Disclaimer: FoZ/ZnT belong to the departed Noboru Yamaguchi and whoever inherited the I.P.. Any real life organisation/person is merely being used in a fictional non-profit way. Special thanks to Trainalf for working on this with me and to Karaya for making that 1st Cav is mentioned right.
Author's note: Here's the new chapter. I hope you enjoy it. I've got a few explanations
First off: your allies are always fighting for freedom and liberty… even if it's not the case. The other thing is that you can't thrust democracy on a society that is largely illiterate and used to a feudal/authoritarian system… it's not gonna last long or be very healthy or be very stable. People will just vote for the strongest guy around. The other thing is that Canada and that the US won't topple a friendly and cooperative leader/regime.
Also… the average age for a Canadian Corporal is 20-21 with Lieutenants being slightly older at 22 to 27 roughly. Recruits can join at 16-17 for basic training with parental consent. So Siesta hooking up with a Canadian soldier wouldn't be abnormal either.
A Night to Remember
The sun was beginning to set, casting the light over Tristain's largest city in an eerie orange. Torches were already being lit in anticipation for the coming night. The defenders of Tristainia could watch only in surprise as they saw Reconquista's fleet continue moving towards their city's battlements. Some ships had already crashed or retreated from counter fire, but more took their place.
"Is Cromwell that desperate to seize the city?" Henrietta asked as she stood next to General du Poitier on the Palace's walls. "The sun is setting- his men would have to fight in the dark."
"So it would seem. He probably wishes to seize the city before our allies arrive." du Poitier answered, "Admiral de Châteauneuf has left for his flagship."
Henrietta nodded as she saw the flashes of Tristainian cannon lit up along the walls. They thundered defiantly against the approaching mass.
Battles were rarely fought at night in Halkegenia. It was a difficult affair to coordinate troops and ships in the darkness and few leaders dared risk throwing themselves forwards in such hazardous conditions; friendly fire was even more likely in the dark of night.
Cromwell must have heard of the defeats that his forces suffered against Earth. It was the only reason she could think he'd start a battle that most certainly would continue into the night. He was desperate.
But a desperate enemy was the most dangerous.
Inside the American embassy compound, the special forces teams was gearing up from the compound's well stocked armory. They were going to help defend the capital tonight in their own way. Snipers made sure their scopes were accurate, night visions goggles batteries were checked and explosives were primed. Radios frequencies were being run through, making sure that the Americans, Canadians and British teams were perfectly synchronised.
If Albion came through the walls… they would run into lethal surprises, courtesy of Earth's elite.
"Day or night men… we will defeat them!" Guiche declared passionately as he looked at the enemy forces before the walls. There had to be tens of thousands sounding the whole Capital, and at least 10,000 just in front of them- Reconquista troops waiting to break through the walls. They were just beyond the range of his musketeers' weapons but the nearby cannons were already firing at the enemy airships.
"Mm-maybe you shouldn't stay too much in front," Malicorne stammered, "You might get hit before you can fight."
"I have faith that the walls will shield me," Guiche retorted, "I will not hide behind my men!" Beside him, those same men were looking at him with the same admiration they did his father. At this moment, the two were hardly indistinguishable.
"Why are their ships not stopping?" Kirche suddenly asked as she looked up, "They're going to fly over the city at this rate!"
A group of frigates were flying towards their segment of the walls. The ships began to turn on their broadsides.
"Everyone take cover!" Malicorne shouted to his unit before noticing that Guiche was still standing, "Guiche get-"
The sound of cannon fire cut out the boy's sentence. Everyone closed their eyes as they heard the whistling sound of cannonballs. Except that the impact wasn't against stone… but wood.
"Our fleet is here!" one of the soldiers exclaimed joyfully. One of the Tristainians squadrons had arrived to support them. The thunder of cannons was above them as the ships exchanged fire. Occasionally, an offensive spell would fly between the vessels.
The ships closed in a deadly ballet as they circled above the battleground just in front of the walls. Musket fire echoed as both squadrons got in range. Spells began to fly as well. The Tristainians had picked up a few dirty tricks from their Earth trainers.
"Ready. Aim. Fire!" an officer shouted out on one of the Tristainian ships. The thunderous volley streak across the skies before hitting their mark: the command deck of one of the Albion frigates. The great wheel that controlled the ship was shattered and some of the officers were struck by Tristainian musketballs. The frigate fell out of formation. In the confusion, it kept moving, passing by the broadside of a Tristainian ship. Who punished the Albion ship thoroughly as a full salvo tore through the ship's hull, one cannonball impacting with the precious windstones that kept the ship aloof. The frigate fell out of the skies before the walls of Tristainia, her crew crying out in horror.
Meanwhile, Guiche and Malicorne were shouting orders to their men, the enemy having closed enough for to be in range. The sight of a crashing ship, despite the horrendous loss of life, gave them some extra confidence as they stood their ground. Volleys of muskets thundered, their flashes illuminating the walls against the dimming sunlight.
Men fell as they were struck by musketballs, their cries resonating across the battlefield. A horn blared from the skies above… it was the sound of the Griffin knights who had come to assist!
De Châteauneuf grimly looked from the deck of his flagship, the 'Royal Protector'. Despite the darkness that had fallen on Tristain, the Reconquista ships refused to disengage from battle with his ships. In the distance, he could see some of his squadrons still exchanging fire with the enemy's.
So far, the enemy hadn't thrown in its heavier ships. The Tristainian admiral reasoned that manoeuvring such large ships at night was risky. Less manoeuvrable meant more chances of accidents happening.
Many of his ships had sustained damage and De Châteauneuf issued standing orders that a heavily damaged ship should break off so that her crew could join the ground defence afterwards. He glanced over to another part of the line where he could see a badly mauled squadron fighting off the enemy as best as they could. Remembering his maps… that was the squadron led by the Defender.
The 'Defender' and her two squadron mates were fighting as best as they could. They had already crippled an enemy squadron and were now fighting another one. The battles were starting to take their toll.
"Captain!" The first mate shouted as he climbed up the stairs to the command deck, "Most of our cannons are destroyed!"
The man had a bloodied bandage wrapped around his head while his ragged clothes were drenched in sweat.
"Very well M. Lépine," Captain de Boeck replied stressfully, "Have the fires put out?"
"Yes sir! Though we don't how much longer the ship can fight! The hull is barely holding together and the crew's running out of wood to fix the damage!"
De Boeck grimaced as he looked at his ship's deck. Scorch marks, blood stains and holes scarred the wooden deck while men were still fighting with the few remaining cannons and their muskets. Spell fire flew around as well. Some hit their mark, others slammed into magical shields.
"What of the rest of the squadron?"
Cannonfire resounded in the background as the other ships traded fire with the enemy. Fire lit up their decks as their crews fought both flames and foe.
"They're as bad as us sir."
De Boeck frowned. He didn't like the decision he was taking but he had no choice. The enemy had already inflicted severe damage to his ships. Holes were evident as they could see the light of lamps filtering through the damaged hulls.
"Signal for the squadron to retreat to the docks! The walls' cannons should be able to cover our retreat. We are retreating!" He yelled to his own crew.
"Yes sir!"
The First Mate barked out orders before a flag signalling their retreat was hoisted on the top mast. Wind mages used their magic to help propel the Tristainian ships faster as they changed course and turned to port.
Behind them, the Albion squadron that had engaged them followed them haphazardly, not bothering to maintain formation. It struck De Boeck as he looked back at his pursuers. It was almost amateurish.
Cannon fire resonated as a salvo from some of the wall mounted cannons slammed into the ship leading the pursuit, hitting her powder magazine and causing her to detonate.
Cheers rose from the battered crews as they saw the rest of the squadron break off their pursuit, the ships almost colliding as their captains turned them around without coordination. After a few moments, the 'Defender' and her squadron docked. Many of the capital's docks were still empty, their ships having not yet returned from the battle. De Boeck stood near one of the gangplanks as he and his surviving officers were guiding the evacuation of the wounded crewmen.
"Get these men out carefully! Hurry up!"
"Captain!" a voice shouted, "We can help you carry the wounded!"
