Iron Powder and Spellcasters: Chapter 180 Introduction to Statistics

   Chapter 180 Introduction to Statistics

  The ferocious tiger will not go down the mountain, and lead the snake out of the hole to toss in vain.

   Seeing that the fortress defenders did not move, the Hurds ran back in despair and surrounded the bridgehead again.

   Just as Lieutenant Colonel Jesska had expected, the Tertown unit was not out of order.

   It would be better to say that the defeat was so real, and it did not lead to a real defeat, which proved that the leader of Teltown still had control over his followers.

   Overcast clouds and low pressure, a chilling winter wind, and vultures circling the sky, heralding more death and slaughter.

   Watching the barbarian army defeat and return, the soldiers and militiamen were disappointed, but also a little nervous.

No one sang the    chant, and morale was not as good as before.

   I was so grateful that I sang just now, but now it's all mute.

   Winters was a little bit happy, he wanted to point his nose and ask the crowd: "It's clear that we brought you to victory, but you thank God in return, what kind of truth is this?"

   But this is too outrageous, so I can complain to Bud.

   Compared with the dull atmosphere of the soldiers, the officers were chatting and laughing easily.

  The first round of sieges of the Teltown Division has proven the fortress defenses to be strong.

  The cavalry who lacked siege weapons had no choice but to fill the trenches with earth walls.

  If the Hurds were ruthless and wanted to bite the bone, then it would be easy to do—there was a bridge behind the fortress, and I couldn’t hold it back.

  This time, the Hurds learned to be good, and lined up outside the effective range of the artillery.

  In the distance, smoke and dust are everywhere, and the number of enemies seems to be endless.

On the    tower, Mason was chatting with Winters.

   "Huh? Did you notice it?" Mason looked surprised: "Every time I go, there seem to be more Hurd cavalry outside?"

   Winters also felt the same way: "In the morning, I think the Hurds only have 10,000 cavalry. Now, let's talk about 20,000 less."

   "Are there reinforcements?"

"Who knows?" Winters spread his hands: "The lieutenant colonel said that the three major divisions grit their teeth and can pull out 100,000 string-controlling men. The Terdun division dares to bring the sacrificial gold people to the battle, and the whole family is old. I'm not surprised that the little one came out of the nest."

   Mason shook his head with a wry smile, and suddenly hesitantly asked Winters, "I can give you some advice, okay?"

   Winters was a little baffled, and replied sternly: "Senior, you can say whatever."

   "In my opinion, instead of letting your musketeer hit fast, don't think of a way to make your musketeer hit more accurately."

  Mason took out a piece of parchment full of handwriting, and asked Winters a little expectantly: "Do you have a statistics class in your infantry department?"

   "We only have arithmetic and geometry." Winters shook his head desperately.

   "Then let me explain to you the concept of percentages."

  [Author's note: Careful book lovers may find that this book has never used percentages once, but has always used descriptions such as '20%', 'quarter', and 'half'.

   This is because Winters Montagne did not study fractions and percentages, and only artillery officers took statistics classes.

  Statistics has a long history, dating back to Aristotle's 'Minutes of the City-States'. The root of statistics statistics is from the city-state. But fractions and percentages have a very recent history, appearing only in the eighteenth century.

   This book is tentatively considered to be a friend of Marshal Ned, the founder of artillery discipline, and General Lionheart Euler who proposed concepts such as 'fractions' and 'percentages'.

   Through Mason's teaching, Winters learned a little bit of statistical knowledge. So from here, the concept of percentages and statistics is officially introduced XD. Knowledge is power, start with new weapons! ]

After    explained what percentages are, Mason held the parchment and read: "Outside the fort, I counted 347 Heard corpses. But only 215 of them were at the edge of the trench, and the rest were out of musket range."

   Winters nodded, after being beaten to death more than 200 people were able to retreat, and the Teltown Department was actually very tenacious.

Mason licked his fingers and flipped to the next page: "On the wall, you set up 341 musketeers to shoot six and a half rounds. In theory, you should shoot 2,210 shots. But because someone is misfired, I count the data on your list. , your soldiers actually fired a total of 1147 shots."

  Mason talked eloquently, Winters was fascinated, and the image of the road-blind senior became vaguely tall.

