Cent. Calendar 17/02/1640, Kagis, Altaras, 14:07
The mighty wind of a thousand hurricanes swept all that stood firm and cast down all that resisted. The mighty goddess Astarte herself ripped open the heart of the city, mercilessly raising it high into the dark heavens. She then cried out, “This will make a splendid offering.” But there were no favors to be had, no blessings to be given, no prayers to be answered. “Our leaders have forgotten us,” the prophet cried, “and woah unto us, for the gods have gone blind to our plight and turned deaf to our pleas!”
This excerpt from the work of an unnamed writer who wrote of the suffering that the city of Kagis had endured during the Parpaldian invasion of Altaras was but one of the many people whose emotions were moved by the tragedies that occurred in the city in that dreaded week. The tales that described the events surrounding the siege of the city were almost mythical in their telling yet unnervingly vivid in their recountings. The citizens of Kagis who lived through the ordeal all give varying accounts, but the picture they all painted was not for the faint of heart.
After the destruction of the city’s granaries on the night of the 15th of Febrond, the circumstances of which are still disputed by the Altaran authorities, hysteria plagued the city. According to King Taara XIV’s war reforms, the fortified cities of the kingdom were mandated to have their food and water systems centralized to ensure the stability of the cities in wartime. This had the unfortunate effect of having most of Kagis’s food supplies being stored in the city’s granaries, which suffered a near total loss in the blaze that erupted on the 15th. The city still had plenty of water to take from the Sa’arak River, but their food supply of grains and non-perishables, which are said to be capable of feeding the population through months of siege, essentially disappeared overnight.
With elements of the Parpaldian Imperial Army having dug their heels on all sides of the city, the formidable ramparts of Kagis had turned from a safe haven keeping the enemy at bay to an unbreakable cage destined to starve them to death under its unyielding shadow. With only enough food to last through a few days for 20 families, far under the number of families that called the city home, the population got on its feet to either plead with the city government to do something or fight with fellow neighbors for what little food remained.
In the ensuing chaos, the city’s embattled garrison was forced to turn their arms against fellow Altarans after a full day of bloody grappling with Parpaldian regulars at the gates. On the second day since the granaries’ destruction, gunfire rang across the battlefield as Parpaldian siege batteries hammered into the city’s walls and buildings. Crumbling houses and exploding ordnance maimed many city folks. Still, the number of civilians that the Parpaldian guns killed that day barely matched the number of civilians who died at the hands of their fellow civilians, from exhaustion and starvation, and at the ends of the bayonets of unwilling garrison soldiers.
Two days weren’t enough to kill people due to starvation. Still, the lack of sleep during the night for fear of another strike similar to the one that destroyed the granaries, the excessive use of energy running from artillery strikes, and the enforced levy on the city folk to help with the city’s defense all took their toll on the starving population. Some were taken to fish discretely in the river, but many of them were captured by roaming Parpaldian patrols. The city’s singular chicken coop didn’t last through the first day; people were even desperate enough to hunt the few crows and pigeons that flew through the city. But when all was consumed, some resorted to feeding on dead horses, cows, or rats. Rumors abounded of people nourishing themselves on the flesh of dead neighbors and kin.
Despite all the suffering unfolding before their eyes, the city garrison kept to their vows to defend the kingdom, but the sight of rows upon rows of Parpaldian infantry regulars and their large battalion flags marching toward the city walls by the thousands pushed the defenders ever closer to the limit.
“Four battalions approaching Sector Tsugul!”
“At the ready, Tsugul Company! Fire at will!”
Men of the garrison screamed at the top of their lungs even as their stomachs growled with increasing ferocity.
Sector Tsugul, encompassing Kagis’s southwestern walls, had been the main axis of the Parpaldian Imperial Army Group West’s attacks. The savagery of the Parpaldian siege batteries’ bombardment had leveled a section of one of the south-facing walls, which was previously destroyed in a gunpowder explosion years ago and was poorly repaired afterward. Men of Tsugul Company stood ready not only atop the ramparts but also behind the rubble of the collapsed section.
As the sound of small arms fire started to echo from Sector Tsugul, the garrison commander was receiving one of the city officials at the command post in the citadel.
“Sir, please! Where is His Majesty’s relief army?! You said they’d be coming! We can’t hold on for much longer!”
The city official, a man in his 30s and sporting a unibrow, was almost to the point of groveling as he made his plea with the garrison commander. Drops of sweat coalesced on the tips of his mustache’s hair stands, which he subconsciously licked in desperate hunger.
The garrison commander, having exhausted all of his uniform tops, was now in his loose white undershirt. It was rather undignified for an esteemed man of His Majesty’s Royal Army, but the response he gave was solemn and curt.
“They are! But we must remain steadfast and resist these cockroaches!”
“But where are they, sir?! Can’t they at least give us a timeframe?! The walls are being pounded by the hour, and your men barely held the southwestern gate in the last attempt!”
The city official collapsed on his knees down onto the wooden floor. Whether it was because he was pleading, he was at his wit’s end, or due to extreme hunger and exhaustion mattered not; the show of desperation tugged on the commander’s consciousness. He weakly clung onto the fabric of the commander’s slacks, his breathing too weak to be heard.
“The city council... considering... surrender...”
The commander’s eyes widened in shock. The word “surrender” had been in his mind lately, but as a gentleman of the King’s Army, he couldn’t find it in himself to raise the banner of the Lamp. Not when His Majesty may have sent a relief force that could show up at any moment.
“Goddammit! Fine! I’ll go contact them again!”
The commander spat out in frustration, but the city official cried neither a whimper of relief nor exasperation. As the commander went ahead to the signals room, he sent for several of his men to drag the collapsed city official out of the room.
Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 19:34
That night, the command room inside the royal castle was bustling with activity: officers came to and fro the signals room and the main command room as staff routinely made rounds to replenish ink, paper, and refreshments. The commanders of the Royal Altaran Army and the Chief of Staff, under the direction of King Taara himself, were brewing something big. Unbeknownst to the beleaguered defenders of Kagis to the south, however, the bulk of the Army garrisoned in the peninsula wasn’t moving to save them.
“Hmm... Good, good.”
Taara mumbled to himself as he kept a watchful eye on his commanders and their staff while they placed colored pegs signifying Army elements before a rigidly drawn red line on the big map that stretched around a beach to the south of the Le Brias port. Topside, tens of thousands of men, artillery, and war machines were being gathered in multiple staging locations in the urbanized sectors on the capital’s southeastern outskirts, preparing to march on the beach all at once.
