A/N: Right, this is my first ever Valkyria Chronicles story, with more hopefully following if I can find the time. Hector Calvey somehow ended up as one of my favourite characters, and when I saw in his bio that'd he'd been captain of a Town Watch, I couldn't help thinking what his experience of the Imperial invasion would have been like. Constructive criticism can only help, so if you leave reviews, I'll be truly grateful. And, I realise that there's an over-abundance of OCs in this chapter, which I personally frown apon when writing about games like this, but, to be honest, I didn't see many alternatives.

Many thanks to DC20 for his review; this reuploading hopefully addresses all the errors you pointed out, and I'll be sure to proof read more thoroughly in future (though it's a bit hard to do it myself, but I've got no other choice as my normal proof readers have never played VC).

Anyhow, don't let me keep you, read on.

A Glimpse of War

March, EC 1935

Just outside the northern Gallian border town of Charos

Watch Captain Hector Calvey lay on his back, on top of the hill, staring up at the night sky. He liked to come here at night; free of the industrial fumes of the large towns further into Gallia, the sky was perfectly clear, especially on these spring nights. The lancer breathed deeply, the scent of fresh grass filling his nostrils. Hector had always had trouble sleeping, but often, in his childhood and continuing through his life so far, he'd always come out to lie under the stars. He felt calmed, comforted by their tranquil presence. Falling asleep while counting them was one sure way of curing his sleeping problems for the night.

This night, however, he wasn't about to risk it. Every time his mind felt at peace, it leapt back to the subject of the oncoming war again. The build-up of Imperial forces along the border hadn't gone unnoticed, and, unlike some of his men in the Charos Town Watch, Hector was under no illusions about the capacity of the Watch to resist the Imperials; the entire Watch only had two lances, one of them his own, and two ancient anti-tank guns, relics from before EW1. They wouldn't stand a chance against the Imperial onslaught. If it came.

Sighing, Hector forced himself to sit up. His long black hair fell over his face, and he brushed it away, fingers touching the white bandana wrapped around his head as he did so. Brown eyes looked keenly over in the direction of the border, as if he could almost see the Imperial tanks firing up their engines. Hector hauled his muscular frame to its feet. Already tall and robust, the training Hector had put himself through had made him even stronger, to the point where carrying his lance was easy and wearing the pitiful Watch excuse for a blast suit felt like a second skin.

Footsteps behind him caused him to turn. It was a Watch Sergeant, Petr Cheski, a young scout with an excellent eye for detail. Hector valued not only his ability to sniff out trouble and use his small frame to his advantage, but also for his remarkable ability to chew up paperwork. Right now, however, paperwork wasn't the main concern.

"The border guards report hearing the sounds of tank engines," reported Petr, joining Hector on the crest of the hill and looking towards the border. "We can probably expect them crossing it at dawn." The sergeant shook his blonde head in dismay. "Bastards..." He had brought his rifle along with him; all of the Watch, well-drilled by Hector, now kept their weapons close at hand. Hector's own Lancaar M1 lay in the grass nearby, and a .45 sidearm was holstered in his belt.

"How many of the citizens have evacuated?" asked Hector. He had ordered an evacuation of the town yesterday, when it became clear that war was inevitable. Already, refugees were clogging the roads to Randgriz, the capital and the safest place in Gallia.

"About three quarters of them, with more moving out as we speak." Petr checked his watch. "It's about four hours till dawn. How long do you think we can hold them, Hector?" The young sergeant had unshakeable belief in his captain's leadership ability, along with most of the Watch.

Hector turned and looked Petr in the eye. "For as long as we have to," he muttered, eyes grim. "I'll bleed to make sure every citizen who can get away, gets away." The captain picked up his Lancaar and swung it onto his shoulder. "Come on. We'll need to check that all fortifications are in place." He led the way off the hill, back to the border town of Charos.

"Minos! You got those grenades?" The question was asked by a young Darcsen girl, a private in the Town Watch. She was standing behind a wall of tightly packed sandbags, designed to provide cover from bullets. One of the Watch's machine guns, an ancient piece from EW1, was set up behind the protection of a similar sandbag wall, set up nearby. It wasn't much, but it was all they could do.

A young Darcsen man, looking very similar to the girl who'd called him, with the dark purple hair and dark-coloured eyes shared by most of the Darcsen race, appeared with a satchel of grenades clutched in his hand, his rifle in the other. "Got em, Julia," he remarked. "Three each, so let's not go wasting em, eh?" He winked and handed her three grenades from the satchel, before clipping the remaining three to his belt and leaning on the wall, gazing out at the road to the border.