Looking to the source of the voice, de Boeck saw a line of carts and wagons lit by torches and surrounded by commoners led by a large man. The people began to move towards the gangplanks to help the wounded. Others were waiting with wooden planks and tools, ready to help with emergency repairs.
As the last casualty was carried off, the captain walked onto firm land and saw a group of guards escorting an older man… Admiral de Châteauneuf. De Boeck saluted his commander.
"Excellent work out there captain," the old man droned in his usual monotone way, "Your squadron has done its duty well."
"Thank you Admiral," de Boeck replied tiredly, "It was a difficult battle but we have done our best."
"Yes, you and your crew are to rest for now. We will have need of you on the ground later on. Albion is pressing its attack on the ground despite nightfall and every able-bodied man is needed to fight."
"I understand. Thank you Admiral."
As de Boeck walked away, he looked back at de Châteauneuf.
"Her Majesty has asked me to thank every crew for their bravery on this day as well."
"It's our duty," the captain replied, "How many ships did we lose?"
"6."
"By Brimir."
Two squadrons… one third of the fleet. Hard… but not catastrophic.
"Albion has lost as many ships captain," the admiral replied, "Many have been crippled if the reports are true."
It surprised de Boeck slightly. Albion's navy was well known for having skilled captains and crews. How could his fellow Tristainians have held up so well?
"It seems that the rumours that Reconquista has been purging their army and navy were true," De Châteauneuf remarked as he left.
Cromwell tensely watched the battle from the deck of the Lexington with some of his generals.
"Lord-Protector, you must rest," pleaded one of them, "You cannot allow to exert yourself so much." The Priest who'd overthrown the Tudor's had barely slept in the last 48 hours.
The general was met with a withering glare from Cromwell.
"Do you think that our Holy Founder allowed himself such frivolities when he first led our people to salvation? Do you think I would allow myself to rest when my presence is most needed?!" Cromwell ranted, "To rest now is to insult Brimir's name and show weakness in the face of his Trials."
"No-no Lord-Protector!"
He could see smoke rising from Tristainia as his cannons bombarded the city and its walls. A orange glow permeated the city, fires having erupted from the bombardement. His frigates had forced the Tristainians ships to retreat and they began to shell the defenders on the walls.
Despite all of this, progress was not as fast he wanted. His men had yet to breach the defenses despite an all out attack. Time was of the essence. Cromwell did not wish to expend so many lives in taking Tristain when they could better fight against truly dangerous opponents like the Germanians or Gallians.
All he needed was to capture Henrietta and force her to surrender. A voice broke his musings.
"Lord-Protector, we bring news from the battle," an aide said.
"Very well, what is the situation? Have our forces reached the walls?"
The messenger shook his head.
"No, the enemy is keeping them at bay. They are fighting harder than we expected."
Cromwell silently cursed these people's stubbornness. He was the one that Brimir had chosen to lead His followers. Why didn't they bow to him already?!
"We are losing more men than we thought," the messenger continued, "However-"
"Do you have any good news?!" Cromwell snapped, "Defeatism insults Brimir's will!"
"Y-yes Lord-Protector! Our sappers and Earth mages' efforts are going well! The Tristainian navy has abandoned the skies to us!"
This seemed to calm down the agitated leader.
"Lady Sheffield will return with additional forces and supplies within two days. That will offset any losses we may suffer." Cromwell spoke to himself as he remembered his assistant's suggestion, "And tip the balance in our favour."
"Indeed Lord-Protector."
Night fell upon Tristainia for it had been already 2 hours that the armies and navies clashed. Despite the darkness, the fighting continued. Cannonballs, magic and musket fire rained upon both armies. In the skies above, the Reconquista fleet still lent their firepower to the siege. The ships were not alone however. Dragon riders were fighting as well, facing Tristain's Griffon, Pegasus and Manticore knights.
A loud roar filled the skies as Duchess Valliere rode her manticore familiar, Camille, against the enemy. She let loose a blast of wind from her sword wand towards an dragon rider, connecting with her target and knocking the rider off.
"Duchess Valliere!" one of her wingmen shouted, "We have a direct opening towards one of the enemy's ships!"
"Follow me!" she ordered as she dove towards the ship, "This is our chance!"
"Yes milady!"
The trio of manticore riders dove in, aided by the dark skies. Musket fire rang out… but towards the walls. It seemed that the enemy had its entire attention on the defenders there.
'Wonderful.' the duchess thought as she began chanting the incantation for her most powerful spell: Wind Fang. The roaring wind began to coalesce into a dangerous dark vortex before flying towards one of the enemy's frigates.
The effect was tremendous. The lethal fang filled, tornado torn ship and crew apart as it impacted its target. Debris and fire rained from the skies into the ranks of men underneath, killing many that couldn't dodge in time.
A series of explosions rocked a nearby ship as it caught on fire. Pegasus knights rose from their successful attack run led by Duke Valliere. A terrible creaking sound soon followed as the burning ship began to break apart in the skies, her crew overwhelmed by the flames.
"That's one more victory to our name gentlemen!" the duke roared triumphantly as he watched the ship fall out of the sky.
Meanwhile, the Griffin knights were dueling with the Albion dragon riders, neither side holding back. The Griffin knights fought bitterly to avenge their honour that was tarnished by Wardes' betrayal of their queen. Mounts and riders fell from the skies as magic flew back and forth in a deadly show. There was no mercy as both side knew the stakes of this battle.
The duchess and her wingmen regained altitude, rejoining the rest of the Manticore knights. The battle was far from decided but every action that the Vallieres took was one that helped protected what they held dearest: Their beloved daughters. There was no way that any them, given their relationship with the Royal Family, would be able to have any mercy from Reconquista. Not talented Eleonore, not frail Cattleya, not weak Louise.
If Tristain fell… if they failed, the duke and duchess knew what terrible things would befall on their children. The three would die fighting for their kingdom, their family and their friends at the best… the alternative was simply unthinkable for their parents.
And so they fought on for their children to spare them such fates.
"FIRE!" Guiche roared as his unit unleashed another volley of musket fire. Despite their slowly thinning ranks, he and his men held fast. By now, he could make out the distinct silhouette of ladders in the enemy's lines. His men's fire hit some of their bearers, but more took their place as they rushed the walls while under cover from their allies.
As the Albion soldiers planted their ladders in the ground and slammed them against the walls, they could still hear musket fire raining on them. Men fell but more took their place. As they began their ascension, they noticed petals falling down on them. As the petals landed, they turned into a slippery liquid.
"OIL! GET OFF THE LA-"
Screams of pain erupted as a fireball lit up the oil slicks before being blown forward by a gust of wind. The ladders broke as flames consumed them while burning men fell down to the ground, causing their comrades to scatter.
"Burn you bastards!" Guiche roared as he summoned more oil.
Despite the bravery of the troops, the inevitable had happened: the walls had failed on multiple sides of the city. In some places, they'd been scaled and captured by Albion troops, who now ran along their entire length hoping to capture the Capital's entire perimeter. Swords clashed as men fought for control of the battlements. Muskets and tools were being used as clubs while broken stonework was hurled at the enemy. The Tristianians fought with fire in their hearts for their homes.
Others sections of the wall had been brought down by cannon fire or Earth Magic. Explosions rang out as cannons and their powder ignited in the battlements, robbing the Tristainians of their counter-battery ability. Every 5 minutes it seems the Tristain commanders were getting word of another section of wall captured or collapsed.
But they endured. Even as the walls collapsed all around them, troops and cannons on the still standing sections continued to fire as much as they could while their numbers withered. Tristain troops wielding pikes and muskets formed up tightly around the breaches. When the first Reconquista troops came screaming and charging through the cap, they were met with volley fire and walls of sharp pointy steel.
But they'd gotten through, and the assault on the rest of the wall hadn't let up. Soon, the fighting would move into the streets.
"Damn." Guiche swore as the wall started to collapse a distance down to their right. The Albion troops below them immediately started moving towards it. He suddenly saw Verdandi run up to him. The mole looked agitated but Guiche understood it.
Sappers were close to the base of his wall section.
"Every man off the wall!" he ordered, his voice amplified by magic, "The enemy is undermining us!"
