Cent. Calendar 13/08/1639, west of Havro, 9:00
On this unassuming day in the middle of Aureit (Month 8), a battering ram was well on its way to prying open the gates of obstinate resistance. It was the second day of Unternehmen Rammbock, a Gra Valkan offensive against the last organized bulwark of the Leiforian military. Here, several dozens of kilometers to the west of the major city of Havro, a column of fast-moving armored vehicles bearing mottled black, green, and brown camouflage patterns moved against a strong gust of wind that blew across the hilly terrain of eastern Leifor. They were a company from one of the mechanized infantry battalions of the 86th Panzergrenadier Division, one of the thirteen divisions tightening the noose around Havro. Traveling on a winding, semi-paved road that took them through hills both shaved of trees and covered in them, the ride was just about as bumpy for the men inside.
"Goddammit. My ears are starting to pop."
Otto Eichel, one of the grunts sitting inside one of the M.Fz. 452 Schildkröte infantry fighting vehicles, aired out his complaints in front of his teammates. The one sitting next to him, the more seasoned Luther Mayer, picked his ears with his pinky in agreement.
"Don't be so special, koffer. We all are."
Ignoring his direct senior's dismissal, Otto went straight to ask their assistant team leader, Reinhard Wolff, who was sitting in front of them on the opposite row of seats. His sagging eye sockets and blank stare would dissuade anybody from talking to him, but not their team's resident greenie.
"Hey, Unteroffizier! What did they say about the altitude in this place again?"
Despite his unyielding stare, Reinhard was at least kind enough to entertain the young lad's innocent question without tossing in a quip.
"1,200m. Flat."
"Say what?!"
Otto let out a scream in disbelief, his wide-open eyes an indicator of his genuine surprise.
"Gods. Why are we even here..."
Seeing his junior sink in his seat, Luther wanted to find out what was the matter, even if it likely meant that he was going to go on a rant about something again.
"Where are you getting at?"
"I mean, why are we even out here on these godforsaken mountains fighting kids and old men with guns who'd turn tail and run at first sight of a fucking Schildkröte? Didn't they say back before we landed on Leiforia that the fighting's gonna end once we take the city? It's been two fucking months since then! Then they said the same thing when we led the charge against Sanders. 'Oh! The Leiforians will have lost the will to fight by then! They will surrender!' And where are we now? Like, now they're saying we need to take Havro. Man, what the fuck is a 'Havro'? Is it delicious? Can I eat it? What's the point of us having this 'Havro'?"
Otto sank back in his seat as he took a quick breather. Before anyone could even respond to him, he continued.
"Can't the asswipes in command get a hold on what they fucking want to happen? It's always the 'one-day surgical strike' or the 'offensive to end the war' bullshit. Then when we shed blood and soul to get them the objectives that they asked us to take, they backpedal on what they said and ask for more because it ain't enough? Fuck me, man..."
As the exhausted Otto ended his rant, Luther took out his lighter and a cigarette roll from one of his fatigues' pockets, lit the cigarette, placed it in his mouth, and breathed in the nicotine before exhaling it into the already claustrophobic, chafing space of their armored box.
"Leiforia was just a baptism of fire, koffer. At least you've come this far. Also, welcome to the military."
After that, silence–barring the grumbling of the engine and the groaning of the suspension–reigned over the vehicle. Otto and Luther's words gave the other members of their Fireteam food for thought. It truly has been well over two months since their landing and takeover of Leiforia, the federal capital of Leifor. Ever since then, their supposedly two-day operation to do a massive land grab on the Mu continent turned into days, then later weeks, before eventually becoming months. Sure enough, the major action that they saw was nothing like the high-intensity war that they fought with Kain back on Yggdra almost two years ago since the Leiforian military was by no means a peer to Gra Valkas's, but they were not without difficulties. According to their company commander, another company from a different battalion suffered losses when they encountered an ambush from partisans when they were crossing a village, which was supposedly declared clear by a tank company that passed through it prior. Unlike their previous offensives, this one will have its head straight into what command has described as the "fiercest of Leiforian defenses"–whatever that may be.
As Luther took another helping of nicotine from his cigarette, he felt that there were eyes pointed directly at his person. Turning to look over to his side, he finds Otto staring straight at the roll of tobacco in his mouth.
"You want?"
Otto raised his eyebrows at Luther's question as if to say...
"Need I fucking say it?"
"Manners, koffer. Still, you should've said something."
However, just as he was reaching for another roll, the sound of a deafening explosion reached their ears, the proximity and power of it managing to even make their hearts skip a beat.
