PierceScion
The name is Patrick.... Mr. Pierce if you're nasty
- Local time
- Today 2:46 AM
- Messages
- 44
- Age
- 39
- Pronouns
- Mr. Pierce/ My Lord
William looked through the haze of smoke as the figures moved in their ragged line. They had held out for almost two weeks now against one of the finest militaries in the world. He had known since he had answered the call to surrender with a cannon shot this would be the conclusion of it all, but he had hoped.... He had in his naive foolishness hoped reinforcements would come and providence would see them saved... With a full garrison, this fort could last till judgment day against any army in the world.... Alas... None had come.
His belief that God was on their side was enforced when during their reconnoitering before the siege was set they had found over 60-head of cattle and 50-bushels of corn... The provisions for his small force would last for months if rationed well. Water was provided and the well was full they just needed men... But it was all too late now.
The last 10-days of attacks had been repulsed and with heavy casualties on the enemy's part but now William saw those were mere probes. A cat swatting at the mouse before striking to consume. The dawn showed just how doomed they were today over 5,000 men in their splendid uniforms lined up with shots and bayonets. They had been told no quarter would be given at the start of the siege and all men knew as they prepared that today was their day of death.
William still had hope. His men's morale was high, their fighting spirit ready for this assault and the fort was solid... They could survive if they stood fast and fought hard. Then the bombardment which was standard for the siege began and with a stroke of luck a shot made it into one of the powder magazines exploding it from the inside. The men who had been fighting on the walls against egregious numbers now turned to the chaos behind them. The screaming of injured men, horses, and the blinding smoke...
Had the enemy breached?
Were they surrounded?
Thanks to the black powder the term "Fog of War" was literal and thus William as Commander of this compound and these men moved to the courtyard to rally his confused forces. But it was too late. Some men stopped fighting and fled from the lower wall to the nearby river and already the enemy cavalry was chopping them down with shots and swords. The walls sewn with confusion had allowed the enemy to gain a foothold and thus they poured overtaking them. The men that kept their heads knew to beat a hasty retreat to the interior courtyard where a secondary stronghold had been made ready for this moment.
It was here William stood his sword in hand, pistol in the other as he screamed himself hoarse calling for his men to assemble, to form a line and prepare... But he knew just looking at the paltry numbers they now had, the men that had fled and the men that were cut off fighting toward any sort of cover it was not enough. They were doomed now and he knew it. A glance at his rallied force some 20-30 men armed but low on ammunition told him some also knew others were too ignorant to realize they were dead men walking.
Part of William's mind screamed to throw down his arms and surrender but he knew better... They had been told there were to be no prisoners if they did not surrender two weeks ago and the massacres that had happened already under the despotic rule of his foe before him showed William to surrender now would only mean death and he would die fighting with his men before he allowed himself to be put against a wall and executed or hung like a common criminal.
Calling to his men to prepare he saw the enemy lining up for the last charge a glance to his right he watched the last pocket of his men who had been cut off fall to the horde of soldiers the flag of his enemy flying over their valiantly fallen bodies... They had lost... The day was done... But he remained.
The foe now stood ready the leader of this force a swarthy man stained with black smoke from the musket and pistols he had discharged his gold epaulets on his collar showing he was a general who spoke the foreign tongue of the men he led the disciplined soldiers lined to his barking commands William grinned to his ragtag group of volunteers who had kept these decorated men of war at bay for almost two weeks. A testament to their courage as much as anything else and he screamed to them all the same line he had told them at the beginning of this seige.
~Victory or death!~
His men ripped out a defiant cheer the many eyes of blue, green, hazel, and brown narrowed onto the force that approached.
The commander of the victorious force walked through the open gates of the conquered fort. The air is scented with the aroma of war. Smoke, Sulfur from the fired muskets, blood, shit, and death. A deep breath was taken as he grinned his dazzling smile his teeth almost as bright as the polished gold of his medals and insignia that covered his chest. The bodies of the rebels were piled onto wagons for burial in a mass grave.
The last pocket that had been defeated still remained in their place of death. The bodies of his own soldiers had been taken for honorable burial and ceremony unlike the ignominious mass grave these rebels would have. The wet patches of blood that soaked the dusty ground told there had been scores of his men killed taking this last pocket. The rebels fought hard but died nonetheless... The commander was obvious as he was the only man in uniform was simple attire compared to that of his own generals but elegant were it clean and prepared... As it was it was heavily soiled by smoke, earth, and blood. The blue eyes still opened staring on in defiance his lips curled into a sneer of disdain... Valiant but foolish as all these rebels had been... But they would learn their place in time the commander and his army would see to that.
What few men had surrendered now sat kneeling in the dirt looking on as the tall, lean, aristocratic Commander stared at the body of William. He had been shot half a dozen times and bayoneted to ensure he was dead... The bloody wounds a badge of his courage...