“80% of the expected fighting force have reported that they’re in position. 50% have reported their supplies have arrived.”
A signals officer reported to the Army Deputy Chief of Staff; the Army Chief of Staff, General Kainarka, was still out sick.
“Good time and good numbers, General.”
Taara, overhearing the report, had nothing but praise for the young man. But the deputy couldn’t bring himself to either smile or express his gratitude; the situation in Kagis described by the garrison commander in the last message relentlessly clawed on his consciousness. There were many reasons to challenge the King’s decision to prioritize the landings in Le Brias over relieving Kagis, but there was sadly no room for dissent—it was either he did the wrong things or the wrong things happened to him.
Just as he had set his thoughts aside, another signals officer came running to him. Unlike the previous officer, he had a bothered expression on his face, an omen that the deputy chief of staff’s head immediately registered. The signals staff officer, wary of the King’s watchful eye, leaned in close and whispered in the deputy chief of staff’s ear.
“...Kagis reports that their situation is critical—the population is unruly, food stocks depleted, and city council is considering surrender...”
The deputy’s heart stiffened.
With the city granary wiped out and the recent sortie a disaster, he knew how terrible the situation had gotten. He estimated that they could at most hold out a week under such grueling conditions, but it appears that even that estimate was grossly optimistic. Kagis, a major city on the Sa’arak just upstream from the capital, was on the cusp of falling to the enemy. They needed to relieve them now—no, yesterday!
But the King also has a point: if they don’t defeat the enemy landing at the beach, they have the means to inject fresh reserves right outside their gates and directly put pressure on them.
Dismissing the signals officer, the deputy chief of staff discreetly approached King Taara’s side.
“Your Majesty, If I may touch on the topic of sending a relief force for Kagis again...”
Taara, annoyed but obliging the deputy’s wish to be discreet, bluntly replied.
“No. We’re on the cusp of victory over the enemy at the harbor. Focus on the preparations.”
The deputy chief of staff silently clicked his tongue.
“With all due respect, I believe two regiments should be enough to send south to relieve Kagis! We can both push the enemy out of the harbor and break the siege! We’ve already told you what happened the other day! The Parpaldians wiped—”
Taara, however, was having none of it.
“Oh, please... Don’t tell me you buy those reports! A whistling demon coming in the dead of night and destroying the granary, wiping out the city’s food stocks? They cannot be serious! I do not doubt that their situation is serious, but they’re probably exaggerating! Surely, they can hold for a week!”
As it turns out, the King didn’t believe the reports. But no one could blame him; the garrison commander’s description of how the granary was destroyed felt too embellished. Something clearly happened, but even the deputy chief of staff had trouble believing that the destruction of the granary was as total as the garrison commander claimed. His own doubts over the circumstances in Kagis hamstrung his efforts to persuade His Majesty.
“We’ll push the Parpaldians to the sea tomorrow, then we’ll destroy their armies at Kagis before the end of the week.”
Turning his gaze away from the deputy chief of staff, Taara walked away, unilaterally ending the conversation. Unable to convince himself—let alone the King—of the severity of the situation in the south, he resigned himself to the preparations for the final assault on the Parpaldian beachhead at the harbor.
Group West Camp Headquarters, ~2km west of Kagis, Altaras, 20:00
Inside a massive tent guarded by armed sentries, the commanders of the Parpaldian Imperial Army’s Group West convened at the behest of Entoupercheur (Colonel) Marius to discuss strategy. Sitting on the highest chair at the meeting table overlooking the rest of Group West’s officer corps and their makeshift map of operations, Marius commenced the meeting with a brief cough.
“Brief me on the situation.”
At his command, his officers laid out the current state of their operation.
“Regarding the siege, the latest siege artillery company arrived earlier today and has completed their deployment. We are bombarding the city walls according to the schedules set, but the consistency and timely supply of ammunition from Point Margaux remains a bottleneck. Enemy walls remain standing; we tried sending three battalions forward to pressure a half-collapsed section on the south sector, but they failed to break through. Casualties today amount to 500 dead and wounded.”
“As of today, 90% of our combat-capable units are committed to the siege, with an additional 5% committed to the garrisoning of Point Margaux and the safeguarding of our supply lines. The remaining 5% are probing and scouting enemy positions to the north.”
Marius clasped his hands together as he bit his lips. He wasn’t comfortable with where his units were.
Their force disposition was untenable and highly susceptible to a concentrated effort by a bigger Altaran force, which isn’t impossible since they were on their home turf. If even an Altaran regiment with cavalry and light artillery support were to test his supply lines and get in between Point Margaux and Kagis, the entire invasion would be in jeopardy. Reinforcements are inbound, but he doesn’t trust that bastard of a Bâtimeau régler (Captain), Dacourt, and the Navy to land them in the numbers and at the speed needed to shore up a remotely defensible frontline. If he were to draw a dotted line on the map connecting Kan Garasi, Point Margaux, and Kagis, it would hardly be representative of their force disposition along that path. In short: he had massive holes the enemy could easily slip in. Honestly, it only makes it all the more baffling that there are hardly any reports of enemy harassment of their supply lines—if at all!
“What’s Group East’s status?”
He asked, but his officers simply sighed apologetically.
“Pardon us, sir, but we’re yet to hear from their liaison.”
Marius, too, sighed in disappointment.
Cooperation between individual Army groups wasn’t commonplace or expected. Truth be told, relations between the wyvern corps and an army group are tighter and more solid than relations between two army groups. Personality politics among commanders, inherent flaws in the organization, and rampant hostile regionalism amongst units were among the factors why cooperations was the last thing on their minds.
“How’s the Altaran situation in the north looking?”
“Our light infantry and cavalry deployed to the north have only encountered company-sized enemy units and they’ve been defensive, to put it mildly. ‘Passive’ might be a better term to describe their disposition; they hardly leave the comfort of their town garrisons and fortifications. Casualties are very light—less than a hundred combined for all units.”
Marius then turned to the wyvern unit commanding officer attached to Group West, who promptly gave his report.
“Our scout runs paint a similar picture: Altaran units as far as 8 tacour (~20km) north of Kagis are on the defensive. To add, for some reason, we have not encountered a single Altaran wyvern unit in the past few days.”
Marius and the rest of the officer corps collectively scratched their heads.
