The Confrontation Part 4

January 4th, 1690 – The Outskirts of Fort Cervo.

General Berthold crouched behind a cluster of bushes atop a small ridge overlooking the fort. In his hands, a pair of binoculars gleamed faintly. He raised them to his eyes, scanning the rebel stronghold.

The fort was eerily quiet, save for the occasional shout of an order from within its battered walls. Smoke still curled from the damage wrought by the relentless naval bombardment, and Berthold could see rubble scattered across the courtyard. What caught his attention most was the main gate—reinforced with iron, but conspicuously unguarded.

He lowered the binoculars, his expression thoughtful but determined. "No sentries at the gate," he murmured, more to himself than to Captain Armand, who crouched beside him.

"Perhaps the bombardment has them stretched thin," Armand suggested in a hushed tone. "They've likely committed their remaining forces to the walls and artillery emplacements."

Berthold nodded, his mind racing. "It's possible, but we can't underestimate them. This could be a trap, though it's a risk we must take."

He turned to the engineers gathered behind them, their faces tense but resolute. Each man carried a carefully prepared barrel of ammonium nitrate, the fuses coiled neatly on top. Berthold motioned them forward. 

"Move to the gate. Keep low and stay silent. Set the charges at the base and wait for my signal to light the fuses."

"Understood, General."

Berthold shifted his attention to Captain Armand. "I want sharpshooters positioned to cover the engineers. If the rebels spot them, I want those sentries silenced immediately."

"Yes, General," Armand replied, motioning to a group of marksmen who were already taking up positions among the rocks and bushes.

The engineers began their approach, their movements slow and deliberate. The barrels of explosives were strapped to sleds, which they dragged carefully across the uneven ground. The faint sound of their boots crunching against the dirt was barely audible over the distant thunder of cannon fire from the Elysean ships.

Berthold watched through his binoculars as the engineers reached the edge of the fort's shadow. The main gate loomed ahead, its heavy iron reinforcements glinting faintly in the moonlight. Still, there was no sign of movement—no guards, no patrols. The fort seemed oblivious to the danger closing in.

The engineers reached the gate without incident. The lead engineer motioned for his team to begin, and they set to work, positioning the barrels at key points along the base of the structure. They worked quickly but carefully, their hands steady despite the tension in the air. Once the barrels were in place, they uncoiled the fuses, stretching them to a safe distance.

Berthold lowered the binoculars, his jaw tightening. "They've made it to the gate," he said quietly. "Now we wait."

Unbeknownst to the Elyseans, Commander Vittorio Salvi stood atop the western wall, his eyes fixed on the distant flashes of cannon fire from the Elysean fleet. He had spent the past almost three days directing the fort's defenses

 his focus entirely on the ships that had been pounding his stronghold into ruin. The idea of a land-based assault had crossed his mind, but with no reports of enemy movement on the ground, he had dismissed it as unlikely.

"Commander," Rinaldo called out, approaching him with a hurried step. "The men are holding their positions, but we've lost another cannon on the western wall. The bombardment is relentless."

Vittorio nodded grimly. "The Elyseans want us to break. We won't give them that satisfaction."

He glanced toward the main gate, his expression darkening. "Any word from the scouts near the perimeter?"

"None, sir," Rinaldo replied. "It's been quiet—too quiet."

Vittorio frowned, unease settling in his gut. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, but the pressing threat of the naval bombardment demanded his attention.

"Keep the men alert," he said finally. "We can't afford to be caught off guard."

At the base of the gate, the engineers finished securing the fuses. The barrels of ammonium nitrate were positioned strategically to maximize the blast's impact. He glanced back toward the ridge, where Berthold and his men waited. He gave a silent thumbs-up, signaling that the charges were ready.

Berthold acknowledged the signal with a nod. He turned to Captain Armand. "Order the sharpshooters to hold position. No one fires unless absolutely necessary. We need to maintain the element of surprise."

"Yes, General," Armand replied, relaying the order.

Berthold raised his hand, signaling for the engineers to retreat. One by one, they withdrew from the gate, moving with the same deliberate care they had shown on their approach. As they reached the cover of the ridge, the engineer approached Berthold, his face pale but composed.

"The charges are set, General," he reported. "We're ready to detonate on your command."

Berthold placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Well done. Get your team into position and prepare for the next phase."

Berthold turned to Captain Armand, his expression resolute. "Signal the artillery crews to be ready. Once the gate is down, we'll need to move fast."

Armand nodded, his face grim. "Understood, General."

Berthold raised his hand once more.

"Light the fuses."

The engineering team sprang into action, igniting the fuses. The thin trails of flame snaked their way toward the barrels, casting faint, flickering light in the darkness.

A deafening roar shattered the stillness of the night as the charges detonated. The ground shook violently, and a blinding flash of light illuminated the surrounding area. The gate was obliterated in an instant, the reinforced iron and heavy wood reduced to splinters and twisted shards. Smoke and dust billowed into the air, obscuring the gaping hole where the gate had once stood.

Cheers erupted from the Elysean troops as the success of their operation became clear. Berthold raised his sword, his voice cutting through the chaos. 

"Move in! Secure the fort!"

The soldiers surged forward, their muskets and bayonets at the ready. The element of surprise was theirs.