Episode 144
When Heinrich VI first heard about the meticulously planned operation, “This strike will completely cripple Khwarazm’s ability to continue the war,” he had his doubts.
“Sounds great, but are we sure this is even feasible?”
The strategist, upon hearing his skepticism, replied confidently, “This plan is built on faith in Your Majesty.”
It was a transparent attempt at flattery, yet it was a sweet whisper that a ruler could hardly resist.
In truth, it wasn’t just empty praise. The strategy was devised to win the war, implying that the strategist believed Heinrich was capable of executing it.
Initially, Heinrich approached the battlefield with confidence, but as the battle loomed closer, he couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious.
He was well aware that his boldness didn’t quite match his ambition, so he wasn’t overly concerned.
And honestly, who wouldn’t be scared facing a massive war like this? Accepting fear as a natural response was something Heinrich had recently come to understand.
“If we hold our ground when the enemy attacks, victory will be ours! Stand firm, my knights!”
“For the Crusaders! For the Emperor!”
The plan was simple: draw the enemy in as deep as possible and hold out until their offensive wanes.
As the brilliant morning sun began to illuminate the land, a sharp sound echoed from the Khwarazm camp, and a massive cavalry charge erupted.
“Allah is great! All forces, crush the enemy!”
“Stay together and maintain formation! Don’t be intimidated by their charge!”
Both the attackers and defenders entered the battle with unwavering confidence. No one hesitated on this battlefield, as both sides were convinced of their impending victory.
Muhammad was deep in thought.
“Keep the javelin units pounding the enemy. Have the mounted archers circle around and disrupt their tight formation.”
“Yes, sir!”
He had been confident of a swift victory, but the battle was dragging on longer than expected. Timur’s flank hadn’t reported any breakthroughs yet.
“General, the enemy’s resistance is stronger than anticipated. Their defensive line is holding, and they’re even making slow advances.”
“Naturally, they’ve learned from past encounters. Don’t be too alarmed. They can’t maintain that tight formation all day. When they reach their limit, that’s when we’ll strike. Our forces are more than capable of sustaining the fight, right?”
“Yes, morale is higher than ever, so there’s no fear of exhaustion.”
“Exactly. We can maintain our offensive with high morale, but those with already low spirits will crumble faster. Still, be careful not to overextend and waste energy.”
Despite his words, Muhammad had expected the Holy Roman forces to show signs of weakness by now.
“Perhaps I underestimated their resolve. They’re not here out of desperation; they genuinely believe they can defeat us.”
The battle between Khwarazm and the Holy Roman Empire was unfolding in a typical pattern seen in clashes between Islamic forces and Crusaders.
Khwarazm had the advantage in mobility, but unless they got very close, they couldn’t inflict significant damage on the Crusader knights. Naturally, they aimed for the horses, but the Holy Roman side countered by deploying light cavalry to harass Khwarazm’s mounted archers.
Meanwhile, the knights were safely positioned behind shield-bearing infantry, waiting for the perfect moment to charge.
Muhammad had planned to break through with a surprise attack, but the Holy Roman side seemed prepared, deploying their knights strategically to defend.
Now, it was a test of endurance and who would make the first mistake.
But Muhammad wasn’t worried. In battles of attrition, the morale and training of soldiers shine brightest.
How could a ragtag group, fresh from infighting, maintain the same level of morale as his own troops, rearmed with faith?
At most, it would take another hour or two before cracks began to show.
“Perhaps I should ask His Majesty to make an appearance at the front. That alone would boost the soldiers’ morale.”
As the battle wore on, both sides were nearing exhaustion. If they could muster the strength to break the enemy’s formation, their cavalry reserves could wreak havoc.
Though he had commanded the battle from start to finish, this fight was unfolding so perfectly it could be a textbook example of victory.
“Soon, their formation will crumble. If not, their cavalry will have to charge out. In the first case, send in our cavalry to disrupt their main force.”
“Understood!”
“If it’s the latter, draw in their knights and use our cavalry to cut them off from their infantry. Then, defeat them piecemeal to minimize our losses.”
“Yes, sir!”
“And for the final charge, it would be best if His Majesty gave the order himself to boost the soldiers’ morale. Send a messenger to the rear to inform His Majesty…”
Muhammad was issuing orders non-stop when a messenger from the right flank galloped in, providing a brief respite.