The Altarans have been unexpectedly passive. Had they been even a little bit more proactive in their defense, their invasion would have undoubtedly been put on the back foot. For all their shortcomings, the enemy was even more flawed. They understood that they couldn’t count on the enemy being stupid all the time, but it was nonetheless tempting to remain content with the status quo.
“The situation seems stable enough for now. Let’s go back to the siege.”
His officers followed up on their report about the state of the city.
“Based on intelligence from intercepted outgoing communique from the city and rumors from high-level contacts elsewhere, the situation inside the city is critical. They have likely run out of food, and there are mentions of resorting to unsavory means of sustenance. Dissent from the population affects administrative efforts from the city leadership. The garrison remains well stocked on munitions, but mounting casualties and popular dissent are likely to be negatively affecting their performance.”
Upon hearing this, the entoupercheur let out a silenced sigh. He wasn’t a fan of sieges and the toll it imposes both on the combatants and the non-combatants. What makes sieges deadly is the longevity of the suffering that everyone has to endure. Fortunately (for them, at least), they had the means to speed up the process.
“That sounds tragic, but it sounds like your band of nocturne is a success in concept, don’t you think?”
Marius turned to the wyvern unit commander, who let out a wary smile.
“I never had my doubts.”
Everybody at the table nodded in satisfaction at their attached wyvern unit’s success. Only the wyvern unit commander, however, actually knew how massive their success had been; the Army commanders, including the entoupercheur himself, only gave him the greenlight to deploy their “band of nocturne” but were not fully aware of what the means they’ve used were. Nevertheless, there was no denying that the massive explosion at the center of the city the other night and the subsequent stories of “whistling demons” were the wyvern unit’s work. They have a veritable weapon on their side and a siege that is more or less in the bag. There was nothing more they could ask for.
“At their current state, I give them three days.”
Marius confidently declared.
The other officers, however, thought that Marius wasn’t creative enough to exploit their advantageous position.
“Umm, Entoupercheur, why don’t we just offer them terms for surrender as early as tomorrow morning? Given the chaotic state inside, I am certain that offering them a ‘way out’ would break their fragile spirit.”
Hearing this, Marius couldn’t help but chuckle as his cheeks and ears turned red from embarrassment. “Why didn’t I think of that?” was written all over his awkward smile.
“Yes, yes! Let’s draft the surrender terms and present them to the city garrison by daybreak!”
At the flick of his raised palm, Marius’s aids went and fetched writing materials. While they were waiting for them, some officers raised concerns about the surrender plan.
“Entoupercheur, do we inform Group East of our intention to offer terms of surrender to the city?”
The question caused the air under the tent to stiffen. Every officer at the table turned to the entoupercheur for an answer, bringing the weight of the consequences of making the decision upon him.
Marius paused to look at the dangling mana stones brightly shining down from above. Even as his aids brought him their writing supplements, he did not budge from his posture.
At this point, one must understand one of the factors that hampered the Parpaldian military’s execution of its mission: the deep divisions of imperial regionalism present in its organization. Once a small militarist state centered in Southern Philades, the Parpaldians expanded northward, absorbing once independent kingdoms, duchies, and principalities under its yoke through a mixture of military conquest, intermarrying, and alliances. As the empire expanded, its military structure still bore vestiges of a feudalist past, and formations from newly annexed and absorbed territories were haphazardly attached wholly to the existing Esthirant-centered formations. Even as the military caught up with the rest of the empire in modernizing its doctrine and organization, the historical boundaries of the once-independent states that now make up Parpaldia’s numerous states still existed in its military formations.
The leadership was no different: the aristocracy of both the native Parpaldian states and the subsequently annexed territories were inherited into the modern officer corps. While reforms did away with regional restrictions on enlistment, the existing bureaucracy still favored the status quo of major military units recruiting from their regional home base. All of these factors meant that soldiers and officers alike tended to be more loyal—and thus more receptive to advice and orders—to comrades who came from the same region. This doesn’t necessarily mean that they provide for hostile relations conducive to fanning the flames of widespread internal violence; all of them claim to be fighting for the greater empire at heart.
Returning back to the situation at the Group West camp, it’s worth noting that the majority of Group West’s units are from South Philades—Marius himself was from Esthirant. Group East’s units and commanders, however, are from Southeast Philades, with the major capital being the city of Duro. The former state that was home to Duro had been absorbed early in Parpaldia’s history, but its regional identity still rings true among its people even to this day.
While by no means harboring hostile intent toward Group East and its commander, Entoupercheur Gilles, whom he doesn’t know personally, Marius also doesn’t feel any attachment toward him. If anything, Gilles’s unknown personality fueled a sense of wariness and rivalry; they were both gunning for the capture of Kagis, after all. The War Department hadn’t been thorough in its orders: they were deployed to achieve War Plan Intrépide’s objectives and cooperate with fellow commanders ‘where necessary.’ There wasn’t an overarching “theater command” apparatus with which to coordinate these army groups; they were functionally independent, answering only to the War Department and the executive Chiefs of Staff when either party deemed it necessary to intervene. In essence, at this point in time, it was up to Marius whether or not to cooperate with Group East.
The only ‘order’ conditioning his decision were the words, “where necessary.” Should Kagis accept his terms of surrender, was it necessary to have Group East’s cooperation in taking the city? Based on the disposition and condition of his forces and the city’s critical condition, it wasn’t difficult for Marius to come to an answer.
“To the victor go the spoils,” he murmured.
With this decision in mind, he lowered his head and faced the officer who brought up the question. Clicking his tongue and making a difficult face as if to signal some administrative or operational difficulty, he responds curtly.
“We will not wait for Group East. We’ll hand the city the surrender terms on our own.”
Slamming the topic shut for good, Marius motions his fellow commanders to begin drafting their surrender terms. Not a single motion for objection was raised after that.
Cent. Calendar 18/02/1640, West Gate, Kagis, Altaras, 6:37
It was the break of dawn in this mid-Febrond day. Winter was still well underway and while the latitude was too low for snow, a cold fog hugged the low hills and plains of northern Altaras. At the city of Kagis in the center of the capital peninsula, the fog wasn’t all that thick but it nevertheless obscured vision for more than about a hundred enlac or so (~500m).
To the defenders of the city, this should’ve been an opportune moment to strike the Parpaldian invaders. But their morale, food, and numbers were so low that another sortie, unless it yielded success no less than a complete enemy rout, would probably break them. The city was all but ready to give up, its walls having turned into a prison rather than a refuge.
