Cent. Calendar 10/02/1640, Fort Bai, Le Brias Harbor, Altaras, 16:31
Going to the beach... was never a dull experience. Five years ago, the tone behind the voice that echoed this thought would have been one of youthful hopes and expectations of getting to swim in the ocean under the full brunt of the summer sun. But now, the tone was more of an “I’ve just had my 20th near-death experience just now” kind of feel, a sentiment that echoed among the young men of Ardean Company of the 117th Naval Infantry Battalion. But none of them had that sentiment dug deep in his heart as one La Prénom Recrue (Private First Class) Eli.
Having grown up in a quiet fishing village on the eastern Parpaldian seaboard, the sight of the beach and the smells, memories, and ideals associated with it was one thing that claimed a big part of Eli’s heart. No matter where he went, even during his training inland for the Parpaldian Naval Infantry (a river-focused force), he’d always long for the beach. But now, he had come to a point he never thought to ever reach in his life.
I wanna get outta here. Fuck the beach.
He muttered to himself in an almost apathetic tone.
He had been lying on the crest of a gigantic dune, the coarse particles of sand digging into whatever exposed skin there was and sapping their moisture—and whatever energy he had left—after being in the same spot for hours on end. He was not alone, but being with someone who also wanted out of there didn’t help the situation at all. The only things that stayed in place longer than his limbs were his hands, which still maintained an iron grip over his standard-issue rifle, and his open eyes, which were surveying the situation on the other side of the gigantic dune.
For as much as their officers claim that things were ‘working out,’ he and some of the men, mostly the ones who are still alive, felt as if nothing had been right the moment they hit the beach three days ago.
“...Hey.”
His lips were dry, but he nonetheless mustered what energy he had. This was directed to the other soulless marine lying on the sand next to him, La Prénom Recrue Ignace.
“...Nnn?”
Ignace replied with a weak groan.
“...Got an extra kick?”
“...Gimme the whole deal. Y’know these ain’t handouts.”
“Fuck... A kick for my dinner biscuits... And my share of the morning clam soup tomorrow.”
“...Sold.”
With a deal set in four sentences, Ignace reached for a hidden pocket on the reverse side of his coat and pulled out a coin-shaped object wrapped in blue. Eli immediately swiped it off Ignace’s hand, much to the latter remarking, “Y’know that stuff ain’t good to take regularly, right?” which the former simply ignored and just tore through the wrapper. Inside was a white disc that looked like a mana stone, but the smooth texture and the easily scratched surface hinted that it was a hardened plant product. Holding the white disc in both of his palms, he whispered magic chants into it, and soon enough, subtle traces of white smoke started to emanate from the disc. Eli immediately took a whiff of the smoke, and the effects were instantaneous: he was suddenly roused from his slump, and his attention and energy levels shot through the roof.
“Nghhh... That’s the shit.”
What Eli got from Ignace was a disc of copp, a processed mana-infused byproduct of a plant raised in the hinterlands of the far Philadean north. While it doubled in function similar to a mana stone for personal use in the primitive communities of the far north, it had far lower mana density for its size compared to the regular mana stone. But this wasn’t its main use in the more industrialized southern Philades: when the mana in the copp is cast, the resulting spell causes the other plant products in the copp to react and disperse as smoke, which contains very potent stimulants. The history and perception of copp as a stimulant is varied among the countries and cultures of Philades, but it was banned for consumption within the Parpaldian military, though enforcement hasn’t been heavy-handed.
“...That’s the 10th kick I’ve given you the past three days. What the fuck happened to your shit?”
Ignace groaned again, but Eli was too preoccupied getting more out of the copp. Seeing that his projection of disappointment wasn’t getting through, he gave up.
“Fuck it... Just ask the others next time. I need my own kicks too, y’know?”
Just as Eli discarded the spent copp and returned to their original mission of keeping watch, his enhanced attention got him to notice the minute movements occurring far away. He quickly notified Ignace, who had better eyesight.
“Oy, I see some suspicious movement in the town to your 1 o’clock.”
“What? You mean that town? Where?”
“See that red clock tower? Toward its bottom left, there should be a street running almost parallel to our line of sight. I think I saw some enemy soldiers moving some baggage.”
Ignace squinted his eyes, trying to follow Eli’s instructions. From their towering dune, which was several hundred meters away from the sea to their east, a flat plain stretched out towards the west. But it had neither plains nor farmland, but rather man-made buildings as far as the eye could see—these were the southern outskirts of the capital of the kingdom of Altaras, Le Brias.
Ignace found the street Eli was pertaining to and focused his attention there. Sure enough, he could make out the white and blue uniforms of Altaran Army soldiers moving what appeared to be field guns. They weren’t familiar with tactics or strategy, but their officers were, and they knew that this was something they should be made aware of ASAP.
“...What do you think?”
“...What do I think? Shit, it ain’t our job to think! Get down there and inform the résedier (captain) that we got enemy tubes moving into the town! I’ll maintain watch!”
“Fuck!”
With a hup and puff and a stinging pain reminding him that standing was getting too tough, Eli descended from the dune and made his way to their officers to inform them about the concerning developments.
- - -
Several hundred meters east of the westernmost dunes that demarcated the Parpaldian beachhead was Fort Bai, a minor Altaran shore fort situated on the base of an isthmus that stretched to the northeast. The isthmus served as a natural breakwater for Le Brias harbor. At the very end of the isthmus was a rocky island on which a gigantic sea fort, Fort Ruvek, stood, guarding the entrance to Le Brias harbor. At the commencement of the Parpaldian Imperial Navy’s offshore bombardment of Le Brias harbor defenses on the 7th of Febrond, three infantry battalions of the Parpaldian Naval Infantry simultaneously landed ashore on the base of the harbor isthmus, attacking and besieging Fort Ruvek from its only land connection and assaulting and taking Fort Bai on the isthmus base. Since then, the brave men of the Parpaldian Naval Infantry held onto and dug into Fort Bai, gallantly holding out against repeated onslaughts from the home divisions of the Royal Altaran Army on the doorstep of their capital.
