Fields of Steel and Gunpowder_Operation Listing Willow

Archer 2-7-1, piloted by 1st Lieutenant Paul Dredger and 2nd Lieutenant Dengar Flameclaw, hovered steadily as the last of 4th Platoon’s second chalk descended the ropes. The V-280 rocked slightly under the movement, but the twin GAU-19s thundered as Staff Sergeant Runflame and Sergeant Singlance laid down suppressive fire, keeping Austorian forces at bay.

“Chalk’s clear!” Singlance called, her voice cutting through the roar of the miniguns.

“Copy that,” Dredger replied, his hands steady on the controls. “Cut the ropes. Runflame, keep them off us while we pull out.”

The ropes fell away as the helicopter began to rise, the city of Sacra-Hill spreading out below. Runflame and Singlance continued to fire, the .50-caliber rounds tearing through anything in their path, forcing Austorian forces to scatter.

“FIREBALL!” Runflame shouted, swiveling his GAU-19 to track a blazing orb launched from a mage circle below.

Dredger banked hard right, the fireball streaking past the tail with only feet to spare. “Too close!” he snapped, his voice tense.

Runflame opened fire, the GAU-19 ripping apart the mages. One, however, completed his spell before succumbing to the barrage. The fireball detonated as it hit a building below, the explosion sending debris hurtling into the air.

A massive chunk of the structure slammed into the helicopter’s right engine like a missile. The impact rocked the aircraft violently, knocking the two crew chiefs off their feet and slamming them onto the floor. Alarms blared as the helicopter lurched to the left, red warning lights flashing across the cockpit.

“Impact, right engine!” Flameclaw shouted over the chaos.

Dredger fought the controls, the helicopter wobbling dangerously. Smoke poured from the damaged engine as he worked quickly, shutting it down and setting the rotor to free-wheel. “Engine’s offline. We’re running on one rotor,” he called out, his voice steady but grim.

Flameclaw’s eyes darted across the panels. “Fire’s out, but the engine’s toast. Diagnostics show stability—for now.” He flipped to the comms. “Command, this is Archer 2-7-1. Right engine’s down. We’re heading back on one engine. Requesting an escort.”

“Archer 2-7-1, Command here,” came the reply. “CSAR is airborne. Angel 2-1-1 is en route. Archer 2-7-2, escort 2-7-1 back to Leythbrook.”

“Roger, we’re on it,” the pilot of Archer 2-7-2 replied. The second tiltrotor peeled away from its LZ duty, moving into formation beside 2-7-1.

“Thanks for the backup,” Flameclaw said, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

The two helicopters flew out of Sacra-Hill, the dense smoke and chaos of the city fading behind them. As they passed over the small village of Qu-Till, the smoke trailing from 2-7-1 began to thin, and for a fleeting instant, a sliver of hope pierced the tension that had gripped the cockpit.

An alarm blared, breaking the tense quiet. Flameclaw scanned the readouts, his expression darkening. “Containment failing. The power crystal’s destabilizing.”

Dredger muttered a curse under his breath. “Perfect timing.” He toggled the comms. “Command, Archer 2-7-1. Power crystal is losing containment. Left engine at risk. We’ll need that CSAR bird ASAP.”

“Copy that, 2-7-1,” Command responded. “Angel 2-1-1 is en route.”

“2-7-2,” Dredger called, “what’s your status?”

“Crystal’s stable here, but we’re nearly out of power,” replied 1st Lt. Nathan Redbone from the escorting helicopter. “We’ll stick with you as long as we can.”

Flameclaw’s eyes scanned the terrain ahead. “There—an open field near the Trenbres Forest. Let’s set her down and address the crystal on the ground.”

“Roger that,” Dredger replied, easing the controls for a descent. The helicopter banked toward the clearing, the lush expanse of Lord Velayne’s fiefdom just beyond the tree line.

Relief flickered between the pilots—brief and fleeting. As the field grew closer, the tree line erupted with movement. Austorian soldiers and cavalry poured from the forest, their armor glinting in the fading sunlight.

“Shit!” Dredger shouted, pulling up hard on the collective. “We need to get out of here!”

The helicopter strained against gravity, its damaged rotor groaning under the increased load.

A piercing screech filled the cabin as the right rotor failed catastrophically, shards of metal flying into the air. The helicopter lurched violently to the left, the sudden imbalance sending it into an uncontrolled spin.

