Chapter 220: The Wall That Doesn’t Retreat
If you asked me to name the best mercenary companies in the world right now, I wouldn’t hesitate to pick the Italians and the Swiss. They reigned supreme until the Spanish tercio’s meteoric rise.
They were on a completely different level from bandit mercenaries like the Scots or Saxons.
No, even comparing them was an insult.
"Commander, the Swiss mercenaries are truly formidable."
All eyes turned to Viktor at his words. A veteran of the Great War five years ago, Viktor said he’d witnessed their valor firsthand alongside Baron Constance during the first battle in the County of Belfort.
"The Swiss mercenary regiment literally steamrolled Burgundy’s elite troops with their phalanx formation. The Baron said it was like watching the ancient Macedonian army of Alexander the Great."
Alexander the Great succeeded Philip II as King of Macedon, conquered Persia, and extended his influence all the way to India, cementing his legacy as one of history’s greatest conquerors.
"Wouldn’t a phalanx formation be a tough matchup for us?"
"Tough, sure, but if you hit their flanks, you can win handily. Against a standard phalanx, that is. They plug the gaps with halberdiers and light infantry to shore up the weaknesses."
Because the Swiss phalanx was an advanced form of the formation, it reigned as the era’s strongest fighting force. Viktor said he’d had the chance to befriend a veteran from the Swiss mercenary regiment.
"Swiss mercenaries guard their contracts with their lives. Even if it means total annihilation, they refuse to retreat. They’re born with that kind of iron will. They say those towering, treacherous Alps made them that way."
People born and raised in the mountains tend to have far superior stamina. In Europe especially, which lacked truly high mountain ranges, the Alps were revered as a massive, sacred range rivaling the Himalayas.
"With so little farmland and mostly mountains, the Swiss Confederation was struggling with population growth. So they took all those idle men and trained them into soldiers at the national level."
"At the national level? That’s basically a standing army, isn’t it?"
"Vice Commander Steinhof, there’s a saying about the combat prowess of Swiss mercenaries."
It takes three well-trained soldiers to match one of them. Fiel fell silent after hearing what Viktor added. It sounded like an old adage, and in fairness, similar proverbs did exist in medieval Europe.
"But I don’t understand. Why go to such lengths to develop them at the national level?"
"It all comes down to money. A country like Switzerland, with a large population crammed into limited territory, doesn’t have many options. So they send their fierce men abroad to earn money. That’s the system."
Swiss mercenaries were the Confederation’s signature export, and they were drilled relentlessly in the mindset of honoring contracts even at the cost of their lives. Maintaining that trust was the only way to keep securing contracts for future Swiss deployments.
That’s why their hiring fees were steep, their skills proven, and they fought alongside their employers with their lives on the line. Naturally, their reputation soared. Even if I die, my comrades can still get hired!
Even in the modern era, the guards protecting the Vatican are Swiss. They’re living proof of what deep-rooted trust really means.
Though it came at the cost of defending Rome to the last man.
But that was still in the future.
"...Do those mercenaries even pay taxes?"
"Taxes are the main revenue source for the Swiss cantonal governments. Apparently they hand over half their hiring fees."
"Good Lord! There are places that collect taxes like that?"
"The state raised them, so collecting taxes is within their rights, I’d say."
Fiel hadn’t known much about the Swiss Confederation, and Viktor’s explanation drew a sigh from him. Being pushed onto battlefields because there was nothing to do back home was bad enough, but on top of that, paying exorbitant taxes?
To Fiel, with his righteous heart and gentle nature, the Swiss mercenaries looked pitiable. But as a lord, my perspective was different. Population was still a headache. Too few was a problem; too many was also a problem.
What if my passive skills caused an explosive population boom?
It was a business model worth considering. Farmland was limited, after all.
"Sounds like a solid business to me. If Feuzen’s population balloons and we end up with idle men, forming a mercenary company and deploying them could be a great idea."
"...You think like a lord through and through, Commander. So different from me."
"Fiel, lords are creatures who are obsessed with profit, waking or sleeping. At least I’m trying to stay on the right path, but the princes? They’d sell their souls if it meant big money."
