Chapter VIII - Dawnbreak

Shells continued to hit Vuren Ridge, gradually increasing in intensity to the point it was impossible to hear the man 2 feet over in the next foxhole. Captain Lager leant back, ear defenders on, and cloth cap pulled all the way down to cover his face. He maintained an iron grip on his rifle, but on any other day, you’d mistaken him for a napping beach go-er.

Except this wasn’t the beach. This was the battlefield, and it had been for three days now. The bombardment was one from Silverian guns, to make matters worse, and they could do nothing about it without the signaller. Attempts to flag friendly fire failed, and for now, they had to endure.

Loose earth flew up from freshly dug graves, revealing deceased colleagues again, the stench overpowering and morale-sapping, faces of passed friends watching guilty survivors. They had been stuck onto this ridge for months, and the telegram promising reinforcements had arrived weeks ago. Still, there was not a sight of the 88th’s recognisable olive green uniforms, and the Captain wondered in horror if they had been intercepted, or worse yet, they were the last men remaining on the flank. It did seem oddly quieter than usual.

‘Captain, a note, it’s from HQ.’

‘How the hell did it get all the way here?’

‘Motorcycle messenger, he said not to reply.’

Lager was handed a sealed envelope, the sign of High Command stamped upon it. Taking a bayonet, he opened it, and the note was brief, but his hands shook.

General HQ

To : Captain Lager, 28th Infantry Regiment, 11th Division, GSA

The last batch of recruits sent to your position will arrive in a week. There will be no more supplies shipped into the Ridge.

You are to hold position, until the intake has arrived. Upon replenishment, launch an assault toward the enemy supply lines. The 88th have been withdrawn.

Vuren Ridge is no longer considered of strategic value. Retreat is not an option.

Glory to Silveria.

‘Is something wrong, Sir?’

Lager tore up the note. He put both hands on his head, to block out the incessant fighting. This was it, they were being abandoned.

‘Put the men on combat readiness.’ he murmured, ‘I want every one of them to prepare for an assault. We have a week.’

The soldier nodded, and rushed off. Then, the noise stopped. No more artillery, gunshots, or screams of dying men. It all halted as if cut off by some imaginary choir master. Withdrawing his binoculars, a prized set which he rarely used, Lager looked over the parapet of his hastily dug hole. He visibly blanched.

{---}

‘For the Emperor!’ cried the Colonel, sabre flourished, the sign of his rank, ‘Crush them, no mercy! For the Emperor!’

The cry was picked up by every man across the line, dodging bullets and obstacles. It was the third time they were up against this dratted ridge, and surely the last. Behind, tanks pushed their engines to the limit, urging the infantry to either be made into a pulp or crash themselves into the ridge. The Colonel mounted his own personalised tank, donning a headset and issuing orders from a safe distance. This time, he had come prepared, checking one more time with his rear units, and driving on.

{---}

Lucy did not wait for approval before heading to the hangar. She had heard the news of a major Imperial offensive, and sitting around in the barracks was not cutting it for her, or the squadron. A guard tried stopping her, but with her Vafu already equipped, she easily overpowered him with one hand.

‘You are not cleared for combat yet.’ an attendant tried cutting her off, ‘Orders are not to support the defence, stand down!’

‘There’s no way they’ll be able to hold, my scanner’s shown me their numbers, they will need our support.’

‘Regardless, orders-’

‘Those men will die if we don’t help them, please, out of the way.’

She barged past a pair of guards, and met the rest of her squadron. All twenty were prepared, Vafus humming in a low frequency, the mana flowing around the exoskeletons.

‘Guys, it’s the same ridge again, except there’s twice as many, it won’t be easy.’

The attendant gave up, and hurried to the nearest telephone.

‘We'll need to get up in the sky ASAP, I want complete radio and physical silence, use the thought communications on the way.’

