By the second day of the Battle of the Naggiar, it was evident that Damon's plan was failing. Gallian casualties were higher than Imperial ones, and only partially due to the presence of Selvaria Bles. Everyone except him knew that something had to change, and even some of his strongest supporters were beginning to consider removing him from command.
Then help arrived from an unexpected quarter…
Excerpted with permission from A History of the Second Europan War, William Hackett; University of Chimay; 1968
Lieutenant Heinrich Lannes knew he was going to die, and had accepted it.
At the end of the first day of battle, he had thought that, perhaps, even with Damon's stupidity and a Valkyria against them, they might be able to pull it off.
There was no sign of that happening, though. There was no official word, of course, but the news had slowly filtered through the noncom telegraph. The 3rd Brigade had been one of the most successful units the day before, and no one had surpassed them—and most of their rivals had taken heavy infantry and equipment losses in the doing. Also, the Imps had introduced some kind of new monster tank, one that fired incendiary rounds from a giant mortar.
These things in and of themselves would not have been enough to convince him that he was going to die, though.
No, what had him convinced he was going to die was that he was standing out in the open, along with the rest of the brigade, in position to attack the Valkyria head-on. Damon's orders, of course, at least according to Colonel Schneider.
He looked at his squad. What was there to do?
Fight. They couldn't win, but they could fight.
"Squad Two," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear him, and he cursed the fact that their orders had them bunched up like this. But that did make this part easier.
"We've fought well together," he said, looking around at them, "and we're one of the best squads in the best regiment of the whole army." He paused. "I've never lied to you, and I won't start today. Barring a miracle, we will all die today, either by the Valkyria's lance or Imperial bullets. Understand that. Your purpose is to kill as many Imps as you can before you fall. If your escorts to Valhal do not include at least two men you kill this day, I will be extremely disappointed."
There were some very grim chuckles at that, and he wondered why he was telling jokes now, of all times. Probably because, unlike all the other times, they could not win this one, and he needed to distract everyone, including himself, from it.
"The moment we begin the attack, disperse. I don't want anyone directly behind anyone else, especially not from the perspective of that Valkyria. If she targets us, I want her to need at least twenty shots to kill us all. Get mixed up with the Imps—if you can do that, maybe she won't be willing to kill us and her own.
"We will not live to see Gallia triumph. All we can do is try to kill enough of them that others might—"
"LISTEN TO ME, GALLIA!" a great voice cried out, and he turned to see who was speaking. There she was, the Imperial Valkyria, wreathed in blue flame.
"CAST ASIDE YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER! IF YOU DO NOT, NAGGIAR'S PLAINS WILL DRINK DEEPLY OF YOUR BLOOD!"
As the Imps cheered, the men at the front, Ritterbach's battalion, looked frightened enough to run, and he didn't blame them. Even his men looked a little worried—but then Traherne tapped him on the shoulder.
"Sir," he said softly, "there's something you need to see."
"What is it, Sergeant?" he asked, somewhat querously, as he turned around—and had to clench his jaw to keep it from dropping. There was another figure, blue flames burning bright upon her, walking through the Gallian lines, dressed in a scout's uniform and wearing…was that…
"It's Sergeant Melchiott, sir," Traherne said, his voice a mixture of wonder and fright. "Did you know that she's a Valkyria, sir?"
"No, Sergeant," Lannes replied, suddenly thinking that he and his squad might not die this day. "I don't think anyone did, including," he added as he saw that she was staggering forward, not striding confidently into battle, though the Gallians parted for her all the same, "Sergeant Melchiott."
A thought occurred to him. Gunther cannot be taking this well.
She staggered past Ritterbach's men, coming to a halt some distance in front of them, taking a stance that seemed to say "If you want them, you must come through me."
"GET OUT," the Imperial Valkyria screamed as she leapt forward, and he could almost hear every soldier who could see what was happening hold their breath as she charged faster than a galloping horse. Melchiott couldn't possibly withstand that charge, Lannes thought, and he wondered if the Gallians would rout the instant she died or if it would take a few moments to sink in as the Imp Valkyria made a running jump and slashed her lance down with such force that it would surely ram the sergeant's head into her body, if she still had either.