Atop the ravelin that lay beneath the curtain containing Kagis’s West Gate stood one of the Altaran defenders, a man by the name of Kurit. He belonged to a platoon of men that defended that particular ravelin, but that platoon long ceased to exist—save for him and a couple of wounded souls, almost everyone had been killed. Despite it all, they still held out, but with their last bit of rations having been consumed the other day, they were considering two options: surrender or suicide. Neither option felt honorable, but so was staying alive...
“Mmm...”
Kurit grumbled as he struggled to stay awake.
His other platoonmate was supposed to be on watch starting hours ago, but seeing as the man was drooped against the hardened earthen ramparts with bloodied bandages to his arm, he thought it was better to let him sleep some more. He was probably having some good sleep; it had been more than 20 hours since he last said something, after all.
“Sleep sounds nice...”
He murmured to himself.
The cold air seeping into every corner of his bath-deprived body made it unbearable to stay awake. He clutched his chambered rifle like a long pillow, its frigid steel barrel a familiar feeling amidst this hopeless fight. He imagined draping himself in a warm cotton blanket, the particular blanket he used to cover his dead platoonmates under the ravelin’s inner earthen walls. Sleep sounded nice, but whether it was sleeping in a prisoner bunk in the Parpaldians’ prisoner camp or sleeping deep in the earth was something he had trouble deciding. Still, he pinched himself awake, for it wasn’t his call where he’ll sleep.
As he relentlessly fought in this tug-of-war of sleep, a peculiar movement far within the fog alerted his senses.
“Huh?!”
Out of reflex, he lowered his head, wary of Parpaldian sharpshooters. The renewed fear of death jolted him awake, and his concentration was focused on a set of objects flapping inside the fog.
“Flags...? Formation banners, maybe???”
Possibilities ran across his mind, but his hand reached for the controls to activate the local alarms. He needed to decide soon whether to sound the alarm, to get the defenders on the walls, to load and ready their guns... to beat back the Parpaldians another day.
With his hands on both his rifle and the alarm controls, he was ready to fight.
But then...
“Wha...!!!”
As the flags approached his ravelin and the fog thinned out, it became easier to ascertain what they were. The majority of the flags bore the symbols of Parpaldian Army formations, but the lead flag, the biggest of them all, bore the eye-catching mark of the Lamp. The widespread symbol of international and racial empathy, coexistence, and peace, the Lamp served one more purpose in times of war: a sign with which to commence parlay, often leading to surrender. Kurit’s simple mind couldn’t fathom what else it meant for the Parpaldians bearing the symbol of the Lamp, but he easily reached the conclusion that they couldn’t obviously be asking to surrender to them.
As the flags drew closer, he started to see clearly the group of ten men holding the flags aloft as they marched to his ravelin. At the helm of the formation just after the Lamp’s flag bearer was a well-dressed officer riding a horse.
Realizing what this entourage likely came for, he relaxed his grip on his rifle and alarm controls.
“This is it, huh...”
Turning away from the approaching Parpaldians, he turned to the ramparts of the curtain wall behind his ravelin. Bringing a whistle to his lips, he raised his hands as he blew hard on it. After a couple of seconds of sounding the whistle, a couple of silhouettes appeared atop the curtain walls.
Mustering what energy he had left, Kurit shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Do not attack!!! Messenger party! The Parpaldians have sent a messenger party!!!”
As there was only a short distance from the ravelin to the curtain wall, his shouting was heard by the defenders there.
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“Okaaaaay!!! Sending someone to receive them!!! Hold on!!!”
As the Parpaldian messenger party arrived before the glacis of Kurit’s ravelin, the city garrison hurried to bring one of their officers to receive them.
- - -
After the garrison commander and the city council were notified of the Parpaldians’ message, they convened at the city hall to discuss how to respond. At the council room, members of the city council and the mayor sat on one side of a long wooden table; opposite them sat the local garrison's military officers and the garrison commander. Despite being members of the local elite, the city council members and the military officers looked dirtied, starved, and had drooping bags underneath their eyes. The siege had only been less than a week, yet they looked as if they had been holding out for months.
The suspended air in the room was occasionally perturbed by the sound of jostling, scuffling, and screaming at the city hall facade’s gated gardens, which had been host to crowds of desperate city folk clamoring to get their concerns heard. Their cries of hunger and pleas for food and medicine cut through the still morning air, but the few garrison soldiers staffing the city hall gates and the bureaucrats inside the building had conditioned themselves to ignore them. But the high-level executives inside the council room started to listen to the cries again, for a new development had presented itself.
Placed squarely on the table in between the two sides was a piece of parchment, inked with a simple letter containing a list of terms—the Parpaldians’ terms for Kagis’s surrender.
“Well?”
The garrison commander curtly asked the mayor, who sat directly across him, for his opinion.
He had just finished presenting the terms to the mayor and the city council. Having read the message earlier, just after his men received the Parpaldian messenger party, he already knew the terms.
With a deadline for their answer at three in the afternoon, the Parpaldians are giving them an ultimatum to surrender control of the city and for the city garrison to submit themselves as prisoners of war. The city’s population, infrastructure (military and otherwise), ammunition, weaponry, food, water, currency reserves, and so on are to be put under Parpaldian control, jurisdiction, and protection provided they are “transferred in the current state during which the terms are offered.” In exchange, the Parpaldians promised “fair and empathetic” treatment of prisoners of war and the distribution of rations to the city population. In the event that they refuse any or all of the terms or fail to give a reply by the designated deadline, the Parpaldians will no longer entertain subsequent pleas for parlay and “thoroughly and exhaustively” seize control of the city “by any means necessary.” To indicate their agreement to the terms, they are to raise the flag of the Lamp atop the city clock tower’s spire or send a messenger bearing the seal or signature of both the city council and the garrison commander to the Parpaldian camp.
The commander clenched his fists as drops of sweat rolled down his neck. Yesterday, one of the council members present informed him they had been talking about “surrender.” He was convinced that the city council and the mayor were weak at heart and had been looking for an “out” since before the granary explosion. He bit his lip in frustration as he inwardly cursed the Parpaldians’ perceptiveness.
“I think... there is no room for discussion on this one.”
Clutching his hands together, the mayor replied. He looked straight into the garrison commander’s expecting eyes as if to tell him he was aware of the commander’s perception of him. As vague as his answer sounded, though, everybody in the room understood what he meant and what his decision was.