"Something on your mind, Minos?"

"Julia... would you give your life to protect the people of this town?" Minos turned and gazed at his sister, who had paused in the act of securing her grenades. She walked over and took his hand.

"Minos... ever since our parents came here, we've been treated as equals for as long as I remember by almost everyone here." She spoke fervently, with intensity. "They made us feel at home, not like the bigots in the cities... after our parents died, they were always there for us..." she grabbed her brother's arm fiercely. "Minos, I would die many times over to see these people safe."

He smiled and pulled his sister close, hugging her fiercely. "As would I, Julia," he murmured.

"Minos! Julia!"

The two Darcsens turned and watched their captain, accompanied by Sergeant Cheski, walk up to the wall and prod it. "Seems well-built enough," grunted Hector, turning to the two siblings. "Are you two ready for this? Neither of you have seen combat before." In truth, none of the Charos Town Watch had seen combat before, save from scattered exercises.

Minos and Julia, as one, straightened and saluted. "Ready for action, sir!" they chorused.

Hector grinned. "I knew you'd say that," he muttered. He put a hand on each sibling's shoulder. "Remember, I don't want heroics. Just stay alive and hold off the Imps in time for the civilians to finish evacuating." He squeezed each shoulder. "We'll make it through. Gallian spirit can't be underestimated." He removed his arms and picked up his Lancaar. "I'm sending Spiers, Morrigan, Johnson, Castor, and Vortigen to help hold this perimeter," he told them. "If a tank shows up, try to draw it to the main square, where we're focusing our anti-tank." He nodded to make sure they understood, then headed off to another section of the defences, making sure everyone was willing to fight and knew the plan of action.

Any minute now.

The sun was rising, its rays reaching the outskirts of Charos. Hector was discomforted. The sun could potentially blind his men, leaving them open to attack. Nothing could be done about that, so he tried not to worry about it. He distracted himself by once again checking his weapons: His Lancaar M1, with five rounds, a Gallian-1 rifle as a backup, and his personal .45. He was accurate enough with all three.

The main road leading to the plaza was the main focus of the Town Watch's defences. Hector had organised two full squads in and around the central plaza, covering the road. The two obsolete anti-tank guns were well-concealed, with orders to hold fire until point-blank range to conserve ammo. Ned Chaucer, the Watch's other lancer, was crouched, ready for action, on the opposite side of the road to Hector. The remainder of the Watch was spread out over the eastern part of the town, ready for delaying actions.

Half the Watchmen had radios. Once hearing that the last refugee had made it out, Hector would order a prearranged retreat to a dense forest outside the town, then everyone would split up and go their own way. It wasn't perfect, Hector knew, and no plan ever survived first contact with the enemy anyhow.

The situation was tense, the atmosphere rigid. Talk was limited. Hector periodically made calls on his radio requesting situation updates; nothing new.

The sun was fully above the horizon when the first mortars fell. The Watch first heard a whistling, followed by an explosion that tore a house on a street bordering the plaza to shreds. Some of the Watch recoiled in shock, some looked around nervously, but their morale was holding. For now.

"Stand ready, everyone," called Hector in a clear voice as mortars started dropping at an accelerated rate. "We hold this plaza, or we lose half the town's population. Think of your families, the one's you're fighting to protect. Don't let them down." His words seemed to encourage the Watch, who crouched lower behind the walls and gripped their weapons tightly, resolute and ready for the coming storm.

At the forward barricade, Minos and Julia heard the mortars falling, but kept up their watch. The machine gun was manned and ready, and five rifles were pointing down the narrow street in the direction the Imperials were expected to come. The Gallians didn't have to wait long.

Mortars were still falling when shouts reached the ears of the Gallians. They didn't have to be told that these weren't allies; the voices were harsh and unfamiliar, and they were followed by the deep rumble of a tank's mighty diesel engine. Rifles were clutched tighter, and the belt on the machine gun was checked. Due to the Town Watches not being high on the allocation of ammo, there was only one spare belt. Ammo conservation was a priority.

A lone Imperial scout stepped out into the street, boldly and without fear, not expecting to see a barricade manned by Gallians, all with guns pointing at him. He hesitated for a fatal second before throwing himself to the ground. Too late. His body hit the ground with a wet thud, three bullets embedded in his torso. Shouts arose from side streets; the shots had been heard.

