Ten Minutes Earlier...
2nd Lt. Grant Cramdell sat in the jump seat of the V280 Valor, his eyes scanning the LZ below. The deafening hum of the tiltrotor filled the cabin, the shaking of the airframe reminding him of the gravity of the situation. He clutched his handheld terminal, monitoring the live feed of the operation as the smoke from Sacra-Hill’s burning streets rose toward the sky.
Ahead, a grim scene unfolded on his terminal—a father, helpless and unarmed, had just been struck down by the ruthless Austorian soldiers. The family, now without their protector, was being dragged toward the enemy lines. Cramdell’s jaw tightened.
Inside the V280 Valor, the tension was palpable as the aircraft made its final approach toward Sacra-Hill. The steady thrum of the rotors filled the cabin, the rhythmic vibration a constant reminder of the battlefield below. 2nd Lt. Grant Cramdell checked his harness one last time, his sharp eyes scanning the handheld terminal displaying the city’s burning skyline.
“Listen up!” Cramdell’s voice cut through the noise, commanding the attention of everyone onboard. “We’re going in hot. Black Pawn 3, you’re first on the ropes. Once you’re down, secure the LZ and clear us a path. My team follows right after. Stay alert, Stay Alive!”
Dagger, leader of Black Pawn 3, exchanged a glance with his team and nodded. “Understood, sir. We’ll carve the way.”
As the Valor descended, the crew chief unlatched the ropes, letting them tumble out and sway in the wind. The ropes hit the cobblestones below with a muted thud, startling a pair of Austorian guards’ horses near the drop zone. The panicked animals reared and bolted, causing momentary chaos among the enemy ranks.
“Ropes out!” the crew chief yelled over the roaring engines. Black Pawn 3 didn’t wait for a second command, sliding down the swaying lines into the chaos below.
Dagger’s team, all clad in their specialized gear, moved with practiced precision. Each member gripped the ropes and slid down swiftly, landing in the street below with weapons at the ready. The instant their boots hit the ground, they fanned out, securing the perimeter with professional efficiency.
Cramdell watched them vanish into the smoke before turning to his squad. “We’re up! GO! GO! GO!”
Cramdell’s squad moved quickly, grabbing the rope, and sliding the 40 feet of rope to the ground with practiced ease. The chaos of the street surrounded them: flames from nearby buildings flickered in the smoke-filled air as the team advanced toward their objective.
The crackle of distant gunfire from other units and airborne elements, the glow of spreading fires and crumbling buildings painted a grim backdrop as they hit the ground running. Within seconds, Cramdell and his men regrouped with Black Pawn 3, moving away from the LZ as the Valor lifted off to head for the FARP at Leythbrook.
Dagger signaled his team to push toward their objective, while Cramdell moved towards the family on the street. Daggers team along with 3rd Squad moved with calculated urgency, navigating the maze of burning streets toward the underground warehouse. Along the way, Dagger contacted the two-man security team from Showdown 2.
“Showdown 2 this is Black Pawn 3, we are here at the objective. Start moving your people out.”
“Black Pawn 3, this is Showdown 2. Glad you could make it,” one of the guards said, his voice a mix of relief and focus.
“Same here,” Dagger replied. “Let’s not waste time. We’ve got a warehouse near the river to hit.”
“Understood. You’ll need to cover us while we move the civilians to the street. We’ve already got them ready,” the machine gunner added.
In a few minutes a mixture of Human, Elven and Beastkin civilians emerged onto the street, and began moving towards the center of the city with Beastkin Army Soldiers pressing them on.
Dagger turned to his comms. “Cramdell, we’ve got civilians from the safehouse. I’m turning them over to your 3rd squad to escort them to the cantonment area. We’ve got another objective that can’t wait.”
Cramdell’s reply came swiftly. “Acknowledged, Black Pawn 3. 3rd squad’s ready to take them. Get moving, and good hunting.”
With a quick nod to the squad leader, Dagger’s team quickly disappeared into the shadows moving toward the warehouse. Meanwhile, Cramdell’s 3rd squad swiftly moved the freed civilians to the cantonment area at the farm.
As Dagger and his team vanished into the labyrinth of burning streets, Cramdell keyed his comms again. “Black Pawn 3, keep us in the loop. If you need anything, call it in, we will be there.”
Dagger’s voice, steady and unwavering, crackled back over the radio. “You’ll hear from us, Lieutenant. Stay sharp.”
Cramdell grinned slightly, his focus unwavering. “You too, see you on the other side!”
With the civilians in safe hands and moving towards the city center, Cramdell’s team pressed deeper into the embattled city. The sounds of conflict intensified around them, the cries of the innocent mingling with the thunder of distant explosions. But his orders were clear: hold the line, protect the people, and wait for the transport out of Sacra-Hill.
