We had been marching since morning. The distance from the fort to the palace was 40 miles. After taking into consideration exhaustion, we took a short break around the halfway mark to rest. As we marched down the city streets, more people amassed into the group. The original ten thousand strong had gained a few thousand more. Every extra body would help. Following our plans, we went eastward towards the arsenal. Down the street, men marched further than the eye could see. It was an unstoppable mass.

Battle cries rang among the formations as the arsenal came in sight. The marching pace turned to a sprint as the thousands of people on the front charged the building. From eye it appeared there were a measly one thousand guards dispersed around the premises of the building. Our arrival had been announced hours in advance with how slow our march was, but surprise was of no concern. Brute force was what we would use. Cannons had been prepared and lined. Huge blasts erupted as they shot straight into the crowd. Even from the backline I could feel my eardrums rupturing. Dozens of people fell, only to be trampled by those behind them. The confusion that ensued from the firing had only spurred people forward. In a fury they breached straight towards the building, clashing with the guards who had formed a line. Flintlocks went off to no affect. The spot of those who fell to the musket fire were quickly refilled. The guardsmen hurried to reload their weapons until they saw the closing distance. There was not enough time. Some turned to flee, while others pulled out their sabers. No matter the decision, the horde had rapidly approached and now trampled them mercilessly. The guards were obliterated in one swift act of brutality. Just like that it had ended. People funneled into the building, ready to finish off the remainders. Only a small portion could enter, leaving people outside to disperse and take a rest. What was revealed was carnage. Blood splattered across the streets aimlessly; limbs lay strewn. Corpses of civilians with gaping holes in their chest and of soldiers who had been mutilated coated the roads. It was hell on earth. Some were bragging to their companions about how they had gotten one or began looting the bodies for souvenirs. It was all so… inhuman.

In the arsenal we were able to retrieve a few thousand flintlocks. Departing, we marched towards our final destination, the palace. By the time we reached it, darkness was setting in the sky. The people were tired, and it would be hard to siege at night when the enemy was alert. Inside the gates dozens of cannons were lined up front. The royal army had tents lined along the miles of land in front of the palace and cannons were set up by the dozens surrounding the buildings perimeter. To allow our men to rest, we quartered them in the buildings surrounding the palace. A few thousand were kept on night watch to keep the palace in check, all else were sent to sleep. Food was plentiful as homes were gladly providing for their fellow peasants.

Looking at the palace I had resided in since only a few days ago, mixed feelings entered my heart as I thought of all those who would die from an assault. The people in this mass were too frenzied, too crazed to spare a soul. Johann III was ordered to be specifically caught alive, but it would be hard to even guarantee that. If we prolonged this, it would be possible to starve them out. They had no means to retrieve food and would be forced to give up. This would be the best case, but it was impossible. Mobs relied on emotion. If we delayed an attack dissent and desertion would appear among the group.

In the morning, as preparations were completing, thousands of royal guardsmen watched in anticipation. They would begin firing once we were in range. They had lined along the fence and would stick their flintlocks through the gate gaps and fire the second we got too close. A retreat line of dozens of cannons had been established along the midway point of the field for once we would begin to overtake the gate. The guards were formed into columns that would allow the front to move back after firing, allowing for efficient reload. This wouldn’t be the same as the arsenal. Even if we broke open the gate, concentrated cannon fire would decimate those entering. It was a choke point that would limit our entrance speed and maximize deaths. I was truly glad I wouldn’t be a part of this suicide march. I watched as our men began to line from my impromptu headquarters along with some other members of Parliament.

“What a terrible sight.”

One remarked. I found myself agreeing to these words. What a truly terrible sight. Standing up, I began my address, the last one many of these people would hear.

“Men of valor! Today is the day! Within those gates lies our enemy. His reign of terror will be no more! Be brave! Be strong!” Raising my right arm, I shouted.

My voice echoed across the crowd who became mad with resolve. A jumble of cries arose from the crowd as they began to march forward. Steadily they moved forward. Four hundred yards, three hundred yards. The distance closed incrementally. The masses clamors continued while the royal guards watched in diligent patience. Two hundred yards. Right as people on the front line touched a hundred yards in distance, a rain of musket balls burst out towards them. Held in the hands of those charging were similar muskets looted from the arsenal. Each person came with only one shot. That was all that was needed. Still, even at the distance where the guards had begun to pick off into the crowd, killing hundreds per wave of fire, they held off on shooting. The muskets were grabbed from the corpses of those who had fallen. The distance from one hundred yards to fifty seemed forever. The incessant line of musket fire slowed the marches pace greatly. Nevertheless, they trudged on. No matter whether hundreds or thousands died, they would enter that building.