Not, at least, in such volume. Helga didn't think the battle cries bothered him much, and he seemed completely indifferent to the screams of pain and agony.
He even, to her amazement, seemed able to think of the future in the midst of the chaos.
"How would you have done it, lad?"
Adrian smiled. "I wouldn't have attacked at all. The thing about a laager, Jessep, is that while it's incredibly strong it's also inflexible. More so, even, than the Emerald phalanxes. And how did you Vanberts beat the phalanxes, eh? Not by trying to match them at their own game."
"Gods, no. Can't break an Emerald phalanx head on. 'Twas never done once, that I ever heard tell, except by another phalanx." He was back to beard-scratching. "Use their rigidity against them. Force them onto broken ground, tear at 'em, pry 'em apart. Once you've done that, those great pikes of theirs weren't nothin' but a hazard to their own lives. Can't fight a man with an assegai—much less two or three of 'em at once—with an eighteen-foot long sticker. Not when you're up close, and on your own."
Adrian nodded. "Apply the same methods here, then. How would you 'pry apart' a laager?" He didn't wait for Jessep to fumble at the answer before providing it. "It's called 'field artillery,' Jessep. Not too different from those ballistas which Tomsien didn't even bother to use—not that he brought many to begin with, since he wasn't figuring on a siege—except they fire three- or four-inch iron balls instead of big spears. And you mass them up. 'Batteries,' those are called. Dozens of big guns—not too different from the bombards you've seen Trae fire—pounding away at a laager just outside the range of the laager's own guns."
Jessep grimaced. "Three and four inches in diameter? Gods, they'd punch right through those wooden walls."
"Do worse than that. Every ball will send wood splinters flying through the inside of the wagons—with nowhere much to go other than a human body."
Yunkers glanced up at the watchtower. The figure of Prelotta was plainly visible. The Reedbottom chief was accoutered in his best armor, waving a flail and exhorting his soldiers. Not that many of them could see or hear him, of course, buried
He even, to her amazement, seemed able to think of the future in the midst of the chaos.
"How would you have done it, lad?"
Adrian smiled. "I wouldn't have attacked at all. The thing about a laager, Jessep, is that while it's incredibly strong it's also inflexible. More so, even, than the Emerald phalanxes. And how did you Vanberts beat the phalanxes, eh? Not by trying to match them at their own game."
"Gods, no. Can't break an Emerald phalanx head on. 'Twas never done once, that I ever heard tell, except by another phalanx." He was back to beard-scratching. "Use their rigidity against them. Force them onto broken ground, tear at 'em, pry 'em apart. Once you've done that, those great pikes of theirs weren't nothin' but a hazard to their own lives. Can't fight a man with an assegai—much less two or three of 'em at once—with an eighteen-foot long sticker. Not when you're up close, and on your own."
Adrian nodded. "Apply the same methods here, then. How would you 'pry apart' a laager?" He didn't wait for Jessep to fumble at the answer before providing it. "It's called 'field artillery,' Jessep. Not too different from those ballistas which Tomsien didn't even bother to use—not that he brought many to begin with, since he wasn't figuring on a siege—except they fire three- or four-inch iron balls instead of big spears. And you mass them up. 'Batteries,' those are called. Dozens of big guns—not too different from the bombards you've seen Trae fire—pounding away at a laager just outside the range of the laager's own guns."
Jessep grimaced. "Three and four inches in diameter? Gods, they'd punch right through those wooden walls."
"Do worse than that. Every ball will send wood splinters flying through the inside of the wagons—with nowhere much to go other than a human body."
Yunkers glanced up at the watchtower. The figure of Prelotta was plainly visible. The Reedbottom chief was accoutered in his best armor, waving a flail and exhorting his soldiers. Not that many of them could see or hear him, of course, buried