He was relieved when the spire of the church in Portola appeared in Potal's vision.

The journey from the manor to the shovel port is only seven kilometers, and it takes only a quarter of an hour to arrive.

However, it was this short seven kilometers that made the Dusak veteran Potal, who was fearless, experience the fearlessness of being a person who had never been able to experience, as if walking on thin ice.

Potal sent almost every reliable rider under his command as a scout, protecting the team with an outer defense line composed of a cavalry, because he knew that the rebels had a cavalry team that could not be underestimated.

Therefore, what Botar was most worried about was that the rebel cavalry accurately captured the fighter jets that his troops had not yet launched and defeated the militia troops in the marching state of the Port-Zhuozi militia.

Fortunately, the rebel cavalry team that was expected to come and go as the wind never appeared, and Potal's troops walked through the seven kilometers from the manor to the port without any danger.

The moment when he saw the spire of the church in the center of the town jumping out of the treetops, Potal couldn't help but feel a little contempt that "the rebel leader is just like this."

At first glance, the temporary wooden walls roughly divided the edge of the town into two. The red swallowtail flag originally inserted into the walls had been pulled out and replaced with the rebels' light blue square flag.

Outside the wall, on the north side of the road, on the flat open space of the livestock auction house, the rebels who had sneaked into the shovel port had already set up their formation and were waiting for a long time.

Looking at the spears that were like a forest in the distance, Potal murmured to himself: "They actually left the city."

From the scout, Potal learned in advance that the rebels had left the city to line up. But he did not believe that the scout was not lying until he witnessed the light reflected by the tip of the other party's spear in the sun.

Dusakpotar did not quite understand why the rebels chose to go out of the city to fight, but he was not a recruit who had been on the battlefield for the first time. During his long service career, he had seen too many incredible behaviors and too many stupid choices - whether it was the enemy or his own.

"It seems that fate favors me more today." Potal thought to himself secretly - since the rebels have voluntarily given up their terrain advantages, he will definitely not let the opportunity slip away in vain.

The trombone of the copper tube sounded "buzzing", and the sound of scolding and footsteps were stirred up, and the troops of Potal changed from the marching column to square formations in an orderly manner in chaos.

According to the regulations of the Alliance Army, when infantry deployed in square formations, each square formation should appoint a senior officer as the "Captain of the Square" to be responsible for arranging the formation and deploying soldiers.

Among the troops of Potar, the person who is most qualified to serve as the leader of the phalanx is undoubtedly the "Mr. Alpha" who trained this unit himself.

However, the young man with the pseudonym "Alpha" was not present at the moment, so he could only do it by the sergeant and centurion he promoted.

Fortunately, the rigorous training of the militia of the Shaozi Port played a role at critical moments.

Even without Alpha's command, Potal's troops were still unfolding smoothly, reorganized, and formed three brigade-level phalanxes in an orderly manner.

...

"What's that guy named...Potal, it seems that he has a good skill in training troops, and he looks decent." Bart Shaling came to Tamas. He hugged his elbow with his right arm and rubbed his cheeks with his left hand, and said with a chuckling: "I doubt that even our people can't do it like them - like oil-like changes."

Tamas stared at the enemy in the distance and nodded with a serious expression: "It's very good, we're not as good as that."

After asking for something boring, Bart Xialing sighed.

He turned his horse to the war horse, faced his subordinates behind him, and laughed and scolded: "Look at him! Look at you again! The first battalion commander said--you guys can't catch up with the new recruits on the opposite side! OK! Don't stand stupidly! Crush out some tears and prepare to surrender!"

A low burst of laughter broke out among the soldiers who were ready to fight.

"It's not as good as others - that's a battalion!" someone shouted unconvincedly.

Someone immediately scolded him: "Don't you fucking fart!"

In a simple sentence, the soldiers who were originally mentally tense became much more relaxed unconsciously.

Because many veterans were killed and disabled in the Battle of Blood Mud, the Iron-Feng County Infantry Regiment had to add a large number of new recruits after the war. Even among the soldiers standing in front of Bart Xialing at this moment, many people had never been on the battlefield.

However, after being scolded by the second battalion commander, he was among the hilarious veterans, and even the new recruits who had never seen blood, felt less afraid.

Tamas peeked at the second battalion commander with shame - he knew that he would never be able to inspire the warriors like the other party; he didn't understand why the centurion appointed himself as the commander of the first battalion, rather than the more talented Bart Shaling.

But since the centurion chose to entrust his army to himself, Tamas could only do his best to live up to this trust.

"Speak the horn, ignite the ignition." Tamas ordered: "Prepare to meet the enemy."

...

Watching the orderly operation of the militia of the Shaved Harbour, Potal couldn't help but think: "Even if the old duke reborn, he would not be able to do it - Mr. Alpha should be proud of this."

Unfortunately, the young man responsible for training the militia was not present at the moment and could not appreciate his achievements with his own eyes.

Taking advantage of the time when the troops were adjusting their formation, Potal rushed towards the shovel port, intending to take a closer look at the reality of the rebels.

He didn't bring a guard, so it was too conspicuous. On the prudence, he didn't dare to get too close.

Potal grasped the distance, and the horse flew past the edge of the effective range of the musket. Seeing that the other party did not fire, he turned his horse and came again - just like when he was a scout under the old duke.

During the third close reconnaissance, two rebel light cavalry surrounded one on the left and one on the right.

Of course, the sophisticated Potal would not be entangled. He pulled the reins and retreated to his own formation without hesitation. The two rebel light cavalry chased after a short period of time and stopped entangling and retreated.

This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content later! The battle between light cavalry is a prelude to the battle. When the two armies have set up their formation but have not really fought, the light cavalry on both sides will do their best to reconnaise the enemy situation at close range, and at the same time, do their best to drive out the enemy light cavalry with the same purpose.

