Hungary.

A group of cavalry from the direction of Graz was particularly eye-catching, and it was striking that the knights' mounts were not local grumpy hybrids, but a kind of docile and demure horses.

It's just that it can be easily identified from the strong hind legs, strong back and waist, this is a kind of war horse.

Yes, the Holstein horse is one of the finest breeds of warhorses of the 19th century, combining explosiveness and stamina.

It's just that this thing is not tolerant of rough feeding, and if you want it to run, you need to feed it with black beans and rapeseed oil, and the food treatment is simply better than that of ordinary citizens.

Albrecht looked at the well-equipped army behind him and couldn't help but sigh in his heart.

"If only those weapons hadn't been invented!"

Three days later, a royal estate on the Great Hungarian Plain.

Itamar is a retired cavalry colonel, and to be honest, he never imagined that a group of "serfs" could be so difficult to deal with.

Despite twenty years of service, Itamar had never fought a single battle, and thought it would be a pleasant thing to take a group of young men with revolvers to fight a few serfs, but soon he found himself paying for his misjudgment.

There were many people who had described this as a simple "hunt", and he thought it was true at the time. It's just that who would have thought that now that he had just fought each other, he would lose more than a dozen people at a time, which made him want to cry without tears, for fear that he would not be able to communicate to the top.

Itamar had a hundred men, a group of young men with strong blood, each armed with two revolvers and a sabre. The first two attacks were successful, but the third was ineffective. "I don't know where those German immigrants got their rifles." He thought to himself.

The results of the revolver and rifle firing can be imagined, but fortunately, the level of both sides is very poor, and there are no large casualties.

Itamar had brought two cavalry cannons with him this time, and he thought it would be more enjoyable to go after the headless flies that were running around.

The cavalry guns were all small in caliber, but they were enough to deal with those rudimentary wooden fences.

A few shells smashed the wooden fence, and just as a few young people were talking and laughing, and were about to continue shooting, several figures suddenly appeared behind the fence, aiming at it with rifles.

Itamar couldn't help but laugh as he looked at the scene in front of him, let alone a group of serfs, even if it was a trained soldier, it was impossible to hit his target from 200 meters away.

However, his smile froze in the next second, and several bullets accurately hit the people near his cavalry cannon, and a puff of blood mist emerged after penetrating the human body.

Seeing their companions fall, the other "horse bandits" immediately pulled out their revolvers and began to fire back, each of them running out of bullets.

Several "peasants" 200 meters away calmly exchanged bullets, and soon the second round of bullets came again, and several "horse bandits" fell.

That's when Itamar suddenly realized.

"It's rifled guns! Stupid, don't shoot at them! Get on your horse and crush them! Fast! ”

The young nobles of the Magyars were still very courageous, and immediately climbed on their horses, and rushed towards the wooden fence with their feet in the belly of the horses.

In a church not far away, Albrecht was observing the situation on the battlefield with a telescope.

Seeing this, he couldn't help but sigh.

"Are they here to die?"

Just before the hot-blooded bandits were about to rush into the manor, a caravan blocked the door.

It was clear that the horses could not get past the caravan, and it was impossible to rush over. Now they have only two options, either turn around and go back, or dismount and fight.

If you choose the former, you will inevitably become the target of those marksmen on the battlement, and the result of choosing the latter will make no difference.

Just when they were in a dilemma, the flanks had already been ambushed and the light cavalry rushed out. But all this could only be seen by Itamar who was sitting in the rear, and he suddenly screamed in horror.

The chaos ahead continued, and Itamar's shouts were hard to discern in a volley of gunfire.

By the time the bandits finally found themselves in ambush, the distance between the two sides was less than 100 meters. This only takes a few seconds for a war horse.

Since ancient times, the result of cavalry battles has always been before the two sides have come into contact, one side can not withstand the pressure and directly collapse, and then is pursued and killed by the other side.

This time, the horse bandits played the latter role, and as "hunters", they became the "prey" of the hunt.

To make matters worse, most of the bandits had no formal cavalry training, and most of them were just hot-blooded single-clothed aristocrats and young men.

When these erstwhile "hunters" discovered that the knights of Franz's dragoon regiment were charging at them, their brains were still stuck in the question of why lowly serfs had cavalry.

The hussars of the dragoon regiment used pikes. The Lancers, a class that should have disappeared from history, were only seen in Austria and the extinct Poland.

However, the reason why the lancers were eliminated was not because they were not strong in impact or because they were weak in threat to cavalry.

In fact, the Lancers are the most powerful class of troops in this era. Under the leadership of a skilled commander, whether it is against infantry platoons or cavalry clusters, it can deal effective damage strikes.