But she side-stepped, nearly imperceptibly from this distance, and the blow crashed into the dirt.
The Imp seemed almost as shocked as he was, and paused for a moment before erupting to her feet, sweeping the lance up in an effort to shatter the sergeant's torso, and she jumped and flipped over her attacker.
He wasn't going to complain, but he'd taken Unarmed Combat Training. They did not teach those moves there. Was she…possessed, somehow, by a Valkyria?
But that didn't matter right now, because there she was, standing, lance held diagonally across her body, shield in front, as her counterpart charged her again, and her lance almost seemed to lengthen before she blocked the Imp's attack.
They stood there for a moment, frozen, before the Imp flew back, managing to come to her feet before she stopped sliding through the dirt.
This was no battle that normal soldiers could fight, Lannes thought, and he had the odd thought that Landzaat had better be watching this. This was the first time that two Valkyrur had fought each other in centuries, the sort of thing any historian would kill to see for himself.
The Imp charged again, this time slamming her lance into the dirt to send a wave of blue flame towards Melchiott—was she still Sergeant Melchiott of the 3rd Militia, under the flame? He hoped so—that would have wrecked her if it had connected.
It did not, for she leapt upwards again, and as she came back down to the ground, spinning around as she fell, she almost seemed to stop in midair as she fired a beam of blue fire at the Imp, who had taken a position similar to the one the sergeant had just held.
Time seemed to stand still.
The Imp withstood it.
But then she didn't, and flew backwards, dropping lance and shield as she crashed into the dirt, tried to rise, and failed.
Melchiott turned towards the Imps.
Pointed her lance.
Fired.
And half an Imp squad was blown straight to Hel.
Lannes' lips skinned back from his teeth.
He wasn't going to die, his soldiers weren't going to die, and Gallia was going to win, despite Damon's best efforts.
"Lieutenant!"
"Captain," he replied into the radio, still looking at where Sergeant Melchiott was firing beams of blue light into the Imp lines and they were starting to panic and run. "Do we attack, or do we wait until the Sergeant stops throwing the Imps around like rag dolls?"
"We're attacking. Major Ritterbach has agreed to let us through his battalion. I'm moving Squad 7 to just behind the Sergeant. I need you to cover Gunther's left flank."
"When do you want us to move?"
"As soon as you can."
"Yes ma'am," he replied. "What's the objective?"
"Their base camp on Fielding's Hill, Lieutenant. If we can take that, we'll certainly win."
"Yes ma'am." A thought occurred to him. "Captain, if I may, how's Lieutenant Gunther handling this?"
"As well as can be expected. I ordered him to follow Sergeant Melchiott, who seems to be focused on taking that hill."
Lannes looked at the blue-outlined figure, who didn't even seem to notice the Imps attempting to kill her. "Understood, ma'am. Cover Gunther's flank while he follows a legend out of the past come back to save us all."
"Good. Start moving forward as soon as you can. The rest of the regiment will follow, but we're going to be disorganized. Varrot out."
Lannes took a moment to look at his squad, and decided to open with a joke. After all, they weren't going to die today. That was worth celebrating.
"As you can see, the situation has changed." The chuckles he got from that were not grim in the least.
"So here's what we're going to do. Standard two-line formation, tanks in the center. We're going to be backing Gunther up and making sure anyone trying to flank him gets hammered."
"Do you think they'll actually try that, sir?" Yancey asked.
Traherne spoke before he could. "Imps'll have some reserves didn't see their pet monster get thrown around like she was nothing. They'll attack, and it won't take long for those Imps running right now to come back to the fight."
"Exactly, Sergeant," Lannes said, "so we need to move now. Stay sharp, check your intervals, and we should get through this just like always."
"Think the Imps'll bring in those new super-heavies, sir?" Friedrich asked.
"If they do," Lannes replied, "we'll blow them apart. We'll just need to be that much more careful. Any other questions?"
No one said anything.
"Right. Let's move."