  Mason cleared his throat and concluded, "That is to say, even if all 215 people around the trench were killed by your musketeers, the hit rate would only be 18.7%, and the remaining 81.3% would be empty guns."

   Winters breathed for a while: "There may also be a situation where two shots kill a person..."

Mason raised his hand to stop the junior and continued: "And don't forget, among the 215 people, there are still my artillery and the results of the musketeers you arranged under the city. The actual killing efficiency is much lower than 18.7%. According to me Estimated less than 8%.

   In other words, you fired 1147 shots and killed less than 100 people. 52% of your musketeers average only 1.51 shots in six rounds, and less than 10% of musketeers make six shots. "

Mason rolled up the parchment and hit his junior on the forehead, shouting loudly, "Prodigal son! Aren't you wasting ammunition? If you keep fighting like this, the consumption of gunpowder will be at least 3.5 times faster than before. We have three days of gunpowder in stock. light up."

   Winters was speechless.

   He took the parchment, and after reading it carefully, he raised his head and said, "The misfire rate is 48%? It's too high, and it has to be further reduced. The kill rate is actually 8%? It's okay!"

   "It's okay!" Mason said displeased: "The killing efficiency of cannons is higher than yours."

"Senior, the problem is not how accurate the shot is, but how to hit as many leads as possible in the shortest time possible. The more you hit, the better. The faster you hit, the stronger the pressure. The stronger it is. Just now, the Hurds were even pressed against the horse-rejecting stakes and dared not raise their heads. Although the efficiency was reduced, the actual results were still improved."

"The musketeer's salary is half higher than that of the lancer, because they are a technical arm." Mason said bitterly: "If you practice like this, in the future your musketeer will only shoot randomly in one direction, a fire that is accurate. The shooter is nowhere to be found!"

   Winters blinked, and a smile appeared on his face: "The arquebus has a limited head."

   "Then fight blindly? Fight randomly? You should fight carefully! Fight slowly!"

   "Senior, don't be angry." Winters took Mason's shoulders and bit his ear. "I have a new idea about the accurate musketeer."

   "What do you think?" Mason asked with a stern look at his junior.

  Winters pulled out his double-barrel revolving revolver and gave the flat end to the senior: "This."

   "This?" Mason's eyelids jumped and he took the rifle: "What do you mean?"

   "For those who can't hit correctly, let him fire the platoon gun. For the person who can hit accurately, I'll make him hit more accurately!" Winters was high-spirited and his eyes were bright: "The platoon gun, precision shooting, I want all of them."

   Now it was Mason's turn to be speechless.

   A shout suddenly came from under the sentry tower: "Sir Montagne!"

  Winters probed out and saw the lieutenant colonel's messenger under the wooden tower: "What's the matter?"

   "The barbarian wants to negotiate." The messenger answered pantingly: "Lord Jesska asked you and Lord Bud to go."

   "Let's talk if you want." Winters put the gun back in his pocket: "I'll go see what the barbarians are up to."

  Winters rode Strong Luck, Bud rode his boneless yellow panther, and the two jumped out.

  The two horses, one gold and one silver, walked in unison and coordinated, not like walking on a blood-soaked battlefield, but like a dressage parade.

  The Platoons on the fort couldn't help but burst into applause.

   The red-faced Hurd was not present this time, only the interpreter came to negotiate.

   As soon as he saw people, Winters didn't want to talk.

   Without waiting for the other party to speak, his face sank and he said coldly, "If you don't want to talk, forget it."

   Having said that, Winters was about to leave, and Bud turned the horse without a word.

   "Talk! Talk! Of course I want to talk!" The interpreter panicked and begged bitterly: "Sir, what do you mean?"

   "Talk?!" Winters roared like thunder: "What are you! Also cooperate with us to talk? Go back! Come here with another qualified person. That monkey **** face! Let him come!"

The interpreter said embarrassedly: "That monkey...that is my lord, the fire-boiler. The blood of the golden man, the grandson of the swift-footed stag, the son of the bowless one, the war chief of the Teltown department, the war leader and the meat divider people."

   Winters burst out laughing: "Just the monkey **** face, the fire roaster? Why didn't he come?"

   "You have a cannon, and my lord does not want to risk himself." The interpreter replied cautiously.