Still, not everybody agreed with him.
“Bah!”
The garrison commander barked out as he slammed his fists onto the table.
“I understand that you wish what’s best for your estate, mayor,” the garrison commander hissed as he pointed his finger at the mayor, “but this isn’t your estate—this is the city of Kagis!”
The mayor, tired and having none of it, broke posture and leaned his back toward the chair, crossed his legs, and laid his hands wide out on the table.
“Okay. We may have only known each other for a couple of months, so I’ll let you know I’m easy to talk to.”
He pointed to the parchment containing the surrender terms and tapped his finger on it over and over.
“Convince me this isn’t worth taking over your plan of holding out!”
The garrison commander opened his mouth to speak, but the mayor proceeded to extend his finger right up to his face.
“I haven’t had a single communique from the governor, the home ministry, His Majesty, or even the fucking fairy godmother about what the situation is outside this city! All I know is that we have no food and a garrison half-dead, half-barely capable of pointing a rifle at a game twenty paces out and hitting it!”
He stood up from his seat, leaned forward, and looked right into the commander’s defiant eyes.
“I have NO clue what His Majesty’s telling you, but I haven’t seen a single half-witted drunkard from his so-called ‘relief army’ show up ever since the gates were locked shut! Again: convince me this isn’t worth taking over your plan of holding out!!!”
The garrison commander gulped. He was in trouble. Truth be told, he had nothing to show for it. No relief force, no supply train, no partisans, no defectors—absolutely nothing. He didn’t even have a written—much less verbal or hearsay—promise that a relief force was coming. His days of reassuring the mayor and the city council that the King was likely assembling a relief force had come to make him pay for the price of empty promises. Above all, he had been put in a spot where his speaking the truth would undoubtedly set in motion the war’s unraveling of Altaras’s era of greatness.
He glanced around. His own officers looked down on their laps, their hands placed neatly on the table and without a single hint of running to his aid. The council members, meanwhile, glared at him as if to put all of their disappointment in His Majesty’s men’s ineptness on his shoulders.
Nevertheless, he wanted an out. Even if the others had given up hope that His Majesty was coming for them, he hadn’t. He wanted them to believe that there was still hope. He wanted to give His Majesty a chance to show them that he cared for Altaras’s sons and daughters.
His mouth finally opened.
“I-I-I’ll contact His Majesty again for a guarantee that a relief force is coming a-a-and a set time!!!”
He stammered, much to his embarrassment.
“Give me until two past noon! If I don’t hear from His Majesty until then, I’ll agree to your decision!”
The mayor clicked his tongue. He wasn’t impressed. In fact, he pitied the commander for waging his image just to prove a point—a futile endeavor. If the commander thought he was weak at heart, he thought the commander was dogmatic to a fault.
“Fine. But I won’t wait for your notice; once the clock strikes two and you or your men are not here with His Majesty’s guarantee, Kagis will fly the Lamp.”
The garrison commander, feeling awfully embarrassed by the meeting, got up from his seat, turned around, left the room, and slammed the doors behind him. He didn’t utter a single word. His officers sighed in despondence and left the room in order; only some of them paid respect to the mayor and the council members.
Main citadel, Kagis, Altaras, 13:58
From the city’s main citadel, one could easily discern one of the many faces of Kagis’s clock tower, which towered above most of the city’s buildings. Only rivaled in height and awe by the imposing chimneys of the city’s factories, the clock tower had a spire that extended from its covered gearhouse and doubled as a flagpole. At all circumstances, the flagpole flew the glittering blue and white banner of the kingdom, signifying to all—especially the Parpaldian invaders—that Kagis remained a bastion of Altaran resistance. Even amidst this grueling siege, the royal blue and white defiantly flew in the wind.
But that was all set to change once the clock’s hour hand strikes two.
“Come on... Come on... Please, Your Majesty...!!!”
The garrison commander wheezed as he pounded his fists on the silent manacomms.
He had been fretting for more than six hours in his office ever since the letter he personally penned was communicated through the line to the Royal Castle in Le Brias. When not a single reply came forward, at one past noon he stormed the communications room and began demanding follow-ups from his communications officers.
But for the entire day, not a single word from His Majesty came out of the receiver; there were only the apathetic responses from the operator in Le Brias confirming their message had been received and that it would be “relayed to His Majesty and the Chiefs of Staff.”
“Dammit... Dammit it all!!!”
He whimpered as he laid his head on the manacomm’s body. He was starving, sleep-deprived, and out of hope. He and his officers’ stomachs growled in hunger, the only sound that filled the room besides the commander’s sniffles.
“We’ve... We’ve done what we could, sir...”
His communications officers consoled him as they took their caps off in defeat.
“It had been an honor to fight for Land and King under your command, sir.”
The garrison commander turned his tear-ridden eyes to the side. There, through the window, he could faintly make out the silhouette of the clock tower. The howling of the wind settled down, giving way to the deep groans of the tower’s bronze bells being rung.
Bong...
It was now two past noon. The agreed deadline of His Majesty’s guarantees had come. His Majesty’s guarantees, however, had not.
The clock’s minute hand flicked to the side. It was now a minute past two in the afternoon. The agreed deadline had passed.
From the citadel, still flying the banners of the Royal Altaran Army, the surviving soldiers of the garrison looked on as the banner of blue and white atop Kagis’ spire was lowered. In its place, the flag of the Lamp, an ominous banner with a single upright yellow rhombus superimposed on a dark background, was hoisted atop the spire.
“For Land and King...”
The garrison commander uttered as he watched the unfamiliar banner wave atop Kagis—his city.
“I would gladly die for our land—for Altaras... but it appears that His Majesty wouldn’t...”
A chill ran through the officers in the room. This was the first time they heard their commander speak somewhat cynically since the city came under siege. They’d rather not believe it out of fear of reprisal, but their silence was telling.
On the 18th of Febrond of the year 1640 of the Central Calendar, the Altaran city of Kagis, a major railstop and industrial city strategically situated in the upper Sa’arak River, surrendered to the Parpaldian Imperial Army’s Group West hardly a week into its siege. Rumors abound regarding the unbelievably impossible short duration of the siege—treachery, sabotage, a new Parpaldian wonder weapon—but the effects of the siege’s outcome would soon become apparent to the rest of the Royal Altaran Army up north.