Meanwhile, above them, the V280 pulled higher, its engines roaring as it pulled away from the chaos. The crew chief had cut the ropes, and the Valor was quickly making its way back to the FARP at Leythbrook, its mission completed for the moment.
Cramdell’s mind quickly refocused as he pushed toward the family. His squad’s pace was quick, keeping tight formation as they advanced through the smoke-choked streets. The sound of screams mixed with the crackling of fire and the distant roar of combat, but Cramdell didn’t lose his focus. The civilians were the priority.
As they turned the corner, they spotted the woman and child—Emilia and Lila—huddled together, standing behind the resolute form of Kael Dustborn, a young Beastkin farmhand. Kael stood firm in front of them, blocking an immediate threat to the huddled family as the team moved in. The husband’s body was nowhere near them, as they had fled to safety. The Austorian soldiers, still distracted by the chaos around them, hadn’t yet realized the severity of their situation.
Cramdell, using his hands, signaled to his team to open fire on the Austorians.
The squad moved into position, their weapons steady and ready. Without hesitation, they opened fire, sending rounds whizzing past Kael's shoulders, their shots expertly neutralizing the three armored Austorian soldiers who had been about to turn their weapons on the civilians. The trio of soldiers crumpled in quick succession, their bodies falling into the smoke-filled street.
“Clear!” one of Cramdell's soldiers called out after kicking the swords away from the fallen Austorian soldiers.
“It’s clear,” Cramdell stated as he kicked the rapier away from the dead form of Raventhrall.
Grant looked back at the three civilians Emilia, Lila and Kael. His expression softened as he stepped towards them, gesturing toward the center of town. “You’re safe now. But we need to move. This place isn’t secure.”
The sound of hooves echoed ominously down the street as a few remaining Austorian soldiers approached, weapons raised. Cramdell’s team didn’t hesitate. “Contact front!” he barked. His squad snapped into action, unleashing a disciplined volley of gunfire. Each shot struck true, the Austorians dropping before they could retaliate.
“Sir, we’ve got to get these civilians out of here!” called a young Beastkin radio operator, sweat matting his fur.
Cramdell nodded sharply, lining up a shot and putting down an archer who had appeared in a nearby window. “Agreed! Relay to all units: civilians move to the collection point, then push for the farm. We’re out of time!”
The operator’s fingers danced over his comm unit as he relayed the orders. “Sir, XO says 1st Platoon’s fortified the farm. 2nd Platoon is pinned by battlemages and archers, with 4th assisting the fight. Captian Redthorn’s down. XO wants us out now.”
Cramdell fired another controlled burst, taking down a swordsman charging from the smoke. “Understood. Let the XO know 3rd Platoon is moving to the center, and then to the farm. Everyone, let’s go!”
Cramdell linked up with the rest of his platoon at the center of the city and began to move toward the southern road. This road leads to the designated farm, their ultimate destination. He linked up with the Platoon Sergeant, SFC Rudeus Draken who had taken 2nd and 3rd squad to escort the wards of Showdown 2 to the center.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
As Lt. Cramdell walked up, SFC Draken was looking at his JCVAIL handheld console, studying the map and the superimposed video from Multiple drones flying over the city.
“Sir, I have been studying that road to the farm and its crawling with Austorians. I think they have figured out where we are going.”
“Well it was only a matter of time. How fast can we get everyone going?” Grant asked.
Rudeus looks around. “We are ready to go now sir, but we have yet to hear anything from Black Pawn.”
“When they need us, they will call us. Right now, our mission is to get these civilians to safety. Let’s get everyone moving.” Grant said while looking around.
Other squads from nearby Platoons were busy clearing the nearby buildings and corralling the Civilians as they prepared to move the to the final location, a large farm were they would be safe until the transports arrive.
A human man stared blankly at the horizon, his hands trembling as if unable to reconcile the chaos around him. “I was a baker,” he murmured, his voice distant. “Just a baker… What happens now?”
A Beastkin machine gunner paused long enough to place a firm hand on the man’s shoulder, his eyes sharp but steady. “I don’t know, sir, but if you don’t come with us, I can promise you it only gets worse.” He motioned toward the center of the column, where the other civilians were being guided. “Stick with the group. We’ll get you through this.”
The man hesitated, his gaze flickering between the smoldering cityscape and the column. Finally, he nodded, shuffling toward the others.
Nearby, a teenager bent down, his trembling hands reaching for a fallen Austorian sword. His grip tightened around the hilt as he glanced at his family, his jaw set in shaky determination. He didn’t charge forward but stood at the edge of the group, gripping the weapon as if it could shield them all.