“We’re losing it!” Dredger yelled, fighting the controls in vain.

The left rotor clipped a massive ironwood tree, the unyielding trunk snapping the overstressed propeller. The impact sheared off the engine mount, and the tiltrotor plummeted.

“Brace! Brace!” Flameclaw yelled as the helicopter slammed into the ground, skidding violently across the field. The rear V-tail tore away with a wrenching screech, and the airframe finally came to rest on its belly, listing slightly to one side.

As the dust settled, the cockpit was a cacophony of flashing lights and shrieking alarms. Dredger groaned, his vision swimming. “Flameclaw… status?”

“Alive,” Flameclaw said, fumbling with his harness. “You?”

“Barely,” Dredger muttered, coughing as he unbuckled himself. A thin trickle of blood ran down his temple, staining the inside of his flight helmet.

They stumbled into the rear compartment, and the sight froze them in place. Runflame’s body was a mangled wreck, impaled by a massive tree limb that jutted grotesquely through the fuselage.

“Damn it,” Dredger muttered, looking away.

“Singlance?” Flameclaw called, his voice strained.

A faint groan drew their attention. They found her a few feet from the wreckage, crumpled awkwardly on the ground. Her left arm was twisted unnaturally, the jagged end of a bone jutting through her bloodied sleeve.

“Melody!” Flameclaw shouted, dropping to his knees beside her. “Hang on.”

“Medical kit!” Dredger barked, sprinting back into the wreckage.

As he retrieved the kit, Singlance stirred weakly, her voice barely audible. “Runflame… where’s Runflame?”

Neither man answered, their silence heavy. Flameclaw splinted her arm as gently as he could, his hands steady despite the weight of her question.

Singlance’s gaze drifted toward the wreckage. Her eyes locked on the tree limb, the bloodied remnants around it telling the story she didn’t want to know.

“No…” she whimpered, her tears falling freely. “Runflame… NO!”

Her cries built into wrenching sobs, her body shaking despite her injuries. Flameclaw gripped her shoulders firmly, his voice steady but firm. “Melody, stop! You’ll hurt yourself worse!”

Her screams tapered into shaky breaths, her tears continuing to fall as the grim reality set in.

Singlance’s screams faded into ragged breaths as the sound of marching boots and pounding hooves filled the air. She froze, her wide eyes fixed on the horizon. “Austorians… they’re coming,” she whispered.

Dredger clenched his jaw and climbed back into the wreckage, searching for anything they could use. “We’re not done yet,” he muttered, his voice hard and resolute. He grabbed his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and tossed Flameclaw’s weapon to him.

The two reentered the shattered tiltrotor, preparing to make their stand.

“Is anything still working?” Flameclaw shouted, his voice echoing off the damaged interior as he moved to check the weapon station near Runflame’s remains. His shoulders sagged when he saw it. The GAU-19 and its mount were completely destroyed, ripped away in the crash.

“To hell with that,” Flameclaw growled, turning toward Singlance’s position.

To their surprise, the GAU-19 on Singlance’s side still had power. Despite her injuries, Singlance was already securing the weapon, her trembling hands steadying as she gripped the controls. “I can handle this,” she said, her voice weak but determined.

Dredger leaned in to inspect the stabilized mount, frowning. The weapon was intact, but the mount’s swivel mechanism had jammed in the crash. She wouldn’t be able to reposition it on her own.

“You’ll need one of us to help shift the mount if you need to pivot,” Dredger said, his voice low as he considered her fractured arm. He knew there was no way she could move it herself. “Just focus on the trigger. We’ll handle the rest.”

The slow drumming of hooves echoed over the wreckage, growing louder with every passing second. Beyond the cavalry, Austorian infantry began forming ranks, their shields glinting in the fading sunlight. In their midst, mages chanted incantations, their hands glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Suddenly, the cavalry surged forward. The horses broke into a gallop, their riders leveling lances at the downed machine, the thunder of their charge shaking the ground.

As they closed in, the soldiers finally noticed the figures behind the wreckage—two males flanking a lone female, crouched near a mass of twisted metal. They barely had time to process the scene before a sharp, predatory grin spread across her face.

The minigun roared to life, the deafening staccato tearing through the advancing cavalry. Horses screamed, their riders thrown to the ground as the hail of .50-caliber rounds shredded through armor and flesh alike. Half the formation fell in seconds, forcing the survivors to retreat in chaos.