"Everyone, get ready!" yelled Minos, resting his still-smoking rifle on the top of the sandbag wall, peering down the iron sights. "Pete, only fire on my mark! Don't waste ammo!" Peter Morrigan, manning the machine gun, raised his thumb.

Four Imperial scouts dashed into the road, not making the mistake of their comrade. They dived into the houses lining the street, searching for cover. The Gallians managed to kill one, but then five more Imperials, including three shocktroopers, also appeared. The Imperials wasted no time in liberally spraying the Gallian barricade. Minos ducked down behind cover as he reloaded. Beside him, Carl Spiers stuck his head up again and groaned as his shoulder stopped a bullet. He groped for some ragnaid from his pouch.

"Machine gun, fire at will!" screamed Minos. The mighty weapon opened up, its bass rumble precipitating the dying screams of several Imperial troops who were mown down. The rest were forced to take cover. Sticking her head up, Julia's eyes widened as a grenade, its head blue with expanding ragnite, landed at her feet. She picked it up and threw it back; it blew up in midair mere metres from the barricade. She screamed and dropped to the ground as she was showered in shrapnel.

"Julia!" roared Minos, running over to her. Shrapnel was imbedded in her left cheek and shoulder, blood trickling down her ribs. She shook him off.

"Just a scratch, I'll recover," she muttered unsteadily, rising up and firing. A nearby Imperial scout grunted and scrambled back behind cover. Minos shrugged and got up again, picking a target and emptying his clip. The Imperial had the sense to duck into a nearby shop. His comrade fired at Minos, who dropped down behind the wall again. The machine gun fell silent; Morrigan was changing the belt.

Seeing an opportunity, three Imperials jumped out from cover and armed grenades. Vortigen shot one enemy down, but two grenades landed behind the sandbags. Minos managed to kick one away, and Vortigen picked the other one up, ready to throw it back, but it exploded in his hand. He screamed in agony as his arm was disintegrated. Shrapnel pierced his chest, silencing him forever.

"Damn it... there's too many," growled Spiers, ducking down and reloading. "Only got two clips left." His shoulder was working fine, the flow of blood stopped due to the healing powers of ragnaid.

Julia stuck her head up momentarily. Several Imperials were lying dead in the street, but many more were in the houses either side of the street, firing from cover. She crouched down, pulled out a grenade, and ripped off the safety ring. Pulling the cord to ignite the explosive ragnite tip, she waited two seconds, then threw it with all her strength into a nearby shop. The Imperials inside didn't have time to dodge.

"Nice one, Julia!" yelled Minos as he observed the front of the shop erupt in a gout of blue flame. An Imperial staggered out, missing his right arm, and Minos gunned him down mercilessly. Then the dreaded sound of a tank diesel engine reached his ears. Seconds later, he saw it, approaching from a side street. "Tank!" he roared, ducking down behind the sandbags. He tentatively poked his head up again, ignoring the bullets whistling past his ears.

It was a medium tank, a monstrosity of fire and steel, heavy armour covering the body and a mighty cannon poking out in front of it. This cannon was aimed directly at the barricade as the tank slowly rumbled towards it. Minos felt fear and defiance in equal measures even as he felt the resolve of his allies crumbling around him. Then, abruptly, the tank stopped. It was too wide to fit down the narrowing street. However, its cannon whined as it was raised, and, over the crack of rifles and the screams of the wounded, Minos distinctly heard the sound of a mortar shell being loaded.

"Move!" he screamed, grabbing his sister and sprinting away from the barricade as fast as he could. Bullets threw up puffs of dirt around his feet, but with one hand clutching his rifle, the other his sister's arm, he knew he couldn't stop moving. The tank fired.

It was as though an enormous fist had descended from the heavens and punched Minos and Julia in the back. The sheer force of the explosion threw them through a nearby shop window, stunning them and showering them with glass. Minos moaned, lay still for a second, then forced himself up, looking back at the barricade. All he saw was a smoking crater and the twisted remnants of a machine gun. Burning sandbags littered the street as an Imperial company moved in. Spiers, Morrigan, Johnson, Castor, Vortigen... they were all dead.

The incessant shelling was turning Charos into a ruin. Fortunately for the Watch, none of the shells had made a direct hit on the plaza yet. Hector suspected the Imperials were firing indiscriminately, trying to bludgeon the Watch into surrender. An advance force of scouts had reached the plaza, but without tank support was pinned down by volume of fire. Hector's radio crackled.