KABOOM!!!
"Shit!"
Before they could even process what had happened, the reflexes of the Gra Valkan soldiers had them quickly grab their Strauss MKb 4 battle rifles as they felt their vehicle screech to a halt. Then, they heard the voice of their platoon leader, Oskar Reissner, screaming over the comms.
"Anton, Berta, Cesar; DISEMBARK!!!"
Otto and Reinhard, the ones sitting next to the doors of their Schildkröte, promptly kicked them open and stepped out of their vehicles in no time, followed by the rest of their Fireteam. Behind them, farther down the column, they caught sight of the burning wreck of a Schildkröte, its rapidly breaking hull, popping ammunition stores, and blown-off turret tell of its grisly demise. Before they could even utter "what the fuck?", the ear-popping sound of another vehicle–this time an M.Fz. 113 armored personnel carrier–being blown into smithereens assaulted their ears, reminding them that they were under attack.
"Get down into the ditch!"
Leading his Fireteam, Reinhard commanded them to hit the dirt and take cover behind the slight slope between the semi-paved road and the meadow. The other Fireteams had also done the same. As they kept their heads low so as to not be shot by whatever was firing at them, Otto felt the shockwave of a passing bullet or two over his ears. He then looked off to the left, spotting a series of figures peeking over hedgerows further down the road. As soon as he saw muzzle flashes, he reported them to their squad leader, Feldwebel Arnim Natzmer.
"Contact; infantry at 12 o'clock! 400m!"
"It's a fucking L-shaped ambush!"
At that point, they were already being showered in an unhealthy dose of bullets, so Arnim promptly issued orders.
"Keep your head down and return fire! Make sure to make room for the Schildkröte to maneuver!"
Meanwhile, as the infantry squads were taking positions to counter the Leiforian infantry to their front, the Schildkrötes and their accompanying APCs were already preparing to fight back at their flank ambushers. The leader of the 1st Platoon, Oskar, had already spotted the enemy positions the moment they fired and was broadcasting it over the platoon comms...
"Enemy armor, two confirmed–possibly 'Aslans'–2 o'clock!"
"Got 'em! Distance 700!"
...and with their autocannons.
"Fire!"
The turret-mounted 20mm autocannons of his platoon's Schildkrötes, having already trained their sights on the enemy, began firing, showering the enemy with solid rounds at a rate of 250 rounds per minute. As soon as their platoon opened fire, the other platoons, seeing where the bright red tracers were landing, also joined in on the barrage.
Pam pam pam pam pam!
"Driver! Reverse until we're off the road!"
Hearing his orders, their driver put the transmission in reverse, put pressure on the accelerator, and engaged the clutch, sending the vehicle backward and off the dirt road. As that was happening, Oskar activated the Schildkröte's smoke launchers, sending grenades into the air that instantly created a blanket of thick, opaque smoke that blocked them from view. The other vehicles repeated this.
Oskar and the other platoon leaders then radioed their company commander, the Oberleutnant, to send in the anti-tank section. After three minutes of them laying down suppressive fire and the enemy firing blindly into the smoke, hitting none of their shots, they spotted two friendly vehicles emerging above the hill behind them.
The section commander in the lead vehicle, an M.Fz. 512 tank destroyer, immediately surveyed the situation, given the information he had received from the Oberleutnant. Spotting the area where the red tracers from the Schildkrötes' autocannons were concentrating, he took a closer look at it with his periscope. There, hidden in the shroud of trees, were four Leiforian Ek/3 Aslan tanks, two of which appeared to be covered in dense foliage and camouflage nets while the other two were smoking wrecks–presumably from their artillery or air attacks due to the presence of craters around them. He watched as one of the intact Aslans fired its long barreled 83.5mm cannon at their company, a shot which missed and hit the treeline far on the opposite side of the road. With there being only two tanks, he decided to split targets with the other tank destroyer: one shot, one kill each.
"Target identified; distance 1200m."
As the gunners of both tank destroyers turned their turrets to their respective targets, their own 90mm high-velocity guns zeroed in on the long, vulnerable side profile of the Aslans. They then chose the appropriate ammo, armor-piercing rounds, which were then taken from a bustle at their turrets' rear and rammed into the gun breech by an autoloading mechanism. Once they were loaded, the section commander gave the order.
"FIRE!"
Two violent blasts rocked the hilly landscape as the Gra Valkan tank destroyers let loose their guns, sending high-velocity anti-tank rounds at their unaware Leiforian counterparts. The AP rounds, capable of penetrating up to 185mm of rolled homogeneous armor, easily perforated the side armor of the Aslans, unleashing a hail of scorching hot spall bits at extreme velocities inside the vehicles, maiming the unfortunate crew inside. In a period of time spanning a mere three seconds, the Leiforian tanks went from the battlefield's most dangerous assets to being silent metal coffins. With their assailants confirmed to be neutralized, the section commander radioed the Oberleutnant.
Meanwhile, the infantry firefight was progressing comparatively slowly. His left shoulder having been grazed by a bullet, Luther was seething in pain as a medic tended to him.
"Ngh... Another scar to the list, I guess... Ow!"
They had the advantage in numbers, but the Leiforians were proving to be tenacious. Even against the onslaught of machine gun bullets from their squads' machine gunners, the Leiforians were still firing back at them. Just as the firefight entered its seventh minute, they heard the composed voice of their platoon commander in the lead, Schildkröte, over their comms.
"The Aslans have been dealt with! Got any more targets?"
Almost immediately, Arnim screamed into the comms as if driven by the adrenaline surging in his blood.
"Infantry on the hedgerows at 12 o'clock, sir!"
"Copy. They're as good as dead."
As soon as the comms were cut, they heard the machine gun-like rattle of their Schildkröte's autocannon roaring to life once more. This time, its deadly barrage of high-explosive rounds was directed at the Leiforian infantry to their front, producing a result that could only be explained by one word: gruesome. Trees, shrubbery, and branches were obliterated into splinters and shreds of greenery while red mist–presumably their former assailants–could easily be seen being produced as 20mm rounds peppered the treeline. When their autocannon went silent, it would have been the last sound of gunfire they heard for the battle.
"All clear."
Someone shouted as they stood up, a line which was then repeated all over to inform everyone that there were no longer any enemy combatants.
"Gods... They sure pack a hell of a punch for a bunch of disorganized new worlders."
Otto remarked as he looked back at the two flaming wrecks of their armored vehicles on the road. From what he could see, they lost a Schildkröte, which appeared to have been carrying its fireteam at its time of destruction which easily claimed nine lives, and an M.Fz. 113 APC, which was vacated by its squad but not by its crew, adding three more dead to the roster. While they were already well aware of the capabilities their enemies have, this event still somewhat served as a rude wake-up call to them; it may be the case that they're not the peer enemies Kain once was, but that doesn't mean they won't put up a good amount of resistance.
Keeping this in mind, Otto ran back to his vehicle as the column was readying to resume its advance eastward into Havro.
Cent. Calendar 14/08/1639, Army Base Havro, Havro, 13:10
It had now been two days since the Gra Valkans breached their pre-offensive frontlines, and the situation in the Leiforian chain of command was bad. They had expected the enemy to move fast, but even with the occasional reports of marginal, often tactical successes, they were literally blitzing through their static defenses while they still enjoyed total air and artillery supremacy. Since yesterday, they started receiving reports of mass desertions and mass surrenders, often after airstrikes and artillery barrages, particularly in the reserve and militia units. Even with the added baggage of sorting through prisoners of war (the Gra Valkans were unexpectedly treating them fairly, according to rumors), they were advancing as if there was no tomorrow. Indeed, at the pace that they're advancing, there will be no tomorrow–for a free, federal, imperial Leifor, that is.
At the lowest levels of the bunker complex underneath the Army Base in Havro, Ungforstander Jonas Jakobsen, the highest-ranking officer of the Leiforian Army–or what's left of it, was with the rest of his officers and subordinates constantly revising the positions of pieces on the map of Leifor in their war room. Since the offensive–nay, the war started, all they've done is remove their own pieces from the map. Unable to get some rest from the worsening situation, Jakobsen couldn't even properly lift up a cup of tea from the quivering of his fingers.
"Ungforstander! Urgent!"
Another messenger barged in with the word "urgent". They have already lost count of how many times they've heard of it ever since the offensive started. Without looking up to face the messenger, he simply waved his hand, which at this point, the messengers have also already gotten used to.
"The Gra Valkan army has crossed the Ødis River! Other points along the 30km critical zone are also being pressured and are poised to break any time soon!"