Turning to the half dozen prisoners he waved to them, his men taking them to the nearest wall and a firing squad unceremoniously executing them...
He would make sure this place would be remembered by all as a show of his merciless victory.
His belief that God was on their side was enforced when during their reconnoitering before the siege was set they had found over 60-head of cattle and 50-bushels of corn... The provisions for his small force would last for months if rationed well. Water was provided and the well was full they just needed men... But it was all too late now.
The last 10-days of attacks had been repulsed and with heavy casualties on the enemy's part but now William saw those were mere probes. A cat swatting at the mouse before striking to consume. The dawn showed just how doomed they were today over 5,000 men in their splendid uniforms lined up with shots and bayonets. They had been told no quarter would be given at the start of the siege and all men knew as they prepared that today was their day of death.
William still had hope. His men's morale was high, their fighting spirit ready for this assault and the fort was solid... They could survive if they stood fast and fought hard. Then the bombardment which was standard for the siege began and with a stroke of luck a shot made it into one of the powder magazines exploding it from the inside. The men who had been fighting on the walls against egregious numbers now turned to the chaos behind them. The screaming of injured men, horses, and the blinding smoke...
Had the enemy breached?
Were they surrounded?
Thanks to the black powder the term "Fog of War" was literal and thus William as Commander of this compound and these men moved to the courtyard to rally his confused forces. But it was too late. Some men stopped fighting and fled from the lower wall to the nearby river and already the enemy cavalry was chopping them down with shots and swords. The walls sewn with confusion had allowed the enemy to gain a foothold and thus they poured overtaking them. The men that kept their heads knew to beat a hasty retreat to the interior courtyard where a secondary stronghold had been made ready for this moment.
It was here William stood his sword in hand, pistol in the other as he screamed himself hoarse calling for his men to assemble, to form a line and prepare... But he knew just looking at the paltry numbers they now had, the men that had fled and the men that were cut off fighting toward any sort of cover it was not enough. They were doomed now and he knew it. A glance at his rallied force some 20-30 men armed but low on ammunition told him some also knew others were too ignorant to realize they were dead men walking.
Part of William's mind screamed to throw down his arms and surrender but he knew better... They had been told there were to be no prisoners if they did not surrender two weeks ago and the massacres that had happened already under the despotic rule of his foe before him showed William to surrender now would only mean death and he would die fighting with his men before he allowed himself to be put against a wall and executed or hung like a common criminal.
Calling to his men to prepare he saw the enemy lining up for the last charge a glance to his right he watched the last pocket of his men who had been cut off fall to the horde of soldiers the flag of his enemy flying over their valiantly fallen bodies... They had lost... The day was done... But he remained.
The foe now stood ready the leader of this force a swarthy man stained with black smoke from the musket and pistols he had discharged his gold epaulets on his collar showing he was a general who spoke the foreign tongue of the men he led the disciplined soldiers lined to his barking commands William grinned to his ragtag group of volunteers who had kept these decorated men of war at bay for almost two weeks. A testament to their courage as much as anything else and he screamed to them all the same line he had told them at the beginning of this seige.
~Victory or death!~
His men ripped out a defiant cheer the many eyes of blue, green, hazel, and brown narrowed onto the force that approached.
One Hour Later....
The commander of the victorious force walked through the open gates of the conquered fort. The air is scented with the aroma of war. Smoke, Sulfur from the fired muskets, blood, shit, and death. A deep breath was taken as he grinned his dazzling smile his teeth almost as bright as the polished gold of his medals and insignia that covered his chest. The bodies of the rebels were piled onto wagons for burial in a mass grave.
The last pocket that had been defeated still remained in their place of death. The bodies of his own soldiers had been taken for honorable burial and ceremony unlike the ignominious mass grave these rebels would have. The wet patches of blood that soaked the dusty ground told there had been scores of his men killed taking this last pocket. The rebels fought hard but died nonetheless... The commander was obvious as he was the only man in uniform was simple attire compared to that of his own generals but elegant were it clean and prepared... As it was it was heavily soiled by smoke, earth, and blood. The blue eyes still opened staring on in defiance his lips curled into a sneer of disdain... Valiant but foolish as all these rebels had been... But they would learn their place in time the commander and his army would see to that.
What few men had surrendered now sat kneeling in the dirt looking on as the tall, lean, aristocratic Commander stared at the body of William. He had been shot half a dozen times and bayoneted to ensure he was dead... The bloody wounds a badge of his courage...
Turning to the half dozen prisoners he waved to them, his men taking them to the nearest wall and a firing squad unceremoniously executing them...
He would make sure this place would be remembered by all as a show of his merciless victory.
They will all Remember The Alamo.