Ulugh V : Part 9
Gan-Ochir held his nose firmly against the stench. The battlefield stunk. But it wasn't the smell of rotting corpses. No it was far too early for that having only been two hours since the last heads were liberated from their necks. Instead it was the smell of vomit from many of the weaker soldiers induced by the horrific scenes of carnage all about.
A portrayal of the battle scene by the abstract Horde painter Jagson Pollok. Shades and colours ranging from jet black to pink are used to represent blood. White represents bone and brown is brain.
For Gan-Ochir it was truly an eye opening experience. If he wasn't careful about where he placed his feet he'd shortly be knee deep in the dead. If that occurred there'd be hell to pay when he got home to Barilda smelling liking a butchers yard.
By the time the sun was getting low to the horizon Gan-Ochir and the Monarchist army were well under way. Moving close to the banks of the Volga the army stretched for nearly a kilometre as it moved in a narrow procession to the ultimate goal of Astrakhan and the imprisoned Khan Ulugh V.
Gan-Ohir's feet were killing him. He was just wondering when the army would break their march and camp for the night when he was relieved to hear the trumpet sound. But instead of two short blasts that meant halt the trumpet continued to sound repeatedly. A ripple of alarm went through the tired soldiers. Shortly after shouts and the noise of clinking armour and weapons could be heard.
Gunshots began to sound from further up the column. A rider then appeared and shorted orders to the men as his horse stomped nervously.
"The Horde Council has sent reinforcements. Too late for the battle but they still attack us. Take up battle formations immmediately", and he then charged further down the line to repeat his instructions to the rest of the confused army.
Gan-Ochir and his fellows barely had time to pull their guns from their backpacks when the Horde Council's army began to appear over a slight rise barely more than 100 metres away. Their numbers were great, stretching as far as Gan-Ochir could see further north. Not that he had much time to make the assessment as musket balls were soon flying between the two enemies and avoiding them took on somewhat more importance than curiosity.
The muskets extacted a horrific toll on both sides. But with the benefit of preparation firmly with the Horde Council they took a higher toll. Their army began to advance. Gan-Ochir was desperately trying to load his musket so that he might fire off his third shot of the battle when the frontlines met and it became clear that the rest of the fighting would be good old fashioned hand-to-hand, full of bravery, honour and prestige. He was soon being forced backwards by his own retreating comrades. Pushed closer and closer to the icy waters of the Volga. Despite moving backwards the sounds of screaming and steel on steel grew ever closer. This battle, as far as Gan-Ochir was concerned was over, bravery and co. could all get damned. The river looked bad but at least it wasn't intent on hacking him into pieces small enough to mail home to Barilda with a note saying he died gloriously. Despite all her chiding and nagging he longed to see her again. With that in mind he dumped his gear, muttered a quick prayer to whoever it might concern and took the plunge.