The long-lost actual combat made Potal's blood boil - he was about to forget what it would be like to chase each other with the enemy light cavalry and fight against fast horses.

However, no matter how hot the blood is, it cannot melt the cold steel.

"About seven or eight hundred people, no more than nine hundred at most. And at least half are musketeers, and the rest should be spearmen. But..." Potal exclaimed in his heart while galloping towards the formation: "When did they have such good equipment?!"

Potal could not see the rebel soldiers in the back row, but he was sure that the rebel spearmen in the first row were all wearing half-body armor with iron skirts, and even the style was uniform.

The rebels were equipped with terrible numbers of muskets, not old antiques like fire door guns, but all heavy mesh rope guns.

The opponent's excellent equipment made Potal frightened. He couldn't figure out where the rebels got so many plate armor and muskets.

Potal's troops were not as rich as the rebels - most of them were just spears and swords and shields; they only had a small number of muskets, with varying calibers and ages; they were even less armor.

Potal was fucked and finally realized that he took it for granted that the rebels' equipment was at the same level as the militia under his command, so he seriously underestimated the rebels' combat power.

However, the two armies have already set up their own formations and are just waiting for the war to begin, and it is too late to regret it. It doesn't matter where the rebels' equipment comes from. The only important thing at the moment is how to defeat the rebels.

Potal suppressed his beating heart and nervously weighed the advantages and disadvantages of both sides:

Our biggest advantage is our troops, which is undoubtedly - the number of rebels is about 800, and the Potal, who was throwing everything, brought more than 1,300 soldiers; although the rebels were well-equipped, the rebel commanders brought too many musketeers, which was also their weakness.

"Once the fight starts, you must stick it up as soon as possible." Potal subconsciously gritted his teeth and thought firmly: "You can't give the rebels the muskets a chance to exert their power. Put it up! Surround them! Fight with them in hand!"

The formation of the rebels was also a bit strange, but Potal couldn't understand it.

For a retired old Dusak, he had already thought of the limits he could think of. But thinking like a commander is not something that Potal is good at.

"I would have been there," Potal thought with a headache: "I would have been there!"

Although our army is good at fighting, the rebels are backed by the wall, and even Potal can guess that the rebel commander will definitely arrange a large number of musketeers on the wall.

The rash attack will definitely make you feel bloody when you hit the head, Potal decided to continue confrontation and wait for the plane to appear.

Then he heard a thunder sound.

...

On the wall, a group of gunners stared at the trajectory of the shells passing through the air. When they saw a black iron ball passing by the enemy's head, they sighed regretfully.

Only Captain Morrow was unmoved. After seeing the shell landing point, he recorded a line of numbers on the paper, and then calmly ordered: "The second gun group, lower the height for three minutes."

"Reduce the height for three minutes!" The gunner almost yelled and repeated the orders - although it was not necessary at present, once each gun fired at full speed, it would be impossible to deliver the message without loud noise.

The wedge-shaped wooden block under the cannon body moved three scales. Then the gunner yelled again: "Reduce two points! It's over!"

Morrow nodded invisibly—Richard Mason trained his artillery well, God knows how he trained a group of farmers and accountant apprentices to be qualified gunners—but the cold mask covered Morrow's expression, and only a cold order came from under the mask: "Fire."

This was the first round of shooting. Other gunners retreated to a safe distance as usual. A man with a large red birthmark on his face walked forward and lit the launching medicine with his own hands: "Fire!"

The flame flashed, and the cannon body suddenly sat back, and the cannonball flew towards the enemy with the roar of the cannon.

This time, Captain Mason's daughters did not disappoint the gunners - the shells were flying into the center of the enemy's phalanx, and several people were knocked down in an instant.

The enemy soldiers around the shell landing point fled around like frightened fish, and no one even dared to lend a helping hand to the injured.

The scene was like a giant swinging a heavy hammer and hitting a group of flesh and blood dolls standing still.

The gunners' scalps were numb, and they felt both happy and cruel. But before they could sigh, the gunners of the second gun group immediately returned to the cannon, reset the cannon, and reloaded it.

The wall of the shovel port is a product of rushing work. The wooden tripod, which was only half a meter wide on the inside, could barely accommodate a person standing behind the chest wall and shooting.

But it was not a problem for Captain Morrow. The engineers brought by Morrow transformed the bracket, which was originally only half a meter wide, into a temporary artillery base.

They used the board to widen the tripod, then added piles and piled soil under the board to make it bear the load.

The three six-pound long cannons seized from the Terdun tribe were now deployed on these temporary cannon bases, waiting to harvest blood and life.

Morrow confirmed the landing point of the shell and recorded a row of numbers: "The third gun group, lower the height for a moment."

...

Potal saw a flash of red light on the wall in the distance.

A terrible scream came from the air. Then it seemed as if I suddenly bumped into something soft, and the scream disappeared. Then there was a continuous and short "绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-绿-�

Next to Potal, a soldier's calves and knees separated.

The shells remained unabated, and they continued to smash the shin of a soldier behind. The broken bone pieces pierced the flesh and blood, revealing the white and broken stubble.

This chapter is not finished yet, please click on the next page to continue reading the exciting content later! The solid iron ball that injured two people broke the ankle of another soldier and was trapped in the ground.

This time Potal saw clearly that he saw the shells hit the ground, bounced up, hit again, bounced again, jumped into the human wall, plowing smoothly.

The whole process is only between breathing, but it is as long as a century.

Then, a red light flashed on the wall in the distance.

Another bloody trench.

The shrill cry for help and screams echoed in the square, tinging everyone's eardrums.
To be continued...