As I manoeuvre my horse to fire another round, I knew this would be when the battle would be decided. It is the seventh charge, and I made sure I was in at the front of the formation, giving me enough room between the horses to escape. Many men have fallen, mangled bodies from artillery, bodies crushed by horses, as well as bodies with gaping holes lay across the battlefield. The captains kept bellowing about the incoming victory, but the men are hearing none of it. It has been six charges where the men shot their guns. They were received with a deadly salvo of Swedish gunnery and a cavalry charge from Swedish heavy and light cavalry, resulting in heavy casualties.
"Don't give up! We can do this! We're the Emperor's Black Curraissers! Let's show those heretics the true faith!" Heinrich, the cavalry commander, continued bellowing. Heinrich is setting up many death flags around him; I am a little worried about him. He is a decent cavalry commander, and many men were willing to listen to him. After all, this is the seventh charge, and I would have run away be the third time it failed. The mood is tense; many men around me were glum. You could tell that they even did not have much hope that it could work.
On our seventh charge, the charge that will break the Swedish right flank, off we go. The charge that will define the Battle of Breitenfeld, kill Gustavus Adolphus, leading to a thousand long reign of the Incest, cough I mean Habsburg Empire. This is it, after all, in a story where you transmigrate to another world, history will always deviate.
Aiming our pistols into the faces of the Swedish Pikemen, their faces filled with stoic discipline shook us to the core. That's when we all realised this isn't going to work, chief. As our pistols opened up into the Swedish formations, and I took the use of the opportunity to gallop away, the Swedish returned with a fierce salvo from their arquebusiers, causing many men to fall. As the calvary rushed out to claim the lives of those who were still living, one man bellowed out," Retreat! Follow me!". This was soon echoed with a chorus of others screaming the exact words. As I followed the individual who cried out, he was facing all of us, waving his tightly clenched fist in the air, beckoning to all of us to follow him. It was our commander in chief, Pappenheim, the leader of the Black Cuirassiers. One could see his dark, gloomy expression while wearing the dark coloured armour, where the name Black Cuirassiers originated. There were red coloured feathers on his sharp helmet, which were in sharp contrast to his entire attire. The reckless cavalry commander, which caused the whole battle to be lost, displayed various emotions on his face, consisting of disappointment, anger, and fear. I wonder if I told him that future generations would blame him for the entire battle's lost if he would just recklessly charge into the Swedish formation without a care in the world only to retain his knightly honour still? Dead men tell no tales. But then he would have to kill Tilly as well…
Our cavalry formation is messy, many consisting of the few who caracoled early and the lucky few who survived the salvo and punishing calvary charge at the same time. Many of our well-trained cavalrymen were lost, men that took years to train, versus the small losses we called upon the Swedish formation. Training gunners and pikemen only took weeks, while calvary men took years. If you don't believe me, try shooting a gun on horseback, you'll understand. Or play Mount and Blade; trying to hack at someone while on horseback ain't easy.
Pappenheim and us were retreating from the battle by the Northwest to Halle. As I was riding amongst the front, the calvary captains discussed with Pappenheim their next course of action.
"Sir, is it alright, leaving our comrades on the field like this? They would most probably strike out at our infantry formation with their cavalry?" Heinrich pipped up.
Pappenheim was still remembering the events of the battle taking place in his mind, and he's intuition told him that victory could be sought if he had done it. He's intuition was rarely wrong, but it seemed he executed it wrongly. Being insubordinate to Tilly, he launched a grand cavalry assault on the Swedish left flank, hoping to bring grand victory for the Black Cuirassiers. Who knew things could go so wrong…
"I'm sure things have you been fine." Pappenheim weakly replied at the beginning, before increasing his tone, "Would you dare to charge into a wall of pikes? If you do, we can head back right now."
As the commanders were bickering at the front, I noticed that Pappenheim was clutching his waist. He grabbed a pouch of alcohol, showing his wound to others, being pouring the alcohol on his wound. It was a gunshot wound, a large circular hole could be seen, and the bullet seemed to be lodged into his waist. I'm not an expert on medicine, so I don't know what could be done for him, so I silently observed my surroundings. The environment was filled with greenery, in sharp contrast to the battlefield. Yet everywhere I go, the lingering smell of gunpowder is still on me. As I studied my attire, I noticed the gunpowder I've accidentally spilt on myself while trying to reload my pistol, and my armour was covered in a patch of grey, in contrast with the black armour I was donning.
"Sir, you experienced first-hand the artillery the Swedish had; they could fire more shells than we ever could. They could probably blast our Tercios away." A captain observed.
"If they could, they could probably conquer all of Europe," Pappenheim replied, shutting the captain up.
