Major Dreven Vorgai watched as underneath the last attempts to escape Trost were underway. Occasional groups of soldiers trudged their way in on foot, but it was primarily trains traveling along the rail lines funneling into the bridge. Most of those close enough to escape on foot had made it out long ago.

The occasional train now. Things were winding down. Not for lack of troops trying to escape, but lack of those making it past the Aethereans scouring the forests and hills between here and Trost.

He had the perfect view of the bridge from here, near the top of one of the towers flanking the bridge. Below, train tracks converged, trenches and earthen bunkers filling the ground beneath them. This high up, it looked like geometric patterns carved into the earth. Filling those defenses was his meager garrison for the bridge.

The chain of command held on tenuously. The Major had scraped it together since nothing else had existed upon his arrival here. Likely, it was even worse anywhere else on this side of the river, except maybe whatever units were holed up in the fortress itself. Remnants of his regiment's survivors with his battalion as the core, an anti-air company, two scraped-together companies of sappers, and a few smaller units were all that held the bridge now.

He held command because his unit had been the most intact of those to reach here after the withdrawal order came in. The officer in charge had taken the first train out of here when the day had dawned, leaving his troops behind to fend for themselves.

A noose had greeted him when he reached the far side—a slow hanging. Punishments had gotten harsher as execution had become seen by some as a less painful end than the variety of ways Travelers had found to kill.

It hadn’t worked, as even the axe was seen by those willing to desert as preferable to conjured insect devouring your head from the inside out, your limbs slow-cooking from the inside, or what some of the skin-wearers had begun doing.

Some had theorized that Travelers were uniquely indisposed to cruelty by some. The Major disagreed. Travelers were always influential, so their cruelty was more memorable than others.

That and old Aetherean strategies about breaking the wills of people to shorten conflicts encouraging it. Not that the Major could recall those strategies ever working in the past. Although even if they could, the opening attack of the war made a quick and peaceful end even less likely.

Killing a people’s deities tended to have that effect.

Another train, another hurried inspection as soldiers kept a steady eye on the cars, flamethrowers, and explosive satchels at the ready. They’d pointed two of the larger anti-tank guns at the train, prepared to turn the locomotive into scrap. It was an utterly inadequate deterrent if Travelers were infiltrating, but it was what he possessed.

It was waved through later, passing by one of his inherited problems still at the bridge. He shook his head, looking at the latter. It's not surprising it broke down, considering how much it weighed. It should have been sent across the river well before now.

“Major, telephone for you from the other side of the bridge. General Trieste.” Corporal Lirechter. Comms trooper. Not the one he’d started the day with. Moll had taken a spear through the head, getting to this bridge in the first place.

There were about twenty others up on the observation and command deck of the tower, most of them remnants of his battalion. Captain Graeceling, the communication staff, and a few bodyguards intended to buy enough time for the officers to escape in case of a Traveler assassin.

He tore his attention away from the forest and accepted the offered phone. On the other end, a rasping voice greeted him.

“Major. How much longer do you think you can hold the bridge?”

Hold was a misnomer. Their defenses hadn’t been tested outside the occasional scout unit from the Aethereans. Lightly armed and armored, they’d died on the outer edges of the perimeter. Travelers had avoided the bridge since that initial effort at some spell that had made their jammer shriek and squeal.

“Shouldn’t be a need for much longer, Ma’am. One train left coming in that we know of. All others should be coming back to you, cleared by us. The stations are either deserted or no longer answering our attempts to contact them. I’ll try to hold the bridge open a while for any still making their way here.”

“There are still troops on the other side of the bridge?” On the other side, the general sounded tired, and the Major would sympathize more if he weren’t tired to the bone himself. And unlike the general, he’d been in the thick of it all. Trieste had been on the far side of the bridge most of the past week.

“There are. It's hard to estimate it, but if the soldiers can’t find the tunnels, they’ll likely be heading for here. Other bridges are too far.”

“The other bridges are being blown. The tunnels, as well. And the fortresses evacuated. With Trost fallen and access to the river granted, we’ll need those troops to hold the far side of the river. You’ll be the last crossing for them. In your professional opinion, how long can you hold?”

The Major turned back towards the forests, considering. He considered activating [Planner] briefly but decided against it. The answer didn’t require much thought.

If any Aetherean with a Traveler force approached the bridge, they would likely laugh. He had a bare half thousand troops dug in on the entrances or operating the two squat towers on either side of the eight rail lines, hardly the garrison of Trost.

Three hundred scraped-together remnants, those deemed most capable of fighting after Trost. Those sufficiently unwounded in the head or the body. Still tired, hungry, and having fought for the last fourteen days straight at minimum.

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And that was without considering the years some of them had seen. They’d hold as best they could, but the Major was garrisoning this bridge with slim meat he’d strung onto the bones of his battalion.

That was another two hundred troops holding the positions closer to the bridge, and they would hold longer. But against a Traveler? Barely any time at all.

“If enemy specialists seriously push us, or Travelers, minutes General. Conventional forces a matter of hours, depending on their size. I have no mages of any note, no defenses hardened against magic except the Jammer, and artillery support is sporadic at best. Last I checked, the rocket barges were still being held from use by Commodore Alvask?”

Sitting there being useless, most of the offensive. The Major couldn’t even entirely blame the commodore for it. As devastating as the sheer multitude of rockets mounted on the barges were, the distance to Trost would have made them useless from dispersion. Near the bridge, however, it was different.

