds, moved up to stand right on front of the swordsmen and the dwarfs. Although the living pirates were wholly aware of the awful stench given off by these horrors, they had no idea just how dangerous it could be to stab at them and thus release the rest of the stinking vapours contained within.
Out on the undead left flank, having seen off both cannon crews, Captains Sagrada and del Portes, the pirates and the duellists, Grand Admiral Galdabash now succumbed to one of his fits, his mind becoming so confused that it was all he could do to stagger forwards. His hulking zombified ogres simply matched his step, entirely unaware that their master had lost his wits. Behind him the zombies fighting the Estalian handgunners inflicted terrible losses, their fleet captain alone lashing with a magically imbued cat o’nine tails to lay five Tabrizians low. Such a mauling, delivered by such a frightening enemy, was too much for the seamen who ran screaming away, chasing after those who had already fled. The zombies poured after them, dragging several screaming to the ground, and approaching very close to the already fleeing band of Captain Bart and his crew.
If you want to see the army lists, background story and scenario notes etc, please go to the original thread: http://www.warhammer-empire.com/theforum/index.php?topic=29909.0
First part of the Battle of the Dunes - A Fearful Day
Nigh upon twenty packed boats of various sizes made their way towards the shore, the smaller ones riding the choppy waters and almost tossing their occupants overboard as they got close. Only the Arabyan Swordsmen wore armour and they were in one of the larger boats, so none were in too much danger. Besides, considering what faced them, high waves were the least of their concerns.
As the force splashed and waded through the surf the umpteen handgunners amongst them tried to keep their pieces high above the water. Being salty sea dogs of some considerable experience all had of course waxed their pans for protection and several were carrying glass jars with coils of matchcord inside so that it too would remain dry. Once upon the dry sand, while the handgunners poked the wax out of their pans, broke open the jars and fiddled with flints and steels to light their matches, the captains and mates immediately began ordering everyone into fighting bodies ready to advance up and over the scattered dunes. Ahead was the rising ground where, just before the thick tangle of the jungle, rose the fortified hill upon which the ghastly undead had placed their ‘Queen Bess’. Unexpectedly, the huge cannon was still aimed at the river, and stayed so while the undead mustered their own companies on the slopes in a grisly parody of the Tabrizian pirates’ deployment.
It occurred to many of the living seamen that if the great gun hadn’t shifted position then it might not be used against them in this battle. Perhaps Galdabash was more keen to ensure no boats used the battle as a diversion so that they might attempt to slip by? Though it was another, less tactical thought that was in the forefront of many a Tabrizian’s mind - it was entirely possible that amongst the undead foe stood some of their old accomplices and crewmates. This sent a shudder through all those who thought it, followed by a second shudder when the wondered whether by nightfall they too might join the undead ranks.
The field of battle was horribly empty of any form of cover. Between the dunes and the foot of the hill there stretched an open space, flanked on the right by the river mouth. On the expansive lower slopes of the hill were two thin lines of sharpened stakes, with a dangerously inviting gap in the middle that must surely have been left so that some form of counterattack could be launched. Unless, perhaps, Galdabash’s unliving slaves had simply not yet had time to complete their defences?
As the main battle line arrayed itself, the Estalian Captain Bartolomeo del Portes led his skirmishing company of Duellists up on the far right flank, across the rough ground along the bank of the river mouth. He had it in mind to steal the glory and sneak up to the Queen Bess while the rest of the army entertained the foe with their deaths. To his left Claudio Sagrada, acting as Engineer, emplaced a brace of cannons upon a dune, so that he could lend skilled help to whichever one took his fancy. Below him, towards the centre of the Tabrizian line, was the reluctant Captain Wilfred Mostert and his crew, standing sullenly while Mostert tried to look as if he was in a fighting mood that day.
The real centre of the Tabrizian line was made up of the three companies of Handgunners, provided by each of the captains present, as well as the fleet’s admiral Captain Bartholomeus Pasterkamp and his crew and the Slayer Dwarfs of Thodrin Hookhand. All in all, it was a solid enough looking centre. Out to the left was a mortar, occupying the same dune as an Arabyan detachment of crossbowmen. Beyond them marched the Black-clad Arabyan swordsmen, and finally out on the very left, a single cannon (the crew of which were fervently praying that they would seem insignificant to the foe and thus not draw their attention).
Grand Admiral Galdabash himself was present at the hill-fort, having returned from the interior partly to ensure his river mouth defences were still intact and partly upon some dark business that only he knew. Now that the Tabrizian fleet had arrived he was glad he was present, so that he could command his forces to fight rather more intelligently than they otherwise would. His shattered mind, however, was still unstable, and he knew that there might (as ever) be extended periods of the fight in which he barely knew what was happening himself. Not that he cared, being so filled with rage and hatred that any other thoughts faded into insignificance.