"This is Waters... damn it..." the sergeant's voice seemed strained. "The Imps have broken through here... nothing we could do... we're falling back the best we can... best of luck, Hector."

"Understood, Mike," replied Hector, pounding his fist into a nearby sandbag. "You did all you could. Get yourself to safety." The lancer raised his head and looked down the main street. The Imperial scouts weren't trying anything yet. Hector got back down. "Come in, all units. What's your status?" he asked the radio.

The situation was grim. Out of the six sections he'd placed around the town, only two reported their barricades still holding. The other two reported untenable casualties and Imperial breakthroughs, and were retreating. The other two squads could only muster silence and an ominous burst of static.

Hector could at least console himself with the fact that Charos's narrow streets meant that tanks would have to come up the main road and through the plaza to threaten the evacuating civilians. There was no sign of tanks yet, and morale remained high. The shelling was destroying the city, but that would make it even harder for the Imperial units to advance. Not everything was going as planned, but Hector smiled. The civilians were getting away.

As if on cue, the sound of diesel engines reached Hector's ear, wiping the smile off his face and replacing it with a grim expression. He stood. "Prepare for tank attack!" he yelled to the squads deployed in the plaza.

Minos surveyed the street behind them. They'd ran from the Imperials and reached an area near the centre of town that had been hit hard by shelling. The ruined buildings had one advantage; they gave good cover. The Darcsen, satisfied that there were no Imperials in the area, turned back to his sister.

Julia was sitting with her back to the wall, rifle near her feet, gritting her teeth as she attempted to remove some of the shrapnel imbedded in her shoulder, neck, and cheek. Minos dropped his rifle and moved over to help.

"You got much ragnaid?" he asked as he brutally ripped one of the splinters from her shoulder. She gasped in pain, but it was the quickest way to deal with the problem.

She shook her head, her dark hair contrasting with her pale, worried face. "I gave it all to Castor after he got shot," she whispered, shuddering in pain as her brother extracted another jagged splinter.

Minos pulled a ragnaid capsule from his pouch. "My last one," he muttered, setting it aside as he returned to removing the shrapnel. Fortunately, none of the wounds were deep, but he knew it must hurt like hell. He'd always been proud of his sister's bravery.

"Don't use it, Minos," she mumbled, looking at the lone capsule. Seeing his look of shock, she continued. "It's not a bad wound, and what if one of us gets hurt badly? We'll need it more then." Her brother, seeing her logic, reluctantly nodded and returned it to his satchel. They both froze as footsteps crunched on the rubble. Minos picked up his rifle and silently checked that it was loaded.

"Why are we even bothering with this pitiful excuse of a town anyway?" came a harsh voice from just outside the ruined building the Darcsens were sheltering in. "It's not like we can't just go round it, that'd be easier."

"Easier but slower," replied a different voice. "You know how Gregor values speed and surprise above everything else. Bastard doesn't care about the casualties we'll take." A muffled sigh followed. "Ah, well. Keep your eyes peeled, this is prime ambush territory."

The Darcsens held their breath as shadows passed by. Minos got a glimpse of two Imperials holding submachine guns. He relaxed as he realised they were walking by. Then his radio crackled into life.

"Come in, all units. What's your status?" The voice was Hector's, slightly distorted by the radio. In the near-silence of the ruined building, it sounded like an opera singer bellowing. Minos quickly turned it off, but the damage was done.

"Did you hear that?" asked one of the Imperial shocktroopers, hefting his ZM MP 2 as he looked around wildly, looking for the source of the sound.

"Course I did, you fucking idiot!" responded his comrade. "Sounds like it came from that destroyed hovel. You go through the doorway; I'll go round the side." He cocked his ZM and moved in slowly, wary of ambushes. He'd described the area accurately; a destroyed city was good ground for hit-and-run tactics.

Minos slowly raised himself into a crouch. He and Julia had heard every word. Moving silently, they moved into ambush positions. Minos flattened himself against the wall next to the doorway. Glass crunched under the Imperial's boots as he approached cautiously. The Darcsen watched as he poked his gun through, then followed with the rest of his body, immediately shouldering the submachine gun and looking around.

Too slow. Minos lashed out like a viper, slamming the butt of his rifle into the base of the Imp's skull, an area where his helmet didn't protect. There was a crunch as the bones ground together under the sheer force of the blow, and the Imperial flopped to the floor with all the grace of a toppling tree.

