Smoke and soot engulf an infantry platoon of the Spanish Coalition that is manning the roadblock behind the crumbling walls of Murcia. Taking a deep breath of the smog-filled air, a Spanish Inquisitor with the rank of Lieutenant turns to the mercenary Captain by his side. Both sides share a knowing look behind the safety of the sandbags before rechecking their respective weapons.
"Last chance to lead your men away or you would be hard-pressed to disengage later." The Lieutenant said while racking the bolt of his Kar98k before guiding it back home.
Smirking, the mercenary Captain responds with a thick Erusea accent. "Mate, it's too late to convince us to retreat. The hazard pay is well worth it." The Captain then jerks his head back to the West. "Besides, we'll be damned by whatever God you're serving if we let those civilians get caught by those bastards." The Captain then slams the pan magazine of his Lewis machine gun down.
As the Captain is prepping his machine gun atop the sandbags, the Lieutenant turns around to him. "On behalf of all the Spanish souls you would help save, I offer you our thanks."
"Don't sweat it mate, it's the right thing to do at the end of the day. Only God knows what would happen to those retreating civies if they are apprehended."
"If they're affiliated with the Inquisition in any way, a fate worse than death... Look, there are our guys." The Lieutenant gestured to the retreating Inquisitors that just rounded a corner.
The Captain nods before addressing his men. "Look alive, lads! The party's about to begin!" A chorus of affirmation is returned.
The platoon then welcomes the retreating group in their line after a quick security check. A Sergeant soon comes by the sandbags wall, crouching down to the Lieutenant's level while resting his Kar98k by the side. "Damn Sardegnians! They pulled out their heavy artillery and then fired directly at us, collapsing the walls. More than half of my echelon didn't make it and our Captain is dead." The Sergeant then points at his battered echelon recuperating below the sandbags wall. "The rest are either injured or lost their weapons in the confusion. I have taken command of them for now but I would rather have them sent to the backline."
"You should do that, we are more than enough to hold the Sardegnians back for a while." The Lieutenant gave the Sergeant a nod, prompting the man to shout a few orders at the echelon down below. Surprisingly, the Sergeant stay while his former affiliation retreated from the frontline.
Giving the Sergeant a look, the mercenary Captain asks. "You sure you wanna stay mate? I think you've earned your paycheck already."
Instead of answering, the Sergeant displaces his coat, showing a hastily bandaged abdomen, the field dressing is dyed a rusty red. Seeing that both the Lieutenant and Captain understand just why this Sergeant chose to stay. "Yeah, that reason is as good as any. Welcome to the stay-behind group, pick a place you're comfortable with, and then we wait."
The Sergeant nods, limping to a corner of the wall. Gradually, the distant sound of battle at the wall dies down, giving way to a constant mechanical rumble. "It seems like they are bringing along a tank or two." The Lieutenant commented.
"We'll be ready for them." The Captain said before gesturing to the anti-tank members of the platoon. "Remember, it's good if we can knock one out permanently but it's better if we can block the roads using their own tanks. So make your shots count!"
The platoon is armed with two handheld anti-tank weapons, a Belkan-made Grenade Buster, and a Boys AT rifle. More than enough to punch through the lightly armored Sardegnian tanks if they can get a good shot off.
"Listen! Here they come!" The Lieutenant warned before readjusting his steel helmet. "Only fire when you get a clear shot! We want to drag this battle out for as long as possible!"
Rather than answering, platoon members brace their weapons on the sandbags. As the rumbling of tank treads draws closer and closer, the Lieutenant performs a last-minute check of the detonation device below the wall, seeing two lines running along the street and into the buildings by their side. That's their last resort when they can't hold the line.
With that out of the way, the Lieutenant returns his attention to the wide street in front of him, just in time to see the first batch of brown uniforms rounding the corner. Taking the chance when the Sardegnians are still surprised to see a well-fortified roadblock, the Lieutenant gives the word. "Rifles, engage!"
A deadly chorus, made of lead and powder, immediately greets the Sardegnians that are out in the open, cutting down eight of them in the process. The rest either dive for cover, which only consists of a few artillery holes and rubles, or retreat to bring up reinforcement. The Lieutenant and the riflemen of the platoon precisely pick off those that dare to poke their heads out while waiting for the main force of the enemy to arrive. During the initial engagement, being flanked by the enemy using abandoned buildings is a valid concern to have, yet, those same buildings are booby-trapped to Hell, courtesy of the Shadow Company.