Pappenheim was absorbed further and further in his thoughts; while he tried to keep up a confident appearance around him, he knew that the battle was effectively a loss. If he stayed, the whole company would have been lost. It would take decades to build back up the Black Cuirassiers, and he did not have decades to meet the Swedish. Tilly would have a hard time without his elite cavalry, but he could probably apologise to him. His thoughts constantly thought about staying behind in the field, observing the situation and finding a condition that can bring victory to the entire army. If he'd done so, the knights' honour could still be retained, and perhaps he would be scolded so harshly by Tilly. But for now, he placed the matter in the back of his mind, the searing pain by his sides, dragging him back to reality.
He looked back at the men among him. The commanders were yipping yapping around him. However, an individual behind the commanders who were silently gazing around his surroundings caught his eye. Dressed in similar armour to him, his stead was not the usual top class warhorses found in the richest of nobility. His stead could be considered the bare minimum to be considered a warhorse, yet his gaze carries the "I know it all" commonly seen in many young, arrogant men around his age. Not that he could criticise, considering his actions just now. His name was Ludwig Weichselbraun, a noble-born from a couple of small-time landowning nobles. A rarity in the Black Cuirassiers, one would need many connections to climb their way up here. Instead of the usual focus on swordsmanship and chivalry that men of his age focused on, his two specialities involved guns and pikes, weapons that were thought to only be for peasants. When he was under the tutelage of one of the knights, many others mocked him for choosing to specialise in pikes and guns. But every time they had a duel, he would win… most of the time. The battle of the pike and sword is a discussion many has discussed over the years. For the swordsman to win, he needs to get close to get a hit on the pikeman. The pikeman needs to outrange the swordsman and get in a few stabs to win. The way he fights with his pike is unique, almost like fighting using a staff or putting it negatively, as a club. Sometimes he even fought with his gun, taking out the hook underneath it that kept the gun upright, using it as his sword. Unique fighting methods, one would have to put it. The only issue is… he's a complete coward.
Meanwhile, near the fields of Breitenfeld, a Count was raging internally in his heart; while showing a confident façade.
"Damn Pappenheim for not listening to my orders and retreating with his tail behind his back!" Tilly grinded his teeth as he cursed Pappenheim for his recklessness and cowardice. Whilst he might have said such things, the battle has not been decided yet. The Saxons on the Swedish right flank have routed, but two Veteran Saxon Cavalry divisions remained, and they're holding the line. But before the advantage could be exploited, Swedish artillery pounded the Imperial Tercios and was unable to advance. As the men faced the men commanded by the man known as the Father of Modern Warfare, Swedish guns opened up onto the Tercios. Morale was hit rock bottom, and the men could route any moment.
The thundering of horse hooves can be heard from the Swedish right flank, calvary that stood unopposed rushed to strike against the Imperial left side. Instead of caracoling like their Imperial counterparts, they charged headfirst, firing pistols before cuttings those in their way with their swords. As the sounds of metal encountering flesh echoed throughout the left flank, the Imperials were finally unable to handle the Swedish's spearhead leading a route through them. As the Imperials ran with their backs behind them, the Swedish took the opportunity to chase after them, cutting them down. The rest captured the remaining artillery pieces and quickly rotated them for their very own use.
A messenger rode from the Imperial left flank; as he approaches Tilly, fear could be seen across his face and body. His body, as upright and majestic as it once stood, was now quivering as reality sets in. "Sir! Our artillery pieces on the left have been seized, and the men have routed. Their guns are now pointed at us!"
As these words were said, the left flank, which was once friendly, fired upon the Imperial centre. "What are you waiting for! Dispatch some men to recapture the positions!" Tilly wanted to shout angrily at the messenger but softened his tone, putting on a brave front in front of his men.
"Yes, sir!" An officer replied before gathering some men remaining in the centre to recapture the left flank.
As the left flank fell apart on the right, it was a standstill. Imperial Tercios tried to break the remaining combined Swedish and Saxon regiments, but the two held strong. The two sides were firing upon one another, with artillery pieces disrupting the formations on both sides. Superior Swedish artillery punched holes in the Imperial line, turning the Tercio square formation into a Tercio polygon formation. Gunners from both sides fired into each other as the pikemen engaged each other. Pikemen behind the first few rows of pikemen who engaged the enemy leaned their backs onto their comrades, adding more force to push pikes.
"It doesn't look too good. The superior Swedish artillery is causing our men to fall apart. It is going to be a matter of time before the men on the right fall apart." An officer commented before Tilly glared at him. He quickly shut up as Tilly silently observed the battlefield. As the way things were going, it was going to be lost. They were shot by artillery on the left Swedish battery on the right, catching them in a crossfire.
"Is this it?" Tilly thought. A battle of attrition won't end well for them, causing the upper hand the Swedish has.
However, calvary men dressed in familiar black armour rushed back from the left. Their hooves were not as thundering as they once were, but their war cries could be heard across the battlefield. Tilly gazed upon a familiar old, detestable face amongst the front of the charge.
"Pappenheim?"