The second Imperial, none the wiser to his comrade's predicament, kicked in a side door. He moved forward, and, apon spotting Minos standing over his fellow soldier's unmoving body, uttered a wordless howl of rage and raised his ZM. His concentrated rage meant that he didn't hear Julia kicking the door shut from where she'd been hiding behind it, and thus had no warning when the bullet tore through the back of his head. The shocktrooper slumped to the ground, a pool of blood slowly spreading from his body.

"Good shot," complimented Minos as he bent down to check the first Imperial's pulse. Weak, but it was there. He was alive, for now. "They'll probably have heard that shot. We've got to move."

"What about him?" asked Julia, motioning the unconscious shocktrooper with her rifle.

"We'll leave him," grunted Minos standing and grabbing his Gallian-1. "We can't take him with us, we can't waste our ragnaid on him, and I'm not about to shoot someone who's not a threat to us."

Julia nodded. "My thoughts exactly," she agreed, walking over to the doorway and peering out at the road, ignoring the stabbing pain from her shoulder. Several Imperial scouts were fanning out, obviously looking for the source of the gunshot. She swiftly drew her head back in. About to follow her brother out round the back of the house, she stopped and frowned. "Where's the radio?" she asked.

Minos turned. "I thought you had it," he muttered. He walked over to the Imperial bodies and kicked them over, exhaling sharply as he uncovered the broken remains of their radio, shattered by the dead stormtrooper's fall. Footsteps approached them. "No purpose in crying over spilt milk," he sighed, keeping his voice low as he led the way to the back of the house.

The Imperial vanguard had appeared in force in the plaza, and battle engulfed the centre of what used to be a peaceful town. Charos's Town Watch were in strong, well-built positions, but they had little ammo, and were outnumbered and outmanoeuvred by the Imperial force, which had superior training, weapons, and ammunition. The wreckage of two tanks smouldered in the middle of the street; they hadn't been expecting the hidden anti-tank guns. However, the other tanks had learnt from their mistakes and had approached more cautiously. Both anti-tank guns were put out of action with clinical precision.

Hector, crouched behind the line of sandbags furthest from the fighting, turned to Petr, who was surveying the battlefield through binoculars. "How much longer do we have to hold?" he asked his sergeant. The Watch couldn't take much more pounding; already, the Imperials had shattered two sandbag lines with ease. The Gallians were taking untenable casualties. The Imperials were also losing men, but they could afford to.

"About half an hour at the most," replied Petr, his face grim.

Hector sighed. In half an hour, most, if not all, of his force would be wiped out. But they had to hold. A medium tank crushed a sandbag wall under its treads, machine gun blaring at the Gallians scurrying for the cover of the next wall. Blood splattered the nearby shop windows as they were mown down. Hector grabbed his radio. "Ned!" he shouted. "Tank, left side!" He dropped his radio without waiting for his fellow lancer's reply and picked up his Lancaar. It only had three rounds left. He'd have to make them count.

He lined up the sights with the approaching tanks turret. It was traversing to the side in order to get a shot at a group of Watchmen. Perfect. The lance shuddered as the mighty warhead left it, the strong recoil absorbed by Hector's shoulder. The warhead slammed into the side of the tank's turret where the armour was thinner, penetrating and detonating. The resulting explosion tore the turret off the tank and threw it into the air. It landed on an unfortunate Imperial stormtrooper.

"Nice shot, Hector," congratulated Ned over the radio. "Good that you got it in one; I've only got two rounds left."

"Don't hold back, Ned," commanded Hector. "We don't have to hold out for much longer; hit as many tanks as you can, that'll stall their advance." Hector himself reloaded his Lancaar and searched for another target. A light tank was advancing slowly up the right side of the street. It was about to overrun two Watchmen who'd taken refuge in a shell crater. Before Hector could sight and fire, Ned nipped in before him, a lance warhead flying from his position and smashing into the tank's treads, immobilising it. The two Watchmen took the opportunity to dart for cover in a nearby shop.

Hector turned back to the centre of the road and found targets in abundance. Three medium tanks were rolling up the street, firing their machine guns and mortars indiscriminately. The screams of dying Watchmen reached Hector's ears, and he snarled as he fired. The lance warhead slammed into the tank's frontal armour just beside the machine gun. Once the explosion had cleared, the tank was still mobile; there was a huge dent in the armour, and the machine gun was silent, but it was still operational. Behind it, another three tanks were advancing, and, behind them, a heavy tank.

