Empire Ascension: The Rise of the Fated One

89  Assault on the Camp Part -1

Few moments before rescue in Mughal camp, chandanpur village.

The last rays of the setting sun dipped below the horizon, marking the end of dusk. A low lamp cast flickering shadows on a common but comfortable rug where the low-rank commanders, the faujdars - Faiz Khan, Qasim Beg, and Saif ud-Din - squeezed together in the packed space of the tent.

Their faces were illuminated by the warm glow of the nearby lamp. Between them lay a Pachisi board, decorated with vibrant colors. Four sets of intricately carved playing pieces, each representing a different player, were set on the board.

"You look too happy despite losing, Qasim Beg?" Faiz Khan taunted, rolling the polished dice between his hands.

Qasim Beg, with a booming laugh, chuckled. "The men are restless, my friend, but buzzing with good news. Word from the scouts suggests we'll be packing up by nightfall. Time for some well-deserved leisure, eh?"

Saif ud-Din, a younger man with a neatly trimmed beard, interrupted as he took the dice for his turn. "Leisure? Tell that to another mujahidin. My back still aches, dreaming only of my wife's gentle touch."

Faiz Khan raised a mocking eyebrow. "Ah, Saif ud-Din, the kafirs didn't satisfy you? Still longing for that mature beauty?"

Saif ud-Din scoffed. "Don't preach, Faiz Khan. We all enjoyed the spoils. If not for your immense hunger, I might have claimed her as my slave" Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"Then it's for the better. I might have died of jealousy." Faiz Khan grinned.

A wave of laughter erupted between them, amidst their playful banter. Just then, a stiff man with worried eyes burst into the tent with a pale face as he took his seat beside them.

"Jafar Khan," Faiz Khan taunted, "this is the third time you've excused yourself. We're almost done with the game!"

Jafar Khan coughed with embarrassment. "Forgive me, brothers. The dal… seems to have disagreed with my stomach. Twice now…"

The men burst into laughter again, except for Faiz Khan who recalled that they had opted for only grilled meats and were still not affected by the stew.

"Perhaps there's something strange going on in the camp," he concluded.

"Do you think something's wrong with the dal?" Qasim Beg inquired with a furrowed brow.

Before they could delve deeper, a commotion erupted outside. A soldier, breathless and frantic, stumbled into the tent.

"Fire! Hazur, fire!" he shrieked in panic. "The grand tent, the guest tent… they're both ablaze! The supreme commander is missing... Prince Adil Khan… he's been found dead."

The room fell silent. The playful banter evaporated, replaced by a chilling dread.

Faiz Khan rushed out of the tent, the others close behind. Flames roared from the grand tent, casting an eerie orange glow on the panicked scene. People scurried around, desperately trying to control the blaze or find water.

Suddenly, the ground shuddered with a deafening explosion as the village's ammunition store erupted into a towering inferno, sending flaming debris raining down. Fear etched itself on the faces of the soldiers.

"This is no accident!" Faiz Khan roared, his voice barely audible above the din. "The leaders are missing, and this coordinated attack… it's a trap!"

Saif ud-Din, his earlier lethargy replaced by a steely resolve, gripped his sword hilt. "But who's in charge? The chain of command is broken!"

"We are!" Faiz Khan declared, his voice resonating with authority. "We may be faujdars, but we need to be united to survive this ordeal. Gather everyone here and assess the situation. We are on our own now."

Meanwhile 700 metres away at the same time.

Amidst the dense forest, the men in blue uniforms stood in a disciplined formation. At the forefront, a solid wall of 100 royal guards with lantern shields formed a protective barrier.

Behind the royal guards, 200 musketeers stood in staggered rows, their muskets held at the ready. The musketeers maintained a disciplined line formation, their weapons aimed towards the enemy camp in anticipation of the impending attack.

An additional 50 royal guards flanked the formation on both sides, their watchful eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. They stood ready to reinforce the front line or provide support to the musketeers as needed. A separate temporary wall of palisade surrounded them, keeping the enemies at bay.

