Kingdombuilding: All My Inventions Are Novelty

The sound of battle on the field drowned out everything else.

Golden sunlight glinted off polished armor, casting shimmering reflections like ripples across a lake.

Standing on high ground, Simon watched as five thousand regular troops charged forward in formation. The scale of it stirred his blood, he almost wanted to charge in himself.

But he knew that would only make things harder for Benjamin, who’d then have to split his attention to protect him.

As the Brambleford soldiers advanced on the fortress, the formation shifted under Lancelot’s booming voice. Months of training had made them well-practiced in maneuvering, even their charge was orderly and disciplined.

At the gate, the sword-and-shield troops formed a tight defensive wall to block the arrows raining down from the ramparts, while crossbowmen moved in behind them, retaliating with volley fire.

This three-stage firing system was inspired by musket formations, because crossbows, once fired, needed time to reload. The soldiers had to place them on the ground, brace with their feet, and draw with all their strength.

Because reloading was slow, the three-stage method allowed continuous fire. The first row fired, retreated; the second row fired; then the third and so on.

Inside the gate, the rebels, mainly noble sons, had no real training. After the first volley of arrows, they couldn’t return fire. The waves of incoming bolts gave them no time to nock and shoot again.

In moments, their archers were either dead or too injured to fight.

The remaining bandits, realizing they couldn’t hold the gate, retreated deeper into the fortress to fight among the buildings.

”These rats are smarter than I thought.” Lancelot spat.

”Don’t underestimate them.” Benjamin warned. ”They’re harder to catch now that they’re scattered. Break into squads, search and eliminate in units of one hundred.”

He was right. The rebels had realized that a head-on clash with the Brambleford Army would only end in disaster. So they were using the fortress layout to stall and fight on their own terms.

At Benjamin’s order, Lancelot shouted. ”Split formations!”

The Brambleford troops quickly divided into small units of one hundred, each with a balanced mix of shieldbearers, crossbowmen, and spearmen, long, mid and close-range tactics all accounted for.

Watching this seamless coordination, Simon nodded in satisfaction. This is close to modern urban combat tactics.

Once formations were reconfigured, the Brambleford troops stormed into the fortress.

With five times the enemy’s numbers, full body armor, and Benjamin’s leadership, it was only a matter of time.

It didn’t take long. The gate fell and Brambleford flags were raised above it.

Simon began walking toward the fortress.

The fortress itself wasn’t very large. Even with the rebels fleeing in all directions, there weren’t many places for them to hide.

He could still hear occasional clashes and shouts from inside, though these were quickly fading, replaced by the disciplined footfalls of Brambleford formations sweeping room to room.

A short time later, Benjamin came over and reported. ”My Lord, the remaining rebels have been cleared. One group escaped into a tunnel. We haven’t entered it yet.”

”A tunnel? I thought they blew that up.” Simon asked with a frown.

”There’s a second one. I suspect they banked on using it to escape, likely why they were bold enough to retake the fortress. But from what we can tell, it’s blocked.” Benjamin said with a hearty laugh.

The two of them made their way to the tunnel. The entrance was a narrow, dark hole, just wide enough for one person to squeeze through.

”Cowards! If you’ve got guts, come up and fight!” Lancelot was standing there shouting down the hole.

A voice answered from within. ”You gang up on us five to one, where’s the honour in that? If you’ve got guts, come down here!”

Liam frowned. ”This is tricky. The tunnel only allows one at a time, whoever goes down first would be picked off easily.”

In war, formation mattered. Every commander knew that. Fighting in a narrow space was dangerous.

”We can’t wait,” Benjamin said grimly. ”We don’t know where the tunnel leads, and they’re probably working to clear it. If they escape, they’ll cause more trouble later. I’ll go first. Follow me.”

But Simon held up a hand and smiled. ”No need, General. It’s easy enough, I’ll have them crawl out on their own.”

”My Lord, no offence, but that sounds a bit far-fetched.” Lancelot chuckled. ”Unless you’re going to fire a cannon down there.”

Simon was always on friendly terms with his officers, so they could joke openly.

He smirked. ”How about a wager? If I make them come out willingly, you give me that tiger hide you hunted last winter.”

Lancelot blinked, then laughed. ”I knew you had your eye on that tiger skin. You can have the tiger bone too if you want.”

”Keep that for your wine.” Simon joked.

Then he turned to Liam. ”Fetch some firewood and straw.”

Liam nodded and quickly sent soldiers to gather it. The fortress had plenty.

Benjamin stroked his beard and chuckled. He already saw where this was going. That tiger skin was as good as lost.

Soon, bundles of firewood and straw were brought over.

Simon ordered the soldiers to pile it at the tunnel entrance. Then he told them to light it, but to pour water on the flames constantly so it didn’t ignite fully, just enough to produce thick smoke.

His goal wasn’t to burn the tunnel, he wanted prisoners. He still had questions about how they got the explosives that collapsed the other tunnel.

Soldiers used large fans to blow the smoke straight down the hole.

Before long, they heard coughing.

Lancelot’s face turned green. He realized he’d run his mouth again and now his precious tiger hide was gone. Why can’t I just shut up for once...

Simon had actually seen this tactic in a TV show, but back then, it was used by the enemy.

”Cough! Cough! Cough!”

The coughing inside intensified. Soon there were shouts and curses, men yelling for those ahead to move faster.

Then, finally, one man crawled out of the smoke, gasping.

Then another. And another.

One by one, they emerged, each one seized immediately by the Brambleford soldiers. In less than an hour, over a hundred rebels had been captured. The last one passed out the moment he reached the surface.

When no more came, Simon asked. ”Where is Sigurd?”

Kai pointed. ”That one, covered in soot. That’s him.”

Simon walked over. The man had fair skin and a scholarly face, now filthy and bruised.

Standing before him, Simon said. ”You’ve got some nerve, retaking this fortress and stealing my cement.”

Sigurd knew he was doomed. He glared and spat. ”Hmph. Foolish king! Kill me or spare me, I don’t care. Just save your breath.”