Inside the main and only enclosure of Fort Bai was an open space at the center of which stood a very tall flagpole, which flew the imperial red and gold of the Parpaldian Empire. At the base of this defiant flagpole was a simple tent under which the commanding officer of the 108th Naval Infantry Battalion, Avileuxpercheur (Lieutenant Colonel) Thibault oversaw their operation. Looking over a map of the Altaran capital while standing next to their bulky field manacomm apparatus, he pondered today’s developments with his officers.
“The 119th has ordered Celeste Company to withdraw after it reported it has about 55% fighting strength left; I suggest we’re to substitute our Droz Company in their place.”
One of his officers reported, removing a peg signifying Celeste Company on the map and placing a peg signifying the 108th’s Droz Company on where it once stood. Before he let go of the peg, he looked up to Thibault, who then motioned his hand in approval.
“Send the order out.”
“Roger.” His signals officer, operating the manacomm apparatus next to the map, replied.
Thibault played with his short beard as he went deep into thought. A sort of controlled anxiety lingered over his eyes, his tongue-clicking becoming more frequent by the minute. Unable to mentally piece things together, he decided to lay them out.
“So that makes about... only four companies above 70% strength? Am I right?”
He asked his officers, scratching his head in impatience. His officers glanced at one another before turning their eyes to the map and then giving their collective reply: “Correct, sir.”
This was exhausting, thought Thibault. As soon as he was about to groan in annoyance, he closed his lips and turned a would-be-groan into a long and drawn-out “Hmmm.”
He expected another mission where they were expected to “go expendable” when the war plans for the Altaras invasion were brought into effect. After all, this was the mission of the Naval Infantry: move ahead of the Army, secure a foothold on the other side of the waterfront (often a river or a lake), and smash forward enemy elements. But much like the rest of the Parpaldian military, the Naval Infantry had absolutely no experience fighting overseas. They have drilled for such scenarios, but the art they’ve mastered was crossing and traversing lakes and rivers. But that was not where their troubles and anxieties ended: instead of landing ahead of the main invasion force, Thibault’s 108th, along with two other battalions, were to land on the outskirts of Le Brias, the heart of enemy territory, and conduct a fake yet convincing attempt at a landing to draw Altaran attention away from the true landing points further south.
Preparations to make the landing convincing were overboard. A fully-armed navy fleet, most of which were veterans of their victory at Menda Point, would shell Le Brias harbor defenses and support their landing. The entire wyvern corps, now freed from their duty of patrolling the Altaras Strait, would provide air cover atop the fleet and the landings on top of their relentless incursions that test and strain Le Brias’s air defenses.
But things hadn’t added up since the plan was put into motion. Ocean conditions during the landing weren’t the best; one of the 117th’s companies lost half its strength when their landing boats were caught in a rogue wave before they had even hit the beach, something that probably never would’ve happened with a river or lake. The offshore bombardment from their battleships didn’t manage to knock out Fort Ruvek’s south-facing shore guns in the opening action, which caused further casualties before they were eventually silenced. Lastly, the mad Altaran king had apparently deployed multiple infantry divisions and artillery formations to the capital beforehand, meaning that their force of less than 4,000 was going up against what was essentially the entire Royal Altaran Army. Good geography and ample naval gunfire and wyvern support enabled them to hold their positions, but in just three straight days of fighting their men were already utterly exhausted—and the Altaran artillery hadn’t even deployed in force yet.
He desperately wanted to pull out and preserve as much of his force as humanly possible, but their mission in Fort Bai was not to end until he received the message from Deuxième imposrion (Vice Admiral) Pommerau that the true invasion beachheads further south were stable.
Taking his officer cap off and placing it as gently as he could on the table, Thibault’s stomach began to growl. The sun had hardly set and he was already feeling famished. Just as he was about to excuse himself and inform his officers, the signals officer raised his voice.
“Avileuxpercheur! The 117th reports they’ve spotted Altaran artillery moving into the town of Massuf! Field guns are confirmed but they’ve also reported signs of circuit and machine guns and large-caliber artillery!”
Hearing this, Thibault bit his lips hard, almost to the point of shedding blood. At this point, he doubts lasting into the next day. Giving up on his dinner, he began preparations for a pre-emptive offensive to spike the guns.
Cent. Calendar 10/02/1640, Astaran Constabulary, Astaran, Altaras, 17:14
Meanwhile, further south of Le Brias on the eastern seaboard of the peninsula, the Parpaldian Imperial Army had commandeered the fishing town of Astaran and is using its port to enable more ground forces to make landfall. As the sun set and night loomed, landing operations were called off for the day and the commanders gathered at the town’s local constabulary, which functioned as their temporary headquarters. Standing before a map of the local area with his corps of officers, Entoupercheur (Colonel) Gilles oversaw a review of the day’s developments.
“A few hours ago at around 1455h, the 110th (Naval Infantry) reported that they have reached and secured a small village and its shore battery on the left side of the mouth of the Alistan River 20km southeast of here. They added that they are yet to secure and cross the nearby bridge, which is around 2km upriver from their position. However, the primary cause for concern is that they reported spotting scuttled ships blocking the entire width of the Alistan River.”
The last sentence drove a metaphorical nail into the chests of everyone in the room. Pained groans, expletives, head-scratching, and exasperated sighs could be heard as they discussed how to proceed with this setback.
“So much for securing riverine ports... How the hell are we getting ships up the Alistan and into the Sa’arak now?”
“That isn’t even the first problem. Our unloading is still behind schedule! This town’s port is just too small! We need more ports, and we needed them yesterday!”
“If we don’t fix this problem soon, Group West will arrive at Kagis and we’re not there to plug its eastern side!”
The officers lamented this new development. Just like everywhere else, their situation hadn’t developed in the way that was planned, and while that was to be expected it didn’t help at all that they were stuck on enemy territory thousands of tacour from home soil across the unforgiving ocean. This was their first expeditionary deployment overseas and it was getting increasingly painfully clear that they were not in their element.