Growling, Hector ducked down and reached for his radio again. Petr was counting his remaining clips. Hector thumbed the transmit button and ordered all units to get to the plaza. They needed every man they could get.

The Imperial scout screamed as a bullet penetrated his right shoulder. His now-useless hand dropped his rifle as he clutched his wound. Seconds later, another gunshot rang out, and he slumped to the ground with another bullet embedded in his chest.

"Damn this wound," hissed Julia, indicating her holed left shoulder. "Throws my aim off. Good thing you got him."

Minos nodded. "We've got to keep moving," he reminded. They'd been sticking to the narrow alleys, hoping that the Imperials wouldn't be using them. When they had to cross wider roads, they tried to avoid contact when possible, or, if the Imperials were thin on the ground, tried to pick them off. So far, they'd taken down five Imperials, and judged themselves to be somewhere west of the town centre.

Julia slammed a new clip into her Gallian-1 and chambered the round. Looking around before heading into a nearby house, she widened her eyes as she saw four Imperial shocktroopers burst out of a nearby house. They'd been stalking them. One of them pointed and shouted. Julia turned back to her brother and started running. "Minos, move!" she screamed, pointing behind her as she ran past him. He looked over his shoulder, took one glance, and dashed off after her.

Bullets tore at their ankles, but the Imperials were a long way behind them and shooting while running is not generally considered an aid to accuracy. An officer angrily shouted at them to hold fire until they were closer. Minos and Julia ran like hunted dogs, dashing from building to building, but unable to shake off the Imperials, who were closing in. Minos glimpsed another squad from a window, also closing in on their location. "We're being cut off," he muttered.

Kicking down a door and running into a back garden, they were confronted with two shocktroopers. Before the Imperials could raise their weapons, both Darcsens fired, cutting them down. Not even bothering to check to see if they were still alive, the siblings sprinted on, down the rows of gardens, without a clear idea of where they were going. All they knew was that they had to escape the Imperial dragnet.

"Hector! Flanker! Left side!" Hector, silently thanking Petr for being observant, turned towards the flanking Imperial scout and raised his Gallian-1. The Imperial started firing, but seeing Hector's calm confidence and solid aiming, he nervously missed. Hector took his time, lined up his shot, and fired. The scout staggered back, blood spraying from the hole in his chest. Hector turned his attention back to the front.

The tanks had bludgeoned their way through the sandbag walls and were mercilessly mowing down the Watchmen struggling to find cover. Hector's Lancaar was out of ammo, and Ned had long since been killed. Mortars from the tanks rained down, scything down Gallians and mutilating those already dead. The streets ran with blood, but the Gallians were refusing to give in. The Imperials were bringing up flamethrowers to dig them out. Hector knew the battle was lost. He only hoped that they'd held out for long enough. He grabbed his radio.

"All units, retreat!" he ordered. "Get out of town in any way you can. I'll see you all later!" A nearby explosion forced his head down. "Go! Get out of here!" It was his last instruction to his Town Watch. An Imperial shocktrooper, bayonet fixed, leapt over the sandbag wall. Hector smashed the butt of his Gallian-1 into the enemy's stomach, spun the weapon round, and shot him twice point-blank, splattering the sandbag wall with gore. The watch captain was off running at a crouch towards the west before the body finished falling.

The remaining survivors of what used to be the Charos Town Watch turned and ran for their lives. It was every man for himself. In the mad scramble to get away from the Imperial war machine, many Gallians were cut down, but more made it to the relative safety of buildings as they ran for the outskirts, their only thought being to escape the Imperial pincer attack. The Watch knew that they had resisted against a far superior enemy for as long as they could. No-one felt any shame in running. They had done their best.

Hector had left his useless Lancaar at the plaza, and was now only burdened with his blast suit, a Gallian-1 and two spare clips, and his .45. He hoped he wouldn't have to use any of them; the priority now was staying alive and escaping to fight another day. Up ahead, he caught sight of Petr. Either the sergeant's Gallian was out of ammo, or he'd abandoned it in order to run faster. Either way, he was helpless when the Imperial shocktrooper stepped out in front of him. Petr dropped to the ground, covering his head, ready for the end of his life.