After a couple of minutes of exchanging rifles fire, another batch of enemy infantry shows up, more numerous than the last this time. Without waiting for further words, the machine gunners of the platoon start suppressing. The Captain, in particular, is having a blast with the 97-round magazine of his Lewis gun, cutting almost a dozen men just by himself.
For the Sardegnians, the sudden raise in fire density from the Spanish side is a shock. The officer in charge of this small force has severely underestimated the firepower the Spanish still retain. Unable to advance without risking himself being sawed in half, the Sardegnian commander orders a textbook flanking maneuver by using the buildings. A part of Sardegnian soldiers then breaks open doors and windows, jumping inside the buildings near them. As soon as they gain entry, however, the first series of explosions rang out across the buildings, claiming the lives of two dozen infantries. As expected, implementing Shadow Company's advice by mining every conceivable location, has paid off.
Outraged by the fact that almost half of his force now lay very dead, the Sardegnian commander requests support from a nearby tank platoon. With this, he hopes to even out the odds and gives the Spanish a run for their money.
Ducking down to reload after his Lewis runs dry, thereby dodging a bullet that skimps past his helmet, the Captain jestingly said to his platoon. "That went much better than I expected it!"
Firing off another shot, downing himself another Sardegnian, the Lieutenant replies while chambering another round. "What? You expect them to bring out their Crusaders right off the bat?"
Shrugging, the Captain answers while charging his Lewis. "Dying on the battlefield is one thing. Dying on a battlefield for a great cause is a good thing. Dying because a beautiful Crusader kills you on a battlefield for a great cause is perfect!" He then returns to place his Lewis in a firing position, the sound of lead being fired and spent casings clattering on the floor are, strangely enough, relaxing.
Rolling his eyes while crouching down to put a new clip in, the Lieutenant quips back. "Face it! The only reason you stay back is just to see them in action, even if it means dying to them!"
"Aren't you the sa-! Incoming!" The Captain was about to retort when he screamed, ducking down as a burst of machine gun swept across the length of the sandbags wall. Though the Captain's warning was immediate and thus saved the lives of the Lieutenant and Sergeant, other members of the platoon weren't lucky enough. Around two dead and three incapacitated right of the bat. "Fuck! Those Triple-threes are tearing us to shred here!"
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L3/35, a tankette produced by Ansaldo in 1935 and armed with a pair of 8mm machine guns, they have shown up in pairs at last. "AT teams! Let them come closer!" Regardless of the fact that they're being suppressed this time, the Lieutenant still want the enemy tanks to get closer for a better chance at disabling them.
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Keeping their heads down low, the Lieutenant and Captain wait with bated breath as streams of bullets either impact their cover or are flying above it. Tensing his ears amidst the whizzing of leads, the Lieutenant can hear the engine sounds of the two L3/35 getting closer. Daring a peak before pulling his helmet-clad head down, the Lieutenant manages to glimpse two L3/35s slowly advancing with contingents of infantries behind them. "Here they come in a pair! Open the firing port and engage!" The Lieutenant shouted the command to the standing-by AT teams.
Down the sandbags wall are a few hidden firing positions that are reinforced and camouflaged by rubles and furniture, reserved for when the enemy gets too close to the roadblock. Removing the covers of the firing position, the AT teams quickly align their weapons at the two tankettes before firing almost at the same time. The .55 Boys cartridge hits its target first, penetrating the driver hatch of an L3/35 and most probably blowing away the upper torso of the driver. And before the Boys rifle can follow up a shot that will kill the gunner, the large diameter anti-tank grenade launched from the Grenade Buster blows away the other, poor tankette. The big explosion, created by the oversized HEAT grenade, knocks back the ruined L3/35 and kills a few soldiers hiding behind it. Utilizing this God's given chance, the Spanish platoon retaliates, pouring the pain on the stunned Sardegnians. Very soon, an avant-garde work of art, formed by burning tankettes carcasses and bleeding Sardegnian corpses, is now blocking the road.