While his mind was in balance, he acted quickly and ordered his force for battle. His Handgunners he emplaced in the stockade at the hill’s summit, there to provide something in the way of gunfire but more importantly to act as a last defence should anything get close to the stockade and Queen Bess. A little further down the slope he placed his two small cannons, or ‘carronades’, where they might fire over the heads of the rest of his force arrayed even lower downhill. Then came his battle line, including three massed bodies of regimented zombies behind the storm-poles, with two bloated corpses shambling in their rear. His three captains were amongst them, though a pair of them shared command of one of the regiments (one carrying the army battle standard) thus leaving the rightmost regiment of undead pirates without an officer of any kind. He himself stood to the left of the centre, leading his company of massive zombified Ogres; while out on the far left moved his large pack of Scurvy Dogs, ready to be unleashed upon his command to move at speed against the foe.
The crews of the two carronades stood like statues, what remnants were left of their minds being entirely empty. Only the firing of their pieces could snap them out of their catatonic state, for then they would reload just as they had done in life so many times, going through the sequence of motions with barely any need for thought.
In the massed ranks and file of Zombies, however, there was a species of thought. Each individual could hardly be said to have had much ‘on their mind’ but as a body somehow they became more than the sum of their parts, from which was born a brooding anger ready to spur them on to hack, slash and kill for their master.
Galdabash himself glanced to his left, and raised his huge curved blade in the air ready to signal his dogs. The two cannons paired upon the enemy’s right had caught his eye, and he now knew exactly what he wanted his dogs to do.
Claudio Sagrada, meanwhile, had no idea just how fast those dogs could run. If he had known he would surely not have stood there quite as pleased with himself, idly imagining that the two cannons he commanded were like a pair of monstrous pistols that he could wield as if he were a giant. He even had a smile on his face as he entertained himself with his musings! That smile was not going to last.
Captain Bart, admiral of the fleet and commander of the landing force, stood with his own crewmen. His first mate Lisbeth Boone, one of a number of very tough women amongst the fighting pirates of Tabriz, stood to one side of him pointing out which enemy regiment she reckoned was the strongest; while one of the ship’s younkers, the youngest of the foremast men, blew rather annoyingly upon a horn to the other side. The captain’s standard was carried by an old hand in the front rank, with ostrich feathers added to denote that his was the first company, the general’s regiment, for that was what he effectively was now that he had landed and led an army upon dry land.
Suddenly there was an eerie sound, a sort of growling or gurgling, that lolled across the field from the direction of the foe. It sent a chill down the spine of every living man arrayed there, a chill turned into a shiver by the sight of movement from the foe. Galdabash’s magically animated force of walking corpses had as one began their advance. The fastest of all the undead were the Scurvy Dogs who fair-leapt across the field in a very good mockery of living hounds. It was obvious they would reach Claudio Sagrada’s dune-top battery, and that only Wilfred Mostert’s company were close enough to attempt to get in their way. Mostert himself desperately glanced about to see if there was anything else he could do, or anyone who might be able to step in and do what was needed instead of him. When he saw that the hideous form of the vampire Lord Galdabash himself, leading his fearful undead Ogres was heading in his direction too, it suddenly did not seem such a bad thing that he and his men might have to fight the snarling dogs. They had to be an easier opponent than the towering monsters and a vampire infamous throughout the southern hemisphere.
Upon the hill, the three large bodies of zombies also moved forwards, shambling through the protective screen of sharpened stakes towards the cowering foe in the distance. Not one of them cared what bullets or balls might plough through their ranks, nor even if a grenado from the foe’s ‘murdering piece’ would tear them apart. Maybe when you cannot even recall your own name it is hard to care about what happens to you?
Although the zombie rank and file might not have been thinking about enemy’s shot, the firing of their own artillery pieces - the two carronades on the slope above the regiments of zombies - had a rather mixed effect. While one tore through Captain Thodrin’s Slayer Dwarfs to kill three of them in one moment, the other blew itself up. Apparently gun maintenance in Galdabash’s rotting army was not a priority. The gun in question scattered rusty shards of iron from its barrel for many yards around the smoking remains of its now smoking, worm eaten carriage.
Captain Mostert had no real choice, for he could not stand and watch while the cannons were destroyed – not when the battle in many ways depended on the effectiveness of those same cannons. With this in mind he and his men charged at the festering dogs, just managing to intercept them at the foot of the dune.
As Mostert reluctantly led the desperate charge, the rest of the army made its opening moves. On the far left flank the Arabyan Swordsmen marched around the stony ground before them, while in the centre Thodrin’s dwarfs took a more direct route towards the hill. Captain del Portes and his own men, experts in swordplay all, picked their way along the bank of the river slipping on the wet stones.
Four booming blasts burst over the battlefield as the pirates three light cannons (Note: as DoW or Dwarf cannons) and mortar opened fire. A dramatic moment indeed, ruined only by the fact that not one of them hit their targets – doing little more than scattering dirt up into the air. Sadly, the handgunners (aiming like the cannons at the hulking undead ogres) failed also to do any damage. The result was that Galdabash failed even to notice that the enemy had just targeted his unit. His attention, like the gunners’ aim, was elsewhere.