They went, Lannes scrambling to get on top of Thistle. Once he was there he took a moment to take out his binoculars—noting that he needed to return that flare gun to Gunther—and take a look at the 3rd Militia's objective—which was easier than usual, since there were no trees or houses in the way.
He wasn't enthused. On his side, it looked like the hill had two levels to it, the lower one of which was the one the Imp's had put their camp on—and was the one where soldiers and takes could get from one side of the hill to the other. However, that higher ridge looked to be inaccessible from the camp itself, and if the Imps hadn't put some troops up there—or didn't have some troops moving there—he'd eat his officer's cap.
Well, he would if he hadn't lost it back in the Barious desert. Varrot hadn't said anything to him about it, and until she did he wasn't going to get another one. He needed to look into getting one of the old slouch hats.
He looked to see if there was another way up—yes, there was, about half a klick down from the camp, slightly to the left of their current course, and there were more than a few Imps running up it. He hoped they wouldn't turn right, because if they did they would become either his or Gunther's problem, but it looked like they were busy running from Sergeant Melchiott.
He turned on his radio. "Squad 2, bear slightly left. We're going to take that higher ridge up there and keep the Imps from hitting Squad 7 from up there. Move!"
They turned just slightly, and soon ran into their first opposition, which wasn't much. Some charismatic Imp officer had managed to drag together a short squad, he wasn't sure how, and set themselves up in some of the old trenches to try and ambush the advancing Gallians.
Unfortunately for them, with Traherne and Friedrich's teams in the lead, concealment was not an option, and a volley of rifle grenades and tank mortar rounds, followed by a few sniper shots, ended that rather quickly. He took a moment to salute the dead Imp officer as the squad passed by—he would have happily fought beside such a man, had he been Gallian.
He took a moment to look over at where Sergeant Melchiott was walking up the hill. It looked like the Imps had set up some kind of final defense line up there, and some of them were staying behind to try and cover the retreat of their fellows. Brave, but foolish. Those bunkers would do about as well against a Valkyria lance as their tanks had, he suspected.
A thought struck him. Was this what had been like, to be in the armies that had swept down on Europa all those centuries ago in the aftermath of the Darcsen catastrophe, overwhelming all who stood before them? And why was he thinking about this now, of all times?
He took another look at where Squad 2 was going and did not like what he saw—or, rather, didn't see. He had no idea what was on the other side of the ridge, and wouldn't until the squad crested the rise. The best-case scenario would be an abandoned trench network covering a fairly narrow approach. The worst-case scenario would be an Imp armored battalion led by some of those super-heavies and a Valkyria.
As it happened, when they finally got onto the higher ridge, neither of those things stood in front of them. Instead, what stood in front of them was a long, open slope that led straight down into an Imperial camp, where it looked like the routing soldiers were disorganizing an Imp counterattack.
A counterattack that, from what he could tell, once it finally got its act together, would see his squad faced with a short battalion of infantry backed by two of those super-heavy tanks.
Lannes quickly looked up towards the top of the ridge to see if there was a more defensible position than this one, and yes, there was, close enough to keep the Imps from just bypassing them.
He turned on his radio.
"Squad 2, move into those rocks and set up defensive positions. Friedrich, take your team further up and make sure there isn't an Imp squad or two up there, then come back down." He switched frequencies. "Captain, we swung up to the higher ridge. Looks like the Imps're patching together a counterattack." He looked behind him. The Gallian forces behind him were a welter of confusion. "Where's the rest of the regiment?"
"The ground was more open on Gunther's right, and the general ordered Ritterbach to hold his men in place, so I sent most of the regiment that way. Kanawa's coming up behind you soon. Can you hold?"
"If I can get first priority on the mortars and Kanawa can get within striking range before the Imps start up their attack, yes."
"You have it. Also, Kanawa's bringing up Fina and her ambulance, along with Sergeant Thompson's Gatling section. He's got the Gatlings riding on his tanks, so they shouldn't slow him down. He's five minutes away."