Group East Camp, ~1.5km east of Kagis, Altaras, 14:26
Meanwhile, to the city’s east, the artillery batteries of Parpaldia’s Group East were preparing for the day’s afternoon barrage when their spotters abruptly stopped the preparations. As artillerymen and their officers cried out in disbelief, news began to spread throughout the ranks and trenches. Information found its way to the formations’ officer corps, who then relayed the information all the way to the top. Mere minutes after confused Parpaldian regulars started to emerge from their trenches in droves, the sound of horse hooves hitting the dirt resonated across the camp.
Speeding across the earthworks and tents were three horses with the lead horse’s rider wearing the decorated uniform of the entoupercheur.
“Make way!”
The rider, Entoupercheur Gilles, commander of the Parpaldian Imperial Army’s Group East, cried out as he clutched his reins.
Stunned and confused regulars and officers alike ran out of the colonel’s way, saluting him when they reformed posture.
Gilles and two of his staff officers were riding their horses to the frontmost trenches, a mere cannon shot’s distance away from the glacis of eastern Kagis’s bastions. As their horses galloped through the mud-ridden paths in between the trenches, he looked up and stared at a sight he had not been expecting to see. Not at least anytime soon.
“What is going on???”
He murmured to himself.
Off to the distance at the main city on the western bank of the Sa’arak, the conspicuous clock tower of Kagis, which had been flying the Altaran flag since he first laid eyes on it, was now flying the flag of the Lamp. Under the international laws on warfighting, a city flying the Lamp signifies the city’s intent to parlay and thus must not be fired upon. But his guts told him it meant something more than that.
The news that reached him first was the city’s clock tower flying the Lamp, which his artillery formations reasoned was why they decided not to proceed with the planned afternoon barrage. As soon as he got on his horse to go and confirm for himself, an officer ran up to him with another set of news: a party from the city garrison flying the Lamp had come to the trenches to hand over their formation’s banner.
He ground his teeth in frustration. That act could only mean one thing.
As he approached the frontmost trenches, he spotted a gathering of infantrymen. With his hands on the reins, he had his horse move toward the group of dirtied red coats; his staff officers followed him close behind. The infantrymen, hearing the approaching sound of hooves hitting the dirt, turned to see their commander making his way toward them. They moved aside, clearing a path for him as they straightened their backs and saluted him.
Gilles and his staff officers dismounted their horses. One of the officers stayed behind and held the reins of all three horses while Gilles and the other officer walked down the path the infantrymen cleared for them. At the end of the path was a group of men wearing different uniforms; all of them wore their drab-colored combat uniforms, but the one standing in front holding a folded banner was the only one wearing an officer’s cap. Every single one of them looked into the distance with defeated faces.
Entoupercheur Gilles and his staff officer stood with their backs straight in front of the Altaran party.
“Men! Salute!”
The Altaran officer barked in his native tongue. His men behind him promptly and stiffly saluted the Parpaldian officers. Gilles and his staff officer responded with a replying salute.
“As per the terms you presented, which the city executive and our commanding officer have agreed to, we present to you our banner in surrender!”
The Altaran officer spoke in rigid Asheran common, but the Parpaldian officers caught every single word.
Gilles and his staff officer looked at each other with confused looks.
“What did he mean by ‘our terms’? Did the others negotiate with the enemy without my knowledge?!”
Gilles hushingly mouthed to his staff officer in Parpaldian so as to not let their enemies hear them. Amidst the disbelief in the entoupercheur’s eyes lurked accents of rage.
“This is my first time hearing of this, entoupercheur! I haven’t even heard a single one of our officers mention the word ‘surrender’!!!”
The staff officer went on the defensive. Seeing the disbelief and fear in his expression, Gilles believed him. His gut told him this was probably not his officers’ doing.
Turning back to the Altaran officer wearing his poker face, Gilles accepted the banner. Not knowing what these “terms” were, he interpreted the act to be the city garrison surrendering and decided to employ Army standard procedure in receiving POWs.
“Please inform your men not to attack us and allow us to process you. We’ll commence shortly.”
News of Kagis’s formal surrender spread through the siege trenches of Group East, evoking a mixture of joyful cries and confused remarks from enlisted soldiers and officers alike. As they processed and disarmed the garrison of eastern Kagis, Entouperchour Gilles called an emergency meeting of his officer corps back at the main camp.
In the presence of the rows of confused looks from his officers, Gilles uttered his suspicions out loud.
“This has to be Group West’s doing.”
His officers reacted with agreeing nods and scoffs.
“Of course! They just had to take the easy way while we whittled away at the walls!”
“We were so close to breaking through, too! They would’ve given in by nightfall!”
“Maybe they were responsible for that explosion some nights ago! They’ve had saboteurs inside the walls all along!”
“We must’ve gotten those southerners quaking in their boots with how close we were to taking the east, so they resorted to negotiations to ensure they take the glory for taking the city!”
“You’re right! Those goddamned Esthirantese just want to take all the credit!”
Disgruntled and dismayed about the city’s unexpected surrender, the Group East officers resorted to blaming their Group West counterparts’ slyness. With Kagis taken, the other opportunity for glory left was taking one of the East’s most heavily fortified cities—the Altaran capital itself, Le Brias. The endless sprawl of densely-built buildings and streets interlaced with bastions, redoubts, defense lines, artillery batteries—all of that stood in between them and the glittering skyline of built-up posh buildings and Muish and Mirishial brick skyscrapers. A high price in blood and steel awaited them, one that was astronomically higher than the price they paid for Kagis. They will get the men and bullets to pay that price in the coming weeks, but they had hoped to have taken Kagis for the pride of their formations—the pride of their homeland.
Gilles understood their disappointment, but he was already looking beyond Kagis. With a determined look on his face, he addressed his officers.
“I understand your grievances, but Kagis was never the goal. Remember your men’s valiance in fighting the enemy here, but we must proceed with this war. While Group West will proceed to indulge in its price, we will commit to our mission and our duty to Duro—to Parpaldia!”
Standing up from his seat, Gilles tightens his belt and dusts his boots. He then takes his saber from the compartment and sheathes it as he hands out new orders.
“Continue processing the POWs, then send them to Point Jeanne for internment. Make preparations for the march north! We’re advancing by daybreak tomorrow! We’ll discuss our advance shortly. I have to deal with some correspondence...”
Reminded of the goal of the war, the officers of Group East set aside their grievances and prepared to break camp to continue the northward advance into Le Brias’s defenses.