His men broke into a run as they abandoned their position before reforming in a street near the walls. Malicorne and his men followed suit as well. They barely had time to catch their breaths that an explosion almost knocked off their feet. In a thunderous crash, the wall collapsed before them.
"Ready yourselves!"
Magic cleared the rubble, and the first Reconquista troops charged through the breach. Musket fire slammed into the first wall of shields that came in. Guiche summoned golems that charged into the Albion troops, hacking and slashing the first ranks and breaking them up so that another volley of musket fire felled more invading troops.
"Hold them back, men!" Guiche urged worriedly, "Do it for our people!"
Malicorne's unit had also taken up positions next to Guiche's and were firing back as they could. A fireball impacted directly in front of the incoming hordes before being blown back into the ranks of the Albion troops.
"The fire of Germania shall punish your arrogance!" Kirche declared proudly while Tabitha, circling above on Sylphid, looked on passively as the small mage kept her eyes open for any danger.
Both sides' aerial combattants had largely withdrawn for the time being in order to rest. The battle had taken its toll on them as the fallen mounts and riders littered all over the capital.
The fighting was vicious as the Tristainian Army tried to plug the gaps. With shields and magic to protect them from the walls of pikes, the sheer mass of surging Albion bodies were pushing them back. Reconquista mages boldly stepped forward first and broke the plugs with magic. The Tristainian commanders despaired with every reported breach, weary of spreading their rapidly dwindling men too thin. Several breaches went undefended as hordes of screaming Albion soldiers dashed over the ruined walls.
Having lost several hundred approaching and capturing the wall, the first Albionian troops finally made it into the city streets. Many moved to attack the defenders from behind. A few hundred surged to the center of the city, where the Royal Palace and the Embassies lay.
Victory was in their grasp… or they thought.
Earth Special Forces moved to counter them. In the shadows, the elite men of three armies moved in silence to pre-scouted vantage points, their stay in the past months in Tristania having been put to good use.
Albion mages and unit leaders began to fall in the streets leading to the castle and embassies, shot by an invisible enemy that refused to let up. Every now and then, a burst of accurate musket fire would decimate a rank of men, their cries of agony and death throes shaking the Reconquista troops' resolve.
Soon it was too much and men broke and ran away from this unknown threat. It was precious bought time but elsewhere, Tristainian and Albionian soldiers fought bitterly for every inch of street, alleyway and building. The sound of metal clashing rang throughout the city. By now, nearly 2,000 Albion troops were either on the wall or had come through the gaps. The Tristainians were holding them at the edges of the city, and most of those who passed ended up getting shot, but the situation wasn't tenable. One side would break soon, and all three parties knew which one it would be.
As midnight passed and the date changed in a city alight with fire and already flowing with blood, midnight passed at the portal with as much light and noise but not as much violence. Reinforcements were still streaming in through the portal, and portable floodlights and headlights from hundreds of vehicles kept the area around the portal and academy bright as day.
The Canadian mechanized troops that had arrived earlier and taken part in the defense of the portal had already reformed and left. They would be bypassing the Capital and continuing straight to the base to reinforce and help drive off the so-called Albion siege. The gathered American troops, a battalion from the 10th Mountain Division, had set up a search and destroy mission, moving out to capture or kill the few hundred Albion stragglers that had escaped the battle. The other Canadian troops that had arrived, including the helicopter equipped 3rd Battalion of the R22R, were reforming up after the chaotic crossing over and were waiting for instructions.
That would be coming from the command post being hastily set up on Academy grounds with the headmaster's blessings. The 2nd Canadian Division had already transferred most of its headquarters personnel and equipment: Brigadier General Carignan had arrived with her staff. The officers and headquarters of the American 2nd Brigade of the 10th Mountain Division had been flown in quickly to Montreal International Airport and were coming through and setting up too. All this before their subordinate units had even finished coming through.
It was during this rapid influx of regulars and reservists that something extraordinary was noticed: The portal had gotten shorter.
No one understood how… but the trip from Earth to Tristain was noticeably shorter. Normally it was a journey of around 3 minutes by vehicle. Now though, it only took a third of that. The supply companies were the only one who noticed since they transversed it regularly. The change was so sudden that there'd been two rear endings before the fact dawned on them.
"If this is true," General Carignan said to her staff and American colleagues, "We'll be able to launch Operation Northern Relief much earlier than planned." She was meeting with the American brigade commander and some of her own regiment and brigade commanders to make theirs plans. A map of the country lay on the table before them. "Are the reconnaissance drones ready to be deployed?"
"We had them sent first." The American Colonel from the 10th Mountain said. "The station is being set up now." The 10th Mountain Division Aviation Brigade had a dozen drones in it for reconnaissance, something the Canadian Division just couldn't match. A few of those drones, and the majority of helicopters from the entire division, had been cleared to take part in the operation.
"I want eyes on the capital as soon as they're set up. We need to assess the enemy's progression there. The rest of your assets?"
"Convoys are driving up from Longueuil. Whatever rotar wings we had airworthy are at CFB St. Hubert waiting for a chance to get driven through."
"What about our assets?" She turned to one of own own subordinates. "Reserve and regular."
"The 4/22 is ready to go as well as the 2nd Field Artillery Regiment," he reported, "The 1/22 has already left for Clément-sur-Mer but the 2/22 is ready to go. 3/22's doing a few final checks on their helicopters but they'll be ready soon. The 12e Régiment blindé's C Squadron should arrive in the next few hours though with the latest development with the portal, it might be faster than planned."
That meant tank support in the shape of 21 Leopard 2 tanks.
"What about the 2nd Brigade of the 1st Cav?" the general asked the American officers.
"They'll be in Montreal tomorrow night at best. But they'll need at least a day after that to get organized and get through the portal" The 1st Cavalry Division could be anywhere in 72 hours, but that estimate accounted for the entire world. On the same continent, it'd be even faster, and there was no shortage of rail lines linking the US and Canada. Many Canadian rail lines had be requisitioned by the Canadian government while the roads in Montreal were cordoned off for military use.
"Fixed wing assets?"
"They're on the ground like the helicopters. We're just waiting for an opportunity to send them through. They were scheduled first but got pushed back. To be honest, that portal is strangling us here." Both nations were trying to bring in men, vehicles, and aircraft all at once, but with how small that portal was and the streets surrounding… efforts were frustrating to say the absolute least.
"We'll prioritize the ground forces for now. What is the situation in Montreal?"
Earlier that day, social media had flared to life as certain far-left groups in the city's large student population called for protests against the war effort and martial law. Of course, more reasonable students had naturally called the police on those groups and their leaders. It was not the time to cause trouble for the authorities… Albion was already doing a splendid job of it.
"Nothing that would impact our reinforcements or supply lines. The Montreal police and the Sureté du Québec have done their job very well in keeping the peace."
"Excellent. Back to Halkeginia then. How long would it take for the drones to be above the capital?"
"At this distance, an hour or so."
"And they can attack targets?" She asked. The American Colonel shook his head.
"They're reconnaissance only."
"Well, we'll have eyes on the city at least and we'll be able to help our teams operating in the capital." The Special Forces teams from all three nations were relaying information directly back to the new command center, and it wasn't looking good. The city walls were starting to fail, and their allies were outnumbered 2-1 and would very soon lose control of the air. The ground situation was bad with the Tristainians constantly engaged. Even civilians had begun to join the defense according to certain reports.
It was however not time to panic but time to work. The Joint Staff for the Halkeginian Command had work to do to win the upcoming battles. And work they did.
They worked tirelessly through the night coming up with a viable strategy as men and vehicles streamed through the portal only a short distance away. Difficulties cropped up immediately.
By the accounts on the ground, the enemy had airships up above the capital. The obvious answer was shooting them down, but sending a giant hunk of burning wood crashing into the city and potentially on your allies wasn't a good idea, especially when it could very well explode and start a city destroying fire. But as benign a threat as cannonballs would be, they couldn't be ignored.
Planning resources was the one thing they were short on. They had maps of the country, the borders, and all the relevant terrain. But a detailed map of the Capital, they did not. The Palace and the military installations near its center yes, but the hundreds of streets, small alleys, and pathways that made up the labyrinth where the fighting was likely to take place? Nothing.