“We’re low on ammo,” Singlance called out, her voice steady despite her injuries.

Dredger and Flameclaw scrambled to salvage what they could from the wreckage. Digging through the twisted metal, they pulled out the remaining linked ammunition boxes and fed them into the gun, giving her six precious belts.

“Power’s unstable,” Dredger warned, glancing at the dimming panel lights. “This might not last.”

Singlance nodded, gripping her pistol tightly in her uninjured hand. Her eyes fixed on the advancing Austorian infantry, now marching steadily toward them. The rhythmic clanking of their boots and shields grew louder, the mages in their midst glowing like beacons of doom.

“Make every round count,” Dredger said grimly, his voice steady.

“Let’s make them earn it,” Flameclaw added, readying his rifle and taking up position.

The DAGOR roared through the uneven terrain, its rugged suspension absorbing the jolts as Sergeant Myer Archer gripped the wheel tightly. Beside him, Sergeant First Class Wayne Drybrush scanned the horizon with practiced vigilance and kept tabs on the radio, the .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the vehicle manned by Staff Sergeant Dekan Roughhammer. The other two members of the team, Staff Sergeant Devlin Arclaw and Staff Sergeant Ryan Looseclaw kept their weapons ready, eyes darting to every shadow in the dense undergrowth.

“Dragon Actual, this is Recce One,” the team leader called over the radio. “We’ve got eyes on a tiltrotor going down near the Trenbres. Requesting permission to secure the crash site.”

Static crackled before Lieutenant Colonel Ridgefall’s voice came through. “Recce One, confirmed. Divert and secure. Be advised, Austorian forces and possible remnants of the Demon Lord’s patrols are active in the area. Exercise caution.”

“Understood, Dragon Actual. Recce One out.”

Drybrush glanced at Looseclaw. “You heard him. Let’s move. They’ll need help holding out.”

The DAGOR’s engine roared louder as they accelerated toward the distant plume of smoke marking the crash site. The mood inside the vehicle was tense but focused—each member of the team knew their roles and was ready to execute.

As the DAGOR crested a ridge, the eerie sight of skeletal warriors emerging from the treeline brought the convoy to an abrupt halt. Fifty skeletal figures, their empty eye sockets glowing faintly, marched in unnatural unison. Behind them, hooded mages chanted in guttural tones, their staffs crackling with dark energy. Flanking the undead were Hobgoblins, their grotesque forms wielding heavy clubs and crude blades.

“Skeletons, three o’clock!” shouted Looseclaw, swiveling the mounted .50-caliber machine gun toward the threat.

“Engage!” Drybrush barked, firing the side mounted Ultimax Machinegun

The DAGOR’s speed turned it into a weapon of its own as Roughhammer opened fire, the .50 caliber tearing through the skeletons with explosive force. Bone fragments and dark magic residue filled the air as dozens of the undead fell in a matter of moments.

“Keep moving!” Drybrush ordered, weaving the DAGOR through the thick brush.

The Hobgoblins charged, roaring with guttural fury, but the DAGOR’s speed and firepower were too much for their initial assault. One by one, they fell under the relentless barrage.

Then came the fireball.

A mage’s spell struck near the DAGOR’s front, the explosion lifting the vehicle off its wheels momentarily before it slammed back down. The .50 caliber barrel and mount twisted under the force, injuring Roughhammer’s hand and rendering the weapon useless.

“Damage report!” Drybrush yelled, wrestling with the controls.

“Gun’s out! Roughhammer’s hit!” Looseclaw shouted back, gripping the injured man to stabilize him.

Another fireball struck, this time flipping the DAGOR onto its side. The team scrambled out as skeletal warriors and Hobgoblins closed in.

“Detonator! Now!” Drybrush yelled, pulling Roughhammer free from the wreckage.

Arclaw armed the detonator and set it inside the DAGOR. The team sprinted just as the undead swarmed the vehicle. Moments later, a deafening explosion ripped through the air, obliterating the remaining skeletons and scattering the Hobgoblins.

The blast threw the team forward, dirt and debris raining down. They scrambled to their feet, bruised but alive, as the surviving Hobgoblins regrouped for another attack.

The Hobgoblins roared as one broke through the team’s defensive line, wielding a massive log. The driver, Archer, took the brunt of the blow, his armor shattering under the impact. He fell to the ground with a pained grunt, clutching his ribs.