A soldier, his rifle smoking from recent combat, noticed the movement. “Kid, drop it,” he said sharply, dropping his magazine and reaching for another. “This isn’t your fight.”
The teenager’s knuckles whitened, his lips parting to argue, but before he could speak, the soldier was already slamming the fresh magazine home. With a swift motion, he knocked the sword from the boy’s hands, sending it clattering to the ground.
“Listen,” the soldier said, his tone a mix of urgency and exasperation. “You want to help? Then stay alive. Keep moving. Stopping will get us all hurt—or worse.”
“I just wanted to—” the teen began, but the twang of a bowstring cut him off.
“Down!” the soldier roared, shoving the boy aside as an arrow zipped past, splintering a wooden crate nearby. Without hesitation, he raised his rifle and fired a precise burst. The archer fell from the rooftop, disappearing into the smoke.
The teenager scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in short gasps. “Go!” the soldier barked, jerking his head toward the column. “Run and don’t stop until you’re safe!”
The boy hesitated only a second before nodding. He turned and sprinted toward his family, his face pale but set with determination. Behind him, the soldier had already turned his focus back to the battle, firing another burst into the shadows.
“Battlemages!” Cramdell’s voice cut through the chaos as he dropped into cover. His soldiers reacted instantly, rifles barking out a relentless symphony of fire.
“Reloading!” came the call from several voices, followed by the metallic clinks of fresh magazines being slammed home.
“Keep up the pressure!” a sergeant shouted, his voice rising above the cacophony.
Within minutes, the Austorian line shattered, their surviving forces retreating into the haze. Cramdell scanned the area, his eyes narrowing as he gestured for the group to keep moving. “Let’s move! Extraction site’s just ahead!”
A flight of BUA attack helicopters roared overhead, their cannons blazing as they strafed groups of battlemages and archers threatening the retreating column. Explosions ripped through the air, sending dirt and debris flying as rockets obliterated enemy positions.
Nearby, another helicopter banked sharply and unleashed a precise gun run on a cluster of battlemages forming a massive spell circle. Spent 20mm casings clinked to the ground like metallic rain, the cannon's rhythmic roar silencing any Austorian units caught in its path.
“Contact Left!” Cramdell shouted, as a fireball flew by his face, smashing through a nearby window and setting off a fire in the building. Archers and Battlemages perched on a nearby building began firing down upon the soldiers and civilians alike.
The squad responded in kind, releasing a barrage of fire, decimating the attackers with precision. The battlemages were neutralized quickly, their magic flickering out as they fell. The archers were no match for the firepower brought to bear.
With the immediate threat cleared, Cramdell took a moment to assess their position. The civilians were safe, but they couldn’t afford to stay in the open for long.
Cramdell checked his mag—half-empty. “Conserve your rounds!” he barked. “Draken, get me a LACE report!”
SFC Draken ran around the men, most had at least half their combat loadout, but some were down to 2 Magazines for their primaries.
“Sir, LACE report,” Draken began, his voice clipped and efficient. “Ammo: Yellow, bordering Black. Water: Yellow. Casualties: None reported. Equipment: Holding, but no resupply in sight.” He squeezed the bridge if his catlike nose. “Sir, the only thing we aren’t running out of is Austorians. We’ll need ammo and water fast.”
“Understood,” Cramdell said, wiping sweat from his brow. He forced a determined grin. “We’ll make it. We don’t have a choice.”
“Move out!” he barked. “Conserve your rounds and get these people to safety!”
The team advanced again, pushing past rubble and debris until the farm came into view. Using a running password, they entered the secure perimeter. Medics rushed to guide civilians to the barn, now an impromptu aid station.
The barn doors creaked open, revealing soldiers hastily constructing barricades. A medic rushed forward to guide Emilia and Lila inside. For the first time, Emilia felt a flicker of hope—fragile but real.
Emilia, holding Lila close, turns to Cramdell and his team. “I don’t know how to thank you. You gave us back something I thought we’d lost—hope.”
“Ma’am, we’ll get you to safety. That’s a promise.” Cramdell said reassuringly.
The barn had been transformed into a makeshift aid station, with some of 1st Platoon already helping the injured and displaced civilians while the rest building impromptu defenses out of anything they could find or digging trenches and fighting positions.
“Hold until relieved,” Cramdell said as they entered the compound, scanning the surroundings for threats. His focus shifted as his comms buzzed with updates.
“All Elements, we’ve got reinforcements inbound,” the XOs voice came over the comms. “ETA, 30 minutes.”
Cramdell nodded, taking a deep breath as he looked at the civilians around him—tired but safe for the moment. He could see their fear, but also their hope. He wasn’t about to let that hope falter.