The American Colonel had made a morbid joke upon seeing the rudimentary map they had as 'Fallujah 1523'. It wasn't that ugly a statement; they already knew most of the streets would be too narrow for vehicles. This would be infantry urban fighting. Heavy urban fighting.
Coordination, at least, wouldn't be a problem. The military attaché for the British diplomatic party still in the Capital would act as a relay, letting each side know what the other was doing.
Plans were debated, crafted, and fine tuned well into the night.
"Your Majesty!" General du Poitier exclaimed as he saw his queen still standing on the Palace battlements, "You must rest! When was it that you last slept?!" In the distant, cannons continued to roar. The Albion airships hadn't approached the Palace yet; they were still focused on the walls or the remains of the Tristainian Navy.
"I will not rest until this battle is over!" she retorted, "How does our army fare?"
"We are holding them back. Our prayers are not unanswered," he stated, weariness in his voice, "We've noticed that some of their forces have been driven back with no reason save for men falling dead. I suspect that our allies have lent their guards to help us. But Your Majesty- we won't be able to hold them at the walls."
Henrietta's face hardened.
"Will we be able to hold them in the streets?" she asked.
"Until morning at worst, until noon at best your Majesty, possibly enough time for the other lords to arrive with their armies." That was only if they marched all night, and the General knew how helpful tired troops would be. Little help was better than nothing though.
"Very well. Evacuate as many bystanders as you can to the Royal Palace. I do not wish for any innocents to perish needlessly."
"Understood."
"Have we gotten word from the Ambassadors about the relief forces?"
Henrietta shook her head.
"We know that large numbers of their fighting men are being mustered before coming here to help us and that many have arrived in Tristain. Beyond that I have no news. They have promised help, and I trust their words as honest."
"I see." he nodded.
"General?"
"Yes your Majesty?
"When was it when you last slept?"
Du Poitier couldn't help but splutter.
Saito clenched his teeth as he looked into the city. Despite the darkness, flames and torches lit up the city as he heard the sounds of battle in the distance.
As much as he wanted to fight, Henrietta had ordered Louise to remain behind to figure out the inner working of the Founder's Prayer Book. Her familiar, on the other hand, was pacing impatiently.
So much was going on out there, but they weren't taking part in it like they desperately wanted.
Guiche heaved heavily as he wiped sweat off his brow. His helmet lay discarded on the bloodied ground while his uniform was dirtied by blood and grime. Bodies littered the ground in front of his unit. They had made the enemy pay dearly but it came at a price. Half of Guiche and Malicorne's units had been decimated in the last hours of fighting. Many were walking wounded that clung to their weapons.
"Guiche!" Malicorne shouted hoarsely, "Are you sure we can't retreat?!"
He was met with an almost feral snarl.
"NO! WE ARE NOT RETREAT-"
"Milord!" another soldier yelled as he tackled Guiche. Both fell face first in the dirt as a volley of musket fire sailed over their head. Both stood up to the sound of others falling in agony.
"GUICHE! By the Founder, are you alive?!" Malicorne shouted, tears in his eyes as he ran over to his fallen friend.
"We can't stay here Guiche! There's too many of them!" Kirche shouted from nearby.
"I won't run away!" he roared as he summoned more of his Valkyries and hurled them towards the enemy's ranks. A wind blast knocked a few of the Albion men off their feet as the golems hacked them up.
"Retreat." Tabitha said as she and Sylphid landed next to the Tristainian soldiers, "Too many of them."
Guiche ignored them as he continued to bellow orders to stand fast, his voice hoarse from hours of battle.
An explosion knocked the young noble off his feet. As he came to, he saw the rushing horde of Albion troops close on him but before he could act, the ground collapsed beneath them, swallowing the screaming hoard and crushing them under the weight of the earth. Those behind fled as a voice roared out.
"Guiche! Why have you not retreated!?"
His commander had arrived on his horse accompanied by his guards. All appeared winded as they surveyed the scene.
"Fath-Marshall de Grammont!" Guiche spluttered as he picked himself off the ground.
"By the Founder!" the marshall shouted, "Why are you still here!? The walls and gates have fallen!"
Guiche looked indignant.
"We cannot retreat! If the enemy pushes-"
"There are times when you need to retreat! There's no point in dying because of vengeance!" The head of the Grammont family turned to the men he'd lent out to his youngest son. "Men, we're retreating to the inner streets to hold them there! The same applies to you M. de Grandpré! Guiche you are retreating as well… that is an order!"
His son was about to protest some more but the marshall's glare shut them off.
"You want to avenge your mother?! Follow me!"
Kirche and Malicorne blew sighs of relief as they began retreating.
The battles now raged on in the narrow streets on the capital where the advantage of numbers was nullified. Pike and musket lines held firm at choke points against the oncoming rush of Albion troops. Barricades were set up hastily whenever time was possible by both soldier and civilian. Men took up positions in the houses, shops and other buildings as they fought in the battle for their lives.
But the lines weren't clean or entirely effective. To anyone looking at the city from above, the distance down each street the barricades were set was inconsistent. Any mischievous mage or soldier could cut through a building on one street and come out behind a barricade on another. Some streets and alleyways were undefended or even ignored all together. Attacks and counter attacks were so savage that certain locations changed hands multiple times. Such was the chaos in Tristainia.
Earth mages were especially prized right now as they could use their powers to raise impromptu dirt walls. Every one of them were working hard to defend the city.
Guiche was chanting, summoning the nearby rubble to set up a barricade to slow the advancing Albion troops as their men carried broken masonry. Kirche was using her magic to give him light to work.
Unfortunately, in the confusion, Malicorne and Guiche's units had gotten separated during a hectic retreat. Guiche desperately wanted to find his friend but there was no time.
The sound of hooves signalled that Marshall Grammont was returning to inspect the line with his guards.
"Get out of here!" a harsh voice shouted in Albionese, "The enemy's outflanked us!"
The mages and their soldiers looked over their heads in surprise, Guiche and Kirche almost falling over of shock. Marshall Grammond's eyes widened in surprise as he saw what exactly was addressing him. A group of men-like silhouettes with glowing green eyes were perched on top of a nearby ruined building. They held strange muskets in their hands.
"Listen! Reconquista's already got the next street over and they can get behind you!" one of them shouted this time in Tristainian, "We can buy you time but you'll have to retreat a few streets back!"
"Who in the Founder's name are you?!" Marshall Grammont shouted back from his horse.
"Friends!" The figure responded.
"Father, I believe those are our allies' soldiers." His son spoke up. The Marshall looked again. They didn't look like the ones he saw at the Embassies, but the similarities were apparent. The group of strange soldiers watched as the Grammonds and their troops retreated to safer positions.
As they did so, they heard a series of explosions and continuous gunshots behind them followed by cries of agony and terror that finally turned to unnatural silence.
'Whoever these men are… they're good!' the Marshall mused grimly as he made his way to another strong point with his men.
How far into the city the fighting reached varied wildly. On the west side, the fighting was still within 500 yards of the wall. In the east though, the bloodshed had reached nearly a mile into the city, although till a long way from the Palace. Some small bands of Reconquista had gotten even further.
But these small bands were isolated and got lost in the unfamiliar streets. Many of them ended up stumbling upon huddled mobs of civilians fleeing from the fighting. Unfortunately for the Albion troops, the citizens would not be intimidated and fought back with whatever they had. Pitchforks, pans and even bits of masonry were used. The better equipped Albion troops killed several, obviously, but the populace didn't relent, and the bands had no choice but to flee. The captured weapons and armour were sent to the armouries as fast as they could or were hastily given to any passing soldiers.
In the confusion, the Albion troops even attacked each other as they lost themselves inside the city. Unfortunately, the Tristainians too suffered from the same problem as small groups fell back from the streets and alleys they were holding. And darkness and the chaos was hurting both sides.
Guiche and his unit had gotten to a new position in a different street along some men he had picked up and Kirche. Tabitha circled above on Sylphid's back, summoning her ice magic to help. As they barely made it there, someone shouted that the enemy was upon them. Musketeers and pikemen hastily formed ranks as the Albion troops charged haphazardly. Guiche made out a figure that was shouting orders. The figure's head suddenly snapped back as a brick hit it from above before slumping to the ground. A volley of muskets thundered out, thinning the ranks as Valkyries and Golems charged into the disorganized mob.
