Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

Berryc signaled them to slow to a trot to allow the formation to close up. The Master Ranger was in charge of the expedition until they reached the dig-site, after which the commander of the skirmishers would take over. Engvyr knew that things would not go as smoothly as any of them would like; it was a scratch force of small units that were not trained to work as a larger group. They simply had to trust that it would work well enough.

There had been considerable argument as to whether to send the skirmishers. Some had argued that the Mounted Infantry should be tasked with the mission, and there was much to recommend the idea. But that would have meant pulling them out of the defensive works, and then there was the matter of the Baasgarta Cavalry still at large in the valley. In the end that had been the deciding factor, that if it came to it the skirmishers could fight a cavalry engagement and the Mounted Infantry could not.

When the riders had closed up enough Berryc signaled them to canter again. They would try to alternately canter, trot and walk their mounts to make the best time that they could. The problem was it took time for the signal to travel the length of the formation so the group would first become strung out, then the rear ranks would hurry to catch up. When the signal to trot was given the rear ranks would be slower to respond and almost run over the leading ranks. They tried, they really did, but it soon became apparent that it was hopeless. They just weren't trained for this sort of mass maneuvering. Berryc gave up and settled them into a trot.

They stopped briefly at midday to water the horses before continuing. The dwarves ate in the saddle, biscuits with cheese and bacon baked into them washed down with sips from their canteens. Practice was improving their formations as well, but Engvyr thought it was wise of Berryc not to trust that and keep them to a single gait.

The Baasgarta cavalry found them about an hour after their watering stop. They spilled from behind a grove of trees in a mass and slowed to a crawl, spreading out into a rough line facing the dwarves.

Engvyr was close enough to the Master Ranger to hear him mutter, “What the hell are they playing at?” He signaled the dwarves to spread out as well.

Engvyr understood his confusion; while the dwarves did not bother with cavalry they understood the methods and tactics. The goblins had just done perhaps the worst thing possible. Far better to have made the most of their surprise appearance by charging the dwarves in an unruly mob. With the dwarves grouped only a fraction of them would have been able to fire on the charging force for fear of hitting their own riders. The Baasgarta, armed with lances and hand-weapons would have massacred the dwarves once they got among them. Instead by virtually stopping their advance to form lines they allowed the dwarves to form their own lines and meet them with their entire combined fire.

That, thought Engvyr, was a serious mistake.

It had been decided that they would stand and receive the charge rather than trying to maneuver against their foes. Given how poorly they'd done so far today Engvyr thought that was a good idea. They had no lances and their wood-knives weren't a very good weapon for mounted combat. Better that they respond with their strength: accurate, disciplined fire. Once their lines were spread out the skirmishers demonstrated the main difference between their carbines and those of the rangers. On command they hit a release on the fore-stock and a nine-inch spring-loaded spike bayonet snapped into position.

The Baasgarta line began to advance at a walk. Their line wavered and seemed to ripple as they came. They're really not much better at this than we are! Engvyr thought with surprise. Either that or their carnivorous mounts simply did not respond with the precision that horses or ponies would. The thought of their mounts, the ulvgaed, made the ranger shudder slightly. He was not the only one thinking about them.

“Remember,” shouted Berryc, “Aim for the mounts! You don't want to be fighting them hand-to-hand!”

Engvyr was a veteran and had survived many a tough situation. But sitting here on his pony watching the inexorable advance of their foes was hard on the nerves. The Baasgarta were three hundred paces away now and still approaching at a walk. Two hundred and fifty and they were still walking. Engvyr could hear the ulvgaed snarling and issuing short barks. Two-hundred and twenty paces and the dwarves raised their weapons and aimed.

“What the hell are they doing?” asked Berryc, echoing Engvyr's thought, “They should be at a full charge by now!”