Apparently, the Guards have a employed a new unit. A heavy dual-tracked tank carrying a turreted 203mm gun; The ‘Thorn’ tank. They quickly appear across local front, creeping down into friendly lines and methodically obliterating them. Accompanying its main gun is a coaxial 40mm autocannon with enough power to punch through anything less armored than the Chord. And it appears that they’re also armed with surface-to-air missiles for protection against aerial forces. Reports also said that it could assume indirect fire role, making it a heavily armored artillery piece. There are also footages showing how they can weather artillery fire with ease. What is it with the empire and their obsession of heavy machineries?
Morales are deteriorating in their advent. Soldiers are reluctant to fight that monstrosity head on. Yet staying in their fortified positions is no use since those things can also bombard them. They are already formidable when unsupported. Combined arms warfare against those Thorns will be difficult. They’re going to have to avoid those tanks for the next couple of weeks. At least until they figure out an effective and efficient method to neutralize the new threat.
Colonel Albrecht Holvmeer pinches his forehead. His attention is fixed to the holomap projected by his command table. He led the 5th Field Combat Group, a brigade sized unit of the 36th Tank Division, tasked with securing Patih Tread and the D230 highway. It’s three weeks past the deadline of said objective. The appearance of the Thorns is definitely going to drag this out even longer. He doesn’t have reinforcement priority. Command sent the majority of them to hold the position west of Patih Tread, where an offensive will begin once the town is taken. He’s forced to work with what he has.
Holvmeer drags his chair and collapses to it, his gaze turns to the concrete ceilings.
The command table is the only fancy thing in the dull and dusty room. It has built in batteries because working electrical outlet isn’t available everywhere on the battlefield. His staffs are either scribbling on papers, tracking units down to platoon size, relaying orders through utilizer, or discussing the situation, all while being shoulder to shoulder. Most of his human staff contract eyebags and seem to be out of the world.
He wipes his face with both hands and takes a deep breath. He inhales the caffeine haze that has persisted for hours. There’s an air freshener can on the bunker floor that he snatches. He presses the button. It hisses once as barely any droplet comes out. He tosses it behind him, letting it roll until it hits the wall. He taps on the knee of the staff beside him.
“Freshener cans, please.” He nods at him.
That staff nods back before making his way out of the command bunker, leaving the papers down where he sat.
He then lets his arms loose, they dangle over the armrests. The lack of reinforcements means that he has to preserve his men as much as possible. He has been systematically destroying enemy forces with artillery and air forces. But the Guards held the line. With the arrival of their heavy tank, they managed to retake Patih Tread again. He was winning the attrition. The Thorns shift the balance against his favor.
His daughter’s birthday is in two weeks. It’s her seventeenth birthday, obviously he wants to be there when his buttercup enters adulthood. The enemy now has as much firepower as he is. He was struggling for a month when they have less. Without a miracle, he couldn’t get this done in two weeks’ time. He taps into his utilizer and brings up a photo of three. One is himself in the glory of his sharp uniform, glimmering with ribbons and medals. Beside him is his wife. And between them is his daughter. He missed her sixteenth birthday. He too has promised to be there on her seventeenth. It breaks him that he is going to break that promise again. He knows she’ll forgive him. But he can’t live on pretending that he is a father.
“Sir.” A maid salutes as soon as she enters the bunker.
Maid Colonel Nabila, the quartermaster of his unit.
A moment ago, he was informed of the arrival of an authoritative figure. The occasion is to boost troops’ morale in the face of the latest terrifying foe. The quartermaster informs him that the figure has arrived. He shrugs off the remaining emotion on his face to confront the figure. Everyone drops anything currently on their hands and stand up. They salute the figure as soon as he enters the room.
It’s a man taller than him. An Android. He is wearing the standard Proxy coat and armor, complete with the visor. And he has a slouch hat on instead of any kind of helmet or service cap.
“Sir Edward.” Holvmeer salutes him. He was expecting a general, a field marshal, or a renowned commissar. Instead he got The Primus’ right-hand man. It’s overall a good thing, one of the best army experiences in fact. It’s just baffling how he is out here instead of helping The Primus taking care of the state.
Sir Edward nods at everyone in the room, gesturing for them to sit down and return to their duty. The man has no escort. Yet he struts in like nothing is going to kill him. Holvmeer heard a bit about him. It’s safe to say that he is his own bodyguard.
“G’day colonel.” Sir Edward replies. “A bit troubled here, aren’t you?”
The colonel jerks his head. “With due respect sir, that’s an understatement.” He is sure that he needs more flow of arms and men his way.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
“Can I sit down, please?” Sir Edward asks.