The battle had resumed for Guiche and his friends.
Cromwell snarled at the latest reports. His men were being bled dry despite their advantage in numbers. Long columns of wounded could be seen and were being transported back to the overworked field hospitals. 7,000 of his 45,000 soldiers were either dead or wounded. That was the reports. The real number was probably higher with many still agonizing on the battlefield or in dark alleys.
The Navy had stopped giving support just a few hours ago, the darkness having taken its toll on their ships and the windstones needed to replenish. Two ships had actually collided with each other.
It had been a good idea to send Sheffield back to Albion for reinforcements after all. The losses were getting heavier by the hours and Cromwell simply knew he could not afford such casualties. Each soldier or mage he lost was one less that could be used against Germania, Gallia, or even a Romalian-led crusade.
However, Cromwell had a growing sense of dread as every minute passed, seeming more like hours in his sleep deprived mind. Some of his reports were… troubling. Units decimated by invisible forces with rapidly firing muskets or powerful explosions, mages and officers dying at an extremely fast rate, as if they were singled out...this reeked of the heretics' doing. They couldn't already be here? Surely it was impossible?
He was starting to think that he would have to fight the blasphemous powers that had allied with Tristain after all.
Another report came in, and Cromwell held it up in the lantern light. The words were blurred and illegible. He gave himself a fierce shake of the head to temporarily relieve his sleepiness and read the contents: A list of eight Albion high ranking nobles that had been killed in the last hour in the eastern half of the city. The fighting there was the most savage. But that was good. It meant they were wearing down the defenders. If he could force even one side to collapse and fall back to the city center, it would make all the defenders have to retreat. And once he got to the city center, there would be very little stopping the Reconquista forces from storming the castle.
The battle in the sky having died down, both Duke and Duchess Vallieres had returned to the ground and were now coordinating their forces. The last few hours in the Capital's western quarter had been intense. 2,000 men dead, over a fourth of their army. Many were wounded as well, flooding the emergency field hospitals. Both the Water Mages and the Earth doctors that had arrived after the coronation were hard at work healing them, but the caseload was swamping them. Every mage healing wounded was a mage not on the front line. But it was necessary as they could seldom afford losing a single man.
"I expected a better show from the Albionian troops," the Duke commented as he read the latest dispatches. A flickering set of candles lit up the room they had requisitioned to serve as their command center. A series of head nodded in agreement.
"Indeed but we are talking about misguided heretics," his wife replied, "Brimir knows who are his true believers and protects them."
"Yes," the Duke answered before turning back to a map, "We are faring far better than I expected though. Their troops are having far more difficulties breaking through our defenses."
Reassuring news for now.
"What of our ammunition?" he continued, "How long we will be able to use our firearms and cannons?"
"Milord, we have been using far more powder and shot than we planned," one of his aides reported, "At this rate, we'll be out of ammunition in the early morning."
That was not good news. They had to hold longer than that.
"I see," the duchess said grimly, "Order our men to limit their use of muskets and cannon."
The aides nodded.
"Have you heard any news from our allies?" the duke asked.
"Marshal Grammont had a curious encounter to say the least," one of the aides said, "The Queen and General du Poitier's troops have said they've seen them scurrying along the rooftops and shadows killing Albionian troops in the streets. Marshal Grammont said that a group of them approached him directly and kept him from being ambushed by Albionian forces. As he escaped the ambush with his men, he heard explosions and heavy musket fire."
"There are also some of our officers that claim that these men have been assassinating enemy officers, musicians, and standard bearers. They seem part of the reason for the enemy's disorganised assaults."
"So they are assassins as our daughter's familiar said." The Duke mused. "Dishonorable...but I won't deny their efficiency."
There was a degree of begrudging respect in his comment.
"They've also decimated entire enemy formations with explosive traps. The traps were strong enough to tear asunder entire ranks of men."
"So that familiar was right," the duchess muttered, "Still, we are bearing the brunt of the fighting. I will not be impressed till they arrive to share it with us."
2:27 A.M.
Tristania was burning with dozens of small fires scattered around the city. 2,300 feet above the city, well above the Tristainian airships near the center of the city and the Albionian ones landed outside the walls, four small objects buzzed above the chaos and fighting.
The RQ-7 Shadow was a reconnaissance drone that had been in use in the United States Armed Forces for nearly two decades, now making its first debut in another world. Miles away, at the Academy, officers were gathered to see the feed for themselves. They saw a lot of bodies moving in a lot of places, and the occasionally blue square that marked where the Special Forces teams were. There was also flashes of light that were clearly magical in nature. The fighting was intense, that much they could see. And it looked like it was getting deeper and deeper into the city.
One broke to fly over the landed Albion fleet outside the city and spotted something major: one very large, ornate ship that stood out from the bulk of the fleet in size. Naturally, such a large ship could only mean one thing: it was a command vessel. The North American commanders bemoaned that they had no air assets available to engage such an important target.
"We need to catch that thing while it's still on the ground." General Carignan stated. "Prioritize getting the American attack helicopters here. Have everyone else clear off the road if they have to."
"Yes Ma'am!" a chorus replied before turning to their radios and coordinating the change in orders.
The Canadian officers couldn't help but envy their American counterparts' much nicer military budgets; the Canadian Armed Forces had no attack helicopters.
"We kill whoever's on that thing and we ruin their chain of command," Carignan continued. She watched as the drones passed over the Embassy compounds. "The landing zones still look secure though."
Getting their heavily mechanized forces onto the inner streets of that city wasn't going to happen. So they'd elected instead to create a noose: surround the city on all sides to cut off any chance of the enemy escaping. Infantry could enter through the gates and breached walls and attack their enemy in the rear. The enemy fleet outside the city was a new development, but the earlier battles that day had proved TOWs were more than a match for ships on the ground. Hellfires would be even deadlier for the enemy's ships.
And they'd planned an air assault at the same time; the 3rd Battalion was already being briefed. The Embassies were only a stone's throw away from the Palace- the enemy's target. But they also had some thing that could be of help… helipads. The drones confirmed that the center of the city was still safe. They could fly in men to the embassies and establish a safety perimeter around the buildings, gradually expanding it as more men arrived. By helicopter, the journey would be less than an hour one way. Right now, there were only six CH-146s at the portal, but more were coming in on top of the American rotary assets.
If they got a perimeter around that area, then any enemy assault that approached the city center would inevitably stumble into their line of fire. Not they just had to make the decision to go through with it or not. They had fire power, but the enemy had numbers, far too many to not be concerned.
The General mulled the matter for a few seconds. If this worked, it'd work spectacularly. If it failed…
"We're going through with the air assault. 3rd Battalion will deploy as soon as they are ready."
"Yes General!"
A group of 5 men walked up to the top of the Palace battlements. Major Thomas Evans was accompanied by four men of the SAS detachment in Tristain as he carried an important message for the young monarch. They'd been told by the Palace staff the Kingdom's young Queen was up here. As he exited the tower, he saw a group of people.
"Your Majesty! You must rest!" Delage pleaded, "It is of no use for you to waste away right now!"
"I will escort you to your bedchambers," Agnes added, "We cannot risk you collapsing of exhaustion."
"Please listen to me not as a former Queen but as your mother and rest my daughter," Archduchess Marianne insisted desperately, "Staying up like this is of no use right now."
She suddenly wished that the youngest Valliere was here. That girl could get her daughter to listen to reason.
"I can coordinate the battle without your presence," Du Poitier said.
"I will not rest until our fair capital is safe!" Henrietta snapped in an unladylike way, "What example would I set as Brimir's heir if I chose to desert my post now!? General, you have not rested either!"
"Your Majesty, I am a soldier and we are meant to should such burdens." he argued, "This is-"
"And as Queen I must be present when my people and lands are in mortal danger!" Henrietta interrupted.
Evans cleared his throat, causing the whole group to look at him in surprise.
"My apologies but I have a critical message for her Majesty," he reported, bowing to the dignitaries.
"Yes? You are?" Henrietta asked hurriedly.
"Major Thomas Evans, I am the Military Attaché to Lord Richardson and I've been sent here with the task of organizing cooperation between our forces. You'll be happy with the news I bear."