With that, she fired up her own Vafu, coursing her mana reserves and maintaining a distance between her and the floor. The rest followed suit. She tried harder, and the distance increased. By 30 seconds, she was floating a good ten metres off the ground, almost touching the roof of the hangar bay. There was a jolt.

The gates were shutting, slowly grinding on the floor, closing the gap fast. THere was no time to waste.

‘8th Squadron, prepare to move!’

The Vafus whined intensely, reaching a much higher pitch, wind blowing in every direction.

‘Move!’

In synchronisation, they glided out, the last man just narrowly avoiding the blast doors shutting.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

‘How far?’ Lucy thought to her navigator.

‘ETA 3 minutes.’ he thought back.

‘AT Squad, ready?’ she checked. They responded with affirmatives.

‘How about you, AA?’ They were primed for combat.

Cloud cover was minimal, allowing a good look at the battlefield but negating any sense of surprise they would have had. Yet as long as they could deal heavy casualties quickly, their work would be done. The squadron scanner had been accurate, the enemy were more densely packed than ever, and she noted how the tanks had been fitted with plating above, to deter them. Clearly they had learnt, but not enough from what it seemed.

‘2 minutes!’ the navigator thought. Lucy checked her weapon a last time, she had brought explosive rounds from the armory for the occasion, much more effective against the crowd of infantry.

‘I’m getting signatures in the sky, westbound.’ the scanner read out, ‘Twelve of them.’

‘Must be fighters, they know we’re here.’ a squadron member thought, ‘Less than last time, though.’

‘Alright, AA Squad, move ahead, screen for us.’

The AA team moved ahead, just in visibility as specks. One of them reported back.

‘Nothing serious from what I can tell, wait what is-’

An explosion, multiple. The entire AA squad was engulfed in flame, Vafus falling without occupants.

‘What the hell!’ the scanner couldn’t help but speak out, ‘It’s a forcefield, but only a-’

‘Enemy spectre, left!’ yelled a distressed voice from behind. Turning, Lucy put up a miniature forcefield of her own to deflect a barrage of shots. Unfortunately, two of her members were less fortunate, and their Vafus powered down as they died.

‘Execute spectre-on-spectre combat!’ Lucy relayed. The squadron split into pairs, the scanner sticking close to Lucy.

‘Are those the signatures you detected?’ she asked him.

‘Yeah, but they were miles away, how’d they get here so fast?’

A pair next to them were eviscerated by another hail of fire. Lucy caught sight of one of the enemy, clad in a black and red parka, holding an SMG. Pointing him out, they fired unavoidable shots, the scanner piercing the Vafu he wore square in the chest, and sending the Imperial down.

‘That’s one more to the count.’ He said proudly, checking his equipment again, ‘Ten, looks like somebody else got another one.’

All around them, the pairs were contacting the Imperials, who ducked and dived, blurs of colours. They were skilled, but the squadron had encountered enemy spectres before, and knew how to deal with them. Lucy found the lead man, his parka adorned with gold lining, and sped off after him, the scanner moving to cut his advance off.

The enemy leader was smart, though, and feinted a turn upwards, baiting the scanner. Instead, he dived down, making his way low to the ground forces. Lucy followed, throwing up shields to break bullets and shells coming her way. Each cost a fraction of her mana, and she knew it was not smart to stay so low. She broke upwards, joining the scanner and engaging the leader from afar, her explosive rounds timed to detonate at certain points, spraying shrapnel that the enemy could barely shield from.

‘How’s the others looking?’ she asked, reloading.

‘3 more Imps down, but we lost a pair. We’ve got 10 left.’

It was an appalling number, and Lucy considered retreating. The shame of an incomplete mission and 50% casualties scorched any chance, however, and she swore to her fallen comrades that they would destroy these enemy spectres.

‘Alright, keep pressing, once we get rid of him,’ she fired again, narrowly missing the gold-lined enemy, ‘The rest of them will pull back, we need to help those men down there.’