This movement undoubtedly saved him, as Hector now had a clear shot at the Imperial. Not stopping in his mad dash towards relative safety, he emptied his clip at the shocktrooper. Most of the bullets missed, but one struck the Imperial in the ankle. Grunting as he fell to the ground, he was unprepared for Petr rising to his feet and kicking his ZM MP 2 out of his hands. Petr grabbed the Imperial weapon and ended its former owner's life with a quick burst. Nodding to Hector in thanks, he started running again. Speed was now their only hope.

Minos and Julia crouched behind a low wall, observing the two squads of Imperials that had been hunting them. Six shocktrooper and two scouts were in the middle of the street, having, by the sound of it, an argument. Minos slumped down to sit with his back against the wall and looked at his sister, whose face was as pale as death itself. Her breathing came in short gasps.

"Are you sure you're OK, Julia?" he asked, concern etched in every fibre of his being. "Maybe I should apply the ragnaid if you feel bad enough..."

"I'll be fine... it's just... the blood loss and... the exertion," she panted, clutching a strip of cloth torn from her uniform to her open wound. "Ready to move... whenever."

Minos rose to a crouch and looked at the Imperials again. Their argument had become more animated. "I think we might have a chance to slip away," he told Julia. "If we can get to the ruined estate, I think we can lose them in there. It'll take us to the edge of town." He looked at her shoulder. "You up for it?"

His sister nodded and grunted as she grabbed her Gallian-1. Each rifle had five bullets left. They'd have to make them count. "Right... move," grunted Minos, and they sprinted out from behind cover, keeping at a crouch. The voices of the Imperials remained unchanged; they hadn't been noticed. Nevertheless, the Darcsen siblings didn't slow until they were well within the estate, when Julia collapsed on top of a pile of rubble, her breathing laboured. This time, Minos didn't hesitate in reaching for the ragnaid.

"Come on, Julia, stay with me," he growled as he rammed the activated ragnaid capsule against her shoulder. The wound closed up, but he could do nothing for the blood loss. The shrapnel must have nicked a blood vessel in her neck somewhere. There was certainly enough blood staining her uniform. Minos settled down to keep watch while his sister regained her strength.

Five minutes later, she deemed herself ready for the final push out of the city. He helped her to her feet, and was shocked when she pushed him down again. His shock turned to horror as the harsh retort of a ZM MP chattered. They'd waited too long. Julia's body jerked and spasmed as bullets tore their way through her chest, her abdomen, her head. Blood sprayed out the back of her as the bullets ripped themselves out of her body and kept going into the wall behind her. After a few seconds, which seemed like forever to Minos, her battered body fell onto the rubble with a wet thud.

Screaming in denial, Minos threw away his Gallian and scrambled to her side, grabbing her broken body, cradling it against his. Her glazed eyes stared up at the sky; she hadn't even been able to say goodbye.

Footsteps crunched on the rubble; guns were cocked. "Bad shot, Hans," grunted one of the Imperials. "Sloppy. You gave her time to notice you and push this one out of the way." He prodded the sobbing Minos with his boot. "Ah, well. We need fit dark-hairs alive, as ordered by Gregor. Don't know why, can't stand the stink of em." He grabbed a fistful of the Darcsen's hair and roughly dragged him to his feet. What he wasn't expecting was the flash of steel as Minos bared his combat knife.

"You bastards!" roared Minos as he stabbed the Imperial again and again in the stomach. Blood spurted through his fingers, staining the blade of his knife red with Imperial blood. The shocktrooper grew limp and weak, his attempts to raise his gun failing as the life drained from him. Minos kept stabbing until a burst of machine-gun fire riddled his back. His eyes grew dim as he dropped his knife. Turning his blurring gaze to his sister's body, using the last of his strength, he managed to take a few steps towards her before the blackness took him. Minos died at the side of his beloved sister.

Hector and Petr moved cautiously through the ruined estate. Not long ago, they'd heard machine-gun fire. Only a few blocks separated them from the town's edge, and from there they could escape into the thick forest that bordered Charos. But first they had to get there. Every sound prompted an abrupt halt by the nervous Watch captain and his sergeant. Hector led the way, while Petr covered the rear.

"Two Imperials, ten o' clock," growled Hector softly, pulling Petr behind a pile of rubble. "Look like shocktroopers. I say we try to sneak past em. Can't afford to waste time hoping they'll leave."

"They're right between us and the edge of town," observed Petr, knuckles white due to the fierce grip he had on his stolen ZM MP.