He noticed the dark circles under the Queen's weary eyes.
"Very well, what news do you have?"
"As you have already heard, we've been fighting the Albion armies and have repelled the assault on the Academy and our base."
"Those are good tidings Major," Du Poitier said, "But we know of them already."
Evans smiled.
"General Carignan is already organizing a counterattack to relieve Tristania. The general believes that our main forces will arrive here tomorrow afternoon, but we're sending in light forces by helicopter now. They'll land at the Embassies and take up positions in the surrounding blocks. We'll need you to make sure our aircraft don't scare any of your ships or men."
"Light forces?" Du Poitier asked, "Are you sure that they will be enough to hold back the enemy?"
"I am supremely con-"
"Your Majesty!" A cry interrupted the British officer's words.
Henrietta had collapsed of fatigue, the lack of sleep finally getting to her as her mother and Agnes caught her on the fall. The Tristainians and a few nearby soldiers gathered around her.
"Will she be alright?" The Major asked suddenly. An allied leader collapsing was never a good sign in his mind.
"Yes, yes, she'll be alright." General Du Poitier fretted. "Gentlemen, thank you, I assure you I'll pass on word to our forces. Please, wait in the Palace's war room." It was obvious how embarrassing this was to them.
"Understood." Evans nodded and left them. They hadn't given him directions, but he'd find someone else who could. He'd come away from that meeting with one piece of knowledge gained- their Queen was a real fighter.
Louise had finally dozed off despite her best efforts to stay awake and cracking the secrets of the Founder's Prayer Book. Saito was staring out the window as he massaged his temples and tried to avoid bashing his head against said window out of a mix of annoyance and boredom. The teenage boy heard a light snore, causing him to turn back. His girlfriend was facefirst in the holy book. Saito made his way over before gently trying to move her head out of the book.
"Wha-DID I FALL ASLEEP?!" Louise screeched, almost deafening Saito as she shot back up.
"L-Louise calm down! You were working really hard trying and you just got tired so calm down a bit."
"I can't just rest right now! Tristain and her Majesty are depending on me!" she shot back, "I have to find out how this book works!"
It was a harsh blow to her pride. Her parents were outside fighting. Her schoolmates as well.
But Louise? She was stuck trying to understand how a holy relic worked.
"I say we get out and fight!" Saito declared, "I don't care if her Majesty ordered us to stay here."
Earlier, the pair had tried to leave but were stopped by the Queen who ordered Louise and Saito to remain her and unlock the power of the Founder's Prayer Book. His girlfriend being who she was, diligently followed orders.
Louise glared at him.
"How dare you think about disobeying her Majesty's orders!"
"Partner's right. We can't stay here and wait for something to happen while the enemy's rampaging through the city." Derf spoke up.
"Thanks Derf," Saito said, emboldened by his sword and friend's word, "Besides, I heard a lot of heroes became heroes because they broke the rules! All you have to do is blow up the bad guys!"
"S-Saito you idiot! That's absolutely reckless!" Louise said back.
"All we have to do is move fast while you cast your magic at the enemy. I can protect you!" her boyfriend insisted, "In any case… I'm not waiting for them to come and get us!"
Saito made his way to the door.
"F-fine! I'm coming with you!" Louise relented as she stood up, grabbing the Founder's Prayer Book.
How many men had he killed tonight? Guiche wasn't sure as he stopped counting and caring long ago. But thousands had died on both sides, that much he knew. The lines were pushed further and further into the city, past wrecked streets lined with dead soldiers and civilians. Fires consumed many of the nearby buildings as they fell to the ground. The unit of musketeers and pikemen he'd started out with were mostly dead or wounded by this point, and he was now commanding a motley collection of formerly leaderless swordsmen, pikemen, and civilians looking to help in the fight. The musketeers were long gone, many having run out of powder and shot or ordered back to the palace walls. His eyes ached. His limbs felt heavy. The rage that had carried him through the night had started to wane, leaving only fatigue. His clothes and armour were dirty, covered in grime, dust and blood. At this stage, Guiche couldn't remember what they looked like clean. He braced himself on the improvised barricades made from rubble. How many of these had he made tonight? He couldn't remember that either. Tabitha and Kirche had left on a tired Sylphid to get some quick rest. They had asked Guiche if he wanted to join them but he refused.
'How long has it been though?'
"My son!" Guiche's father arrived at their part of the line, snapping Guiche back to reality. "My men!" He addressed his weary soldiers. "Stand fast! Day break is approaching. Our allies are approaching! The enemy is tiring! Their dead pile high over ours. We are outlasting them!"
Somehow, Guiche felt some of his strength return to him. Maybe they could win this.
Shouting interrupted his musings.
"Form ranks!" his father ordered yet another time in that long night, "The enemy's attacking again."
It was amazing how the man somehow had the strength to carry on fighting.
Another wave of Albion soldiers appeared at the end of the street while the defenders braced themselves. As they drew nearer, they began to be pelted with bricks, rocks and rubble by some of the citizens. Many fell as they were hit by the projectiles. But they charged on as determined as they'd been at the start of the night. And the Tristainians stood fast like so many times that long night.
A red sun was peeking at the horizon as Cromwell stood on the deck of the Lexington. Somehow, he hadn't collapsed of exhaustion despite the harrowing night. He read some of the latest dispatches. It was worrying. The battle was still continuing and his army was being bled at a much faster rate. 12,000 dead and many more wounded. A voice interrupted him. It was the army's quartermaster.
"L-lord-Protector, I bring ill news."
"What?" Cromwell snapped.
"Much of our powder and shot has been used up. Many cannon crews are out of ammunition as well."
"Have you not salvaged any from the Tristainians?!"
"Y-yes but-."
"No buts!"
"Yes Lord-Protector! Shall we continue our attack?"
Cromwell glanced to another one of his subordinates
"Have we been able to break any of the flanks yet?!"
There was a look of unease on every one of his subordinates.
"This is taking far too long." Cromwell muttered to himself. His conquest shouldn't have taken more than a few hours. "The day is new already. We need to change our strategy."
"What are your orders Lord-Protector?" one of his underlings asked timidly.
"Muster all the crews." He decided. "Once the sun rises, we shall move our entire fleet above their city. Let the non-believers look up and see how irrelevant they really are before the will of Brimir." They'd put the Tristainian Navy out of commission for good and demoralize the troops. After that, his troops would finally sweep in and overrun the cowering Tristainians.
"Lord-Protector," one of his underlings spoke up nervously, "W-we must rest the army first. We have been fighting for the past night. Many are exhausted and will not be able to-"
Cromwell's face hardened.
"NO! NO! NO! HOW DARE YOU SUGGEST SUCH A THING!?" he roared, his face red, "COWARD!"
"B-but Lord-Pro-"
"ARE YOU ALL FAITHLESS!?" Albion's leader ranted on, "DO YOU WISH TO INSULT OUR HOLY FOUNDER WITH YOUR-YOUR COWARDNESS! BRIMIR NEVER ALLOWED HIMSELF TO REST WHEN HE LEAD OUR PEOPLE! WHY SHOULD WE STAIN HIS MEMORY IN SUCH A WAY?!"
"Our forces are exhausted!" another argued, "Many have not rested or eaten in h-"
"DO YOU THINK THAT MATTERS!? WE ARE ON THE CUSP OF OUR NEXT VICTORY AND YOU DARE WANT TO REST!? OUR ENEMIES WILL REST TOO! FOOLS! DID WE REST WHEN WE DEFEATED THE TUDORS?!"
None of Cromwell's men dared look at their leader, too fearful of his wrath.
"It will be done Lord-Protector," one finally answered in a small voice, his eyes looking at the floor.
"Admiral!" A sailor burst into de Châteauneuf's quarters, tearing the man from his light sleep. "It is first light and the Albionian fleet is raising into the sky!" The man was quick to get out of bed- he hadn't even changed out of his uniform the previous night- and rushed to the command deck. As he arrived, de Châteauneuf could see the ominous silhouettes of the enemy's ships rise into the skies. His fleet had already been bled badly in the earlier night battles; Close to half of his ships were destroyed or crippled. Many of his sailors had been casualties. Those without ships were transferred to a new one or sent to fight on foot in the streets, desperately trying to shore up the defenses. They no longer had the walls to help them, and the only cannons left were on the Palace battlements. And they'd given most of their ammunition to the Navy.