‘You sure?’ the scanner was apprehensive, and then saw the crossed symbols of ten friends, people he had trained and fought with, time and time again, ‘Alright, let’s do this.’

AA fire from below urged them to move, and they set off for the enemy leader, who had decided to go on the offensive, meeting the pair head-on. The first fly-by yielded no results on either side, but on the second a graze on the arm made the Imperial think better of direct confrontation. The scanner was alerted to a notification, 9 imperial spectres were no longer active, with 8 remaining of the squadron.

They closed in on the solo enemy, when he smirked. He dug into his pocket, withdrawing a cylindrical object, crushing it in his hands. The scanner’s eyes widened, and the next moment Lucy found herself pushed away, spiralling, the Vafu no longer responding to her movements. Her heart had all but stopped, and she closed her eyes, the sky a tornado, which turned to black.

{---}

Quincy blew rapidly onto his hands, warming numbed fingers, and tried to rub them together, despite the thick gloves he wore. An attempt to light a fire resulted in their last match flaring up, and then dying instantaneously. His companion, Festus, kicked a snow pile in anger.

‘That was the last one, Festus.’

‘Don’t call me that. Not here.’

‘All right, all right, Gold it is’, he said “Gold” with particular distaste, “Funny thing to call yourself eh? Of all the nicks you could’ve chosen. Gold.”

“Alright, alright, Death, complete pessimist that you are.”

“Now that was uncalled for.” Quincy withdrew a long stick-like tool with a trigger. He held it closely to the small stack of sticks he had collected, and pulled the trigger. Within moments, it was burning a flame, and a thick cloud of smoke along with it.

“Idiot, make it smaller. Do you want to be seen?”

Quincy quickly fanned it, making it bigger yet. In frustration, he pulled out a handful of twigs, burning himself in the process.

“At least I can feel my fingers now.” He said, whilst sucking them.

Festus stood, and surveyed the area. They were surrounded by a sea of pines, the forest floor coated by compact layers of snow, only where they sat was it indented, otherwise they had done a good job of covering their tracks.

“God I hate the North.”

Quincy also stood, and unslung his pack. His muscles froze. Festus frowned.

“What is it?”

Quincy pulled Festus to the frozen ground, stamping out the fire. A few moments passed, and there it was.

Snap, snap, snap.

The distant sound of twigs breaking. Animals did not break twigs. Quincy pulled for his sidearm, a well polished revolver, and peered over the edge of their small snow fort. He just about made out the shape of an armed man, rifle slung over his shoulder, and an ushchanka on his head. Clearly a native of the region. He dragged with one hand a small sled, with an indistinguishable load on it.

“This has to be our guy.” Festus hissed, searching for his own firearm.

“Wait, something’s not right.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, just stay still.”

The man approached steadily, clearly not concerned with the idea of being watched. He seemed to be making more noise than he needed to. Snowflakes began drifting down, one landing on the nose of Quincy, who started intently.

“There. Look.”

Festus narrowed his eyes, and saw nothing.

“Quincy, I think we need to get you field tested again.”

Quincy urgently pointed at a clattering of bushes.

“Look!” he said more urgently, and sighing in disbelief, he took out his telescope and handed it to Festus, who rested it onto the snow bank. He saw it. The unmistakable sight of a barrel sticking out, in fact two. Two snipers were watching, though they could not tell for what reason. The sledman then began singing loudly, but also awkwardly, his voice breaking as if nervous. Festus connected the dots quickly. He was trying to bait out the Agents. As soon as they stood to apprehend the man, they would be shot by the two snipers safeguarding their target. The question was, how did they know?

‘Look it’s not safe, Quincy, let’s go, they won’t know we’re here.’

‘Hang on, we have a job to do.’ hissed Quincy, stopping Festus, ‘And stop struggling they’ll hear usss…’

He trailed away, and Festus freed himself from him.

‘Jesus Quincy, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

A cold muzzle pushed up against his back.

‘Aw fuck.’