"Damn it... OK, we need to get closer to take em out." Hector staying low, ran out from the cover of the rubble pile and made it to a nearby house with most of its front blown out. Petr joined him, and together they took another look at the Imperials, who were now within rifle range. Mercifully, they had their backs to the Gallians. "OK... on three, I open fire, while you move up and get within range," muttered Hector. "Got it?"

"Got it." Petr crouched lower and prepared himself.

"One..." Hector got out from behind cover and raised his Gallian. "Two..." He steadied his breathing and lined the iron sights up with the broad, armoured back of the shocktrooper, the part of the body he was most likely to hit. "Three." He fired. The shocktrooper dropped like a stone, as did his comrade, looking around to detect the source of the shot. Petr sprinted towards him silently, praying that the Imperial wouldn't see him. Hector stood and started running; he couldn't get a clear shot with the surviving Imperial on the ground.

Petr reached the Imperial just as he was rising to a crouch. The ZM barked as Petr fired a short burst. The enemy shocktrooper was blasted onto his back, several bullet holes scattered over his armour. Both Gallians slumped in relief. "Good shooting, Hector," complimented Petr, prodding the Imps with his foot. Both were definitely dead.

"Thanks, but we need to keep moving," replied Hector, easing his sweat-soaked bandana. "The forest should be just half a mile away- hang on." His attention was attracted by a nearby pile of rubble. Jogging over, his face grew grim.

Minos and Julia were lying side by side, numerous bullet holes defiling their bodies. Nearby was a dead Imperial, several stab wounds in his gut. Hector sighed as he dropped to one knee beside the pair of Darcsens. Not only had he been close friends with both of them, the bond they shared was something remarkable, even among Darcsens. Not even death could break it, it seemed; Minos was clutching his sister in a death grip.

Hector dropped his Gallian-1 in the rubble as his shaking hands closed their eyes. It was the least he could do now. Rage boiled within him, rage at the Imperials for bringing their war to his peaceful hometown. The watch captain ground his teeth as he pounded the rubble, bricks cracking under the gauntlets of his blast suit. Minos and Julia filled his eyes. He'd assured them that they'd get through. Hector had known even then that it was a hollow promise, used only to raise their spirits, but it tore at his soul nonetheless. Wrenching his gaze away, he brutally forced down the rage and the sorrow and the other emotions that threatened to drown him; he'd have enough time to remember them later, but, for now, his duty was not yet done. He still had the living to care for; his dead friends were beyond all help.

Hector slowly got to his feet and walked back to Petr. "Come on," he muttered, his face grim. "They're beyond help, but we can still help ourselves. Let's move."

Four hours later, Hector was observing the remains of his hometown through a gap in the thick trees of the forest. He'd received word that most of the civilians had got away; at least the death of most of the Town Watch hadn't been in vain. Some of the remaining Watchmen had managed to escape to the forest, but it was a mere handful, and of his friends, only Petr remained. Boots crunched on the forest floor behind Hector, but he didn't turn his head, instead watching the numerous plumes of smoke billowing above Charos.

Petr sat down on a nearby rock. "What will you do now, Hector?" asked the sergeant, his stolen ZM still clutched in his hands. "We have to fight. We have to drive them out of Gallia for what they've done here today." The scout's face was grim.

Hector turned to his sergeant, his friend. "I'm going to Randgriz," he muttered. "I'll join the militia, and, when I've done my best to help end this war, I'll head to a town on the sea and do something with my life. Something worthwhile."

"You're not coming back here?"

Hector shook his head. "It was a nice place, but I was planning on moving away anyway," he sighed. "Besides, right now it holds too many bad memories." Hector grunted as he knuckled his back. "What about you? What are you doing?"

"I always did want to be a soldier, in the army, you know?" replied Petr. "Now, I guess, is the ideal time to enlist. Hope they have a place for me."

"I'm sure they will, friend. I'm sure they will." Hector stood and stretched. "Well, no use waiting around here. Randgriz isn't exactly just down the road. I'll see you after the war." The lancer turned and walked off in the direction of the few trucks the Watch had managed to commandeer. He didn't look back at the smoking wreckage of what had once been a peaceful Gallian border town. The war had begun.

A/N: Well, that's finished. I hope I solved the excessive OC problem by killing all but one of them (he might make a reoccurrence if I write another story, but rest assured his role will be minor). Anyhow, please tell me what you think, I can only improve if you tell me how to. DC20's review certainly only helped me (cheers again for that).