The iron ball tore through the morning air, screaming like a dying beast before it slammed into the beach.
A geyser of dirt, shattered wood, and broken bodies erupted from the center of the Frankish trenches.
"Push the lines forward!" Marshal Domnall roared, his claymore raised high as he rode his shaggy horse behind the infantry blocks.
"Keep the push-cannons rolling!"
"Do not let the wheels sink into the mud!"
Long lines of lightweight steel cannons were shoved forward by the sweating artillerymen.
Right beside them, tight lines of riflemen raised their repeating weapons, while lines of infantry kept their steel pikes angled outward to repel any sudden cavalry charge.
They were trying to go around the craters, keeping their Napoleon-style block formations completely intact.
However, standing on the high ramparts of his beach camp, the Frankish commander ignored the chaos erupting around him.
