For your arrogance shall be your defeat. For when your men whose lives matter so little fall into range of my guns, our shells shall pierce the heavens to rain death upon our foes. And when those shells are exhausted, so shall the blessed canister be loaded, fit to shred your mobbish horde to tatters. And when the sacred ring of the cannons should fall silent, so shall my Guards trust in the Shovel and the blessed ramparts, and receive unto them their Pike & Shotte, that which is fit to cast your horde to hell. Your attack is futile. The Earth itself shall break before my Guard does.