“Cover us!” Looseclaw barked, firing controlled bursts to keep the Hobgoblins at bay.

Arclaw, cross-trained as a medic, dropped to Archer’s side, quickly assessing his injuries. “Broken ribs, but he’ll live. I've got him stable for the moment.”

Can you walk? Asked Drybrush

Yeah, I'm good sir, just not going to be very accurate.

Drybrush smiled, Ok keep going hardcore, w

With Archer’s injuries treated as best they could in the field, the team resumed their retreat toward the crash site, Roughhammer now carrying the wounded driver on his back. Every step was a struggle, but the sight of smoke rising from the downed helicopter spurred them forward.

The sound of sporadic gunfire reached their ears as they approached the crash site. Through the undergrowth, they saw the downed tiltrotor, its belly resting awkwardly on the scorched earth. Austorian forces surrounded the wreckage, their ranks bolstered by infantry, cavalry, and mages. The defenders—a small group of surviving crew—fought valiantly, their GAU-19 minigun spitting defiance despite dwindling ammunition.

Drybrush raised his hand, signaling the team to halt. “We’re here. Time to even the odds.”

The team spread out, weapons ready. “Suppressive fire on my mark,” Drybrush ordered, his voice low and steady.

Earlier:

The GAU-19 thundered, its barrels glowing red-hot as the last belt of ammunition was fed into its insatiable maw. The Austorian infantry faltered momentarily, their front ranks shredded by the relentless barrage. Smoke filled the air, mingling with the acrid stench of burnt metal and ozone.

“Keep firing, Melody!” Dredger shouted, his voice hoarse.

Singlance clenched her jaw against the pain in her injured arm, her hand steady on the GAU-19’s controls. “I’m giving it all we’ve got!” she yelled back, sweat dripping from her brow.

The minigun’s deafening roar suddenly ceased, the last round spent. Singlance frantically checked the power lines, but the remaining charge flickered and died. She let out a sharp breath, grabbing her rifle and slinging it over her shoulder.

“We’re out!” she called to the pilots.

“Fall back to sidearms!” Flameclaw ordered, pulling his pistol from its holster as Dredger took up position beside him.

The Austorians advanced cautiously, emboldened by the silence. Their cavalry regrouped, and mages readied another volley of spells.

“Hold the line!” Dredger barked, firing precise shots into the approaching soldiers. The three defenders fought desperately, their weapons barking in defiance.

But it wasn’t enough. A spell exploded nearby, throwing dirt and debris into the air. The enemy closed in, the gaps in their lines quickly filling with reinforcements.

Dredger’s pistol clicked empty, and Flameclaw was forced to reload. Singlance, her left arm trembling from her injury, emptied her rifle’s magazine into the approaching horde. The Austorians swarmed forward, their shields forming an impenetrable wall.

The Austorian soldiers surrounded the tiltrotor, their weapons trained on the crew. Dredger threw down his empty pistol, his chest heaving. “We’re done,” he muttered bitterly.

Flameclaw stepped forward, his hands raised in surrender. “Don’t do anything stupid, Paul,” he said under his breath, glancing at Dredger.

The Austorians surged forward, wresting weapons from the crew. Rough hands shoved them to their knees, their wrists bound tightly with rope.

An Austorian captain strode forward, his polished armor gleaming. He sneered down at the defeated Beastkin, his eyes lingering on Singlance. Her flight suit was torn, and blood smeared her cheek, but her glare burned with defiance.

The captain grinned cruelly, reaching down to grab Singlance by the collar. “A fighter, eh? Let’s see how much fight you’ve got left.”

“Don’t you touch her!” Dredger roared, surging to his feet despite the soldiers restraining him. He headbutted the nearest Austorian, sending the man sprawling.

The captain’s smile twisted into a snarl. He drew his blade and drove it into Dredger’s chest with brutal precision.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“No!” Flameclaw shouted, struggling against his captors as Dredger crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Singlance screamed, tears streaming down her face. The captain sneered, yanking at the collar of her flight suit to expose her to the jeering soldiers around him.

Before he could go further, a sharp whistle cut through the chaos. The Austorians paused, their heads swiveling toward the source of the sound.

“Mark!”

The SF team opened fire, their coordinated assault catching the Austorians off guard. The tide began to turn as chaos erupted among the enemy ranks.

Gunfire erupted, the staccato cracks of rifles punctuated by the roar of an explosion. Smoke and dirt filled the air as bullets tore into the Austorian ranks. The SF team had arrived.