But Gilles was not one to feel remotely discouraged by this. If anything, to him, adversity just seemed to be a lot less boring than things going according to plan. With a low voice, he loudly exclaimed.
“This isn’t the end of it yet!”
His voice thundered across the room and past its brick walls, startling even the half-asleep guards posted within the constabulary premises. With everyone silent and their attention focused solely on him, Gilles turned to face an elven individual wearing a middle-aged face and drab overalls.
“You! Have you carried out my request?”
His commanding tone shook the elven man to the core, causing him to sweat profusely as he replied as curtly as he could.
“Yes, sir! The cove you pointed out was indeed unusually deep—our rider has even spotted a large, Muish-looking fishing trawler anchored inside! Based on the size of the trawler, our rider claims that the cove could accommodate four of our larger landing ships at once!”
This sudden news of a big deepwater cove both calmed and confused the officers. With faces of mixed emotions, they turned to Gilles, whose usually intimidating face harbored a satisfied smile, for an explanation.
“As you already know, we’ve always had the port problem since the first landings. We’ve considered and explored every option available that could rectify this problem—the securing of riverine ports along the Alistan River, the building of additional piers at the port, and so on. Another option I considered was if we could make use of this uninhabited cove.”
Gilles pointed to a section of the eastern coast that had the shape of a cove roughly 8km north of Astaran.
“I was sure that it was shallow since the cove didn’t have a town built next to it but I figured I should have the wyvern corps check anyway.”
The officers all looked at one another and nodded, satisfied with the answer. The discovery of this unmarked cove presented them with a possible solution but it also presented them with new problems.
“The mysterious reason that it’s not being used aside, we must secure this cove as soon as possible.”
“The sooner we get there the better but we also can’t afford to send them now. It’s already dark and the possibility of running into a big enemy formation is high.”
“We can probably afford to wait the night and start tomorrow morning. I suggest that the wyvern corps divert a wyvern from the main axis to scout the path to the cove.”
Having settled on the decision to secure the cove, the commanders of Group East revisited plans for the main western advance on the road toward Kagis to draw some of their units from the fighting to head north.
Cent. Calendar 13/02/1640, the outskirts of the village of Sahwi, ~50km east of Kan Garasi, Altaras, 10:37
A few days later, back on the western side of the capital peninsula, elements of the Parpaldian Imperial Army’s Group West were steadily advancing toward the city of Kagis, which was situated on the Sa’arak River, the major waterway that runs into the heart of Le Brias further downstream. Two days ago, on the 11th, Group West’s main fighting units dedicated to the Kagis axis were now on the island, and the beachhead at Point Margaux was stabilized, allowing their operation to finally pick up the tempo. Leading the charge down the major road toward Kagis was the 12th Infantry Regiment, supported by a cavalry battalion and a couple of artillery companies, and behind it trailed engineering units and the Parpaldian Imperial Army’s dedicated siege artillery.
Forging ahead of the regiment’s main infantry units were the light infantry, skirmishers armed with carbines that screen the main force’s advance. Leading a company of light infantry was one Résedier (Captain) Nathaniel, a hotheaded figure who figured going straight to the point would solve all of the world’s problems. His company is currently deployed on a hilly treeline running north to south, bisected by the main road connecting the coastal town of Kan Garasi to Kagis. The treeline provided a better view of the rolling hills, which were more common in this part of the peninsula, and one of these had a small yet sprawling village built on top of it. This was the village of Sahwi, sitting atop one of the taller hills within siege artillery range of the city of Kagis, their advance’s main objective.
Taking Sahwi was instrumental in taking Kagis, and this much was common sense among even the lower-ranked officers. However, for as much as Sahwi was a small village, it sat in a perfectly defensible location, which warranted caution and a large force to take, their battalion commander warned. Being the impatient man he was, the captain had other ideas.
“Are we really going in without the rest of the battalion, résedier?”
One of the platoon commanders gathered around him asked, his furrowed brow drenched in sweat and excelling at exemplifying the doubts plastered all over his face. But Nathaniel paid little attention to such trifling details, something his subordinates—and superiors alike—hoped didn’t apply to his analysis of the tactical battlespace.
“Population: 150; 38 families recorded according to the 1637 census. Notable buildings include the local constabulary station manned by two officers, the post office, and a family-run temple. Intelligence indicates at most a platoon of infantry garrisoned here.”
The résedier spoke aloud as if reading from a report, his gaze still fixated upon the small village. To his subordinates, the confidence in his voice indicated that he had made his decision, and thus, their queries were answered—or at least they felt like they need not ask any further.
Nathaniel turned around to face them, his platoon commanders, with a resolute expression and gleaming eyes.
“It is said that battles are won by officers who take the initiative when the situation calls for it. Given this situation, I can confidently tell you that we are in that same situation! While our battalion lags behind us, the village of Sahwi, an important piece in taking Kagis, is laid bare in front of us! We must seize this opportunity and take the village for the empire!”
His mind set on the prize that is Sahwi, his platoon commanders felt there was little they could do to stop him.
- - -
Ratatatatatat!
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The saw-like buzzing of automatic gunfire cascaded throughout the hills, interlaced with the incessant popping of single-action rifle fire. Smoke from burnt powder and mana stone residue wafted in the air as the light smell of sulfur combined with the strong smell of spilled blood overwhelmed many to tears. What had been a quiet, hilly countryside an hour ago had descended into a scene of carnage, at least to the Parpaldian light infantry.
“Medic! I’m shot in the leg! Argh...!!!”
A light infantryman groaned in pain as he clutched his left leg. Blood gushed from the wound on his leg, dyeing his dirty white breeches a deep scarlet red. A medic, wearing a band brandishing the yellow diamond mark of the Lamp on his right shoulder, crawled to the wounded infantryman on his knees and elbows.
“Keep your head down!”
The medic put his arm on the infantryman’s head to push him under the cover as bullets flew over them. He uttered a prayer in silence, apologizing to his fallen comrade, whose lifeless corpse served to cover both of them from the hail of automatic gunfire.
Off to the side was the captain, Nathaniel, leaning against the fallen bark of a great tree. He watched as the medic screamed instructions at the wailing infantryman, who was starting to panic from the pain of his wounded leg. He watched as the corpse of one of his men was used as a cover; its unmoving face, long deprived of emotion, twitched not from the several bullets that had just peppered its body.
But this wasn’t the only corpse around him: from his surroundings alone, he could count twelve of his own men dead, four of whom he could still hear to be groaning. The others, those who could still hold their carbines and fight, were either digging deeper into the ground using their bare hands to try and get out of the hail of bullets or were clinging for life behind what little cover they could find behind trees.
Roughly an hour ago, Nathaniel made use of the three platoons under his command: Ardean Platoon would approach and enter the northern edge of the village by following a treeline that followed a hedgerow; Balzac Platoon would provide long-distance support fire from an irrigation channel that ran parallel to the village on its western side; lastly, Celeste Platoon would follow the treeline along the main road before pivoting and entering the village’s southern edge, combining into a pincer of the village with Ardean Platoon. They would all be attacking the village’s western side from the west.
The battle opened with Balzac Platoon successfully assuming their positions along the irrigation channel. Once Ardean Platoon and Celeste Platoon had advanced far enough along their respective axes, Balzac Platoon began firing on the Altaran sentries posted on the village houses’ rooftops. The village garrison was successfully drawn into the firefight, but Balzac Platoon’s success was limited due to the irrigation channel’s lower elevation hampering their line of fire against the higher buildings of the village.
But that wasn’t the worst part of the battle: as if reading their planned axis of advance, Ardean Platoon ran into traps on the treeline approaching the northern edge of the village, killing a couple of infantrymen. Then, as if expecting them, the Altarans brought a field machine gun within sight of the tree line, its deadly automatic fire maiming nearly a fifth of their platoon. The rest of the platoon took cover, but their brief respite was interrupted when several Altaran soldiers emerged from another hedgerow to their north, catching the beleaguered platoon in a deadly crossfire. From his last exchange with the other platoons, he learned that Balzac Platoon couldn’t take out the machine gun; the machine gun was within the town and was thus obstructed from Balzac Platoon’s line of fire. Celeste Platoon, meanwhile, was a bit better off but was struggling to wear down the town’s fortified southern entrance.
That was all fifteen minutes ago. Since then, he’s seen three more of his men fall from gunfire, one of whom was Ardean Platoon’s commander, the same unremarkable man who asked him if he was serious about assaulting the village. The platoon was down to about half its original strength, something that he’d undoubtedly receive punishment for. In any other case, this was his blunder and no one but his own.
Clutching his carbine in his hands, thoughts of charging the enemy in a defiant last stand filled his head. Whether it was out of fear of facing the music from his superiors or a desire to project to the enemy the indomitable will of the empire, he wasn’t so sure. Guilt and duty wrestled for control of his conviction, but the deciding factor, himself, hesitated. As he continued to hesitate, he started to bite his lip, fighting against the indecision to finally commit to the charge.
“Meeeeen!!!”
He shouted, hoping the impetus would drag his hesitant self to commit.
Some of the infantrymen still clinging to cover turned their attention to their résedier, but some were too afraid to even turn their attention his way.
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“On the count of three, we shall charge across the gap and storm the village! Fear not, for I will lead the charge! I will be the first into the fray and be the first to fall! Glory awaits us, not only here in Sahwi, but in Kagis and, eventually, Le Brias!”
His men looked at him with disbelief and denial, but Nathaniel was not one to mind such trifling details.
“On the count of three! Three!!!”
Bullets from two directions continued to pound their position, peppering the ground, corpses, and trees.
“...Two!!!”
The surviving infantrymen of Ardean Platoon held their carbines close as they waited for the go signal. For as much as they feared death, they feared the ramifications of failing to follow their officers’ orders. As for Nathaniel, he hesitated to get himself to count down to the last number. He kicked the dirt and fallen leaves in frustration as if to get himself to commit. Then, as his lungs drew air, they puffed them out in one burst of life.
“ONE!!!”
“WAIT!!!”
Interrupting his scream with a louder scream was his vice commander, who now operated the manacomms after the signals officer fell in battle earlier.
“Résedier!!! Celeste Platoon is reporting a breakthrough! They’re now fighting inside the village!”
Nathaniel stared at him with disbelief, but his instincts rebuffed his doubts when he noticed that the gunfire had also died down. Slightly peaking out of the fallen tree trunk he was taking cover under, his eyes darted to where the machine gun was. To his delight, he spotted its three operators seemingly abandoning their post as they appeared to be coming under fire from the southern direction. The other enemy infantrymen firing at them from the village also appeared to have gotten disoriented; they were likely receiving orders to redeploy to plug the southern breach. In any other case, it appears that there were far fewer guns firing at them now.
Seeing his chance at redemption and breakthrough, he promptly turned back to face his men.
“Our comrades have broken through the south! The Altaran is distracted; we must seize this golden opportunity to finally smash those bloody rats!”
This time, his men, also seeing what was going on, nodded with fiery resolve. Then, with renewed vigor and fighting spirit, the adamant résedier screamed at the top of his lungs.
“ON ME, MEN!!! CHAAARGE!!!”
Carbine on hand, Résedier Nathaniel sprung onto his feet, turned about-face, and with the village of Sahwi before him, broke out into a headlong rush for the nearest houses’ yard walls. The incredible radiance with which he ran into the fray was unmatched—literally, for his own men struggled to match the fervor with which he broke into a sprint. Some of them didn’t even budge from their positions: expecting a bayonet charge, they were in the middle of fitting their carbines with bayonets when their résedier up and charged.
Whether or not he had forgotten to give the order, Nathaniel’s lonesome charge was followed by the rest of Ardean Platoon. With the Altarans in disarray, almost no one saw the dozens of Parpaldian light infantry charging up the sloped treeline. By the time the defenders did, it was too late.
“NO QUARTER!!!”
Nathaniel spat, his infectious tone reverberating amidst the lull in gunfire.
He vaulted over the low yard walls, catching two confused Altaran defenders right in the middle of contacting their superiors. He quickly dispatched the one to his right with a single shot from his carbine straight into the young man’s neck. Grabbing the handle of his officer’s saber with his free left hand, he turned to face the other soldier. Before the Altaran could unholster his revolver and ready its hammer, Nathaniel ended him by slashing across his chest, neck, and jaw with a powerful swing of his saber.
As the young-looking Altaran defender fell to the ground, the other Parpaldian light infantrymen of Ardean Platoon started vaulting over the low yard walls before rushing into the houses and streets of the village. The grunting of men struggling in hand-to-hand combat, the clashing of steel, and the ringing of gunshots became the chorus of the high noon, interwoven with the occasional scream of officers repeating the résedier’s orders, “NO QUARTER!!!” The ferocity of the fight for the village was by no means clean—some unfortunate villagers were in the village when Nathaniel’s light infantry company attacked it—but before the clock struck 1 in the afternoon, the last Altaran defender was struck down.
Sahwi, Altaras, 16:32
Several hours later, as the sun neared the horizon, the hustle and bustle of a massive army could be heard by the resting light infantrymen of Nathaniel’s company outside the village. Pipers and drummers dictating the marching rhythm of the army and the constant shouts of officers and neighing horses ensured that the afternoon silence of the Altaran countryside was a distant memory. Still, the tired and recuperating infantrymen that held Sahwi budged not from their positions, for they knew this was no enemy army: it was the rest of their battalion, if not the entire regiment itself.
At the village post office where Nathaniel and his officers were gathered, the company manacomm began beeping, indicating an incoming transmission. After a brief back and forth, the vice commander turned his attention to the résedier.
“Résedier! It’s the avileuxpercheur (lieutenant colonel)! He’s asking for you to go to his headquarters just outside the village!”
Nathaniel, who sat on a chair facing a row of a couple of disarmed Altaran defenders and several surviving villagers, old and young, men and women, who stood facing the wall with their hands tied behind their backs, pondered for a bit in silence. He was by no means the sadistic type, having only arranged their prisoners of war in this manner to keep them on edge. He brooded over his past actions and what it meant now that the avileuxpercheur knew of their situation. Yes, he was the type to face adversity head-on, but he was also a man who knew fear. But knowing there was nowhere to run, what with the rest of the regiment trickling into the rapidly forming Kagis siege lines by the hour, he resolved to face the music.
“Mmm. Tell him I’m coming.”
He stood up, holstered his saber and revolver, and put on his cap. Before he left the post office, he left a few words with the other officers, modulating his voice so that the POWs could hear him.
“Spare them your frustrations, but let them know what the Army did to the Rieman POW revolt during the campaigns against the alliance.”
“Ahh, so those are what the nutcrackers, pliers, and this bucket are for?”
“We had to settle for that method since we don’t have any horses. That would’ve been way more merciful, but oh well.”
By the time their conversation was over, some of the Altaran POWs were sniffling and weeping. The Altaran and Parpaldian tongues were distinct languages, but decades of contact meant that even the folks in the rural countryside could understand a few of the other side’s words. They didn’t understand everything, but they understood enough to know what they meant.
“I don’t wanna be here anymore, mother...”
“Where are the King’s men? Why have they forsaken us...?”
“I was never even supposed to be in the Army...”
Fearful of what awaits them, the captured Altarans murmured curses, farewells, regrets, and cries under their breath.
- - -
Résedier Nathaniel made his way down the stone road south of Sahwi. Hours ago, his men under Celeste Platoon fought a hard battle along this road, the signs of that battle still fresh as the smell of blood and burnt powder lingered in the air. But now that felt like it was a thing of the past: columns of soldiers wearing the imperial red and hold were marching up the road as battalion banners led the earth-shaking advance of land dragons dragging massive artillery pieces toward rapidly advancing earthen works along the axis of the village. The fact that they were already hunkering down and preparing for a long siege of the city of Kagis comforted him: had they not attacked and taken Sahwi earlier, they would probably still be preoccupied with taking the village right now. Still, he thought that with the forces of Group West, taking Sahwi might have ended in less bloodshed.
More than thoughts of what could have been, what swirled in Nathaniel’s head as he made his way to the new field headquarters of his battalion were excuses. Sahwi was lightly defended, so he acted on the initiative. They were in a precarious position in their previous position, so taking Sahwi increased their chances of surviving a possible sortie from Kagis. Either way, before he could even consider everything that may be hurled in his direction, he found himself already standing before the entrance to the battalion field headquarters.
The guards on standby, seeing his rank, immediately permitted entry. Stepping inside the newly set-up field tent, which was still devoid of belongings and furnishings, he found the avileuxpercheur conversing with his signals officers who were operating the battalion’s manacomms.
“Résedier Nathaniel reporting in, avileuxpercheur!”
Nathaniel announced his presence with a sharp salute, a gesture the avileuxpercheur didn’t return. Without turning to face him, he simply dismissed Nathaniel.
“Yes, we do have something to discuss, but a strategy meeting in half an hour requires my attendance. You’ll have to wait until after.”
Underneath the nonchalant tone of the avileuxpercheur, Nathaniel sensed a hint of cold ruthlessness. For the first time since the battle earlier, he felt sweat drop across his forehead as a piercing chill ran down his spine. Now there was really no running from facing the music. With great fear and wavering resolve, Nathaniel took his leave and sat on a flat-topped boulder next to the tent.
Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 19:49
Meanwhile, that night, back at the Altaran capital, the sound of cannon fire and sporadic small arms fire echoed throughout the pitch-black city. Fighting continued on the outskirts of the main port between Parpaldian landing forces and the bulk of the Royal Altaran Army, as the massive Parpaldian fleet outside the harbor consistently provided gunnery support. The city’s streets were completely devoid of life save for the patrols of Altaran constabularies and Army regulars enforcing a strict curfew. At the royal castle, King Taara XIV and his commanders had their nightly emergency meeting about the state of the war.
It had been more than a week since the war entered its homefront phase—since the first reports of fighting on Altaran soil came in—and the days and nights have been nonstop since then. Still, even a week after the war became a ground war, there remains no consensus between the Altaran high command on where the war must be fought. Though, strictly speaking, the so-called ‘divide’ existed only between the king and his commanders, who all held consensus among themselves as to where the real enemy was. But, representative of the distribution of real power in Altaras, the king’s position had the same weight—if not greater—than that of his commanders. Still, the so-called ‘divide’ was by no means an impasse but rather a simple disagreement; King Taara held the final say in what the armed forces would do, and his commanders, fearful of the king’s record of banishing those who disagreed with him, were too timid to truly challenge His Majesty’s decisions.
Nevertheless, the disagreements continued.
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, we simply cannot ignore the reports of Parpaldian landings in Kan Garasi and Astaran! If we don’t stop them there, they can easily march up to Kagis, take and control the Sa’arak River, and threaten Le Brias!”
The Royal Altaran Army’s deputy chief of staff, substituting for the sick Chief of Staff Kainarka, remarked. The other commanders present bit their lips, wanting to chide the newbie to know his place in front of the king but not wanting to get in His Majesty’s crosshairs.
“And what do you suppose we do with the real threat on the other side of this city?!”
King Taara lashed back at the relatively young officer. The dark circles around the king’s eyes accentuated their size, making them appear bigger than they actually were.
“What are a couple of fishing towns compared to the majestic jewel of the Orient?! The blood of hundreds of the kingdom’s bravest have been spilled on the beaches, pavement, and waters of this wonderful capital fighting the Parpaldian devils!”
Taara’s commanding voice echoed across the chamber as he walked along the perimeter of the central map table toward the dissentious deputy chief of staff.
“But Le Brias is equally at stake with the fall of those fishing towns! We mustn’t let the enemy take more—”
At that point, Taara was now standing in front of him, his enraged eyes and furrowed brows intimidating the deputy chief to silence.
“I agree; the enemy mustn’t take any more ground! That is why no man is to leave the capital! The enemy is right outside the gates! We fight them here! Do you understand?!”
The deputy chief stood defiant, but his resolve was on its last legs. He glanced at the other commanders, hoping to get their support, but all he saw were their disapproving and apathetic gazes. For them, they were either content with the king’s hostile gaze not turned upon them or silently advising the young officer to yield to the king’s remarks. Realizing that he stood alone against the mightiest person in the kingdom, the deputy chief of staff lowered his head in defeat.
“O-Of course, Your Majesty! You are absolutely correct: I have been egregiously shortsighted in my analysis! F-Forgive my transgressions, O Great King!!!”
Taara stared at him with contempt, doubting whether or not he was really sorry for his actions, but the thought of punishing him hardly crossed his mind. The other commanders, meanwhile, silently breathed a collective sigh of relief, but they were equally as disappointed that the war situation wasn’t going to improve. Just as they were to move to discuss troop deployments, the doors to the command room flung open.
“Father!!!”
Into the room entered the three princesses, Semira, Alila, and Lumies, in their clean, white evening gowns. Their hair, typically dressed and styled, was laid down, and their faces, always covered in makeup, were bare and wearing worried expressions. Leading the charge was the youngest Lumies, as usual.
“Forgive our sudden intrusion, but we bring terrible news!”
Lumies opened with a preface, which the elder Semira followed with an unfunny punchline.
“The enemy has reached Kagis! Our friends in the city, the Erlikaia family, have just contacted us!”
The commanders looked at one another with confused looks. To them, this concerning development was news, a fact that was unsettling in and of itself. The king, also hearing this for the first time, looked at his own daughters with a cold, piercing look of doubt—perhaps even suspicion.
“You make a bold claim, my daughters, especially in this time of crisis. What makes you say this when the Army hasn’t even reported a single thing about Kagis to me? ”
The sharp tone in their father’s question struck the princesses, causing Lumies and Semira to hesitate as they realized their mistake in not substantiating the Erlikaia’s claims. However, an unfazed Alila stepped in, matching Taara’s unyielding expression.
“I have friends with local machine guilds in Kagis. They tell me that the garrison has enlisted their assistance in replacing the garrison’s manacomm after it was destroyed in a surprise wyvern raid. I’ve asked for further details on the current situation should you need more.”
Seeing the confidence in his middle daughter’s posture, Taara was convinced. He turned his prying eyes to his commanders, who promptly felt embarrassed that they were in the dark regarding a major development. Once more, the Army deputy chief of staff spoke on behalf of the others.
“W-We will look into this matter at once! Give us two hours!”
“One hour! Not a single second later!” Taara hissed, his patience clearly running out.
“A-As you command, Your Majesty!”
The commanders mobilized the military’s information-gathering apparatus to gain more info on Kagis. Taara walked towards his daughters with a tired yet grateful look in his eyes.
“You always best my own appointees. Your mother would have been proud.”
Saying his piece, he nudged his three daughters toward the doors, beckoning on the royal guardsmen posted on the doors to escort them back to their quarters.
“It is already evening. We can continue any discussions tomorrow.”
“But Father—”
“No, no, no. I will join you shortly once the situation at Kagis has been confirmed.”
The princesses reluctantly followed their father’s orders, returning to their quarters with the guardsmen by their side. With his daughters out of the picture, King Taara returned to the meeting and awaited his commanders’ report on Kagis.
Cent. Calendar 15/02/1640, Kagis, Altaras, 15:45
Two days after the Parpaldians completed the first siege works on the west side of the city, Parpaldian siege artillery regularly peppered the city’s bastion walls and the city itself. The onslaught only grew worse as the Parpaldians bought more pieces into the fray by the hour. The Altaran garrison of over 3,000 responded with their own artillery numbering around 24, but corruption in procurement and maintenance, coupled with some of the artillery pieces being dragged to Le Brias before the Parpaldian landings, all ensured that their response was too little to be effective. An initial sortie of 500 men and 100 horsemen was organized on the first day of the siege two days ago, aiming to spike as many of the artillery pieces as they could, but the timely maneuvers of Parpaldian light infantry and dragoons crushed that sortie and killed many of the horsemen, pulverizing any hope for an easy win.
On the third day, Parpaldian siege artillery pieces were ringing once more, but the walls of the city held firm, and so did its defenders. High-explosive ordnance shaved away at the sloped glacis of the bastions, but a good percentage of the shots fired landed on the trenches below the glacis and on the city buildings beyond the walls. The garrison and brave volunteers worked to save people from collapsed buildings and fight fires that broke out. It was only the third day, but the relentless attacks were only but a prelude to what was to come. Still, the city held, and while its defenses had seen better days, its food stocks and the water and supply lifelines afforded by the Sa’arak River running to the city’s east ensured that they would continue to stand—hopefully not for eternity but until the rest of the Altaran army relieves them.
Nevertheless, the people inside the city are constantly reminded that they are still in danger.
“Enemy wyverns, possibly the lord type, inbound from the west!”
Lookouts atop the city clock tower, the tallest building in the city, cried out into their manacomm as three bat-shaped silhouettes manifested in front of the setting sun to the west. The silhouettes, sporting a larger build than the regular wyvern breed and the bright red identifiers of the Parpaldian wyvern corps, swooped down onto the city below them.
“Sound the alarm!”
Altaran soldiers ran for the bells, sirens, and all the other alarms around the city. By the time the Parpaldian wyverns were above their heads, the entire city was crying out a cacophony of wails and chimes.
“Ready the anti-wyvern mortars and machine guns! Engage as soon as you’re ready!”
All along the city and garrison walls, teams of five manned either a Muish MY-99 machine gun or a domestically-produced high-angle mortar with anti-wyvern explosive shells. Unveiling them from their crude tarps and loading them with their respective munitions, the ones that could get their weapons online earlier promptly got to work.
“OPEN FIRE!!!”
Ratatatatatat! Bababam!
The staccato of automatic gunfire and scattered magically chanted explosions overpowered the chorus of bells and sirens. Bright, mesmerizing machine gun fire filled the late afternoon skies as giant flowers of fire and shrapnel burst and bloomed in between. The sight was one to behold, especially as the sun began to lay low, but the display was more aesthetic than it was practical: the machine gun fire was all over the place and the fuses on the anti-wyvern explosives were too short to have them detonate higher in the air. As a result, the Parpaldian wyvern lords were largely unfazed by the latter and armored enough to shrug off stray bullets, but the tantalizing show of heavy arms fire scared the reptiles from descending any further.
“Keep firing! Don’t let them get any closer!”
As the enemy wyverns loitered in the air, the city garrison continued to pump more ammunition into the sky with no return.
- - -
Meanwhile, at the garrison headquarters, a towering castle keep left over from an older era, the garrison signals unit is working with the local guilds to restore the garrison’s damaged manacomm unit.
“Any progress?”
The garrison commander, a man of average build with thick eyebrows, checked with his signals unit and the local guildsmen. One of the senior guildsmen responded to his inquiry.
“We should be good to go. We’ve restored the damaged communication nodes before the attacks, and we’re just about to restart the unit to see if it goes through.”
With the sound of gunfire and explosions in the background, the guildsmen and signal officers refitted the mana cell, a Mirishial-manufactured battery filled with mana, into the manacomm unit, restoring power. The senior guildsman, taking the microphone to hand, tried talking into the piece.
“Ingram here. Testing reception; acknowledge?”
A couple of seconds later, a succession of remarks came out of the receiver.
“Node A. Received and acknowledged.”
“Node B. Got you! Acknowledged.”
“Node C. Acknowledged on this end. Looks like we’re clear, master!”
With an exasperated yet triumphant look on his face, the senior guildsman turned to the garrison commander.
“Your manacomm is ready, commander.”
The commander was grateful for the guilds’ help, but the echoes of explosions behind him made him feel there was little room for formalities. With a forced smile, he thanked and dismissed the guildsmen and promptly issued orders to the signal unit.
“Send out distress signals to everyone—high command in Le Brias, the wyvern corps at Le Brias Airfield, Hajjisler, any station our lines pass through!”
Just as his signal officers went to work broadcasting distress signals, an officer came barging into the signals room. The terrified look in his eyes was more than enough to make the garrison commander’s heart sink to the ground.
“We got a situation! Another enemy army was spotted to the east!”
Leaving the signal officers to do their job, the garrison commander followed the officer out onto one of the turrets connected to the keep that was used for observation. From there, one could see the plains extending out to the east on the eastern side of the wide Sa’arak River, which formed the eastern flank of the city of Kagis. On the closest point on the opposite side of the river was a fortified suburb connected to the main city by a modern bridge spanning the width of the Sa’arak. The spectacle was jaw-dropping, especially underneath the slowly reddening sky, but what spoiled the vista for the Altaran garrison was the sight of rows upon rows of armed infantry donning the Parpaldian red and gold marching across the plains to the far east, their cavalry and land dragons dragging massive siege artillery across the dirt.
“Oh fuck...”
The garrison commander sighed in indignation at their worsening predicament. From what he could see alone, he could count an army in the 10,000s and that was on top of the other enemy army that was besieging them from the west. He had no doubt their walls would continue to hold firm and that their food stocks would last, but if the enemy army to the east takes the fortified suburb and takes control of the Sa’arak, then their days are numbered.
The Kagis garrison, facing a stranglehold in all directions by the indomitable Parpaldian Imperial Army, continued to send pleas for relief to anyone listening.
Kagis granary, 22:07
After the enemy wyverns had retreated, having seemingly done nothing but fly around the city in circles, the sun cast its last light on the battlefield before disappearing beneath the ground, silencing the guns on both sides as Parpaldians and Altarans alike retired to their beds for the night. Naturally, not everyone went to sleep: hundreds of souls lay awake in the dark of night as they stood guard on the vestiges of their fortifications, wary of the other side trying to conduct night raids while they slumbered away. Inside the city, the garrison patrolled the streets with mana stone-powered lanterns, their bright light piercing the veil of darkness. A couple dozen soldiers were out on patrol, but a handful were concentrated around important structures, such as the cultural hall, which serves as the evacuation center for the city’s homeless and those whose homes were destroyed, and the city’s massive granaries.
Standing guard right outside the entrance to the granary’s control center was Nefer (Private) Ergu. Unlike the other regulars, he was a night person, so he didn’t mind being on night guard duty. Still, he squirmed around restlessly with his rifle slung on his shoulder. The reason why he appeared so restless could be found in his hands: on one hand, an unlit roll of tobacco, and on the other, a match that had gone out. This was his last match, and it had gone out on him before he could light the roll.
Unable to think of an alternative, he turned to his buddy, Nefer Derin, who stood guard on the other side of the entrance. Unlike him, Derin wasn’t a night person, so the man slept while slumped against his rifle, which he used as a stand to prop himself up against.
“Oy! Oy! Wake up, you dumbass!”
Ergu called out to Derin in hushes, which was enough to jolt the slumbering night guard.
“Ah! N-No, I wasn’t asleep, sir!”
Derin promptly got his rifle up on his shoulder and stood straight, thinking that an officer had walked by.
“No, you fucking idiot, it’s just me! Get me a match!”
Derin grumbled, annoyed that his sleep was cut short. “Ah, fuck off. Don’t you fucking wake me up unless an officer’s coming.”
Throwing his box of matches Ergu’s way, Derin then assumed his previous position and resumed his sleep, but not before leaving a few words. “I swear, you’ll get us in fucking trouble.”
Desperate for the high, Ergu hurriedly put the tobacco roll between his lips and lit up a new match. As he watched the end of the roll catch fire and begin burning, he took in a big dose of nicotine as he deeply breathed in. The sensation of jolting energy surged through the entirety of his body—it felt as if his entire being was being lit up in excitement. Satisfied, he exhaled, the puff of smoke disappearing into the darkness.
His thoughts went elsewhere as the idea of the war as a whole came to mind. He wasn’t particularly invested in the war, having never bought the idea of the so-called “inevitable struggle” against the Parpaldians, but the invasion presented a threat to both his survival and his family. His sisters, mother, and younger brother were both back in his hometown on the southern end of the island, which he heard was far away from the main fighting here in the north, so his only imperative now was surviving this siege, then this war, and then coming home... hopefully.
As he inhaled another puff, his ears began to ring. Thinking it might be something in his ears, he swallowed, picked his ears, and swung his head around, but the sound did not go away. Then, it started sounding as if it wasn’t coming from his ears—in fact, it started to sound a lot like a long, monotonous whistle. His suspicion fell on his mate, Derin.
“Goddammit, would you fucking shut up? The entire fucking city will know you’re tone-deaf!”
Derin, also annoyed, barked back. “That’s my fucking line, dipshit! If there’s anyone who could whistle like this, it’d be you!”
“What? No, it ain’t me!”
“Huh? Then who could it be?!”
The two men immediately got suspicious of the whistling sound and took their rifles into their hands. Thinking that someone else was making the whistling sound, the two pointed their rifles into the darkness.
“Whoever’s making that sound, show yourself!”
No response. Except for another one of their comrades shouting back at them.
“You fuckers hear that shit too?!”
They recognized the voice as one of their platoonmates, who was also posted with them at the granary, albeit at the southwest gate.
“Fuck! Look alive, men! Sounds like we got a situation!”
Their mulazim (lieutenant) shouted back. All this was happening while the whistling sound got louder and louder to the point it started to become painful for their ears. Just as it seemed to reach its peak, the whistling sound pulsated twice—two high-pitched whistle-like bursts of sounds echoed in quick succession, temporarily overwhelming the Altaran night guards around the granary.
“Urgh!!!”
“Argh!!!”
The guards grunted and groaned as they desperately put their hands on their ears. But in the brief moment that they heard the short bursts, some of the men, including Ergu, noticed that the whistling sound was coming from a certain direction.
“Wait!!! It’s coming from above us!!!”
As soon as he and the other guards turned their gazes up into the cloudless, star-dotted sky, they noticed a very subtle, jet-black silhouette seemingly frozen in place against the dark backlight of the heavens.
“Is that...?”
Before Ergu or any of the other soldiers could discern what it was, the silhouette zoomed out of their vision, disappearing behind the dark contours of the towering wheat silos of the granary. For a moment, it appeared as if it had wings like those of a falcon or wyvern, but it was too dark to tell. At the same time that the silhouette disappeared the whistling sound faded away.
“Huh...? Did you see that?”
“Yeah. What in the goddamn fuck was that?”
“Maybe it was one of those manticores—”
Before Derin could finish his sentence, a bright orange light lit up the entire city, blinding them. Immediately afterward, the men were assailed by powerful gales coming from the granary, bringing with them a resounding thunderclap.
KABLAM!!!
Multiple fireballs sprouted out of the granary complex, spreading flowers of flame all across the brick silos and almost entirely engulfing them. The Altaran night guards who stood on guard were frozen in shock and disbelief at what was going on. As the seconds passed, fires continued to spread across the complex, and smaller explosions continued to occur.
As the rest of the city and the garrison woke up to the sight of a massive conflagration consuming their one and only granary complex, Altaran officers appeared on the scene and began helping the dazed night guards up.
“On your feet!!! We’ve gotta get out of here! The granary’s lost to the flames! It’s going to explode!”
Memories of the Barezan complex tragedy in Le Brias surfaced in their heads; the fear of being caught in something like that was enough to spur the fallen night guards onto a sprint. As the Altaran soldiers ran from the blazing fires consuming the granary, they also ordered the people gathering around the granary to run.
“Run!!! Run away!!! Get away from the granary!!! Remember Barezan!!!”
Upon hearing of the word “Barezan,” the awakened city folk, fearing the imminent explosion like the one that leveled the complex in Le Brias, turned and ran for their lives.
The soaring inferno towered high above the city like a lit torch casting luminescence over the battlefield; its far-reaching embers may even be visible as far away as Le Brias itself. It served as a signal of a concerning development not only in the siege of Kagis but also in the war as a whole.