“The lack of artillery is refreshing.” The begrudging words of Mr. Bee resonate with everybody on deck. Currently that just happens to be me, and 2 of the map boys, but it is true. The artillery has stopped pounding. Instead, the only noises to be heard are the soft fall of rain, the slow heavy clunking of the legs below, and the deep hum of the drive.

The water proofed canvas tent set up on the observation deck of the walker protects the map from most of the rain, rolling it off the sides of the walker and far down to the ground below. The map table is large, stretching to the size you couldn't lay it down flat inside my office back at HQ. On the map are dozens of signs with numbers and symbols on them, indicating troop regiments and factions, in our game of desperate defense.

I think for a moment before quickly asking “Are they out of shells again?”

“Most likely. The last 3 dwarven ammunition shipments haven't arrived.”

The walker took another step away from the frontline, the heavy armored feet leaving craters in the ground as they stomp forward.

Every couple of minutes, a young kenku midshipman runs a couple slips of paper up to the tac deck, handing them to the 2 human boys working the map. They can't have been older than 20, both of them quiet and focused on supporting the work of the generals.

“Cress should be here any minute now.” Mr. Bee says.

Cress is the current field leader of the PPS, functioning as medical aid for our civilians and soldiers. She is also one of my old friends from back in the monastery. Helped me spring the place, and we stuck together for the next 3 years until I became of independent age.

Since then we have grown apart, her becoming the head of a medical association while me a general in the military. Still though, there is a surprising amount of overlap between our 2 fields, and oftentimes we have to coordinate.

In the distance I can see a Jerulian battleship limping away from the coast, huge gashes across its flanks and its balloons limp. Black smoke billows out of the engine, the interior fires smoke exiting through the engine exhaust. Its monitor escort looks slightly better, clearly not being the focus of the naval cannons.

Then, piercing through the cloud, flying nearly directly down a awrkunian jet. I don't have time to register what model, before it sprays the distant airship with lead, tearing open more holes in the gas cells before banking down, underneath the balloon and hull. The alarm systems on the walker activate, the loud klaxon ringing across the walker as the gun crews rush to the few turrets.

The jet makes another pass, almost stalling out before turning and launching 2 missiles, clouds of purple gas bursting out from where they impact. Finally one of the monitors hits a flak cannon shot, tearing through the jet's left wing and engine, as it spirals down to the ground, closely followed by half of the melting battleship.

Cress swoops down from a nearby PPS ship, its full blood red sails standing stark against the gray sky. I can already feel the wooden ribs of the walker spreading open to allow rescue and recovery airships launch, as cress lands on the deck, sliding to a stop on the slick wooden floor.

“Hey.”

She stands there for a second or two before catching on that all 4 other people on deck were staring out at the battleship at least 10 miles away, silently watching as the fiery front half slowly floats upwards. The PPS ship banks away, the wind propelling it towards the immobilized battleships remains.

“How have you been?” I ask, breaking the silence.

“Ohh gods, where do I even start?” She says, dragging out a chair while shaking out her wings, throwing droplets of water onto the waxed map, before tightly refolding them.

“Yeah, that's how I feel.” I gesture out towards the burning battleship. “That's the 2nd capital ship we've lost this week”

“Shit.” Her usually upbeat voice sounds beaten down, probably by having to accept hundreds of thousands of civilians as dead. The job of the heirs is to do their best to protect the people, so this is a big blow to both of us.

Mr. Bee interrupts our silence. “We do need to strategize during this meeting Maam. Zippy, please go first.”

I take a deep breath, before beginning to rattle off a situation report.

“The invading awrkunian forces have pushed us back another 30 miles. Estimated losses of 40,000 soldiers across the board, 43 tankettes, 13 scout vehicles, 5 monitors, 2 destroyers, and 1 - No 2 battleships. This is just the southern front, we haven't received messages from the eastern front in over a week. We have established an artillery line here-” I say, pointing at a line of small models across the map.

“We are strategically falling back to a ridge, and the artillery is already aimed at the proper firing angles to bombard any foot soldiers with artillery. If large land carriers support the bolstering force, the ridge itself is currently being rigged to explode underneath their feet, and alternate sulphara artillery shells are being delivered sometime soon. Our secret agent has not yet hasn't gotten his cove-“

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

In a green flash of light, a figure appears, almost running backwards as he fires a shot off the bow. He stops moving, realizing that he suddenly was on the tac deck. The tabaxi is breathing heavily, suit covered in blood and fur choked with smoke.

