Chapter 213 – 89 Assault_3
The gong was the signal that Andre had made it. Experience exclusive tales on empire
The still-living Venetian soldiers and Herders carried Winters and quickly withdrew from the artillery bastion. The enemy inside the bastion, uncertain of what was real, dared not pursue.
Leaning against a tree trunk, Winters sat on the ground and silently counted the remaining men. There were only eleven of them left with him, and each of the survivors was injured.
Adding the three from Bard’s side and the five from Andre’s, tonight Winters had lost twenty-three men under his command, half of his force.
Hestas, who had stayed behind at the assault position, was treating Winters’ wounds. The old Shaman first cleaned the wound, then washed it with warm salt water. Finally, he began chanting in a strange tone.
An amazing scene unfolded as the deep, bone-visible, bleeding wound on Winters’ left shoulder began to slowly shrink. Under the gaze of everyone present, this wound, over two and a half fingers in length, healed at a visible speed until it turned into a shallow red line.
The still-living Herders, disregarding their injuries, knelt to the ground and pressed their foreheads into the mud, also chanting ceaselessly.
The Venetians, whether they were Catholics or Protestants, were profoundly shaken upon witnessing the miracle of the healing wound.
This was the Divine Art that could “revive the dead and mend broken bones,” and the reason why the Catholic Church rose from a banned and persecuted heretic religion to replace the polytheistic religion of the Ancient Empire and become the state religion of the Ancient Empire.
Whoever witnessed such divine arts, how could they not bow down before the Catholic altars?
“Old man, don’t waste the Divine Art on me,” Winters grabbed Hestas’ hand. “Go save the others.” Get full chapters from novel·fiɾe·net
Hestas nodded and moved on to treat the others.
The Herders, when their wounds were cleaned by the old Shaman, felt immense pride and honor to have Hestas himself treat them, an honor unmatched for the Herders.
The Venetian soldiers, on the other hand, dreaded the “sorcery” of Hestas, the heretic, and even those with severe injuries who had no choice but to receive divine healing, trembled as they recited the Lord’s Prayer and the Rosary.
The Herders glared angrily at these reluctant Venetians.
“Fucking exhilarating! I nailed all their damn gun ports shut! [Andre’s poor vulgar language]! Where did those Tanis get such good cannons from? But they all got nailed by me!”
Winters heard Andre’s coarse and breathless voice before he saw him.
“After destroying so many cannons, won’t they have to grant us at least a one-kilogram medal? Can they? Huh…” Andre’s tone was filled with excitement as he shouted boastfully about his achievement.
In the Vineta Army regulations, nailing enemy cannons during combat was equivalent to capturing them; officers below the rank of colonel were promoted one rank, and soldiers were given money and land to retire as small landowners.
However, upon seeing the miserable state of the Venetians and Herders who had been assigned to feint at the main gate, he could no longer laugh.
Andre walked over to Winters, crouched down to look at the knife wounds and almost blood-soaked outer garments on Winters, and said with a trembling voice, “Brother… are you okay?”
“I’m fine, they’re all minor wounds,” replied Winters with lipless pale smile, asking, “Are the cannons taken care of?”
“Taken care of, nailed down dead,” Andre nodded, and after thinking for a moment, added, “The heavy cannons in the bastion were all thirty-two-pound bronze cannons with long barrels. The Tani people shouldn’t have the ability to cast such large cannons. I really don’t know where they got them from.”
“It’s good they’re destroyed,” Winters’ last lingering worry dropped, and he said in a relaxed tone, “It doesn’t matter where they got the cannons from, let the higher-ups worry about that. We’ve done our job.”
Then, another set of footsteps came from the south, as Bard also returned to the designated rendezvous point with two other Venetians.
“How did it go? Did you make contact?” Winters saw Bard return and anxiously tried to stand.
“Don’t move, don’t move, just sit there,” Bard quickly held Winters down, speaking softly, “We made contact, our warships have set out.”
Bard pointed in the direction of the bay, “Look, they’re already here.”
The sound of the cannon fire came faintly from the direction of the entrance to the bay, and behind the hazy trees, warships entered Red Sulfur Bay one after another.
The Venetian soldiers shouted and yelled with excitement.
The Herders, realizing they were about to go home, teared up with emotion as well, hugging each other and weeping openly.
Winters, Bard, and Andre also exchanged smiles with a sense of relief.
Then came the sound of cannons again, and this time it was heavy artillery, the thunderous boom of which made the leaves tremble.
Winters’ expression became panicked… something was wrong… the direction was wrong… the cannon fire was not coming from the entrance of the bay, but from the second bastion at the waist of the bay, the very one they had just attacked.
Winters and Bard widened their eyes at Andre.
Andre was almost in tears with anxiety, “I… I… I fucking nailed shut all the damn gun ports!”