Royal Castle, Le Brias, Altaras, 15:16
Back at the Royal Castle, aides of the Chief of Staff moved about the command room as they moved pieces on the big map according to reports that were flooding in. Curiously, they were focused on the movement of pieces on the beaches south of Le Brias port. All around the map stood the watchful eyes of the Chiefs of Staff and Army commanders meticulously following the aides’ moving of pieces. Standing immediately behind them were aides armed with pen and paper, jotting down the remarks issued by their superiors.
To the side stood King Taara, who watched over his military commanders. He put a finger on his lip as he hummed in patience, taking in the scenery of his underlings carrying out his orders down to the letter with a sense of pride. Perhaps some fatherly joy, even.
The Army deputy chief of staff, once a voice of youthly dissent among Taara’s cadre, was now submitted to being engrossed in his work carrying out the King’s wishes. He watched as aides made minute movements on the red pieces near the beaches—Parpaldian naval infantry holding a thin beachhead on the harbor. Immediately to the left of the big pieces stood multiple dozens of slightly bigger blue pieces—the Altaran infantry battalions and artillery companies pounding their weight onto the thin Parpaldian beachhead.
What they were observing was the King’s plan—a concerted counterattack on the Parpaldian beachhead near Le Brias to push them into the sea—being set in motion. Commencing at 1430 hours after a day’s worth of artillery barrages and wyvern aerial bombardments, the Royal Altaran Army pushed into the beleaguered Parpaldian Naval Infantry defense lines surrounding Fort Bai. Fierce responses from the Parpaldian Navy battleships and cruisers softened their advance, but their immense numbers and the exhausted Parpaldian defenders ensured they kept going. All of these started to reflect as successes on the map.
Then, one of the aides took away a red piece standing on a red line south of Fort Bai as they moved a blue piece into where it stood.
“One of our battalions has reached the sea! They’ve taken the southern defense perimeter!”
The deputy chief declared, but his tone was heavy.
The aides’ movements continued unabated. Their long-sought victory was starting to appear before them, but only a few of the commanders looked satisfied. Taara smiled in victory, but he kept it under the shadow of his hand.
Minutes later, more and more blue pieces reached the water line, replacing the red pieces which once stood there. Some of the red pieces were taken away, while some were put into the water, indicating that they were retreating into the sea. Then, only the red piece standing on Fort Bai remained. As the commanders prematurely let out sighs of relief, an aide went and whispered something into the Army deputy chief of staff’s ear.
Bam!
The deputy chief slammed his palm onto the map board, surprising everyone in the room. With everyone’s attention on him, he declared out loud.
“The last Parpaldians holding out in Fort Bai... have surrendered.”
A muted cheer echoed across the command room as commanders and aides alike reveled in their victory. The seriousness of the situation kept their celebration to a minimum, but there was no denying the joy and relief in people’s expressions. Taara, too, was elated.
But the face on the deputy chief of staff remained undeniably grim.
As everyone celebrated their victory in Le Brias harbor, the deputy chief followed up with another announcement.
“...But so too has our garrison in Kagis.”
Cheers instantly turned into deaf silence. Elation gave way to shock and horror. Hope evaporated as fear set in.
“The council of Kagis and the garrison have accepted the terms for surrender offered by the Parpaldians. The flag of the Lamp flies above the city.”
The deputy chief added, his voice cracking at the last few words.
Their victory had come at a cost greater than the men and material lost at the beaches of Le Brias. A major city harboring one of the rail lines connecting Le Brias to the rest of the island and one that was upstream the Sa’arak from the capital was now under Parpaldian control.
It was a strategic blunder of catastrophic proportions. But this was something everybody had long since expected once reports of Parpaldian landings at Kan Garasi and Astaran came in. Everyone in the room knew that Kagis was where the Parpaldians were really headed.
Everyone except King Taara.
Their disbelief-filled eyes turned to the King for both excuses and orders, but all they found was a despairing figure covering his face.
“Hmm...”
Taara’s restrained hum was soft, but it nonetheless sent shockwaves across everyone. They more or less expected an outburst, but this restraint was probably more terrifying.
As they awaited his statement, he thought long and hard about both recent and past events. He wasn’t necessarily deranged; he knew he had repeatedly stepped out of line. The Barezan incident, the action in Sios, the rhetoric with Parpaldia, his micromanaging of the war—he had an awareness of how demanding he had been. But he was desperately obsessed with controlling how everything would pan out: he wanted his people to agree with him on Parpaldia’s real imperialist movements; he wanted Sios to realize their shared danger being under Parpaldian hegemony; he wanted the world to know Parpaldia was a menace; and he wanted his outcomes for the war. Ultimately, however, his shortcomings as a single old man who molded the kingdom’s administration to his whims were taken advantage of.
Had his Grand Minister been here, he’d have someone to hide behind. That was also something he had reflected on as “going too far”: after one of his aides ‘confided’ in him the truth after many ‘persuasions,’ he learned that the Grand Minister did not act on the conspiracy against his wife, the late Queen Yasmin, despite being aware of it. A dug-in anti-Parpaldia proponent, he harbored grievances toward the late Queen, who was a former princess from a Parpaldian state. While sitting on the knowledge that something was about to happen, the old Grand Minister sat beside him while disguised extremists slugged his helpless wife in the chest. The old laws for treating defiant ministers would have sufficed, but he was furious. He stripped the Grand Minister of all titles and possessions, sent him to an isolated royal possession in the mountains that was now a glorified holding camp called Kuzan under a 999-year house arrest setting, and even forbade the man’s name from being mentioned in court. He tried to have all the documents mentioning his name be blackened out; if he could not kill the man, he’ll have to settle with killing off memories of him.
Perhaps he had gone too far back then, just like he had gone too far brushing aside the authority of his military commanders in this war. His reason clashed with his fury and anger at the situation, but seeing how giving into fury and anger had worked for him thus far, he begrudgingly elected to see reason.
There was no way his military commanders—or any of the people he had brushed with—would forgive him, but earning their forgiveness wasn’t something he saw as urgent, let alone important. The unique circumstances of the kingdom’s survival being at stake were convenient in setting those aside.
He took his hand off his face, revealing to his commanders an expression of restraint—of reason.
“Kagis... was unfortunate. We could have prevented it, but alas it wasn’t to be. I’ve exercised my authority too liberally, I’ve realized... These are the consequences that have come out of decisions we’ve made thus far, and it is unfortunate that I’ve had a hand to play in making those decisions.”
