The Battle at Centla

"Unload all of the horses! Limber the cannons! Bring everything we have against the savages!" Cortes is in a fury. The scouting party he went with to the natives came under attack by their warriors. Most made it back safely, though Cortes lost his shoe fighting in the mud, but their declaration of war was clear. As one of his aides de champ, you are following Cortes as he gives out orders to prepare for a strike against them. "Did you learn anything about the savages that might be useful Delgado?" You think back to your mission. "Just one thing sir. Horses seem to terrify them. They haven't seen anything like them, so maybe we can use that to our advantage." Cortes looks thoughtful. "Hmm, good. I don't have enough horses for all of you, so you'll have to fight this one on foot Delgado. Sorry, but I can only trust the men whose abilities I know best with such a rare resource. Organize some men into a platoon and link up with the army." You understand. You've been trained in all styles of warfare, so you can handle this.

You gather a few of the common soldiers together as your squad. Many of your men are armed with muskets, which should help to strike fear into the savages, who have almost certainly never seen their like. Nervous but excited, you march with the noisy column of soldiers, ready for your first taste of real combat. It is many hours of slow marching through the woods, weighed down by the cannons, slow but invaluable. One of the men from the old scouting parties says that you should be reaching the plains around the town soon. You call your men back to attention, wanting them at full readiness. As the army breaks through the foliage, you are shocked to see a massive war party of savages. They are covered in all manner of war paint, decorated with feathers and the skins of exotic animals. Strange instruments and war drums play to give spirit to their army as they wait to fight. The roiling mass of savage warriors is eager for battle.

A small thrill of terror shoots through you as you take in the sight. There must be several thousand of them, way outnumbering you. Nevertheless, you steel your resolve. There will be no retreat today. The locals, seeing their advantage in numbers, press the attack. "Fire!" The cannons let loose with a series of deep booms, shooting thin columns of destruction into their ranks, turning some into pulp, knocking others over, and disorganizing the entire formation. As they get closer the muskets fire, claiming enemies in a less dramatic fashion than the cannons, but producing a great deal of noise and smoke nonetheless. You can almost see the confusion of the faces of the warriors as their comrades fall suddenly as if by magic, no arrow visible. Nevertheless they continue their charge. "Counter charge!" The order is given, and you along with your men prepare for the melee. Sword and buckler drawn, you are in the second rank, not making the first impact but following just behind. As you close with the enemy you see they lack any metal armor, they don't even have metal weapons! Encouraged by your technological superiority, you vigorously apply yourself to aiding the front rank, stabbing at foes in between the gaps in your line. Between your buckler and your fine steel armor, you feel nigh invincible. Smoke from the cannons and muskets has left the battlefield hazy and smelling of gunpowder, yet the savage horde continues unabated through the fog.

The tactics of the savages are strange. They seem to lack killing intent, often avoiding fatal blows as they try to capture an incapacitated man. His comrades have no such weakness however, and will kill the enemy on the spot as he tries to drag away their friend. You have seen this replayed several times, despite the chaos of the battle. Your sword has become slick with blood, having pierced several natives, perhaps fatally. Still, a large proportion of the army, unfortunately a small number in total but large in proportion, has been wounded heavily or killed by the natives. You are now in the front, filled with adrenaline as you block and parry the blows of savage after savage. They seem to come without end; every one you kill is replaced by several more. Few have managed to land blows on you, and those that did have received the stern rebuke of your plate. Once, the stone points of your enemy's weapon shattered on impact, leaving him standing there in shock before you gored him. It's bloody, mechanical fighting, with no room for heroics or flash. Your squad has spread out around you, helping to prevent the shattering of the front rank. Yet as hard as you try, the sheer numbers of the enemy seem inexhaustible. "Cavalry! Charge!!!" You hear the cry, but cannot break your attention from the combat in front of you as two savages try to team up to take you down. You have little options for a counterattack, as you have no time in between parrying the one and blocking the other. You step back, and one of your men comes through the fog unexpectedly to fire his pistol into one's face, leaving his shocked companion easy pickings for you. Suddenly, a great cry goes up through the native horde. In a small clearing of the fog, you see that your cavalry has outmaneuvered the enemy and is striking them from behind. It's almost comical that a mere 14 horsemen could produce such an effect, but you're grateful regardless. Pinned between the infantry and the unknown beasts they've never seen, the enemy's morale is broken. The savages' ranks shatter, and their army goes into full rout. With a bloody yell, the remainder of your army gives pursuit, cutting down the fleeing enemy without mercy. Many an Indian falls that day under Spanish guns and steel.

As the last of the savages flee, your army catches its breath. Your adrenaline starts to fade, and you feel aches that make the worst of your training days feel like a picnic. You're completely exhausted and covered in blood, the majority of which at least isn't your own. Your armor feels heavier than it ever has, and so you drop to the ground, done. As things cool down, stock is taken. Over 70 have serious wounds, but only a handful are dead. As you look around at the field covered in the bodies of the slaughtered, you feel the result to be miraculous.