“Covering fire! Take them down!” Sergeant First Class Wayne Drybrush’s voice rang out as his team unleashed hell on the unsuspecting Austorians.

Flameclaw and Singlance were shoved to the ground by the chaos, their captors scrambling for cover. They exchanged a glance, their despair replaced with a glimmer of hope.

“Hold on, Melody,” Flameclaw whispered. “We’re not done yet.”

Gunfire echoed across the battlefield as the SF team held their ground, cutting down the Austorians who scrambled to regroup. Smoke and chaos filled the air as Austorian officers barked desperate orders to form defensive lines.

Suddenly, a horn sounded in the distance—a deep, resonant call that pierced through the din of battle. Austorian heads turned, confusion and fear spreading through their ranks. The sound of thundering hooves followed, growing louder with each passing second.

From the edge of the Trenbres Forest, Lord Velayne’s cavalry emerged in a disciplined wedge formation, their banners snapping in the wind. At the forefront rode Velayne himself, his polished armor reflecting the sunlight. His sword gleamed, raised high above his head as he bellowed, “For the honor of Velayne! Charge!”

The cavalry surged forward, their war cries drowning out the Austorians’ panicked shouts. Horses trampled foot soldiers, and Velayne’s knights struck with ruthless precision. Lances pierced armor, swords cut through shields, and the Austorian ranks splintered under the relentless assault.

From the opposite flank, Recon One arrived, its armored vehicles bristling with weaponry.

The combined forces of Velayne’s cavalry and Recon One swept through the remaining Austorians like a scythe through wheat. The mages, caught off guard, were gunned down before they could cast another spell. The infantry broke ranks, fleeing in all directions.

Within minutes, the battlefield was silent save for the moans of the wounded and the stamping of hooves. Lord Velayne dismounted, his cape billowing as he approached the SF team and the downed helicopter. His soldiers fanned out, securing the area.

Velayne’s piercing green eyes swept over the SF team, lingering on the bloodied form of Sergeant Singlance, who was being tended to by SSG Ryan Looseclaw. His gaze then shifted to the two surviving pilots, their exhaustion and grief evident.

“Beastkin allies,” Velayne began, his voice commanding but measured. “You are far from home. What business brings you to my territory?”

Sergeant First Class Wayne Drybrush stepped forward, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow. “Lord Velayne, I presume? We were securing this crash site. Your timing couldn’t have been better.”

Velayne nodded, sheathing his sword. “I saw your bird go down. Technically, you’ve landed within my fiefdom. However,” he added with a faint smirk, “I’ve recently pledged to assist the Beastkin in their cause. It seems fate has made good on that promise.”

Drybrush offered a weary smile. “Fate or not, we owe you one.”

Velayne’s expression grew serious. “Your people fought bravely, but this skirmish is only the beginning. Austorian forces will not let this incursion go unanswered.”

Rukland approached, his recon vehicle idling nearby. “We’re pulling out as soon as the CSAR bird arrives. Thanks to your cavalry, we’ll be able to hold until then.”

“Then let us see this through,” Velayne replied. He turned to his men, issuing swift orders to form a defensive perimeter. “We’ll hold the line together.”

As the last Austorian stragglers were hunted down or scattered, the sound of distant rotor blades filled the air. Angel 2-1-1

appeared on the horizon, its sleek frame glinting as it descended toward the crash site.

Medics and security teams disembarked, rushing to stabilize the injured and retrieve the fallen. Singlance, now conscious but weak, looked up at Dredger and Flameclaw. “We’re going home,” she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Drybrush watched as the CSAR team worked efficiently, his shoulders finally relaxing. “Lord Velayne,” he said, turning to the nobleman. “You could’ve left us for dead. Why didn’t you?”

Velayne chuckled, a hint of warmth breaking through his stoic demeanor. “Because, Sergeant, if there’s one thing, I despise more than politics, it’s Austorians. Besides,” he added with a glint in his eye, “it seems I’ve just made a powerful ally.”

As the medevac prepared for takeoff and supplies from the nearby convoy began to arrive, the battlefield fell into an uneasy calm. The surviving Beastkin soldiers, SF operatives, and Velayne’s knights stood together—a testament to unity in the face of overwhelming odds.

Drybrush glanced at his team, then at the horizon. “Let’s hope that ally sticks around. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

Completed Chapter: