Since Berengar and his Army had departed from Parma, over a month had passed, various siege camps were set up encircling the City of Florence where the Emperor and the Medicis resided. The Austrian's encampment greatly resembled an elaborate trench line straight out of the pictures from the Great War during Berengar's previous life.
During this time, nobody was allowed to enter the city. However, Berengar had successfully exfiltrated his agents trapped in the town. It took some effort, but they were retrieved from their position without incident before the Austrian bombardment had begun.
After retrieving his agents, The Royal Austrian Army's cannons fired off shells at an arc, landing over the city walls and into the city, bombarding the inhabitants within. With the hundreds of thousands of people who had evacuated to the town of Florence, Berengar knew it was a matter of months before their food supply dwindled and the people began to starve.
While the siege of Florence continued; back in Kufstein, the war industry had spent day and night producing as many Needle Rifles and their paper cartridges as possible to supply the Austrian war effort, as such thousands of these rifles were now in the hands of the frontline soldiers who rested in the mud as their extravagant blackened steel armor was coated with the substance, covering their armor and attire in an earthly brown.
For the past three days, it had been raining non-stop; for the rear echelon soldiers who were still issued the flintlock rifles, they could only keep their weapons dry under the thatched coverings of the vast trench line. As for the men with Needle Rifles, they stayed in the front lines, ready to fire on any potential targets that might sally forth and attack their ranks.
Despite the weeks of constant bombardment, the city still stood, resisting Berengar's armies until the bitter end. As such, Berengar had taken a relaxed approach and had begun writing letters back home to his loved ones. It was a way to entertain himself during this protracted siege.
The echoes of hundreds of cannons continued to go off as Berengar wrote with his ink and quill to his beloved Adela, who he knew to be staying in Kufstein. The years had gone by since he was first engaged to the girl, and she was now of the proper age to marry.
With this in mind, Berengar wrote to his little fiancee, expressing his desire to return home from the field and finally take her hand in marriage. She was his fiancee, his Queen, and the first among his wives, and nothing could change that fact.
While he was writing a love letter to his woman, a knock on the roof of his in-ground quarters resounded throughout the room. Berengar looked over to see one of his officers, clad in the renaissance style attire, standing at attention.
Berengar, dressed in an equally garish fashion, albeit covered in dried mud, stood from his seat and returned the salute to the soldier. The moment he did so, the Officer began giving his report.
"Your Majesty, the bombardments are continuing as planned; by now, half of the city should be in ruin. I believe it is only a matter of time before they surrender!"
Despite this report, Berengar did not seem optimistic; on three separate occasions, the enemy army had rushed their trench line over the past month. The result was a complete and utter slaughter of the Italian forces.
With the relatively rapid-firing Needle rifles capable of functioning even in adverse conditions, the one advantage that the Italians would typically have over the Flintlock firearms have was now moot. However, the number of needle rifles among his ranks was still significantly less than his entire infantry. As such, the Italians had at times inflicted casualties upon Berengar's ranks by the sheer volume of bodies they were able to field.
Generally speaking, they would attack during days like this. Days where the weather prevented the bulk of Berengar's forces from firing their weapons. They would appear in the tens of thousands and overwhelm Berengar's ranks through reckless charges.
While the man was giving his report, a bell rang throughout the trench line; this bell signaled the enemy attack. As such, Berengar quickly grabbed ahold of his helmet before placing it upon his head. After doing so, he grabbed his needle rifle and loaded a cartridge in its chamber.
Once he was complete with his actions, he gave a smug look to the Officer who had moments ago predicted the Italians surrender before making a wise-ass remark.
"You were saying, Colonel?"
The expression on the man's face turned sour as he heard Berengar's words; he truly believed the Italians would realize that the cause was lost and would surrender. Unfortunately for him, that was not the case, and now they were being thrust headfirst into another battle.
With this in mind, Berengar exited his quarters and climbed up into the muddy trench, where he began to rush towards the area of conflict. For Berengar, this was most likely the last opportunity he had to fight a battle with relative safety.
