Chapter 7 - Fanatical Liberty
‘The attack failed, Sir.’
Nobody in the room dared to look the General in the eye. Shame burned them to their core, what was supposed to be an easy victory had been turned on them. Icarus toyed with a cat on his desk, lazily shaking a feather, allowing the cat to paw at it every now and then. Still, he said nothing.
‘They-they brought Spectres, Sir, we never expected it.’
Icarus showed no sign of interest, opting to scratch the cat behind the ears.
‘We didn’t bring any heavy Anti-Air equipment, and-’
‘Whose fault is that, Colonel? Mine or yours?’ the General said at last.
‘Well, it’s mine, of course, I should’ve prepared, I swear the next time we’ll take the ridge.’
Icarus leaned forward, hands locked and resting his chin upon them.
‘3,000 dead, Colonel. Much more wounded and missing, and the destruction of an entire tank squadron. My higher ups won’t be very pleased when they hear those news, you know?’
‘Of course not, Sir, I’ll take the blame entirely.’
‘Now, there’s no need for that, not at all. Though very kind. That would be fine, of course, provided you had died with your men, and not come scurrying back with your tail between your legs.’
The Colonel darkened, nobody had ever spoken to him as such before, he was the son of a noble, elevated to his rank by his family name alone. He held his tongue, however, and straightened.
‘Next time, I will take the ridge, or die trying, Sir.’
Icarus applauded, clapping slowly. Eventually, the rest of the room began to follow, a sarcastic ovation lauding an embarrassed man. Ceasing, the General lay back again, tending to the cat.
‘Take more men, another tank squadron, and be prepared this time, Colonel. I’m sure Vuren Ridge will be in Imperial control by midday tomorrow, yes?’
The Colonel saluted, and left the room. Looking at a nearby map, Icarus scorned the bulge whereas the other sectors made solid ground. He could’ve waited for the advance forces to attack inwards and cut the Ridge off from supplies, yet it was a pimple that he wanted the glory alone to pop. The disgusting Silverian pus would run then, and be cut down by his troops in droves.
‘As for the rest of you Gentlemen, is there not somewhere else you must attend to?’
They bumbled about for a while, before leaving in an orderly fashion. All of them sheep to his desires, expendable to the man. In all his years of service, he had yet to meet a rival, someone who had truly given him a bloody nose. Where his inferiors failed, he would take charge personally, and break whatever enemy he came across. A General undefeated, a track record that would put the most venerable commanders to shame. This Ridge was tough, though not uncrackable, plus he needed a reason to kick that fool off his staff, anyway. It had been two months since the invasion had started, but in the end, no nation could stand against the might of the Empire, and it’s most experienced leaders. The cat purred under his touch.
‘We’ll crush them, Willow, it’s only a matter of time.’
Willow meowed in response.
{---}
Valleys unbroken, hills rolling, vineyards, orange trees, fields of wheat and barley. That was the lay of the land before the Imperial bombardments. Former hills flattened into plains, trees upturned and fields blackened to soot. Civilians cried out in anguish and horror, sons and daughters killed, harvest ruined and skies dark. They had but one hope, and it had abandoned them, weapons lay unattended and scattered, defensive positions unmanned. Now, they had to fend for themselves.
Father Perkins administered the last rites to a fallen soldier, who lay sprawled on the floor, eyes barely open, hands weak and still searching for his rifle. The Father gripped his wandering hand, tears streaming slowly.
‘Be still, son, the war is over, for you at least.’ he felt the lifeblood of the soldier flow away, ‘Your last thoughts should be of home and family, not more needless conflict.’
‘I-I can still make it, my buddies, they need me, Father.’
‘They are long gone, Son, be still.’
Perkins unstrapped his canteen, and little by little, trickled water to the lips of the soldier.
‘They all-all, made it out right?’ he asked, voice a little stronger, but not by much.
‘Yes, they did.’ Perkins screwed the canteen again, and winced as a shell dropped nearby.
‘That’s good, real good… Ma, Pa, I’m sorry.’
The soldier’s grip tightened painfully, and then it was over. Perkins crossed himself, and stood, his robes meticulous other than the occasional spot of blood. A clattering of boots from down the street put him on guard, and he hurried into the Church. Inside, a gaggle of children looked teary-eyed, frightened.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
‘Father, are we going to die?’ asked one, wide-eyed.
‘No, no, Child, we won’t be harmed.’
‘Then why did all the soldiers leave?’
Perkins remembered the discussion with the commander.
‘You’re leaving?’
‘Yes, Father, we simply don’t have the manpower to defend this sector anymore, we must pull back to the second line.’ the Commander hauled an ammunition box, and entered a waiting jeep.
‘You’d leave these people to their fates?’ Father Perkins found himself yelling, ‘Do you have no shame?’
The Commander, flushed, and tried to explain, all the while men around him mounted trucks and fled.
‘Father, it’s only orders, we have to follow them, I’ll make sure that your orphanage is not marked for artillery.’
With those parting words, the Commander and his men deserted the village, under the scornful eyes of its inhabitants, many of whom would die only hours later.