Holvmeer gestures at him. Nabila brings the man a chair beside the colonel. Sir Edward sits down before dismissing the quartermaster. She bows obediently before marching out. He is her supreme commander. If there’s anyone around that’s suffer the most due to nerve, it’s probably her.
“Where’s the others?”
“I just dismissed them, sir.”
“Get us your second-in-command. We better do this on three, don’t we?”
Holvmeer speaks through his utilizer. “Feld, Sir Edward wants you here.”
“Copy.” Feld answers.
It doesn’t take long for him to arrive. Lieutenant Colonel Compton Feld, Holvmeer’s direct subordinate and a longtime friend. He salutes Sir Edward before sitting down.
“Command can’t have me controlling your men, colonel.” Sir Edward says. “You have been informed on my reason here, haven’t you?”
“Sir.” The colonel nods.
Sir Edward was a field marshal during The Primus’ conquest. He was the commander of all state’s armies. He pushed back enemies from the capital province and gained huge swaths of territories for the Artificial Creationist. He has a place in every Proxies’ eyes. And more than that, he goes along with pretty much everyone. He has this way of speaking that make everyone see him as equals. Soldiers most of the time found themselves agitated and relaxed at the same time when the man engages in their chatter. One is not a Proxy without him in their heart. His presence usually convinces the soldiers that everything is under control.
Holvmeer isn’t sure why he uses the term ‘Command’ to refer to his superior. There is only one man above him. Maybe it sticks with him after decades in the military. Or maybe he’s just overthinking things.
“Show me the new bully that’s giving you trouble.”
Holvmeer runs his finger on the command’s table terminal. The image of the Thorn is projected on the holographical dashboard, right beside the holomap. Sir Edward leans closer to observe the images.
“Scared the scrap out of your men, don’t they?” Sir Edward comments.
“I think they’re discipline enough to reorganize.”
Sir Edward pats his shoulder. His superiors never did that to him. It’s astonishing that it comes from the co-ruler of the state. He remembers ordering withdrawal to save his troops from being slaughtered. He was relieved to find that those tanks aren’t chasing them down. His men apparently took the initiative to rally. By the time he checked in again, everyone is ready in their new firing positions.
“But they’re being shelled by those tanks right now.” Holvmeer adds.
“Guess your men are being…Thorn…apart?” Sir Edward glances at him. He probably is smirking under his mask.
“With due respect sir, that’s not funny.”
“My bad, colonel.” Sir Edward gestures. “What’s next then? You talked that out with your staff?”
“Feld.” Holvmeer gestures at him to summarize the plan they discuss.
The lieutenant colonel nods. He stands up and starts to explain what they came up with. He brings the holomap to focus, expanding it until it covers the whole dashboard. The map shows known friendlies’ and enemies’ positions, aside from eagle eye view of the battlefield. Feld draws arrows on the map as he proceeds with his exposition. There’s not so much maneuver planned. The Thorns allow the Guards to match their firepower. They might have indirect fire capability. But the Guards will expect them to keep firing at any Proxies they see. This could wear down their barrels. They’re going to have to replace them. Their humongous size means that the process will take a long time. And apparently there’s a limited number of Thorns in the area.
Holvmeer expects to achieve that through artilleries. Friendly artilleries could draw their fire and quickly displace to avoid counter fire thanks to their high mobility. But he’ll need a lot of them. The staff estimate about three times of what they have. He already sent request to Command for more artillery pieces. But given the rate of reinforcement flowing to him, they can only carry the plan a week later. That’s the case if he preserved his artillery within that time-span. It’ll take longer if he has to do fire missions until that time comes.
“You should’ve taken the town three weeks ago, shouldn’t you?” Sir Edward asks.
“We are doing our best sir.” Holvmeer replies.
Sir Edward leans on his chair and folds his arms. “Doesn’t mean Command will like it.” He glances at Holvmeer and shrugs. “Sadly.”
Holvmeer clenches his fist. Something is boiling within him and he is struggling to suppress it. Sir Edward’s tone is still friendly as ever. It doesn’t sound threatening or over the top. But the implications of his words hit him. His men had bled or died for state’s interest. Yet here The Primus’ right-hand man tells him that they’re not doing enough. Many of them lie on unmarked graves and he doesn’t appreciate them. It just angers him. And it angers him even more how he didn’t choose to be in this situation. It’s Command’s decision that forced him.
“But I’ll help you.” Sir Edward says. “It’ll be lovelier if this ends sooner, right?”
Holvmeer calms himself down. He leans closer to Sir Edward. “How do you wish to get your hands dirty, sir?”
“Find me all the Thorns in the area. Plan out something as if they aren’t there.”
Holvmeer isn’t sure how that can help. Maybe he’ll find out when he’s done making a new next move. Azure lightning sparks on Sir Edward’s right hand shortly after.