Facing such a serious loss without much to show, the Sardegnian commander orders a tactical retreat. Thus, the initial attack on the heart of Murcia is repelled without many casualties on the Spanish end. After another brief exchange of sporadic fire between the two parties, the smoke-filled street soon regains its earlier calmness. That is if you ignore other battle zones.
"Take this moment to rest and rearm, people. I seriously doubt they will give up just yet. Have the wounded take the Kubel back to the rear." Mumbles of affirmation soon follow after the Lieutenant's words. "Also, I need a pair of scouts to check the perimeters, they may just be searching for a route that wasn't mined." Following his order, two members of his platoon move away from the group, disappearing into an alley.
As they settle down by the wall, the Captain pulls out a smoke, taking a look over the Sergeant, now struggling a bit to breathe. "You alright there mate?"
Huffing, the Sergeant replies. "I will live..." He then slumps down with his back against the sandbags. "Damn tankettes almost got me."
"Those things are fast, albeit lightly armed. Still, for grunts like us, a pair of machine guns is as deadly as any." The Lieutenant said before holding out a canteen to the Sergeant. Taking ahold of it with a grateful nod, the Sergeant downs a few swigs of it before handing it back.
Pouring a bit of the content on his head, and washing his face, the Lieutenant then caps the canteen before his ears pick up a buzzing sound. "You guys hear that?" He asked the pair, struggling to place the identity of that buzzing in the air.
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"Sound like... propellers?" The Sergeant said hesitantly.
"It's definitely aircraft, multiple. I can't mistake that sound for anything else." The Captain replied with confidence, he had the luck to survive a few strafing runs so he knew his stuff. "Wait for a second, aren't all of our flyboys occupied elsewhere?"
"That was what they said in the briefing, yes." The Lieutenant nodded while warily scanning the gray sky. "There shouldn't be any flyer unless..."
"They're the enemy's." The Captain said, casting a wave of oppression on everyone. As if punctuating his words, the multitude of propellers' sound gets larger and larger until the visages of not one, not two, but twenty Breda Ba.65 Nibbio twin-seater combat aircraft appear in the air. It may be hard to see from the ground but each of the attackers carries four bombs and the boys on the ground dread for the souls that will be on the receiving end of it.
"They are flying East..." The Sergeant said listlessly as he craned his neck up to the sky. "What's there in the East if they aren't bombing the city?"
It's the Captain who replies. "Aside from the old headquarters and maybe a few empty ammo dumps, nothing... Wait, West!?" Shocked and scared of the revelation, the Captain turns toward the Lieutenant who is paling by the seconds. "Aren't the evacuation convoy trailing West right now!?"
Nodding slowly, the Lieutenant chokes out. "I'm afraid so..." Barely had he said it when the sentries station along the wall interjects. "Contact!" Then comes a series of gunshots.
Willing themselves to ignore the airborne threats, the trio from the Spanish Coalition returns to the battle at hand, only to see a series of golden shields protecting the Sardegnians as they push ahead en masses. Daring a short burst of his Lewis at the protective shielding the Sardegnians were now sporting, only to see the 8mm Mauser rounds didn't even leave behind a dent, the Captain turns toward the Lieutenant, saying heatedly. "Bloody Hell! It seems like those chicks are backing them up! Our small arms won't cut it!"
"AT teams, direct fire on those shields, break them down! The others, use your rifle grenades!" The Lieutenant ordered with haste. Very soon, a different kind of gunshot is heard as .55 caliber projectiles and grenades start bombarding the enemy shielding, making the golden film of light flicker but ultimately not achieving much else. Amidst the bombardment, the Lieutenant can spot multiple Crusaders working in tandem to keep the barrier up. He highly doubts that anything short of a tank or a bomb can stop their advance right now.
"Goddamn them! They're not hindered at all!" The Captain cursed as he reload another pan magazine.
Knowing that they will be dead meat if they let the Crusaders approach them, much less the veritable hordes of Sardegnians infantries behind them, the Lieutenant is about to give the order to scorch earth the whole place when. "Shit! Get down, mate!" The Captain suddenly tackles the person close to him, the Lieutenant, all the way down below the sandbags wall. As the air is knocked out of his lungs, partly because of the tackle, partly because of the subsequent slamming on the paved sidewalk, the Lieutenant doesn't even get a chance at asking what the hell was the tackle for before the entire sandbags wall explodes in a mixture of fire, ice, and greenish wind.
