Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

63. The Argan Campaign 4

Maratha's top general, who commanded 1,500 elite Arab troops and was a veteran of countless battles, was overseeing a fierce attack and crushing the fleeing soldiers one second, and the next second his head exploded.

The Arab mercenaries' offensive came to an abrupt halt.

The soldiers in the front row were stunned and at a loss, while the soldiers in the back row were bewildered and astonished.

"charge!!"

Taking advantage of the enemy's disarray, the Irish soldiers, having regrouped, were in high spirits and charged back with loaded rifles and gleaming bayonets.

First came a series of neat volleys of gunfire, a barrage of bullets sweeping across the enemy lines, followed by bayonets.

The Irish reaped the lives of the panicked and fleeing enemy soldiers, holding fast to the front lines of the Arab mercenaries and not giving them any chance to regroup and launch a counterattack.

The fierce hand-to-hand combat resumed, but the tide of battle had been completely turned.

Having just escaped death and regained their fighting spirit, the Irish soldiers fought with red eyes, thrusting bayonets and smashing rifle butts, venting all the pent-up frustration and anger from their previous defeat.

However, the Arab mercenaries were veterans who had fought for many years. Even with their commander killed and morale low, they still managed to put up a stubborn resistance by maintaining their squad formation and did not immediately collapse.

The two sides remained locked in a stalemate, and it was difficult to determine a winner in the short term.

At this critical juncture of stalemate, a series of rapid and orderly footsteps suddenly approached from the right flank.

Captain Anthony's grenadier battalion rushed to the scene at full speed and arrived on the battlefield in time!

"All units, prepare—drop the bombs!"

Captain Anthony raised his saber and gave the order in a stern voice.

In an instant, hundreds of cast iron grenades were released simultaneously, tracing short parabolic arcs as they landed densely among the entangled and fighting Arab mercenaries.

Boom boom boom!!!

A series of explosions erupted one after another, scalding shrapnel flew everywhere, and violent shockwaves violently overturned the surrounding enemy soldiers.

Instant bursts of fire and smoke engulfed the entire melee battlefield. The once tightly packed Arab squad was shattered into pieces, with limbs, blood mist, and rags mixed with dust flying everywhere.

The Arab mercenaries, who relied on their close-quarters combat advantage to resist, had never experienced such a dense barrage of explosions.

A barrage of grenades struck, killing or wounding a large number of Arab mercenaries. The survivors suffered ruptured eardrums, dizziness, and were completely rendered incapable of fighting.

"shooting!"

Anthony gave the enemy no chance to regroup and, taking advantage of the aftershocks of the explosion, decisively ordered his troops to fire.

Bang bang bang

"charge!"

The grenadiers immediately picked up their bayoneted rifles and charged forward, like a steel torrent sweeping over everything.

In just a few minutes, the battle was completely over.

The Arab mercenaries completely lost their will to fight. It is unknown who was the first to turn around and flee, but the remaining soldiers threw away their weapons, abandoned their formation, and fled desperately towards the wheat fields and the main force of Maratha.

"shooting!"

Neither the grenadiers nor the Irish pursued the Arab mercenaries; they simply kept firing from where they were.

Because Dugan had given a strict order that no unit was allowed to leave the front lines to pursue the enemy without his command.

Moreover, these Arab mercenaries cannot escape either.

Little did they know that the real death penalty had been waiting for them for a long time on their escape route.

The Chrysler, positioned at the rear artillery position, was already desperately thirsty for fire.

Just now, the infantry on both sides were caught in a melee, and the artillery was unable to fire.

Now, as Chrysler watched the enemy remnants finally break free from close combat and begin to retreat, his eyes instantly filled with barely suppressed excitement.

"Lily, Anna, Sophie! Lower the angle by 3 degrees, solid shot, fire!"

The three cannons roared simultaneously, their solid shot sweeping low across the wheat fields, slamming into the densest part of the fleeing crowd and instantly crushing large numbers of fleeing enemy soldiers.

"Isabella, Victoria, Catherine! Shrapnel! Fire!"

Several shrapnel shells soared into the air and exploded above the fleeing crowd, raining down iron pellets that slaughtered the fleeing remnants like a storm. Large numbers of Arab mercenaries fell to the ground, unable to rise again.

"The rest of you, open fire at will!"

The remaining six cannons roared in turn, flames spewing from their muzzles, and shells rained down on the enemy's retreating path.

The scorching hot barrels continued to burn under the blazing sun and amidst the smoke. Despite the intense heat, the gunners loaded the guns at breakneck speed and fired repeatedly, squeezing every last drop of firepower into the barrels.