Instead of surprise, the Leiforian military leaders all grabbed their heads as if to violently rip off their hair in frustration and despondency. The Ødis River was one of the natural features that delineated their critical zone, a circle centered on Havro that roughly extends for 30km away. Directly behind this line was the last major defensive perimeter before Havro itself, and judging from previous reports, 30km was the estimated range of the Gra Valkans' heavy-hitting artillery pieces attached to their divisions. By breaching this, not only are the enemies about to knock on the walls of Havro itself, but the city would also come within range of the bulk of their artillery pieces. This, coupled with the fact that the forces he painstakingly amassed were now rapidly disintegrating, meant that the end was near. However, Jakobsen wasn't the type to give in, especially not without playing all the cards he could still play.
Looking at another officer in his presence with a desperate yet determined look in his eyes, he activates his trump card.
"Steffen, the birds are singing."
The one whom he called Steffen, upon hearing what Jakobsen said, simply nodded in silence before exiting the room.
In the forests northeast of Havro
"The Ungforstander sends his regards: the birds are singing."
"I guess it's time, huh?"
Two men dressed in the Leiforian Army uniform were talking to one another underneath the flickering glow of an electrical, incandescent light bulb–one of poorer luminosity than the mana-based light sources but consumes less energy overall. Just as they were about to leave the dusty, enclosed room that they were in, the entire room shook, but it was not from an earthquake.
"Fucking Gra Valkan bombing raids. I hope this big stick teaches them a lesson."
Walking out of the room and down a flight of stairs about five steps tall, they found themselves in a pitch-black area. While the eyes do not perceive anything, their ears hear footsteps on gravel, steel, and wood.
"Open the gate!"
As soon as he gave the order, they heard the loud clanking and groaning of metallic gears far to the right, which was rapidly getting brighter and brighter as a heavy-duty steel door swiveled open. The sunlight that entered the chamber–which was actually a tunnel–revealed its contents: the humongous barrel of a 10.3 Sk (344 mm) prøv. 38 artillery pieces that almost seemed to dwarf the railway car it was mounted on. It, its car, and the tracks were covered all over in thick foliage so as to improve their chances against retaliatory attacks from prospecting Gra Valkan aircraft. As the loud sound of the steel door completing its swivel echoed across the tunnel, they then heard the ear-piercing scratching of the railway car's wheels against the steel tracks as it lumbered gently towards the light.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
With the Gra Valkan battering ram coming within sight of Havro's city walls both ancient and modern, the Leiforians were deploying their heaviest and most dangerous assets in the battlefield. Several minutes after the order was given, seven of the gigantic railway artillery of Leifor's supposedly impregnable Helsingsand Line were already raised high into the sky, poised to deliver destruction to their unsuspecting foes.
Forward command post, 55km southeast of Havro, 13:15
Byron Keynes, a member of the staff of the Royal Muish Army Chief of Staff, was lightly trodding on the mud; its hardening consistency everywhere he stepped meant that it was easy not to slide off and dirty his clothes–and reputation, out of many other things. He'd rather not recall the previous times he was out of the office and stepping on mud in the wide open fields of Leifor, but he was confident that this time was different. Aside from the fact that this time they were observing the Gra Valkans and not the Leiforians, he was sure that he wouldn't be embarrassing himself in front of foreign and compatriot eyes.
"Over here, sir!"
A young man in his early thirties, his bright talent in technology only matched by his well-groomed mustache and properly trimmed, no-nonsense haircut, the man that called out to him, Myrus, was probably having the time of his life watching the Gra Valkan military in action. If only he had picked someone else high in the chain of command other than him to come to observe the Valkies, thought Keynes.
Now, Myrus and his friend Lassan had every right to be excited–that much was clear even to Keynes. Despite having been friends with the Gra Valkans for the longest time since their unprecedented appearance in Asheran global affairs, the Muish imagination–including those in the military and in politics–have always wondered about the true capabilities of these otherworlders. The commercial products they brought with them, their industries, and even the ultra streamlined airliners in which their citizens arrived in their airports captured their awe and wonder. Naturally, this curiosity gravitated toward their military, which even their esteemed Central Intelligence Directorate had trouble assessing accurately due to their secrecy. That was the case until war broke out between them and Paganda and their allies, Leifor and Irnetia. The speed at which they forced the capitulation of the two island nations and secured the official surrender of the federal Leiforian government stunned everyone, breaking any established norm regarding the expectations with which war objectives were meant to be achieved. While this breakneck speed meant that they weren't able to catch the Gra Valkan navy in action, the unprecedented resistance of the eastern federal districts of Leifor meant that a ground war was in order, giving the opportunity for Muish eyes and ears to spectate on how they would fight.
What they saw blew their minds.
