Çorlu, Slavic Byzantium, European Union
"Fire the 12-pounders, 24-pounders, and the 48-pounders!" the artillery commander roared, veins bulging in his neck and nerves pulsing in his forehead.
"Hit them with everything you've got!" His shout, spittle flying everywhere, finally snapped the men out of their momentary stupor. Their hands began to move again, quickly regaining the silky-smooth rhythm they had practised countless times.
"Take this, you infidels!"
"Damn bastards, you're not going to win that easily this time, hehe!"
"Hahaha, did you like that, shite heads?"
The artillery line came alive as the gunners fired salvo after salvo, loading and firing the cannons relentlessly without pause. Sadly, only a few salvos later did they realise how delusional they had been just moments earlier.
