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It's better to be safe than sorry; with a whistle, your hussars are signaled to pull back, your retinue continue to tear their way through the ranks of the pike unit aided by your remaining skirmisher company. In a twist of irony, the arquebus company that had not that long ago been saved by these pikemen wastes no time in fleeing with desperation, leaving their fellows behind as they stumble their way upwardds in a mad dash to save their lives.
Abandoned, whatever semblance of order may have still remained in the ranks of the pikemen crumbles, and they soon fall to your swords like chaff upon the farmer's scythe. Knowing your personal work to be done, you turn to see the final movements of the battle; your hussars, though already weary, tired and wounded by this time of the battle, seem to gain a second wind as they spot the light on the end of the tunnel, galloping through the cloud of smoke and crashing at the rear of the unsuspecting foe.
It is total encirclement; from the front, your pikemen continue to jab and prod, your hussars continue to slash and trample, your arquebusiers pick off those attempting to flee at the sides with their heavy firearms. There is little mercy to be found in their eyes; not when they had seen thousands of their comrades perish. The enemy, surrounded, is left as cattle to the slaughter, and piece by piece, their formations are destroyed, utterly and completely.
As the last wilting stands of these enemies perish and pikemen and hussar meet eye to eye, none than your men are quicker to begin letting out roars of congratulation; the rays of mid day's light begin to break through the thick, gray fog of gunpowder smoke.
The battle has been won.
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