The place of    negotiation was only three or four hundred meters away from the fortress, within the effective range of the artillery.

   "Bold!" Winters said angrily: "You look down on our credibility?! Then there's nothing to talk about."

   Having said that, he raised his whip again.

   "Please don't go, my lord, please listen to me." The interpreter smiled wryly: "The Paratus and the Hurds really have no trust at all. They said they wanted to negotiate but violently killed people. This happened many times."

  The history of grievances and grievances between Plato and Heard's tribes, which touches on Winters' blind spot of knowledge.

   Winters was unmoved and furious: "Look at you, too, from Paratus, and you actually worked for the Hurds!"

  The old interpreter with white temples burst into tears: "My lord, I can't help it. Thirty-one years ago, I was kidnapped as a slave by the previous chief without a bow, and since then I have been living in the wasteland, and I can't return to my family."

"Have a home that you can't go back to? Then I'll give you a chance." Bud said suddenly: "Just follow me, and I'll take you back to the fort. Once you enter the fort, the barbarians won't hurt you. You can go home by yourself after the battle is over. ,how?"

  The old interpreter was stunned for a while, then trembling and cowardly said: "Sir, I have no family left in Palato, and I have married a wife and children in Teltown, I..."

   "Don't talk nonsense!" Bard's tone was cold and stern, his eyes flashing coldly: "Would you like to go?"

  The blood on the old interpreter's face was gone, and he shook his head slightly.

   "What did the barbarian chief ask you to talk about?" The mild-mannered Bard rarely showed murderous aura: "Speak directly!"

"My lord the fire-boiler." The old translator licked his lips, sweating on his forehead in the cold weather: "May the lord of your army have a Mak'gora - a duel of life and death according to the ancient rituals. . If my lord wins, you hand over the golden man. If your army lord will win, the Terdun army will withdraw from this and will not participate in this battle."

  Rao had already had all kinds of expectations, and the enemy's proposal still made Winters and Bud stunned, and the two looked at each other, not knowing what to say.

"Your Excellency can trust Macgola." The old interpreter continued: "Your army and our army will definitely respect it. Historically, Hurd and Pratu have had thirty-six Macgola games, no matter who wins or loses. , all fulfilled their promises.”

   "Soldiers, the big event of the country!" Bud frowned and scolded in a deep voice: "How can a duel be used to decide the big matter of the military? What kind of madness is your monkey butt-faced chief?"

   "But..." The old interpreter swallowed his saliva: "Quye Khan was beheaded by your army's Ned Smith in the Makgola ceremony..."

   Hearing the old marshal's name in this ghost place, Winters suddenly came to his senses.

   "And this?" He asked with great interest: "Why haven't I seen it in the history of warfare? Can you tell me? What are the limitations of this Macgola? Horseback riding? Foot combat?"

  The old interpreter wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, "The two sides can make an agreement on their own, both on foot and on cavalry. Generally, weapons are not limited..."

   "Does that work with a gun?" Winters widened his eyes.

   Without waiting for the old interpreter to answer, Bud hurriedly interrupted his cheerful friend.

  Bud stretched out his hand and took Winters' reins, and said to the interpreter: "You wait here, I'll go back and tell my general."

   "Don't go! I haven't figured it out yet!" Winters was dragged all the way, getting further and further away from the old interpreter, and still shouted reluctantly: "Hey! The interpreter, can you use a gun? Use..."

   Back at the bridgehead, the two were surrounded by other officers.

   "What did the Hurds want to say?" Lieutenant Colonel Jesska asked.

   "The Hurds are crazy!" Winters was elated: "They really have no way to take this fortress! They are so desperate that they want to try any tricks."

Bud frowned and said, "If the interpreter didn't lie, it's not good news if the interpreter on the opposite side is the warchief of the Tertown division, the Fireboiler. And they seem so confident that the interpreter doesn't even want to join us. ."

   "The people who sacrificed to the heavens have all moved here! How could it not be the Barbarian Chief himself?" Jesska sneered: "Is there anything else?"

   "Hahaha!" Winters burst into tears: "They want to fight you one-on-one!"

   [Note: I finally took the weapon of statistics, but I held back for a long time. Although the subject of statistics is still in its infancy and its analytical skills are weak, it will be of great use in Winters' hands]

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   (end of this chapter)