Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman

When facing an opponent armed with long-range weapons cavalry need to close the distance as quickly as possible to give the enemy less time to fire on them. But the Baasgarta were walking their mounts right into range. Lord and Lady, thought Engvyr, thank you for granting us stupid enemies!

At two-hundred paces the command was given and four hundred carbines spoke just as the Baasgarta finally began their charge. The result was chaos. Ulvgaed and riders fell in front of their comrades just as they lunged their mounts forward. Some fell over their downed troops. Others bounded high over the bodies of struggling, wounded ulvgaed and soldiers just in time for the second rank of skirmishers to volley. Engvyr braced the butt of the carbine against his hip and pulled the long lever that cocked the weapon. As he raised it to his shoulder for the next volley he could see injured ulvgaed snapping at their riders or at the others bounding over them.

The Baasgarta charge had devolved into a ragged mess but they kept coming on as individuals. The rangers slung their carbines and drew hand-axes or wood-knives as the Baasgarta hit the skirmisher’s line. Engvyr would rather have faced them on foot with the bayonetted long-rifle as he was worried that he would accidentally cut down his own pony instead of the enemy.

Then the Baasgarta were among them, stabbing with lances and cutting with falchions. The ulvgaed snapped, bit and struck with their hooves. The dwarves fought back with bayonets, wood knives and hand-axes. The goblins were more effective but were badly outnumbered and completely uncoordinated by the time they hit the skirmisher’s lines. They did a great deal of damage but hardly one in five smashed their way through the dwarven ranks and out the other side. The survivors of the disastrous attack fled and many more were cut down from behind by the dwarven guns.

Only two of the Baasgarta hit the rangers but inflicted only minor injuries before they were killed. The skirmishers had not fared so well. Something like three-hundred of the Baasgarta cavalry had hit their lines, killing over a hundred of the dwarves and wounding many more. Engvyr closed his mind to the blood, the dead and the sounds of pain as they tended the wounded as best they could. He knew many of the skirmishers from his time with the regiment but he deliberately kept his focus on the mission. There would be time enough for grief later.

When they finally moved on they left nearly a third of their strength behind. In the grim reckoning of war they had done well. The Baasgarta cavalry, which had nearly equaled their numbers at the outset, had effectively ceased to exist. But that would be cold comfort for the survivors when they had the leisure to reflect and grieve.

Though the actual fighting had taken only minutes the encounter cost them more than an hour and they pressed on at the best pace that they could manage. Nearing the gully where the dig was taking place they dismounted, slipping forward through the trees. Engvyr realized that he had not heard any blasting since early that morning and could hear no sounds of work in progress now. He felt a growing sense of dread as they drew nearer.

When they entered the gully they came to the edge of a logged area. The stumps provided good cover but they had to move with greater caution. Taarven held up his hand in a signal to stop. Engvyr repeated the signal before creeping forward to see.

There was a line of dwarves along the edge of the pit. All were dressed as the boy had been in a simple shirt that left their right shoulder exposed to show their brand and a pair of trousers. Some of them were weeping quietly, some looked serene or resigned. Others simply looked tired. Bored-looking Baasgarta were spaced out along the line, about one for every twenty to thirty prisoners.

The pair of rangers moved along parallel to the line, keeping out of sight. They could hear the faint sounds of others moving cautiously up behind them. Eventually they got to the line's final destination. A squad of Baasgarta stood at ease, chatting among themselves and keeping an eye on the line. A group of three stood at the very edge of the pit. Two of them grabbed the first dwarf in line and held his arms. The third goblin stepped behind him, slit his throat and the two holding his arms shoved him into the pit as they reached for the next dwarf.

Engvyr's mind shut down and he seemed to be observing rather than directing his own actions. He aimed carefully and gut-shot the goblin with the knife. He reloaded mechanically as he heard Taarven's carbine fire and one of the two grabbing the next dwarf pitched off the edge into the pit. All around him rangers and skirmishers rose and fired. The dwarven slaves did not flee as their masters were cut down. They just cringed in place or simply stood staring at their rescuers in mute incomprehension. It was over in seconds.