It sounded like a self-burn, but when you’re running a domain, being profit-minded is unavoidable. A lord has to account for every possibility. This was a world where those who prepared for the future survived.
Anyway, back to the main topic. The temperament of Swiss men was fundamentally different from that of lowlanders. Just as they’d ceaselessly resisted the Habsburg family, they were anything but meek.
The Count of Basel, as a southern prince of Beren bordering the Swiss Confederation, had always factored in the possibility of hiring Swiss mercenaries. But hearing about them firsthand was a whole different experience.
I couldn’t help but tense up at the thought of facing Swiss mercenaries who’d distinguished themselves in the Hundred Years’ War. The Count of Basel surely had dependable Swiss mercenaries as his personal guard.
"Viktor, how do they fight on the battlefield?"
"It’s straightforward. Their specialty is stopping enemy advances and bulldozing through them."
"Even with improvements to the phalanx, the weak points should still be the flanks and rear."
"The halberdiers cover those, so even that isn’t easy."
The halberd, a hybrid weapon combining spear and axe, was widely known as the Swiss mercenaries’ weapon of choice. They used it for overhead strikes in close combat and formed pike walls to halt breakthroughs.
Its distinctive scythe-like shape made it devastating in melees, particularly because it could easily unhorse cavalry. For us, with nothing but cavalry, engaging them in close-quarters combat was extremely dangerous.
Attacking a Swiss mercenary company with limited cavalry and no supporting infantry was like strapping kindling to your back and jumping into a fire pit.
"A frontal charge is suicide, flanking won’t work either, so the rational move is to go after everything else and leave them for last."
"Come to think of it, the Burgundian cavalry kept insisting on frontal charges against the Swiss mercenaries."
"What? Cavalry charged a phalanx head-on?"
"Incredibly enough, they really did. The Baron said he couldn’t believe his own eyes."
For a moment, I doubted my ears.
Viktor smirked and nodded.
I already knew the French were the type to taste something just to find out if it was garbage, but I hadn’t realized it was this bad. France’s insane love affair with the charge was legendary. At this point, you could call them charge fetishists.
And that’s exactly why they got destroyed by England’s guerrilla tactics in the Hundred Years’ War.
They did eventually drive England out and win, but it was a hollow victory.
"That said, the Burgundian cavalry did manage to break the Swiss mercenary regiment once. The Baron called it an absolutely absurd victory won through sheer guts."
"At that point, it goes beyond guts. Nothing but lunatics, I swear."
They’d won the first battle, but lost the second, and the decisive factor had been the Swiss mercenary regiment crumbling under the Burgundian cavalry’s insane headlong charges. The result of relentless attempts, apparently.
The cavalry charge I’d demonstrated at Feuzen wasn’t the standard approach. A typical heavy cavalry charge involved driving in with lances longer than what pikemen carried, pulling back, and charging again.
Whether it took a few tries or dozens, breaking the enemy formation through repeated charges was the French style of cavalry warfare. England, outmatched in every way, refused to play that game and opted for guerrilla tactics instead.
The Swiss mercenaries were tough bastards too, the kind who wouldn’t bat an eye even when a comrade died right beside them. If the Burgundians managed to break them anyway, it really was a case of charge-obsessed maniacs winning through sheer willpower.
"The Swiss mercenaries are undeniably a powerful enemy, but we have advantages of our own. First, their supply lines are in serious trouble."
"In terms of supplies, wouldn’t Baron Valent support them?"
"Normally, you’d think so. But Vice Commander Steinhof, doesn’t looking at our Commander here give you any ideas? About what kind of creatures lords are?"
Suddenly the spotlight swung to me.
Fiel studied me closely, then nodded.
What? What did you see that made you agree, you bastard?
"He wouldn’t want to give up his own resources. Especially to an outside army that only makes demands."
"I don’t know what kind of nobleman Baron Valent is, but handing over supplies is a sensitive matter. There’s no guarantee the Count of Basel will cover the costs, either. Basel and Euz are far apart."
"So there’s a high chance their supply issues will cause infighting."
In truth, supply problems were extremely sensitive. If you can’t eat, you can’t fight, and people’s nerves get razor-sharp. So what happens in a coalition? A firestorm over who has to cough up supplies.