It was not a good situation… but the admiral made do with what he had.
He made his way to a table where a map of the capital was. Various flags represented his forces and the enemy's.
Looking up from his table, de Châteauneuf could see the enemy's fleet forming up. Their positions had not changed from the last night as they moved in. He began issuing orders to his aides for them to send to his remaining ships. His best bet was to use his forces as a mobile reserve, moving to intercept any enemy thrust that went too far.
Very soon, his ships began to rise back into the skies, many still bearing the scars of yesterday's battles. Damage had been hastily repaired by the crews, many of the city's carpenters and volunteers who had worked during the lull in the naval battles. Wooden planks, struts and supports had been quickly nailed to get those ships back into action. Some had even insisted to remain on the ships even they headed back into battle. Cannons that used the same ammunition were taken from the army who was running empty. Luckily, many vessels still had powder and shot left for the borrowed cannons.
As they formed up in the skies above Tristainia for one more battle, the Tristainian sailors silently prayed to Brimir for victory as their ships headed towards the enemy.
A silhouette appeared in the distance that dwarfed the Reconquista ships.
"By the Founder," de Châteauneuf whispered to himself as he saw the massive Albionian flagship moving towards him, surrounded by a squadron of frigates. Albion wasn't holding back this time…
"Men!" He used a spell to amplify his voice. He wasn't going to get discouraged and he wasn't going to let his sailors get discouraged either. "These skies belong to us! They have always belonged to us. And they will always belong to us! To battle!"
Even if they didn't have as much experience in it as the Americans, Canada had a well developed air assault doctrine. After all, the vast, sparsely populated Canadian territory meant that the Army needed to move quickly across barren territory if something happened such as a Soviet/Russian invasion across the North Pole. It also helped whenever natural disasters struck to have well trained professionals move quickly to intervene.
Practice with the Americans helped them perfect it and made joint operations very easy for both nations.
Nine Griffons carried men from the 3rd Battalion into the skies above Tristain. A little to their south were two AH-64 Apaches from the 10th Mountain Division Combat Aviation Brigade. All had launched an hour ago. The Griffons to carry infantry into the fray and the Apaches to destroy the Albionian fleet on the ground. As they entered the air space though, they discovered they were too late. Ships were already trading blows in the skies. Some were even entangled as their crews fought boarding parties. The flagship they'd been told specifically to target was unleashing a volley that shattered a smaller frigate, raining flaming debris on the city below. Whoever was leading the Albion fleet was throwing everything in.
"You boys might want to hold on back there." A co-pilot in one of the Griffons warned the infantry complement. "We're flying into some shit."
One of the Van Doos raised his thumb and grinned in excitement.
"Damn," muttered one of the Apache pilots in annoyance, "They got into the air before we got here." He reported back to command. They had instructions not to down any ships above the city at the risk of causing casualties to friendly forces or non combatants. "We're switching to secondary task." Their instructions had been to down the shits, extend whatever aid they could to the forces fighting in the street, and RTB.
His gunner armed the 30mm cannon before signalling that he was ready to go.
"Showtime bro."
The pair of attack helicopters moved into attack position, behind the line. Anyone trying to push towards the center of the city was the enemy.
Pikes were thrusted and swords swung over the barricades as the Albionian troops tried to force their way over the barrier and the Tristainians tried to hold them back. It was hard to miss how sluggish every action seemed for both sides.
Guiche himself was surprised that he was standing despite how tired he was. He parried another clumsy pike thrust towards before trying to catch his breath. A fireball crashed into the Albion ranks, courtesy of a Germanian mage who returned in the fray.
Then a strange chopping sound filled his ears. It came from above.
"Look it's the Americans and Canadians!" Kirche shouted as she saw the strange warmachines flying through the air. They'd seen many flying in the skies near the Academy, but these ones looked a little different. They were slimmer and looked more aggressive. Those airships began to fire their weapons. It sounded like musket fire but far more powerful.
Explosions and cries of horror or pain resonated from nearby.
For the Apache pilots, it was little more than target practice. The enemy was lined up in ranks as they moved through narrow streets. Entire formations disintegrated between 30 mike fire. As accurate as it was, it was still doing a hell of a number of the streets and the buildings around them. But the results couldn't be argued with.
They moved from side to side, targeting a new street every other minute. Dozens and soon hundreds of tightly packed invaders died. Many of the enemies broke, and the defenders chased after them. Suddenly there were thousands of bodies surging the other way.
"I think we got this side 1-4." One of the Apaches radioed the other. "Change focus to the west. 3-1, what's the status of those chalks?" It radioed the Griffons next.
"Chalks have been unloaded. We are RTB!"
"Copy that. We'll clean up here and we'll be right behind you."
"Forwards men!" Guiche urged as he stood on the barricade and saw the Albion troops flee. He was met by a chorus of cries and cheers. The airships had left for another part of the battle.
"For Tristain! For the Queen! Forwards!" his men shouted as they charged after the retreating enemy. A motley collection of soldiers and armed civilians led by a mage dashed forwards, their exhaustion forgotten. As they ran, they passed over the bodies of those who had fallen earlier in the battles, enraging them. As they kept moving, they could hear cries of horror, driving them harder.
"They fear us!"
As they turned a nook in the street, they were confronted by a group of Albion soldiers with their hands raised.
"We-we s-surrender," one of them begged as he dropped to his knees, terror written all over his face. His pants looked clearly soiled.
"Have mercy please! Brimir has forsaken us!"
"Gladly," Guiche replied coldly as he continued advancing, "Take these men away!"
He heard a few punches landing, cries of pain as well as weapons being swung and hitting flesh as he kept moving with the rest of his men. The young man honestly didn't care about them. Not after what they did.
A few more steps, he could understand why. The outworlders' airships had unleashed their power. Brutally. Mangled bodies littered the street along shattered weapons with some writhing in agony. Some had somehow survived the onslaught but were little more than weeping, terrified heaps rocking back and forth on the ground. Their eyes were empty as they looked around them. Others were shakily trying to help their wounded comrades.
"By the Founder, what weapons do our allies have?!" one of the Tristainians exclaimed while another vomited in shock. Even Guiche was stunned silent for a time.
For all the Tristainians' valor and drive, they realized they were but only the 2nd most powerful force in this battle now.
The outworlders were here. From the Lexington, Cromwell saw their strange airships for the first time. He watched as they rained some type of fire down into the streets, no doubt onto his Blessed Army.
"Why are they here?!" he angrily muttered to no one, "They weren't supposed to be here! The Founder should never have allowed them to be here! Where are Sheffield and my reinforcements?!"
His forces were getting close and closer to the city center. But if the outworlders were already here, it would get much more difficult. Even he couldn't deny the terrifying power they wielded.
His nostrils flared and he gripped the wooden rail in front of him hard enough that his hands changed color. One of his subordinates witnessed the whole scene but chose to give his Lord-Protector a wide berth.
"Brimir guides us." Du Pointer murmured to himself as he looked over the map . The entire night had been message after message about retreats and losses. Now the Palace war room was flooding with reports of the enemy retreating and losing men.
"The Americans were always good at providing air support" Major Evans told the Tristainians, "And making a grand entrance."
"There is no doubt." Du Pointer agreed. "But are you absolutely sure there's no way they can help us against the Albionian Navy?" The reports on the ground may have been good, but the ones coming in from the air were not. A full ship of the line was not something they could compete with. If that behemoth approached the castle walls now…
"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but our leaders still think that is a very bad idea." There were already enough fires in the city as was and the Earth command didn't feel like starting another two dozen in five minutes. "Are you certain there's no way to lure their fleet away?"
"Nothing we have could possibly tempt them away from our city."
"Pity." The major shook his head. This wasn't an easy battle. "But if we win the battle on the ground, they'll have no choice but to retreat."
She could smell the burning wood that was the capital's buildings. Henrietta looked around as she saw her capital cover in an orange glow. The screams of terrified people resonated in her ears, mixed with savage, guttural growls. Everywhere she looked, she could see death and destruction as her people were cut down.