“I’ll get those cleared for your use. Major, if you think holding the bridge longer won’t be able to evacuate significant numbers of troops, you have authorization to pull back and start destroying the bridge.“

Their ticket out of here. They’d be taking it soon. “Understood. We should detonate the bridge within two hours, General. If not, I suggest the rocket barges.”

“Understood. I’ll see if I can get those cleared. Also, Major, one other thing. Is the Musveil ready to transport?”

Ah. That. “Still broken down, General. Engineers tell me an hour, a day at the worst. Do I have your permission to leave it if necessary?”

The Major could hear an audible drawing of breath on the other end. “That’s one of the last inventions of Avesun Major.”

“It won’t help us much if the Aetherians cross the river before winter, sir.” Even with all the abilities Travelers possessed, the cold season still forced a pause in operations. And would this time, with the benefit of a river too large to freeze solid during the winter months.

“You have my reluctant permission then, Major.”

He returned the phone to one of the comms officers and went to the viewer, turning his attention to the weapon he and the general had discussed.

The Musveil rested on the bridge, the massive tracked vehicle stuck while engineers hurried to fix the broken engine. It looked like a flatbed railcar with tracks if you ignored the giant armored siege mortar attached to its back. A barrel four meters long and two wide extended along the vehicles, arcane inscriptions carved into its steel surface.

It’d broken its tracks, both having snapped and barely managed to take the tracks back to the bridge. Its engine had finished giving out once it had reached the bridge.

Currently, it was useless. It was good at carving up Aetherean soldiers with its shells, but those weren’t the real threat. And even with the design of their greatest deity, the rate of fire and precision wasn’t enough to kill off Travelers. At least not at the levels they emerged now from Aetheria with.

Leaving it, though…the general had been right. It was one of the last pieces of evidence the gods existed. In the future, it might be the only evidence their gods had existed.

Graeceling interrupted his musings.

“Major, the train station along the northernmost route is destroyed, glassed by the Sun Goddess’ chosen. Captain Haskil linked up with the last train heading out there. In his own words, ‘No use evacuating along this route further. The last remnants were either obliterated or soon to be eliminated. Suggest preparing mines for detonation after we reach you.’ That train should be clear of the woods in ten minutes, sir.”

“Thank you. Tell Captain Jarvin to start pulling back. Slow enough, he doesn’t start a rout, but I want whoever he’s collected back here. We’ll pull out if the engineers can fix the Musveil on time and trains finish coming down the southern line, but I want to be ready to start across the bridge swiftly. The garrison isn’t escaping.” The Major changed the focus of his gaze to a large bowl of liquid in the center of the room. Reflected on its surface was the lone remaining tower of Trost.

There were still flashes from it. Physically, you couldn’t hear anything from the bridge, and sound wouldn’t carry through the scrying bowl. But there were still signs of conflict.

Exterior weapons still fired from the tower’s surface, surprisingly so. The garrison stored most of the shells underground and transported them by elevator from underground. Enough ammo remained for half of the weapons mounted in the tower’s walls to continue firing.

Only half, as blasted craters, melted stone, frozen-over turrets, and outright obliterated sections of the tower dominated its surface to about halfway up.

The Tower shuddered, and another chunk broke off, falling to the ground. Exposed figures the size of ants moved on the exposed floors, tracers flying through the sky out towards the flying Traveler circling the structure. The upper levels jolted, the slight bend deepening as Travelers carved out more of the structure below.

It didn’t take a genius to realize what was happening. Having consigned the garrison to the upper levels, the Aetherians and Travelers were carving away at the next immediate floors to send them plummeting to their deaths. It must have taken them this long to clear out the defenses inside and out.

He waved a hand across the surface, dispelling the image. There was no use in viewing it now. The only new information he’d learned was that soon, the Traveler would have nothing left to distract them. They’d head for the bridge soon.

As if on cue, the last train appeared, emerging from the shadowing trees of the forest. It looked like a wreck, scorch marks across the surface of the locomotive, a gaping smoking hole where the frontal AA mount should be.

The train shuddered up the incline to the bridge. Engines strained as steam poured from half a dozen places. The Major couldn't begin to guess how it had the pressure to keep going.

“Perform a check,” he noted, following the struggling engine and its trailing cars as one of the radio operators relayed his orders.

Any train showing up could be carrying enemy infiltrators. Wearing Scaverian skins half the time, undead resting in the hollowed-out carcasses of his comrades, or ripping the freedom of their minds away to control and use for their own ends. Or simply illusions. Or a dozen other things.

He’d say they were creative, but from what he’d witnessed, most of them just had too much experience, too many toys, and a desire to try out each one at least once.

Now the question was how long to hold? The tunnels below had been destroyed. Swimming would be impossible. Pulling back and blowing the bridge now would consign anyone on this bank to death. The southern line was still operating, trains filled with survivors on their way back.

The general wanted the Musveil. He’d settle for one more soldier on the right side of the river at the end of this. But more might die if he mistimed this. For now, they’d stay.

They could at least get an estimate of how much longer they had. “Graeceling, I want a Systemsight scan. Any estimates on where the Aethereans are and if any more of our own are close.”

He turned his attention back to the trenches, then drummed his fingers. Jarvin pulling back was necessary because of the lack of troops remaining here. He’d held off recruiting from the trains. What would be left inside, but troops already tired from the fighting beforehand?

But for now, they needed time.