But one of the fatal flaws of this class is that it takes a lot of time to undergo complex training. For example, the famous French cuirassiers had to pass the test of "passing five levels", the Scottish grey cavalry had seven trainings, and the Prussian skeleton cavalry was divided into nine.

However, the Polish lancers had to be trained in 55 different disciplines, 22 against cavalry, 18 against infantry, and 15 in basic training alone.

The Austrian lancers of the same period also had to go through 37 types of training to become a qualified lancer.

A qualified Polish gun rider usually requires five years or more of training, and some of them are unable to master these 55 skills in their lifetime.

Historically, the Poles have a special fondness for the elite route, so the consequences are that in the glorious times, the hussars were flat and dewed, and in the miserable times, they were European footsteps.

The training of the Austrian lancers usually took three years, while the Prussian skeleton cavalry took only one year, the Scottish grey cavalry could be slaughtered in six months, and the French cuirassiers of the Napoleonic period even took three months from enlistment to earth

However, this was a good fit for Franz's dragoon regiment, as they had spent their lives studying combat.

To get back to the point, the horse bandits, who had lost their mobility advantage and the opportunity to fight, were stabbed by the opponent's spears before they even had time to struggle. In just a few tens of seconds, the battlefield that was still noisy just now quieted down.

Due to the order of the Grand Duke Albrecht to "kill only the enemy and not pursue", the part of the cavalry after completing the defensive task retreated, and did not charge Itamar at a distance of two hundred meters.

"Let's run, Lord Itamar." The old servant had grown up with Itamar, and he had seen the world when he joined the army with his master.

Not only did he know the strength of the cavalry in front of him, but he also understood that those hiding behind the battlements were not serfs, but "marksmen", and if he didn't retreat, he was afraid that he would have to explain here.

(Note: At that time, the elite skirmishers were called marksmen, and there was only one regiment of marksmen in Austria, in Tyrol)

"Balaz, my legs can't move, help me." It was then that the old servant realized that Master Itamar's pants were wet.

Obviously, it was the killing just now that left an overly shocking impression on him, but in fact, he was not to blame, a person who had never really participated in the war, saw more than sixty fresh lives disappear in front of his eyes without any waves, and it was difficult to continue to maintain his sanity.

No sooner had Balaz helped Itamar onto his horse than a bullet pierced his skull. At the same time, several young men who tried to successfully take the cavalry cannon away also suffered the same fate, and it was clear that the sharpshooters behind the battlements wanted to leave some battle goods for them.

Seeing their companions being shot like prey in front of them, the morale of the remaining bandits was completely shattered, and one by one they screamed impatiently like frightened antelopes when they were chased by lions, and fled from the hunting grounds.

Seeing the fleeing enemy, the sharpshooters disguised as serfs in the royal manor raised their glasses.

"Rejoice! Friends! We've won! ”

At this time, the German immigrants and Hungarian refugees who had been bullied before wept with joy, and these suffering people finally had no longer to be afraid, it was time for them to vent to their heart's content, and the enemy could no longer hinder themselves.

At night, people piled dead bandits and horses together and set up bonfires on wood. A bonfire began, and Albrecht did not approve of it, but he was not too harsh on his subordinates.

Albrechette divided the team into three shifts to take turns guarding the night, and the rest of the people were free to rest or revel, but they were not allowed to doze off when they went to work.

However, as the saying goes, there is a policy at the top, and there is a countermeasure at the bottom, and as soon as Albrecht's order was announced, the people below had a crooked mind.

The Grand Duke is very strict in governing the army, not to mention that it is very rude to doze off in front of the royal family.

So they decided to draw out a bunch of unlucky ones to keep vigil, while the rest of them were to party all night.

Albresit did not follow Franz's advice to gather his troops together, but divided them into six divisions to take charge of the defense of the six estates.

Franz was of course afraid that something would happen to him, while Albrecht thought it would be too inefficient to do so.

Judging from the war reports from other regions and his own observations, there is no doubt that the so-called horse bandits who have plagued the Great Plains for a hundred years are completely a rabble.

At this moment several bold girls approached him, and Albrecht's first instinct was to call the guards, who were staring at the man with squinting eyes, and had to kick him in the ass.

"Idiot!"

"My lord, why don't you celebrate."

"It's just a tactical victory, it's not something to celebrate."

"Your Excellency, you've had a busy night, and today may be nothing for you, but for us it's more to celebrate than a holiday. Have a drink and relax! One of the sweet-looking, down-to-earth girls said.

Albrecht thought about it and seemed right, and he was often said to be unkind, so he decided to change it, took the wine glass and drank it down.

"Ladies, you can leave."

Thanks to Soda Bird and book friend 20220713150139369 for the tip

(End of chapter)