The Arab remnants, who had just narrowly escaped from the bayonet charge, stumbled headlong into a hell of cannon fire from every angle.

After round after round of precise and ferocious artillery fire, the smoke slowly dissipated.

The 1,500 elite Arab mercenaries who had been so aggressive and nearly caused the 108th Regiment to collapse were almost completely wiped out.

Corpses lay strewn across the fields, blood soaked the soil, and severed limbs and remains were scattered among the wheat fields.

Around 11:00 a.m., the artillery fire between the two sides ceased as both had been firing for a long time and needed to cool down.

Only the infantry remained fighting.

Wellesley, positioned in the middle, immediately took in the situation with his camera, getting a full view of the entire game.

The enemy forces in the central area are numerous and their defenses are solid; a direct assault would inevitably result in heavy casualties.

The enemy's right flank was sheltered by wheat fields, a complex terrain that was easy to defend but difficult to attack.

The Maratha coalition's left flank was the weakest point, with its forces being mixed and poorly connected.

With the opportunity presented, Wellesley acted decisively and quickly adjusted the entire army's tactics.

"Order Colonel Stevenson to use the left flank to hold the line, feign attacks to apply pressure, and relentlessly engage the enemy's main force in the center, preventing them from diverting troops to reinforce their flanks!"

"The remaining troops, gather all assault forces and advance at full speed to launch a fierce attack on Marata's left flank! Once the enemy lines are torn apart, immediately widen the canal opening to cut off their flanks and divide their forces!"

Stevenson's left flank immediately tightened its formation and advanced steadily, using dense volleys of gunfire and sporadic artillery fire to continue feinting attacks, tightly entangled Marata's main force in the center, creating the illusion of a frontal assault, firmly restraining the enemy's most elite main force, and preventing them from paying attention to the dangers on their flanks.

Meanwhile, the British right wing, spearheaded by the Scottish Highland Regiment and the Madras Infantry Regiment which had regained order, along with Duggan's 108th Infantry, formed an echelon assault formation and steadily advanced.

Scottish tartan kilts fluttered in the wind, Highland soldiers carried rifles and gleaming bayonets, their postures upright and their steps steady, their morale still high after several bloody battles.

As the British Army's most skilled elite troops adept at breaching enemy lines, they were Wellesley's sharpest weapon.

"Front row, crouch; back row, raise your guns—fire in unison!"

The officer's stern command echoed across the battlefield.

bang bang bang! ! !

A perfectly synchronized volley of gunfire suddenly erupted, the dense bullets raining down like a black storm on Marata's left flank.

Maratha infantrymen who were building defenses fell in droves, the front line of defense was cleared in an instant, corpses piled up in layers, and blood seeped into the scalding yellow soil.

After one volley of fire, the front-line soldiers quickly retreated to reload, while the rear-line soldiers stepped forward to continue the second volley.

The three-stage volley fire was continuous, steady, dense, and deadly, giving the enemy no chance to breathe, regroup, or counterattack.

The Maratha soldiers were carefully trained by French advisors. Although they were somewhat inferior to the British regular army, they did not collapse or retreat in the face of British firepower. Instead, they raised their guns and fought back, using straw as cover to resist desperately. Gunfire and bullets crisscrossed, weaving a death curtain in front of the two armies.

But courage and bravery can never make up for the absolute gap in training and discipline.

Maratha infantry consisted mostly of temporarily recruited tribal soldiers and ragtag forces. Their formations were loose, their reloading was chaotic, and their advances and retreats were disorganized. They relied entirely on feel when shooting, with no method whatsoever.

Some fired hastily, some hadn't even reloaded, and some dodged in panic. Their firepower was scattered and weak, making it impossible to inflict effective damage on the well-organized British phalanx.

In contrast, the British army has undergone years of standardized training, demonstrating disciplined movement and orderly offense and defense.

Even on the battlefield, scorching under the blazing sun and amidst the smoke of gunpowder, they maintained an extreme level of formation discipline. Every round of firing, every step, and every shift was precise and unified, like a sophisticated war machine, steadily crushing forward.

As one side gains and the other loses, the balance of power in the battle quickly shifts.

The casualties on the left flank of Marata rose sharply, with corpses piling up on the front lines. The morale of the remaining soldiers was wavering, but they were still able to hold the line with difficulty.

"When will it be our turn?" Dugan's 108th Infantry Regiment was at the back of the attack sequence, so they could only watch from behind.