Tanks capable of long-range engagements and firing on the move, supported by infantry in what was basically a fusion between APCs and light tanks, allowing the infantry to fight and keep up with armored operations. Mobile artillery that kept up with the main combat units and capable of shooting and scooting at almost a moment's notice. While not so foreign due to their existence in Muish service, the way the Gra Valkans used their helicopters in transporting almost everything but the heaviest of vehicles allowed for unprecedented mobility and flexibility. Their air forces were nothing to scoff at either: the jet, a long-coveted (and developed) experimental technology following the Imperials' adoption around a decade ago, was the name of the game. Bombers and ground attack aircraft seem to never be grounded as they're constantly in the air dropping tons upon tons of ordnance on unfortunate Leiforians. The premier fighter aircraft of their Army Air Service–namely so as they apparently haven't yet separated into a dedicated branch–which was called the "Langschwert," even had the technology of short vertical take-off and landing, a feat that allows them to operate even on hastily constructed or damaged runways. Out of all of that, there was one thing that the Gra Valkans had that caught his eye.
"A pleasure to meet you, General."
"The pleasure's all mine!"
Led by Myrus and Lassan to a makeshift observation deck, Keynes exchanged greetings and shook hands with their 'tour guide' for today, a liaison officer by the name of Rolf Wehner, rank Oberst. The lad had a rugged face and a scar across his left lip, but his eyes were probably the most hospitable thing he had seen in a while.
"I presume that the ride here was quite the experience?"
Until he talked; gods, his voice and tone were insufferably squeaky for some reason. Perhaps it was his ears? After all, the ride they used to get here was one of their helicopters, a model they called the "Brandeka" which, in spite of its larger-than-life size and spacious interior, the Valkies considered a 'medium-lift helicopter'.
"Oh, I'd rather not talk about that, if you don't mind. Automobiles are–and will always be–my preferred method of 'going around.'"
"That's unfortunate, General, but I hope that this next show will blow you away–not literally, just figuratively."
Standing on the observation deck, which faced northeast, they could see the towering peaks of the Malmund mountain range off in the distance, and in between were the countless columns of black smoke rising into the air. Fighting was intense as the offensive had just entered its last day, the crackle of gunfire and explosions from the frontline that got ever distant by the minute could be heard in the distance. Immediately in front of the deck was an empty field about the size of a small town riddled with tire and track impressions on the mud with the vehicles that made them still present.
As far as their eyes could see, there were self-propelled howitzers, mortar carriers, and towed artillery all throughout the area pointed towards the Leiforian city of Havro situated to the northeast. Most curious, however, were a group of trucks in front of him. These were similar to any other truck he had seen before, but the cargo they carried on their flatbeds was neither seating for troops nor fuel for vehicles; at first, they appeared to be ammunition stored in long, horizontal tubes, but the caliber and length didn't make sense. It was only when the 'ammunition container' started to swivel upwards and around an axis that they realized that it wasn't.
"A multiple rocket system, perhaps?"
Myrus was the first to realize what it was. Such a system wasn't foreign to them, but knowing that the Valkies always had some sort of surprise factor, he asked Wehner for more details.
"How far can this monstrosity of yours reach?"
Just as Wehner was about to give an answer, they felt the echoes of distant, heart-trembling thuds.
Boom... Boom...
The energy that would have been necessary to produce such powerful echoes was something only these military men could understand, causing them to pause their conversation to look around for where they might have come from. Meanwhile, Myrus and Lassan looked at one another with faces that said, "it's that." Hoping that wasn't the case, they tried to ask their Gra Valkan counterpart as frank as possible.
"Oberst Wehner, this may be me nitpicking but have your forces cleared out any railway guns?"
To their shock, Wehner's eyes widened as big as the full moon. Judging from this reaction, he–and probably their entire officer corps for that matter–were not aware of the existence of Leifor's extensive railway gun system underneath the Helsingsand Line. Whether or not their intelligence was faulty or they completely overlooked their existence was anybody's guess. Either way, none of that matters now for if they wish not to be obliterated by a several-ton round dropping on their heads from out of nowhere, the Valkies must deal with them promptly.
Myrus, Lassan, and Keynes all considered the suggestion to use the Valkies' overwhelming air supremacy to immediately respond to the railway guns. Turning to face Wehner to discuss with him their suggestions (and maybe request to leave the vicinity), they found him talking to a radio in their native tongue. After a concise back and forth, he put down the receiver back on the apparatus before turning to them with a calmer look on his face.