Behind this thick layer of defensive formation, five rocket stands were laid securely in a central position. The Mughal camp was surrounded by eight such small fortified positions. In one such position, a small group of additional logistics personnel operated as rocketeers, working on the five rocket launchers simultaneously.

"Positions!" barked the platoon commander.

A nimble loader moved towards a nearby ammunition cart stacked with over 50 rockets. He hefted a 60-centimeter-long rocket, its wooden body adorned with metal fittings, and carefully maneuvered it towards the launcher. He slid the rocket into the long hollow pipe, ensuring a close fit with an exposed area at the bottom to access the rocket's fuse.

Meanwhile, the gunner, with a hawk-like gaze, focused on the distant Mughal camp, their tents now mere silhouettes against the fiery glow. He expertly adjusted the axle system, elevating the launcher's barrel for optimal range. The sturdy tripod stand ensured stability as he made these adjustments.

"Fire!" the platoon commander's shout echoed.

The gunners grabbed a burning piece of wood from a nearby torch and ignited the exposed fuse. They stepped back, the air thick with anticipation.

A collective roar erupted as the fuse ignited the propellant within the rocket. Five rockets, spitting fire and smoke, shot from the launcher in a fiery cascade. Their long bamboo tails guided them unerringly towards the enemy camp.

High above the Mughal camp, the timed fuses on the rockets expired with a series of thunderous explosions. Blazing infernos erupted within the densely packed tents, screams piercing the night air. This small team kept repeating the process, their faces lit by the glow of the destruction they unleashed.

Mughal camp area by this time.

As the faujdars dispersed to rally the troops, the camp around them descended further into chaos. Soldiers, previously resting or preparing for the night unhinged by the earlier fire, were jolted into frantic activity. At first, they took the early chaos of fire as an accident, but the frequent shockwaves from the initial rocket hits had knocked several men off their feet, while others instinctively ducked for cover. The ground shook, and cloud of dust and debris engulfed the area, reducing visibility. It had not been a day since they recalled the horrors of war in the morning ambush.

Panicked shouts and screams filled the air as soldiers stumbled through the thick smoke, their faces etched with fear and confusion. Many low-ranking soldiers tried to rally their disoriented men, one such group led by Faiz Khan and his friends on the northern front of village.

Faiz Khan raced through the camp, his voice booming over the surrounding chaos. "Soldiers! get a group of yourselves." He grabbed the arm of a young soldier who appeared paralyzed by fear, shaking him back to his senses. "Fight the flames, protect our comrades!"

Saif ud-Din joined the bucket brigade, his muscles already straining as he poured water fetched from the well. "Pass it down, quickly!" he yelled, sweat streaming down his soot-covered face. A soldier ran up, shouting, "Hazur, it seems the village square is under attack."

"Damn those kafirs, we don't have time for this. Keep fetching water lines, we need to get the situation under control," Saif ud-Din reprimanded. He moved with frantic speed, his eyes darting to the inferno consuming the surrounding tents. "We can't let these flames spread!"

Jafar Khan orchestrated the efforts to smother smaller fires, using blankets and dirt. "You, over there! Smother that blaze before it reaches the supply crates!" His eyes constantly scanned the chaotic scene, ensuring no one was left unsupported. "Keep moving, don't let the food get burnt!"

Just as they began to make some headway, the whistle of incoming rockets pierced the sky, a terrifying prelude to the ensuing devastation. The rockets, modified with spearheads, exploded upon impact, sending shrapnel and spearheads zigzagging in all directions. Soldiers nearby were thrown off their feet, some impaled by the spears.

Faiz Khan ducked instinctively as a rocket exploded nearby. He felt the ground shake and saw men around him fall. "Take cover!" he roared, pulling a fallen soldier to safety behind a stack of crates. "Stay low and regroup!"

Qasim Beg slapped the back of a staggering soldier, pushing him towards a group of men assembling with weapons drawn. "Stay strong, brothers! We need to be united to survive this!"

"Don't let the explosives break your spirit! Remember your training! Stay in formation!"

