Get your own Free HomepageIII. The Battle Of Pskov - The Last Great Clash of the Slavs
Opponents:
Invader - King Moroz. Kolotchine (Early Slav), with Tchoud (Early Slav) allies and Herul mercenaries
Defender - King Jainavicius. Baltia (Early Slav) with Slavmark (Early Slav) allies.
The clouds lowered, and snow threatened. King Moroz watched his troops get ready to give the frail Slavmark lines another thrashing. This time, it would be the end: there would be no more pursuits through the icy wastes and blasted forests. Then he could finish off the Baltians.
Mroz directed all the Kolots, his cavalry, warband, and knights to take the left wing; anything the Slavs put there would be crushed in the open fields. On his right, he placed the Tchoud rabble, facing a village, steep hills, and brush. The best part of this lot was some hard-bitten light infantry, and not much was to be hoped from it. Still, it could hold up the rebellious Slavs until his cavalry arrived.
As the Kolots began their advance, the first shock came. The cowards weren’t opposing them on the left, not even hiding behind the steep hill! Mroz immediately rushed off orders to bring all the troops there over to the right. Then the second shock came. There, the Baltian curs had taken up position, and were driving towards the Tchoud with their cavalry! He had been caught between two armies. Mroz roared defiance, and urged on the Tchoud, who nervously edged towards the apparently empty village and steep hill.
A still worse shock awaited, though. As the Tchoud began to pick out
the Slavmarkians in the village, a great shout went up from behind them,
a horrific mixture of Tchoud fear and Baltian bravado. Uncounted numbers
of Baltian woodsmen charged straight into the flank and rear of the Tchoud.
Already large numbers of Tchoud light infantry were going down. Mroz gnashed
his teeth and urged his troops to hurry up! Reports came back to him of
a lone spineless
Slavmarkian general holding up his entire wing by, of all things, running
away whenever combat threatened.
The Tchoud line began to resound with sword song and shield smack. The Tchoud king, Terjo, tried to bring some of his men around to face the threat from his rear, but was too late to stop the agonised screams from the baggage. Some Tchoud men did their work well, though they were completely outclassed by the small number of Baltian cavalry that began to hack amongst them. At one point, King Vicas, riding his piebald nag, was cut off. He was thought to have died, but was later discovered to have escaped the trap laid by some Tchoud cavalry.
Terjo's command was being pummeled from three sides, and finally collapsed.
However, Mroz didn't care. They had done their job. Mroz's troops were
almost in position for a charge that would sweep away a puny line of slavic
volunteers and Baltian militia that was all that separated him from the
Baltian camp. Then he saw the filth, Vicas, bring up his guard warband
to aid his cavalry, and under their combined weight the other Tchoud command
to give way. This was the end. The baggage was gone, the Tchoud surrounded.
Not one of Mroz's troops had been touched,
and it was time to leave. The dream of the great unifed Slav Society
must go on.
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