"Gentlemen from the venerable country of Mu, it appears that there are unexpected developments to our programme. Instead of letting you take a closer look at the rocket systems with which we pride ourselves, we will be showing you how we conduct counter batteries."
The three Muish men looked at one another with raised eyebrows. It is indeed true that counterbattery is faster than organizing an airstrike, but at this far of a distance from the Helsingsand Line, the traditional ways of locating enemy artillery positions wouldn't be as effective. Perhaps the Valkies had an aircraft acting the role of a forward spotter in the air? In any case, what fascinated them was the fact that they were going to conduct a counter-battery at this distance, which should be around 60km to the defensive line–a testament to just how far-reaching their indirect fire capabilities were.
"Counter battery, you say? May I ask how you were able to ascertain where the Leiforians' guns are?"
"With the help of technology, Mr. Myrus. We call it the counter-battery radar; it allows us to pinpoint with reasonable accuracy where enemy artillery is the moment they start getting noisy. They're just like the ears of an eager boy with a slingshot: the moment a bird starts chirping, he knows exactly where that bird is and thus where to shoot."
Myrus rubbed his chin. Radar is a relatively recent technology, only being developed and adopted more than a decade ago to detect incoming hostile aircraft. They've miniaturized them enough to mount them on their capital ships for both anti-aircraft and fire control usage, but if the Gra Valkans were using radar for counter-battery, then that means they've made them transportable by vehicle–something which the Muish are still yet to do.
Mere minutes after they heard the deep bellows of the railway guns hitting the ground with tremendous power, the truck-mounted multiple rocket systems had already turned their gazes towards where they were. As soon as they were ready to fire, the order was given. The ground shook as the energy from several solid rocket fuel boosters roaring to life was directed downwards, allowing the rockets–some armed with cluster warheads–to soar high into the sky at breakneck speed.
Suburb of Salkos, just outside Havro proper, 13:40
"Help! There's someone still stuck underneath!"
A Leiforian soldier calls out to those around him to assist him in removing the rubble of what used to be a two-story house, which had collapsed after a direct hit from enemy mortar fire. Out of the several hundred soldiers and noncombatants around him, only four had the liberty to devote their time and energy to help him, for everyone was either busy tending to the wounded, crying, contemplating suicide, or repairing broken static weapons and defenses. The soldier was tired, having gone without sleep for two days due to the specter of the endless Gra Valkan airstrikes, but he couldn't forgo his duty to his country and his people, for there was the voice of a woman from beyond the brick and rubble.
"Please... Help me... I can't feel anything below my waist..."
"We'll be with you shortly, ma'am! Hold on!"
Hollow words with empty promises. He could hardly stand straight due to the excess fatigue, let alone lift heavy rubble. Still, he exerted whatever energy he had left to get them out of the way. To help the woman and to prove to himself that his words were not empty.
"Shit! The Gra Valkans are here!"
He heard the shout of a lone man running up the road towards where they were. His words alone were enough to evoke a sense of life-or-death dilemma in the hearts of everyone, causing them to either panic and flee or drop everything else to get their rifles pointed in the direction from where the shouting man came from.
He, too, wanted to take cover, but this woman was still stuck underneath the rubble.
"Please, sir! Don't leave me!"
"I won't! I won't!"
As he wearily lifted out of the way one heavy piece of rubble after the other, his energy evaporated, and his consciousness started to fade in and out. In spite of all that, he continued to do his utmost best.
But then...
"Tank! Take cover!"
The signature clanking of tank treads and grumbling of a diesel engine poured over his ears. He looked to his left to where it was coming from and lo and behold a beast of an armored vehicle was cresting the slope leading up to where he was. It was unlike any tank he had ever seen. Alien symbols dotted its turret and front armor as its massive cannon menacingly pointed forwards. Scary as it was, he cannot afford to leave this woman behind. He mustn't... he couldn't.
Even as its cannon turned to face him, an enemy soldier that was wearing a uniform and had a rifle slung over his shoulder, he desperately clawed away at the hopelessly heavy rubble he could no longer lift. He can't let this woman down. He can't let his country down. He can't let himself down.
...and now he just can't.
The crackle of a machine gun bursting out bullets at a thousand rounds per minute reverberated across the suburb; in their wake, a soldier patriotic enough to help a countryman yet foolish not to take cover, was unceremoniously gunned down.
As the clock struck 13:45, the first elements of the Imperial Gra Valkan Army (IGVA) were now inside the city of Havro itself.