“General! Urgent news from the reconnaissance unit! An unidentified enemy force has been spotted on our right flank, heading this way!”
“What?”
By noon, as the sun reached its zenith, Khwarazm’s scouts, who had been pressing the enemy hard, spotted a group approaching from the flank.
“So, the cunning Romans. They must have sent a detachment around to hit our flank from the start.”
It made sense now why the enemy had been holding out so stubbornly. They were buying time for their detachment to arrive.
Muhammad could see right through the enemy commander’s mind.
They must have thought it was a clever plan.
But in desperate situations, clever plans often turn out to be mere tricks.
To Muhammad, this was no different.
“Foolish. The idea of sending a detachment isn’t bad, but it doesn’t increase their overall numbers.”
Sending forces to hit the flank meant fewer knights in the Holy Roman main force.
And they couldn’t have sent all their knights, so the number of knights in the detachment was limited.
“Send a message to Timur. Leave enough forces to keep the Holy Roman main force in check and send the rest to deal with the detachment coming from the flank.”
“Understood!”
They had planned to separate and defeat the troublesome knights, and now the enemy had conveniently split their forces for them.
No matter how brave the knights, without infantry support, they’d be vulnerable to a hail of arrows.
The certainty of victory surged within him, and the sounds of battle became a symphony of triumph.
“General! Report from General Timur… They’ve identified the flag of the enemy approaching from the flank.”
“Is that really necessary to report? It’s probably just the Holy Roman or allied knights.”
“No, sir! The flag leading the charge on our flank… it’s the banner of Richard, the Demon Incarnate!”
The news struck like a bolt from the blue, shattering the soaring confidence of victory.
“Signal from our knights! They can’t hold out much longer! We need to charge!”
“No, not yet! We must hold!”
“Your Majesty! The enemy’s assault is growing fiercer. If we only defend, our losses will be too great!”
“Even so, we must endure! The time isn’t right yet!”
The cries of the wounded and the deafening shouts from all directions made his head spin.
If not for the constant drumming and the commanders rallying the troops, the infantry would have been half-broken by now.
Yet they held firm, knowing what awaited at the end of this endurance.
“Just a little longer! Time is on our side!”
“Just a little more…!”
But no matter how loudly the Emperor shouted, the arrows didn’t slow or change course.
Whoosh!
Thud!
Arrows rained down like a storm, embedding themselves mercilessly into the shields.
Thwack!
“Aaargh!”
Through a narrow gap, arrows struck with cruel precision, causing soldiers to scream in agony as blood spurted from their wounds. Their cries of pain echoed across the battlefield.
Even in a battle where victory seemed certain, death and the groans of suffering were inescapable. Both seasoned veterans and inexperienced recruits faced the same mortal peril. The battlefield was a place where death was the great equalizer, a reality even an emperor could not alter.
Emperor Heinrich VI stood in a place where arrows could never reach him, yet watching his soldiers fall and suffer was far from pleasant. He longed to heed the knights’ call and order an immediate charge, to crush those infuriatingly distant Islamic archers who rained arrows from afar.
But even in such moments, the emperor remembered his duty and suppressed his impulses. His clenched fists, trembling slightly, betrayed his inner turmoil.
“We move when their right flank shows signs of weakness,” he instructed.
Not yet.
“Your Majesty! We’re reaching our limits!”
Must we wait even longer?
“Your Majesty! Order the counterattack!”
Even if everything went according to plan, if their side crumbled, it would all be for naught. Just as doubt began to creep into his resolve, a voice broke through.
“Their left flank is weakening!”
“Finally!”
The Duke of Brunswick announced the long-awaited arrival of their reinforcements. Though Heinrich VI had yet to see them with his own eyes, he instinctively knew.
The reason they had endured, huddled like a pile of straw, taking blow after blow, was clear. If the Holy Roman Empire, with its formidable forces, had been the anvil to withstand the Islamic onslaught, then—
“The time has come! Order the cavalry to charge! Now is our moment!”
The sharpest blade to cut through the enemy’s rear had arrived. The lion-hearted King of England and the prophet who orchestrated this entire plan had finally reached the battlefield.