Mostert and his lads did not do so badly against the scurvy dogs, hacking enough of them down to weaken the very magic binding them together in undeath and so another two, otherwise untouched by sword or axe, succumbed to the forces of nature and became simply dead once more. Mostert even started to think perhaps this day would not be so bad after all. He was wrong, about as wrong as a man could get, because the very moment he began to enjoy the hack and slash, Galdabash decided he and his ogres would smash into Mostert’s flank.
Annoyingly for Galdabash, due to the sheer size of the monstrous zombies he was leading, he found himself stranded out beyond the combat. Still, he reckoned he would have plenty of opportunity to kill before the day was out. Out in the centre of the field his three regiments of Zombies seemed to share his enthusiasm to get to grips with the foe, and they raced downhill. (Game Note: we forgot in turn two that none of these zombies could march, as per the rules of undeath, but by turn three when we realised it was too late to go back. Ah well, honest mistake!)
Of course poor Mostert and his crew did not stand a chance against the vicious and powerful foes in their flank. As they began to fall in droves those still alive thought better of waiting their turn. Within moments the entire regiment, Mostert amongst them, turned and fled pell mell towards the river. This was an unfortunate choice of direction for they poured through Bartolomeo’s Duellists, who where so overwhelmed by the sense of panic that they joined them in flight. Galdabash himself, however, ran forwards in pursuit and suddenly encountered one of Claudio’s cannons. The Tilean and his gunners, watching the streaming flight of men at the bottom of the dune and then faced with the horrendous visage of the Vampire Lord bearing down upon them, also chose to take to their heels – along with Claudio! No-one knows why, but the second crew chose instead to stand and fight. Perhaps they saw the first of the Duellists and Mostert’s crew splashing into the waters of the tidal river mouth and decided they would rather perish to Galdabash’s blade than drown slowly?
Thus it was that the Tabrizian right flank was utterly destroyed and dispersed. The sight of it would surely be thought to make all the rest despair, but instead it made them desperate to achieve what they came here for before the Vampire could turn his attention upon them. The entire line surged forwards as fast as they could march, aiming for the hill where Queen Bess sat. The zombies where in their way, but the pirates thought ‘damn them’ (ironic when one considers the zombies were indeed damned) and rushed on regardless. They outnumbered the foe in regiments and companies, and so thought that even if some Tabrizians were stopped by the foe, the others might still break through.
Second part of the Battle of the Dunes
As the Tabrizian seamen began their desperate dash, their mortar launched another grenado aiming for the huge cannon in the hill-top stockade. The crew hoped that by knocking out said beast early they could hastily leave this forsaken beach and return to the safety of the fleet. This time their aim was good, and although the grenado failed to harm the Queen Bess it did tear apart four of her five crew. Another shot like that and Galdabash could find himself without servants able to crew it (though there were still three zombies on the little carronade who might have skill enough left over from their past life to load and fire her). The last ‘surviving’ zombie gunner did not even flinch, instead merely leaning down to pick up the smouldering matchcord clutched in a dismembered hand at his feet. The Queen Bess was still loaded, and the only thought he had in the fragment of a mind left to him was to fire her when his master willed it.
The Zombie regiments in the centre were now close enough to launch their charges and all three of them did just that. The effect was overwhelming for the Tabrizian forces, for the undead just had weight of numbers on their side and the mere sight of them shambling onwards (and so close) frightened two of the pirate regiments so much that they first stumbled and then ran away. Captain Bart’s crew and his handgunners both streamed off towards the surf, leaving Thodrin’s dwarfs and Mostert’s handgunners in the centre, the Arabyan swordsmen to the left and the Estalian handgunners bravely attempting to make a stand on the right flank fighting off a regiment of undead that outnumbered them more than two to one.
A moment later the two foulest, most noisome undead creatures upon the field of battle, walking corpses bloated almost to the point of bursting by foetid gases and held in one piece only by rotting shrouds, moved up to stand right on front of the swordsmen and the dwarfs. Although the living pirates were wholly aware of the awful stench given off by these horrors, they had no idea just how dangerous it could be to stab at them and thus release the rest of the stinking vapours contained within.
Out on the undead left flank, having seen off both cannon crews, Captains Sagrada and del Portes, the pirates and the duellists, Grand Admiral Galdabash now succumbed to one of his fits, his mind becoming so confused that it was all he could do to stagger forwards. His hulking zombified ogres simply matched his step, entirely unaware that their master had lost his wits. Behind him the zombies fighting the Estalian handgunners inflicted terrible losses, their fleet captain alone lashing with a magically imbued cat o’nine tails to lay five Tabrizians low. Such a mauling, delivered by such a frightening enemy, was too much for the seamen who ran screaming away, chasing after those who had already fled. The zombies poured after them, dragging several screaming to the ground, and approaching very close to the already fleeing band of Captain Bart and his crew.