Everyone else in the room listened intently, particularly in the King’s choice of words.
“I... will not impose on you any longer. I grant you leave to use the command of the Altaras’s forces and her resources as you fit. I’m sor—regretful that I couldn’t bring a victory for us today.”
With that, he turned for the exit and took his leave.
A mixture of emotions wafted underneath the silence. They were grateful he didn’t lash out at them or give them punishments. But they were also furious that the King left them to fix the mess his orders had created. The Parpaldians had just completed their stranglehold on the peninsula, which unfortunately hosted most of their Army’s regular formations. They had the mass to contest the Parpaldians’ stranglehold, but with how quickly they took a city as well-fortified as Kagis, the commanders held the fear that the unstoppable conquests they had in Philades were translating immensely well in their backyard. They dreaded contesting this Parpaldian Army.
But above that, they held an even deeper fear of the King’s vengeful fury should they fail to turn the situation around. Setting aside the victory at the harbor, the commanders quickly prepared to deliberate on how to respond to the developing situation down south. As materials were prepared for the meeting, the Army deputy chief of staff and some of the Army commanders discussed a matter of pressing concern.
“The King may want quick results... I’m thinking of an immediate attack on the Parpaldians in Kagis. They’d have to still be garrisoning the location. If he’s given us leave on ‘everything,’ we could probably use that.”
The deputy chief of staff floated the idea, to which the others agreed.
“The Hell Chariot? I agree. Fortunately, unit Qader has been kept in a constant state of readiness for this eventuality. I’ll notify the commanding officer.”
“Good. I’ll leave the mission details to you.”
With a few brief exchanges, the Altaran response to the Parpaldian conquest of Kagis was set in order.
Kagis City Hall, Kagis, Altaras 20:56
The sun had long set, and night once more prevailed on the battlefield, but the sounds of men working continued to be heard. The clamoring of hungered city folk and Parpaldian soldiers repeating shouts of “one at a time” in Altaran took center stage as the first ration wagons entered the city to the relief of the people. While this took place, men of Group West took great care examining every nook and cranny of the city while their officers took a catalog of what the city held for them. The Parpaldians did not explicitly give any guarantees that they would not loot the place, but they behaved surprisingly civilized during their takeover of the city.
“We’ve taken custody of five Altaran soldiers hiding out in the rail depot. No reports of violence.”
One of the staff officers reported to Entouperchour Marius, who sat behind the mayor’s table inside the vacated mayor’s office. There were once trinkets, prized possessions, and gemstones belonging to the city and the mayor inside the room, but whatever the mayor or his staff couldn’t personally carry with them, Marius had confiscated as loot. As the last of the valuables were carried off by his men, his command unit moved in with their supplies, equipment, and manacomms.
Marius leaned his back on the puffy leather cushioning of the chair, raising his boots into the air before perching them atop the table.
“We’ve already processed the garrison and sent them to Point Margaux. To think those bastards haven’t been honest with us...”
Marius spat. Kagis was a big city and the fact that there may be stubborn enemy soldiers still in hiding somewhere annoyed him.
“Indeed, sir... Err, moving on; our scouts came in with reports—”
While the staff officer was giving his report, a resounding kaboom tore through the mayor’s office, jolting everyone and stopping them from their work. Moments later, another boom followed.
Marius instantly recognized it as an attack.
“Shit! Artillery? Are we being shot at?”
He turned to his staff officers for answers.
“We’ll look into that...”
Just as they were about to set off, one of the signals officers manning the manacomms that were already set up in the office cried out.
“Sir, it’s the citadel! They’re taking artillery fire!”
Marius and his staff officers were dumbfounded. How could the citadel, situated in the south, be under artillery bombardment? Judging from what they know of Altaran capabilities, there would have to be an artillery emplacement within at most ~1 tacour (~2.5km) of the city, but that places them within their territory of control. Their scouts should have noticed if a forward enemy artillery unit made its way deep into Parpaldian-held territory. However, no such reports came in.
Furious and confused, Marius gave new orders.
“Have the light infantry and cavalry canvas the area within a tacour south and southwest of the city! Find those batteries!!!”
Orders were promptly sent out as the echoes of explosions rocked the city.
- - -
Meanwhile, roughly 1.8 tacour (~4.5km) to the north of Kagis, one of the Parpaldian light infantry companies scouting in a forward position for Group West had camped for the night. They set up their camp inside a grove with thick foliage atop a low-lying hill overlooking surrounding rural farmlands. While most of the men dozed away, a couple of sentries maintained overwatch.
The cold Febrond night was relentless, and their warmers, mana stones cast with a heat spell crudely wrapped in cotton cloth, were simply not enough. They looked up to the sky to find a waning full moon, its bright glow casting aside the glow of other stars, making it appear as if it was the only one watching over them. Even with eyes adjusted to the night and the bright moonlight above them, they could barely see what was out in the distance, let alone what was in front of them. But then, out of nowhere, they spotted a series of flashes erupting all along what they thought was the horizon.
“Huh?”
The flashes were continuous and consistent, appearing every half a minute or so, and there were multiple of them popping up along a limited span on the horizon to the northeast.
“You seeing that?”
The sentry asked his comrade, who was also on lookout duty.
“Yeah. Maybe it’s enemy artillery? Doubt it’s one of our own.”
Sure enough, they could hear the cacophony of gunfire off in the distance. While they weren’t loud enough to startle the rest of the company awake, they undeniably sounded like they came from large caliber guns.
“We’ll have to report this in...”
Several minutes later, the flashes disappeared for good. With their report came orders to investigate, and the light infantry company set out under the cover of darkness. Proceeding to the direction where the sentries had spotted the flashes, they stumbled upon the railroad connecting Kagis and Le Brias. The company meticulously searched the vicinity of the railroad for the enemy artillery pieces, but all they could find was the lingering smell of burnt gunpowder.
While the enemy unit responsible for the surprise bombardment remained elusive, their 15-minute barrage of Kagis’s citadel left around 80 Parpaldian soldiers dead and wounded and five field guns destroyed, taking up a non-insignificant portion of Parpaldian casualties in the siege of the city. That was on top of around 50 dead and wounded from the city folk, the majority of whom were caught in the collapse of buildings hit by stray shells. They were lucky the magazine was relatively unharmed, but the feeling was lost on a Group West that had learned not to get too complacent with their new conquest.