‘They left, because they had to, Child, that’s all there is to it.’ Father Perkins worried himself over the amount of supplies left. It would not last them longer than a week at most, the combined rations left behind in a hurry would be hard pressed to divide between seventeen growing children. He would go without, used to fasting, and thought desperately for alternatives. His thoughts were disturbed when the door creaked open, and in the face of it, an Imperial conscript with two others behind him pointed rifles into the orphanage. Clearly, they were shaky, possibly suspecting a trap, guns trained without hesitation or falter.
‘You would not shoot children or a man of god, would you now?’
The lead man shook his head slowly, digging into his tunic and revealing a silver cross, staying mute. Outside, a tank rumbled by, shaking the foundations of the already old orphanage, dust coming down in packets. A child sneezed, and one of the jumpy men switched targets from a corner of the room to the sniffing child. The lead man made his choice, and batted down the gun. The group then spoke in hushed voices. They came to a consensus on some subject, and shrugged off haversacks. Then, they took out tin cans, packaged food and naturally, rations. Without another word, the items were left on the doorstep, and the group closed the door. Before he could disappear, the Father thanked the lead man. He smiled, and then in broken Silverian, said
‘Lord be with you.’
{---}
‘We have no choice, if we hold our positions as they are, we’re at risk of being encircled!’
‘In doing this, we leave countless civilians defenceless, we’re not even halfway through evacuation!’
Generals Grimhelm and Barr butted heads again, interjecting each other at every point made. It was no secret that the two were heated rivals, ever since they had met at the same Academy, constantly trying to one-up the other. The King looked at the situation from both sides. Silveria had 3 defensive lines to rely on, and the first, the Hoffen Line, had done exactly what it had been designed to do - buy time for a complete evacuation of civilians from the front, and allow reserves to deploy at the Pristy Line. However, the projected time was meant to be for at least 5 months, yet it was now collapsing on the 2nd. Several crucial bridges were already set with explosives, and detonating them would mean stranding at least 140,000 civilians, but also denying the Imperials an easy time of crossing the Izoro river. Continuing to hold the Hoffen Line would mean allowing more evacuations to finish on time, but risk the destruction of already battered divisions and saving little to no time for the bridges to be destroyed. The latter would potentially allow the Imperials immediate access to the Pristy Line, and demonstrated by previous tactics, slog into another unwanted style of combat, attrition that the Silverians simply could not afford against a much larger enemy. The King thought long and hard, Grimhelm advising that the bridges stay open for evacuation, that the public would be outraged by anything else, and the potential for these same evacuees to be put to the war effort, whereas Barr was more inclined to the prioritisation for the military to use the bridges, and detonating them as soon as the last battalion crossed. This continued for several hours, until the King felt tired.
‘Enough!’ he yelled, and the two were astonished into silence. ‘Firstly, General Barr, I cannot even comprehend leaving my people to the mercy of the Imperials, it is not a matter of choice, I will not allow it.’
Grimhelm smirked, and Barr bowed, understanding.
‘As for you Grimhelm, the destruction of the Army will not benefit us in the long run, that is not a point of contention either, we’re stretched out for the Pristy’s garrisons as it is. Put your petty differences aside, and think of a solution that is best, that is the reason you are Generals, not mere pen pushers, I’m sure.’
Barr and Grimhelm shook hands, reluctantly at best, but that solved one of the more minor issues. The King suddenly remembered.
‘Is Vuren Ridge still held?’ it was all coming together, ‘The 28th, they still exist?’
‘Yes sir, from what I’ve heard, they just barely managed to defend it yesterday against another attack.’
‘But it is the furthest into enemy lines?’
‘They stick out like a sore thumb, Sir. I’m amazed they’ve held for so long.’ Barr gestured at the map with a pencil, ‘It’s bound to be overrun soon, though, they should retreat now, when they have the time.’
‘Would a diversionary attack free up resources for the evacuation?’
The Generals stared at the King.
‘Sir, if the 28th were to move from their positions, they’d be annihilated.’
‘But should they do it, would the enemy be momentarily distracted?’ the King accentuated.
‘Yes, of course, even the Imperials wouldn’t risk an attack from the rear, or have their supplies cut, but like my colleague said, it’d doom the 28th. In fact, I believe they lack the manpower to even attempt it.’
The King shuddered. It was times like these where he wished there was somebody else to take the decisions. However, it was clear as day, it was either saving both the army and the civilians, or risk losing one or the other. And the only cost would be a depleted Regiment of men. Only.
‘Divert recruits, their training is to be finished early, send them to the 28th, and execute the plan as soon as they’re prepared.’
Grimhelm cleared his throat.
‘My King, I had a plan prepared for my 88th to perform a similar function, they can-’
‘If I am correct, Grim, the 88th are experienced veterans who will be required for the Pristy Line, pull them back, alongside the rest of the army, the 28th are to stay.’
‘Sir, you’d be ordering those men to their deaths.’ Barr interrupted.
The King clenched his fists, and sighed.
‘That is something I am prepared to do, for the greater good.’
“For the greater good.” echoed Grimhelm, though half-heartedly.