Wordlessly he uncocks his gun, slamming it down on the map table, before pulling out his sword and setting it down as well.

“Hey bartholomew. Please tell me your cover didn't get blown.”

He silently takes off his backpack, the mechanical arm already reaching down and unscrewing the back of the sword.

“They no longer have a supply depot.” He quickly says, focused on repairing the sword. He takes the backplate off, before taking a knife and cutting out 3 inches of wiring.

Cress asks, sounding concerned “What's with the soot?”

“Got shot with a flare gun.” He says, not lifting his eyes as the small mechanical arm he set on the table hands him replacement wires.

“Um… are you ok?” Cress follows up with.

“Ye-”

The bag placed on the table speaks up instead, with a deep bassy voice.

“He has 3 bullets embedded in his chest.”

“I do? Before Cornelias could even check, in a burst of speed (astonishing even to me) Cress leaped across the table, ripping open his shirt. Sure enough there are 3 wounds, dripping in blood embedded in his upper chest. Cress quickly sets one of her shoulder bags down, before rummaging through it. I can hear the sounds of glass and metal clinking inside as she withdrawals tools and medicines.

“Ok drink this” She hands Cornelias a brown glass bottle of a thick liquid.

“What's in this? Hopefully not some of your uh… healing crystals.”

The 2 nervous mapboys receive another slip of paper, before moving around the map and starting to move enemy and allied pieces. They remove a piece near our current location.

“Flyr, some funguses and stuff, a lot of proteins and calories. Just drink it. ”

She gets what looks like a pair of tweezers, their ends bent to make a circle when held together, before asking Cornelias

“Do you want some numbness?”

“Um… sure.”

Cornelias seems uncomfortable, Cress leaning into him with the tweezers. Her other hand is hovering a couple inches off of his furred chest, a quiet buzzing from the working of the numbing device held in her palm. Finally, she reaches into one of the holes with the tweezer, Cornelias wincing before she pulls the bullet out, dropping it on the table.

Cress proceeds to remove the other 2 bullets, before adjusting the device on her palm with a twist. She waves it in front of his chest, the wounds knitting themselves back together. Cornelias’s breathing slows a little bit before he starts talking again.

“Do I have to drink this?” He says, shaking the medicine bottle with the healing liquid.

“Yes. It will help speed up the complete healing process as well as help with any infections.”

He takes another look at the bottle, before unscrewing the top and taking a sip. He starts violently coughing, before putting the bottle down on the table.

“Oh my gosh that is, way too sweet, what the hell is that?”

“Drink it.” Cress grabs the bottle, before pushing his head back and putting the bottle up to his lips. The 2 map boys look very uncomfortable watching this, which… is relatable. After a second cornelias manages to escape Cress’s grasp, ducking down before chucking the mostly empty bottle over the edge.

Cress, seemingly satisfied with this outcome, packs up her gear in her bag, before standing up and getting off the table.

Mr. Bee finally pipes up, after watching a 5 minute surgery unfold on the main tactical map for the Ziplabs armada. “Can we get back on track?”

“I think Cress should talk now” I say, nodding over to her.

“Ok. Approximately 36 PPS airships are over the tabaxi nations, providing medical care to the eastern front. There are 18 servicing the southern front, but we have also established 3 medical camps behind the artillery lines you pointed out. 13 are MIA.”

Cornelias is hovering, pacing around slightly while listening.

“What about the evacuation attempts?”

“They are going reasonably well, but we can't hope to move 20 million people with such a small number of ships. We are using a lot of cargo freighters, but it isn't enough.”

Mr. Bee is the next one to ask anything.

“We have 6 cargo freighters being delivered to the armada from the main Ziplabs company. Do you need mobile triage centers? We can refit them”

“Yes, we do. Due to how fast things are progressing on the west front, we can't establish any semi permanent facilities, and the damn awrks are shooting down any medical ships they catch trying to go behind enemy lines. There are a lot of people stuck behind them, and it's not looking good for them.”

“We can't get ships up there, they would be spotted and destroyed before we could do anything. As Ziplabs Naval officer I can't provide any assistance.”

It's a sad truth that we can help, but our ships need to defend our lands as opposed to getting destroyed trying to rescue civilians.

“Well thank you. I need to go back to the Triage center, so uh … Bye. Win the war for me.” The last part is directed towards me, before she unfurls her wings.

Cornelias speaks up suddenly, sounding a little guilty.

“And sorry for throwing the medicine overboard. Probably shouldn't have dont that.”

“That stuff is expensive as hell.”

She leaps off the side of the walker, disappearing from my view.