After all, the Austrian weapons were so advanced that Berengar could fight on the frontlines with mitigated risk to his safety. As such, he decided to spend one last hurrah on the battlefield before becoming a commander who forever sat at the rear of battle.
Having arrived at the frontlines, Berengar and the soldiers around him lowered their weapons and aimed at the oncoming Italians. Like last time, there were well over twenty thousand men and adolescent boys charging at the Austrian trench, utterly devoid of armor and at most held a spear in their hands.
Berengar did not know what propaganda the Emperor had filled in the heads of his people to have them fight without regard to their lives. However, it truly did not matter. At the end of the day, these men and boys alike were enemies, and they had to be dealt with. The Italian attacks always came in the form of waves, targeting specific trench lines; as such, the thousands of Austrians capable of firing in the raining weather were spread out and vastly outnumbered.
The moment Berengar spotted an Italian man at a distance of roughly a thousand yards, he squeezed the trigger on his needle rifle, sending a projectile downrange and into his bare chest, blasting it apart.
The men gazed in horror as he was shot at such a distance before falling to the ground lifeless. Before the body had even hit the ground, Berengar reloaded his needle rifle by pulling the bolt up and back, where he instantly placed a paper cartridge within the chamber before slamming the bolt home.
While he was doing this, several other of his soldiers fired their weapons into the ranks of the oncoming enemy. If it were not for the barbed wire in the field halting the Italian Advance, they would have reached the front lines by now.
Thousands of guns echoed at the front line as hundreds of Austrian soldiers from the other trench positions rushed towards Berengar and his troops for reinforcement. While reinforcements struggled to arrive, Berengar once more fired his rifle towards the enemy as the .451 caliber projectile pierced through the skull of a boy no older than fourteen.
Berengar rapidly chambered his next round; however, when he pulled the trigger, all that could be heard was an audible click. With paper cartridges, the malfunction rate was roughly one out of every fourteen rounds; as such, he pulled back the bolt before reaching for his clearing rod, which was attached beneath the barre. After getting ahold of the device, he stuck it down the bore of the rifle and knocked the faulty cartridge loose.
Having done so, Berengar put the clearing rod back in its place before reaching into his web gear, where he retrieved another paper cartridge and chambered it into the rifle, where he pushed the bolt forward. After doing so, he aimed and fired another round, only to miss his target by a mere inch.
The lead alloy projectile embedded itself in the man's shoulder rather than his torso. Though painful, it was not a mortal blow. Before long, the Italian Army had suffered massive casualties, as half of their forces were gunned down during their suicidal charge, but this did not deter their actions. Instead, they ran into the trench line where the Austrian soldiers unleashed their bayonets onto the enemy.
Luckily for the Austrian soldiers, these enemies were mere peasant levies quickly drafted into combat at a moment's notice, they had no armor, and thus the Austrian blade-style bayonets easily pierced through their torsos, sending them to the afterlife.
Berengar himself quickly caught an oncoming spear and redirected it with his rifle before lunging forward and piercing his bayonet through the man's heart. After seeing the life fade from the man's eyes, the young King ruthlessly ripped it out and attacked the next hostile.
This battle continued until eventually the Italian Army of nearly 20,000 men was repelled; as the survivors ran back towards the relative safety of the city's walls, they were gunned down by Berengar's men who fired upon their retreat, claiming the lives of nearly all of the men who attempted the suicidal charge.
Seeing that they were victorious, Berengar let out a sigh of relief before clearing his rifle and taking off his helmet, resting his slicked-backed golden hair against the muddy wall of the trench. Combat was truly and utterly exhausting. Despite being victorious in this large skirmish, the Siege of Florence was far from over.
As Berengar rested against the wall of the trench line, with rain falling heavily upon his handsome face, he could not help but think of his plans for the future after this war was over. When he had finally defeated the Empire and gained his independence, he would usher in the early stages of the age of Steam. He had honestly waited long enough.