He scanned the forest area where the rockets kept coming from, but except for shadows and darkness, he couldn't figure out anything.

Saif ud-Din, narrowly avoiding a rocket spearhead, continued his efforts to calm the flames. "Keep the water flowing! We can't let them burn us out!" His voice carried over the roar of the explosions, inspiring those around him to push through their fear and pain.

Jafar Khan quickly assessed the situation, spotting flickering lights in the forest where the rockets were being launched. "Form the line! We charge at the forest!"

The scene unfolds

The soldiers, driven by desperation and the will to survive, followed their faujdar's lead, rushing towards the forest. As they reached the edge of the woods, they spotted a small area fortified with palisade walls.

Underneath these makeshift defenses, musketeers lined up, executing precise volleys of fire. Inside the periphery, royal guards stood in line formation, their shields raised with spears gripped, forming an impenetrable wall.

Faiz Khan, with his comrades by his side, observed the scene. Five rocket stands were being loaded in front of the musketeers, ready to unleash another devastating barrage.

"Look, they are small in numbers!"

"We can take them! Kill them all!"

The Mughal soldiers surged forward with renewed vigor upon seeing the enemy's low presence. The musketeers aimed their muskets in the ranks while the royal guards held the line, their shields absorbing the onslaught.

Rockets kept soaring through the air, exploding among the Mughal tents, causing further fire and destruction.

"Advance!" Faiz Khan roared, but the command was drowned out by the sound of muskets firing in unison.

The first volley from the musketeers hit with devastating impact. He watched in horror as his men fell in droves, struck down by the deadly barrage of muskets.

The royal guards moved in, their shields deflecting any stray arrows from the disoriented Mughal archers. The spears held thrust forward, catching any Mughal soldier who got too close.

The musketeers, standing in disciplined formation, kept unleashing devastating volleys of musket fire, their shots finding their marks with the cluster of enemies' presence. The Mughals, caught off guard by the ferocity of the assault, faltered in their advance, their ranks decimated by the hail of bullets.

Amidst the chaos, Qasim Beg, a towering figure among his comrades, charged forward with reckless abandon, his sword raised high. But his valiant effort was cut short as a musket bullet pierced through his chest.

He felt a sharp pain in his side and looked down to see blood pouring from a gunshot wound. He staggered, his vision blurring.

"Qasim!" Saif ud-Din shouted, rushing to his side. He tried to pull him to safety, but another volley fired, and more men fell. Qasim Beg collapsed to the ground.

"Commander is down!"

"Fall back! We can't face them."

The Mughal soldiers, seeing their leader fall, began to panic. They tried to retreat, but the relentless volley fire made it nearly impossible.

Seeing the futility of their assault, Faiz Khan finally gave the order to retreat. "Fall back! Regroup at the village!" His voice was filled with frustration and despair. The surviving soldiers, disheartened but alive, retreated into the forest, their spirits crushed.

As the bombardment eased and the flames in the camp began to subside, the faujdars regrouped with their surviving soldiers inside the village. The camp was a scene of devastation, with fire and debris everywhere.

But their respite was short-lived as the musketeers, with bayonets fixed, came out, surrounded by royal guards for further protection.

"Retreat! Retreat! They are coming outside!"

The soldiers regrouping near the camp panicked after watching the line formations. They could clearly assess their numbers as many more small groups emerged and joined the line formation. The Mughal forces, overwhelmed and disoriented, began to break and scatter.

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Author's note:

I got some questions in offline feedback regarding the use of swastika as symbol. As per my research swastika is a sacred symbol for Hindus which means "good luck", and its limited not only to India as its presence is also noticed in other east Asian countries. Historians even debate its use in the Mauryan flag. (Biggest empire of India 321-185 )BC.

Despite being in controversy, I am still using it coz its befitting the plot of fortune advocating capitalism and company rule and will definitely put some light ahead on it, separately with historical relevance. It's a shame its glory is tarnished. If any one still feels, unease please let me know now. After all my book is for its readers. Thank you for reading. :)