"You've failed us!" a voice accused her, "We followed you faithfully! We obeyed each one of your orders! We died for you!"
She turned over and saw Agnes, her armour bloodied and scarred by battle. The knight looked at her in disgust.
"You've failed us Henrietta!" she repeated with venom in each words, "You should never have been queen!"
Henrietta tried to beg for forgiveness but not a word came out from her mouth.
"Some friend you are!" a male voice accused harshly. It was Saito. The boy was lying on the ground, grievously injured. His sword was gone.
"I should have never helped you meet my world's leaders! They gave you everything they could and you still couldn't save us or your lousy kingdom!"
Again, not a single word came from the queen's mouth no matter how much she wanted to talk. She heard angry sobbing.
"Where were you when I needed you?" a voice said accusingly, "I was always there when you needed me."
It was Louise. The young mage was in a tattered, bloody wedding dress, her haunted, wide eyes devoid of their usual shine. Blood seeped from her many wounds.
"My family gave everything they had to serve you. You were my friend but you couldn't save me from Wardes. You gave me to him… Just like Prince Wales!"
The pink haired mage then collapsed on the ground. Henrietta ran over to her friend.
"Let go of me you cow!" Louise hissed in disgust one last time before her pink eyes shut. The queen tried to reach for her staff but it wasn't there.
"Pathetic," another voice cut in. She saw Hayate, dressed in the white clothes of a doctor. His clothing was covered in blood while his usually cheerful expression was gone. There was contempt in his face.
"Healing magic… what a joke! Couldn't help my brother or his girlfriend."
Before she could say anything, Henrietta heard another voice. One she had not heard in a long time.
"It is as I feared. The crown was too great a burden for you," her father, King Henry said passively as her mother stood by him, a look of disappointment and sadness.
"My poor little daughter..." her mother sighed, "I never should have pressed for you to be Queen."
The rest of her old regency council appeared, disgust apparent on their faces.
"You have failed Brimir," Mazarin accused, "You have forever doomed your bloodline with your failure."
"You were truly a foolish little girl that trusted every nice word", Richemont mocked as he laughed cruelly, "Where are our so-called allies?"
"Your recklessness doomed us!" Delage cursed her, "First Wales... now this!"
All the voices suddenly began to chant in chorus the same sentence.
"You never should have been queen."
"NO! I AM SORRY! PLEASE-!"
And with that, the Queen left her nightmare back for reality, jerking awake in her bedchambers. Sunlight filtered in through the windows though Henrietta could hear the sounds of battle. She was in night clothes even though she didn't recall changing or even going to sleep. Her armour and battle dress were nowhere to be seen.
"Henrietta!"
Her mother almost leapt from her chair to hold her daughter.
"Mother," Henrietta sniffed as the two women held each other, "It was horrible!"
"It'll be fine. It was just a nightmare dear." Her mother comforted her like so many times when she was but a small child, frightened of the night's imaginary monsters.
"Thank you Mother." Henrietta sighed, "How long was I asleep?"
"A few hours." her mother answered as she kissed the top of her daughter's head, "Do not fret for the battle. Our allies have arrived in a rather… grandiose fashion."
"Take me to them!" Henrietta ordered as she stood out of bed.
"You are to rest my daughter!" her mother snapped back, "You've done more than is needed right now!"
"But it is my task to lead our people in their darkest hour!" Henrietta insisted.
"Our people would not want their queen to wear herself out needlessly," her mother replied. A knock sounded on the door.
"Enter!" Both royals ordered and the door swung open. Agnes entered the room, looking tired but unflinching. The Musketeer Captain immediately noticed the Queen was awake.
"Your Majesty, I am quite happy to see you are awake. Have you slept well?"
"Yes," Henrietta lied, "How have the past hours been?"
"Very well, your Majesty." There was a genuine smile on Agnes' face. "Some hours ago, our allies arrived and decimated hundreds of Albion soldiers. Our own forces have pushed them back considerably since."
"It is true? How did they do so?" Henrietta asked.
"A dozen of their airships arrived, bearing many soldiers and powerful weapons. The enemy fled from their might, and dozens more soldiers have arrived since then." Henrietta looked relieved.
"What of Admiral de Châteauneuf?"
"He and the Navy are still fighting as best as they can but we believe that he will soon be forced to retreat." Agnes reported, "The enemy greatly out numbers them and our allies can not help us."
"B-but why?"
"Their generals consider that destroying the Albion Navy above the capital will bring needless destruction to our people and our city. They do not wish to needlessly harm innocents or cause more suffering simply to stop Albion. In their words, there's no point in destroying Albion's ships if there's no one left in Tristainia to save."
"I see…" Henrietta said gravely. As much she hated hearing that, her allies were right.
"How badly damaged has the city become?" It was a question neither woman obviously wanted to answer. Both Agnes and Archduchess Marianne looked at each with uncertainty.
"There's going to be a lot of work for the masons and carpenters when this battle will be over." Agnes finally answered. She left it at that. Henrietta didn't need to guess that the city was badly damaged.
"At least the battle is beginning to turn in our favor."
Their prayers had not been on deaf ears. Just then, the sound of running could be heard.
"Your Majesty!" Du Poitier said, out of breath as he entered the room, "I am very happy to see you are amongst us once more. I bring good tidings."
"What news do you bring us general?" Henrietta asked, urging the man for a fast answer.
"The Grand Duke of Guldenhorf and other nobles are arriving with their armies! 9000 men in all. They'll reach the city later today."
"But how do you know of this?"
Du Poitier caught breath before answering.
"A messenger arrived on his familiar bearing the news of the Grand Duke's arrival your Majesty."
There was some measured relief in the man's voice.
"Let us hope that they can make it into the city to aid us. The enemy army is still plenty and I fear they are reforming as we speak."
"I understand," Henrietta answered before turning to Agnes, "Would you kindly send for Lady Vallière and M. Hiraga? I wish to enjoy their company."
Agnes' eyes widened slightly.
"I believe they have left the Palace to help in the fighting."
"What?!"
The noble messenger's entrance had been noticed by the Albionians too; a flying beast was hardly discrete. And Cromwell could still deduce what it likely meant. He'd been so worried about the heretics showing up, he'd forgotten to consider that the Tristainians themselves might have reinforcements coming. The outworlder airships had left and his forces were starting to reorganize. He couldn't let anything else stop them. Looking over to his naval commander with a severe look, Cromwell issued his new orders.
"Detach all of our frigates!" he barked, "I want the Navy to stop the Tristainian reinforcements."
"But Lord-Protector, this will leave the Lexington unprotected. I beg of you not to demand such an order." the admiral pleaded nervously. He had witnessed the last temper tantrum that his liege had and was quite fearful for his life.
"Do you see where the Tristainian Navy is?!" Cromwell snapped back. The admiral tried to answer but was cut off. "Running away from the might of this ship! In flaming ruins on the streets of Tristainia! Crush those so-called reinforcements and we break that silly girl's resolve! After that… victory! Am I understood?!"
"Y-yes Lord-Protector! It will be done!" The man hurried off. Cromwell stumbled to the side railing. He had no idea how insane he really looked at that moment- like a man possessed. Soon he could afford the luxury of good rest. It was as good as over. The Tristainian Navy was down to its last few ships. He still outnumbered the enemy in the streets below. And no reinforcements would be coming for Tristain while Sheffield would be bringing reinforcements for him soon.
Yes, he'd won! Him! Brimir's chosen prophet!
"General!" A messenger came into the Palace war room and bowed before his commander. "The Albion fleet is leaving the city! They are heading southeast." Du Poitier looked pale.
"Our reinforcements…" He realized.
"They're out of the air space?" Major Evans interjected.
"Yes." The messenger confirmed. The major grinned a wide grin.
"Bloody hell! We got them now." He got on his radio. Five minutes later, word was back at the Academy and the Apaches were being launched again for another anti-air mission. More had arrived from Earth as well, General Carignan having insisted on getting them in as fast as they could.
Du Poitier's face lit up as well as he digested the information.
It was time to wipe out the Albion fleet and turn the tide of this battle once and for all.
Hope you enjoyed it!
See you next chapter… and Merry Christmas if we don't update before then.