Fuck... Did the Crusaders counter-bombarded them? Dazingly standing up with the help from the quick-witted Captain, the Lieutenant shakes his head to get back in the game. He soon realizes that most of his platoon is either dead or incapacitated from the earlier barrage of magic and the only thing holding back the enemy tide is the Grenade Buster team that luckily survived. Looking to his side, he sees the Sergeant from before also made it, albeit worse for wear. The man has gone from limping to crawling toward the fortified room.
Without wasting another breath, the Lieutenant says. "The detonator!" Turning around, the Sergeant sports an understanding gazes before directing an acceptance nod at the Lieutenant. Trusting the Sergeant and knowing that they've done everything they can, the Captain and the Lieutenant move to load the wounded onto an Opel Blitz with whatever weapons they can carry. Of the 55 men platoon, seven will be staying behind to the very end, partly because they are severely injured but the major reason is that they stay back to protect their retreating comrades.
"Godspeed, my friends." The Captain said as he spared a last look at the backs of the brave Spanish Inquisitors staring Death in the face. He then steps on the gas, propelling the fully-loaded truck forward on a path to the West.
Sitting in the co-driver seat, the Lieutenant closes his eyes and offers a short prayer to the comrades in arms that have been following him for years. They will be sorely missed but at the end of the day, Heaven will welcome them with open arms.
Far behind them, distant battle cries can be heard.
"God wills it!"
"God is with us!"
Before the whole city of Murcia shakes an entire building block is exploded, collapsing a part of the city and blocking the advance of the Sardegnians. Not just that, a hidden cache of oil and fuel beneath the explosion area is also ignited, casting a veritable wall of flame that deny any foot access from the Eastern side of the city for days. Once again, the Scorched Earth tactic is employed by the Spanish, much to the dismay of their Sardegnian invaders.
Soon, the derelict houses and shops of Murcia are left behind them as they form up with a convoy of retreating Spanish Coalition force. Just like them, these men and women were also forced to scorch their position when the Crusaders attacked. Of the many Companies that are tasked with defending Murcia for two weeks, their 39th Infantry Company is tasked with protecting the civilian evacuation effort after egressing from Murcia. Luckily for them, the Captain soon spots the half-track belonging to the Major of the Company. Quickly regrouping with the rest of their Company, they are glad to see that at the very least, the 39th are still at 70 percent combat strength. Yet, cold water is doused when the female Major gives them a grim rundown of a disaster that happened moments earlier.
"Gentlemen, I won't sugarcoat this but twenty minutes earlier, the civilian convoy was attacked by enemy bombers. Even with the white flags and red cross patches on their tarps and hoods, the convoy was still targeted and annihilated in a matter of minutes by the twenty or so bombers before the aircraft retreated to rearm. Perimeter patrols did try to distract the aircraft but ultimately did nothing more than cause a few scratches on their paint job. Casualties are at an all-time high so as of this moment, the 39th will switch from escort duty to search and rescue duty while the 84th and the 113th will protect our rear and flanks. Buckle up boys, it will be messy."
When they heard the news, they were stunned and enraged. But when they lay their eyes upon the destroyed highway with carcasses of both vehicles, men, women, and children on a stretch of two kilometers and expanding, they're filled with nothing but helplessness and regret. It's not their fault that this disaster happens but it sure feels like it whenever they raise the death tallies up higher and higher. It's even worse when a fact comes to their attention that they may never get an accurate number as many civilians were obliterated by bombs and guns from the Sardegnian Air Force.
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They won't even have time to bury the dead properly, the best they can do is create a burning pit and lay down the bodies, or what's left of them, in an orderly manner. A burning pit is required for the last thing they need is an outbreak of zombies in this messy war. Finally, it's with grave hearts that the Company Major and her officers throw down their torches, burning their bodies and sending their souls to the afterlife.
As the smoke column rises higher up in the sky, just for a different reason than the ones before, members of the 39th Company all feel as if a part of their souls has died alongside the civilians here.
This may be the first war crime that the Sardegnian has committed in this world, but it probably won't be the last.