Outside, the distant hum of tiltrotors faded, replaced by the sharper crack of gunfire. Cramdell adjusted his rifle and stepped toward the makeshift barricade. Reinforcements were coming—but they had to hold out until then.
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Near the Gates of Sacra-Hill
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Guards Commander Desgan paced the makeshift command tent, her armored boots scuffing the dirt with each forceful step. Smoke from the city’s burning streets swirled in the air, blending with the acrid scent of battle. Her face twisted into a mask of pure hatred as another report was delivered.
“Beastkin,” she snarled, her voice venomous. “Slaves. Animals. Nothing more than crawling pests. And yet, they dare—DARE—to raise their filthy claws against me?” Her fist slammed onto the wooden table, causing maps and figurines to rattle.
The aide standing before her flinched but dared not speak.
Metal dragons,” Desgan spat, her tone thick with scorn. “Machines flown by mutts? They think their tricks make them gods. I’ll remind them what gods look like!” She spat the word like venom. “Tools for labor, for servitude, not for war. They’ve forgotten their place, and now they dare mock us on the battlefield?” Her voice rose, sharp enough to cut through the clamor outside. “We should have crushed this city years ago, ground their hopes into ash. But no, we let them linger, let them hope. That ends today.”
A brief pause, and her gaze flicked to Raventhrall’s report. “At least Gideon understood,” she murmured, her tone softening, almost wistful. “A cruel hand. A sharp blade. He was... effective, until he wasn’t.” She turned, her sneer returning. “But I am not Raventhrall. I will not falter.”
Desgan’s piercing gaze swept over her gathered officers. “Prepare to assault the farm. I want every battlemage, swordsman, and archer we have. Call up the cavalry. We’ll charge them before they have a chance to fortify. We’ll smash their lines and crush their morale in one fell swoop!”
The officers saluted, though there was hesitation in their movements. Desgan noticed it instantly, her eyes narrowing. “Do you doubt me?” she hissed.
“No, Commander!” they replied in unison, though one shifted uncomfortably.
“Then move,” she barked. “We attack within the hour.”
As the officers filed out, she turned back to the table, glaring at the map before her. The Beastkin position at the farm was marked with hastily drawn symbols. Her fingers tightened around a figurine, crushing it in her grip. “They will regret the day they thought themselves equals to us,” she growled.
But unbeknownst to Desgan, one of her officers was already gone.
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Captain Alvric Darent, a liaison from the 2nd Royal Army, spurred his horse hard as he galloped away from the city’s edge. The sound of Desgan’s rant still echoed in his ears, her hatred thick enough to choke on. He had seen the madness in her eyes, the reckless disregard for strategy, and the thinly veiled disdain she held even for her own forces.
Desgan’s plan was suicide—an emotional, vengeful strike that would cost far more than it could possibly gain. And while the 2nd Royal Army had agreed to support the 3rd Subjugation Force, they’d made it clear to Darent that his primary task was to keep an eye on her.
“She’s lost it,” Darent whispered, his heart pounding as his horse galloped through the smoke. The echo of Desgan’s tirade still lingered in his mind, a reminder of how close she was to undoing everything. “If no one stops her, it’ll be a massacre.”
The farm was critical—it was the last defensible position for the enemy before Sacra-Hill’s outskirts opened into vulnerable plains. But Desgan’s blind hatred of the Beastkin was clouding her judgment. Her forces would charge headlong into entrenched defenses, and from what he’d seen of these Beastkin, they were not the easy prey she imagined.
Darent’s mission was clear: warn the commanders of the 2nd Royal Army and rally reinforcements. Desgan couldn’t be trusted to lead, and her obsession with annihilating the Beastkin would doom them all.
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“Where’s Captain Darent?” Desgan’s voice cut through the tent like a blade.
An aide hesitated. “He... he stepped out, Commander.”
“Stepped out?” Desgan repeated, her voice low and dangerous. “To where?”
“I—I don’t know, Commander. He left on horseback.”
The tent fell silent. Desgan’s face darkened, her lips curling into a snarl. “Coward,” she spat. “If he thinks he can ride back to his precious 2nd Royal Army and undermine me, he’s sorely mistaken.” She drew her sword, the metal hissing as it slid from its sheath. “Mark my words, if he doesn’t return with reinforcements, I’ll carve out his heart myself.”
Her aide paled but nodded quickly.
Desgan turned back to the map, her fury undiminished. “No matter,” she hissed. “With or without their help, we’ll drive these mongrels into the dirt.”
Her voice grew louder as she walked to her horse, commanding. “Ready the charge! Victory or death!”