It all happen in an instant. The master, their master fell down, shot by an arrow, and with him, all hell broke loose.
Hundreds of men charged in an orderly manner out of the wooden encampment they were ordered to march towards, but this wasn't something Feeble Maggot wouldn't get scared of.
As Gerald's men were charging out of the outpost, Feeble Maggot, raised his voice loud enough so all of his men could hear him. "Form on me!"
The Unsullied, trained from young to follow orders with surgical precision formed a ring of shields and spears, back-to-back, as tight as they could make it. The enemy, Gerald's men, were outnumbering them at least 4 to 1 if not 5 to 1, but the Unsullied were not going to run away, that was not how they were raise. No Fear! No surrender!
He was still young, but Daaro, like many people did everything he could do to help, ranging from carrying arrows or bringing water and food to the archers. But as soon as the battle begin, he could hear the shouts, curses aimed at the enemy and shouts to give a man courage for what was to come… Little Daaro knew that, he knew his father was there in the middle of this madness and one day, if God is great, he too would fight to protect the people just like his father does…
As soon as the last shout was heard, Daaro knew this would be the moment the real fight would start, and just as he expected, a few seconds later, the archers on the walls loose their arrows, and a moment later, the very same arrows were arching over the their men only to fall on the upheld shields of the fifty slave soldiers.
What amazed Daaro the most was the precision of those archers and how despite being so close, none of their people was struck, though the same couldn't be said about the enemy, as even from up on the walls, he could see their shields were stuck with arrows. To his surprise though, only three of those enemies were killed by the first volley, while the rest held their ground.
Only three died, and while it was better than none, this was not the result he was looking for. Then again, those unsullied were tightly packed in their formation making it hard for any arrow to find its way inside.
"This is a good moment to use it, right Ser Vargo?"
Ser Vargo, an exiled knight from Westeros who found its new path in life as a brother of the order, looked at his commanding officer and smiled.
"Ser Gerald, I think our Grandmaster was quite explicit about how should we use this tactic. But yes, this is a good moment to test it."
"Very well then. Shield wall!"
"Shield wall!
Most, if not all, of their shield were made of metal, something that was not so rare in Essos unlike Westeros, and a second later the metal knocks together as men overlap their shields. Left side of the shield in front of your friend's right side, that way the enemy, most of whom, from what physicians say, are right-handed, must try to thrust through to reach you.
As his men formed their shield wall, Gerald glanced at the enemy, those slave warriors who stood resolute against the odds, something that he had to admit was impressive considering the odds. Their discipline was unmatched, and Gerald knew that breaking their formation would be no easy task, unless he was willing to sacrifice at least the same number of men as unsullied.
"Second line!" The men shifted slightly, creating a gap in their shield wall. Behind them, the second line, equipped with javelins, grabbed their throwing weapons.
Surprisingly enough, the moment they noticed that, some of the unsullied lessened their hold on their shields, making Vargo smirk as he nodded towards Gerald.
"Javelins!"
Similar to when the arrows had been fired, the air crackled as the wooden shafts flew toward the enemy. The first line of Unsullied held their shields high, deflecting some of the incoming projectiles. But a few javelins found their mark, slipping through gaps or striking the exposed limbs. For how expensive they were, the unsullied equipment was not exactly the best one to hold the line against ranged enemies.
Just one volley of javelins had more success than the archers, bringing down the number of unsullied to 34. While, the number of dead slave warriors wasn't exactly high, at least half of them had been injured which in reality brought the number of fully able enemies to 17, which was more acceptable in Gerald's mind. Yet that didn't stop the knight to lower the number even further using the same tactic.
"Third line!"
Once again, Ser Vargo, as well as many other squad leaders shouted and soon another gap in the shield wall appeared. Following the same movement as the second line, the men that formed the third line aimed their javelins.
"Throw!"
Unlike the first volley, this time fortune favored Gerald's forces. Eighteen more Unsullied fell, breaking the already shaky formation those slave warriors formed as blood stained the ground. The injured warriors staggered, some clutching their wounds, all trying to reform their formation, but honestly... it was just a desperate attempt at doing something pointless at this point.
Seeing the poor excuse of a formation that those unsullied were desperately trying to create, Gerald decided that enough was enough. No point prolonging this, not when a bigger and more dangerous army was going to come beating at their gates sooner rather than later.
"Advance!"
A second later, the ground trembled as the entire shield wall advance. It was a sight to behold from on top of the walls, especially for a certain group of small children who were watching their fathers protecting them.
The gap between the two forces closed rapidly, and for the first time, the unsullied now looked like cornered animals rather some famous warriors as their name makes them to be. Blood-soaked sand clung to their sandals, and their eyes darted from one shield to another, seeking an escape that didn't exist. Even their leader, looked just as desperate as his surviving men, something that Gerald quickly noticed, and that wasn't something he was pleased to see, after all, a corned animal is more dangerous than a free one.
The circle of shields tightened, closing in on the injured Unsullied. Just one meter separated them now. Gerald's breaths came in ragged bursts, as he could see the same tension mirrored in the eyes of his men. None of them showed any fear, and that was good, keeping the morale high was always good, especially in times of war.
The Unsullied raised their spears, but it was too late. The shield wall crashed into them just like a wave would crash onto the rocks. Wood splintered, bone snapped, and screams echoed, all that while Gerald swung his sword, cleaving through neck of one of the Unsullied.
And then, in less than a minute, the shield wall enveloped the remaining Unsullied. They did put out a fight, that much was true, but by the grace of God, none of his men were killed or maimed, only some small injuries here and there that would heal. But the same couldn't be said for the Unsullied, who had found the hard way, how effective a strong and united shield wall could be when faced against.
As the dust settled, Gerald wiped his blade clean and surveyed the aftermath. They would burn the dead as to not create some disease, while the equipment would be taken inside the outpost to be reproposed into more ideal gear for his men.
"If only we would have to fight this war with such odds…" Ser Vergo said while stopping beside Gerald.
"It would be an ideal battlefield, Ser, but sadly for the both of us, we both know that will not happen, at least not for the whole war. Maybe one or even two more such skirmishes before the main force would come knocking on our gates."
"Hopefully by the time, the main force comes, our Grandmaster and his forces would be near. Hammer and anvil, brother, hammer and anvil."
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