Army Base Havro, 14:05
"Enemy mechanized units reported having entered Gate 4! They're now in Salkos!"
"Report from Superheavy Battery 16! Structural damage to the bunkers is critical, so they're evacuating!"
"Superheavy Batteries 11, 13, and 14 are reported to be out of action, possibly from enemy counter-battery action! Batteries 8, 9, 15, and 17 are currently withdrawn and unable to fire due to concentrated attacks on their positions!"
"Ungforstander! The commanders of the 41st and 73rd Infantry Battalions have informed us of their intention to surrender!"
Jonas Jakobsen, possibly the last military commander of a free federal and imperial Leifor, felt like collapsing on his knees. The reports he had been hearing were now getting all the more bleak as their enemy effortlessly continued to tighten the noose on them. His trump cards had all been played. Some of his own officers were nowhere to be seen–possibly deserted to surrender to the Gra Valkans or to flee eastward to Mu. Those that had stayed were no longer looking at the map; instead, they were just sitting on the floor with their heads buried in between their arms and legs. Whatever hope and morale they had left were useless, for they were rapidly running out of men, machines, time, territory, and opportunities.
However, there still existed an opportunity to save everything, but it was not the option he took lightly–if anything, it was the absolute last resort.
"Surrender..."
He muttered to himself, yet his words were as loud as a bang to everyone around him. Instead of being consumed with anger and nationalistic fervor at the suggestion, his officers were aflush with relief, solace, and hope.
"If we are to preserve as many lives as possible, then I believe we have no other choice, Ungforstander."
"They took cities like Ernst, Sanders, and Valentina, the latter of which had the largest Army Base, second only to Leiforia, with ease. Even with the resistance we've given, I think the outcome of Gra Valkan flags over Havro is inevitable."
Jakobsen didn't contemplate their inputs further. With all the lives he had put on the line for their now impossible autumn awakening, he felt the immense burden of not putting their sacrifice into vain. Be that as it may, he was not willing to have more lives be offered to the slaughter for something as trivial as honor or glory; he was already confident that he, along with the rest of his men and people, had given their all. Because of that, Leifor will not have gone down without putting up a fight. He may not have put into effect Operation Efterårsvågen, their planned autumn awakening, but perhaps such an event will come later in the future.
Looking up to face the capable officers and staff who had made everything possible, his regrets faded away.
"Alright. Ready the city's public announcement system and tune our manacomms and radios to the open channels! We'll be making one last call."
Jakobsen smiled as he made his orders, knowing that they'll be the last he'll issue to his officers and staff. Tears formed along the edges of their eyes as they all saluted upon looking at his smile, affirming their joy at being able to serve under him.
"Yes, sir!"
- - -
The sound of gunfire, bullets whizzing past, artillery shells detonating and destroying infrastructure, and the general misery of warfighting in an urban environment. Despite things going great for the Gra Valkans as a whole, the individual soldiers carrying out the operations and maneuvers were facing steep struggles. As they got closer to the major enemy installation on the other side of the city, resistance got harder and harder to stomp out. However, as one certain infantry squad saw it, things suddenly got a whole lot quieter.
"Hey, do you hear that?"
Straining their ears, they could hear the faint sound of someone speaking gibberish from a loudspeaker. Perhaps a public announcement in Leiforian? Before they could ponder any further, their platoon comms was filled with voices from their platoon mates.
"Heads up. Enemy infantry coming out of the rubble, 12 o'clock."
"They're... tossing their rifles and guns to the side? Now they're raising their hands. They're surrendering?"
"We're counting at least 50–no, 80 combatants with their hands up. Can anyone confirm if they're surrendering?"
"Just confirmed. Command has received word directly from the enemy commander himself; they're surrendering. Orders are now to receive POWs."
Like reading an anticlimactic ending to a story, the tension that had built up in their bodies disappeared almost immediately. However, this was the kind of anticlimactic conclusion that was welcomed with sighs of relief and gratitude.
On this day, the 14th of Aureit (Month 8), Ungforstander Jonas Jakobsen, commander of Army Group North of the Leiforian Army and the highest ranking surviving general left in all of Leifor, surrendered to the Gra Valkans after three days of bitter fighting, dealing a massive blow to the morale of still resisting military units, militias, and partisans elsewhere and ending any hope for a free Leifor.
Cent. Calendar 17/08/1639, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Occupied Leiforia, 9:00
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. You all know the protocol."
A bright-looking woman with petite spectacles and an elaborately made bun called out to her equally prim-and-proper subordinates all lined up. Her blonde hair glistened in the high afternoon sun–and at times, sparkling even. She proudly wore her bland ministry uniform, and on her left breast pocket, she brandished her name tag: Cielia Oudwin.
"The military is currently still processing regular Leiforian POWs after their successful operation up north near the Muish border... Alfred!"
The man she called out responded with equal vigor.
"Yes, ma'am!"
"I trust that you'll receive the formal surrender of the Havro governor, hm? Oh, and you've gotta smile better than that."
His flaws pointed out, and he instinctively fixed his crooked smile before Cielia sent him away.
After the surrender of the last major Leiforian Army holdout in the northeastern industrial city of Havro, other minor regular army holdouts and resistant civilian regional governments started to follow suit, already convinced that the last hope of a resurgent free Leifor was but a dream in a dream. Cielia, assigned to the ministry in occupied capital Leiforia as the head of staff of her department, was now sending her lackeys to formally accept the surrenders of the local Leiforian governments, as well as to secure the diplomatic recognition of Gra Valkan supremacy over their domain. Having finished handing out the tasks to her subordinates, she reached the last lackey on the line.
"As for you..."
Standing in front of her was a tall, lanky man whose usual unkempt hair was even more disheveled. He was rough along more than one edge; he hadn't even shaved the stubs of hair growing off of his face. Was he even a diplomat? His almost unruly disposition made everyone –including Cielia herself–around him doubt that he was one. This man was none other than that infamous fellow: Dallas.
"Hold up..."
Dallas held up his hands as if he were a criminal about to make a run for it.
"Hm?"
"Allow me to extend my congratulations on your assignment to this post."
"How sweet of you. Now..."
There were no hints of sarcasm in Dallas's remark, but Cielia treated it as if it were riddled with it.
"Wait..."
His watery eyes landed on Cielia's sharp gaze. Being the most outspoken person out there, he knew what it means to speak one's heart out... but also when one was keeping it all in. Today, Cielia's facade was muddled with such red flags, probably hiding something she does not want to be made known.
"???"
"...I thought you were going to hand in your resignation."
She didn't react meaningfully to this statement–but the lack of a reaction only convinced him that something was up. He pressed on.
"You were so livid seeing us all in the hospital after the Army rescued us from Paganda. You looked as if you were going to kill someone over it... So now why are you so... complacent?... With everything?"
Cielia blinked, but only to prop up her smile.
"I had a talk with the boss: turns out, I was in the wrong. He convinced me that I needed to rein in my subordinates for their... colorful tendencies."
Like a masterful liar, she turned the tables against Dallas, who was less than prepared for it.
"W-What could you possibly..."
"I admire your outspoken personality, Dallas. I really... do."
Her voice cracked for a moment as if she was about to cry... but she showed this chink in her armor for a moment too long; enough for Dallas's dense ears to pick it up.
"I..."
"...but you have to control yourself."
She turned around, having decided not to give him the work he was supposed to do. The sound of her high heels clacking on the marble floor sounded like her heavy heart being dragged along.
"Allow me to be unfair just this once: you being outspoken for the sake of others does not have to come at the expense of yourself."
"..."
Like an expert marksman, Cielia's words hit right where it hurt for Dallas.
"Your countless arrests at anti-war protests... Standing up for your liberal beliefs in the face of Pagandan royalty... You can do all of that without having to sacrifice yourself, you know?"
She turned back around, her eyes now gleaming with mischief.
"I'll take care of your work today. I'm sure you'll understand; they should have taught you the value of human life in liberal arts, right?"
She then turned her back on him, disappearing into the endless wave of suits and briefcases down the hallway. She has made it clear that she intends to keep everyone–even him–at arm's length. Without even being given a chance to talk, Dallas was left alone with his thoughts.
"You ass of a boss..."
He gripped his fist in anger and remorse as if to pretend he still had a grip on the chance he allowed to get away. He had this opportunity to rectify something wrong and he blew it.
"How dare you talk of prioritizing one's self when Gesta has his dirty hands all over your throat, forcing you to do all of this shit! Maybe he even used threats to get you in line...!"
In an effort to calm himself down, he inhaled and breathed out a huge helping of the dusty air.
"Sucks for you, boss: my professors taught me to be ungovernable."
His true colors slipped, but his facade was quick to catch up with him: he frantically turned around checking if anyone had heard him.
"I should probably not be saying that out loud as a government employee..."
The guilt of being a horrible subordinate also caught up to him, and so he ran after Cielia, hoping to get his work assignment back.