As Varrot said this, Lannes noticed that Thistle was turning around, and saw that Squad 2 was already starting to dig in among the rocks, and the tanks were settling into positions where their hulls were covered.
"Thank you Captain. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Yes. Gunther's about to attack the hill, and the Imps might speed up their attack. You have to hold, Lieutenant. I'm switching you to Lieutenant Diamant now."
"Yes ma'am. Thank you ma'am."
Diamant's mechanical voice came in over the radio as Lannes pulled out his map. "Diamant here. Request fire mission coordinates, over."
"Can you range to coordinates Seven-Eight-Zero-One, Six-Two-Three-Nine?" he asked as he located on the map where the Imp camp was.
"Coordinates are within range, Lieutenant. Ranging shot firing now. Azimuth from this position north-north-west."
Lannes pulled out his binoculars to watch, and ten seconds later, a round landed squarely on top of a retreating Imperial soldier, well beyond where the Imperial force was forming up. "Fifty meters long, fifty meters right," he said, turning to look at the Imps—yes, it looked like some of the retreating troops were starting to drift back in around the flanks and rear of the formation.
Should they have attacked? No. That would have delayed the Imps and bought Kanawa some time to come up, but he and his entire squad would have been overrun. Pointless. Doubtless Damon would disagree if he heard about this, but he could go hang himself for all Heinrich Lannes cared.
Another round landed, this one demolishing some shelters. It was closer, though—and yes, the Imps were starting to move.
"Twenty meters long, forty meters right. And they're moving forward."
"Roger. Adjusting. On the way."
He switched frequencies. "Squad Two, get ready. You know your jobs. Lancers, tanks—concentrate fire on one super-heavy at a time."
He switched back as the shot fell right in front of the Imperial force. "Exactly right, pour it on."
"Roger. All mortars firing five-round stonk. On the way," Diamant said coolly just as the Imp artillery started landing and Lannes jumped off of Thistle.
Apparently they'd pre-registered the artillery, this time, and he took a moment to wish that the Gallian army had bothered to do the same.
But they hadn't, and he took a brief lull in the shelling to see how Diamant's barrage had done.
The Imp force had taken a beating, but they'd spread out well, and those super-heavies were coming to a halt, barely within lance and cannon range. Accuracy and penetration were going to be dicey.
It looked like it was going to be a really bad day for everyone, he thought as his snipers began to take out anyone wearing red and his lancers and tanks all fired at one of the Imp super-heavies.
Half of the rounds missed, and he wasn't sure how much damage the ones that had hit had done.
Meanwhile, he had no idea how many of his soldiers were still in fighting shape, and said simply, "Target ten meters short and ten meters right of the last impact. And spread out a little."
"Roger. All mortars firing five-round stonk. On the way."
He noticed that the Imp artillery hadn't come in for almost a minute, and he hoped that it wasn't a deliberate pause before they dropped more of it on their heads. Right now, though, he had more pressing concerns, as the Imp super-heavies fired simultaneously and he held his breath to see where they would land. The rounds crashed in…
Just short of Squad 2's positions, and the fire splashed across the rocks, but did not ignite his soldiers.
The few surviving Imp scouts were starting to return his scouts' fire as the lancers and tanks fired again at the first super-heavy—and what were the things called, anyway?—the Gallian mortar rounds threw more Imp soldiers around like rag dolls, and someone must have hit the Imp just right, because the thing blew apart at the welds in a ragnite fireball that he almost thought he could feel the heat from at this distance.
The Imps were still pushing up the slope, but they were flagging. Their artillery was absent, they had been barraged by mortars twice, and they had to be worried about the possibility of Gallian reinforcements, either normal soldiers or Sergeant Melchiott.
He was very tempted to order a counterattack, but then was reminded why that was a very bad idea, presently, when the remaining Imp super-heavy dropped an incendiary round right in the middle of Traherne's team.
The rocks and the fact that they were spread out meant that only a few of them were down, but the Imp shocktroopers were coming into range now, and his defense had just been disrupted at the worst possible time, and he was swinging his MAG onto an Imp lancer who had apparently decided to get in close.
RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!
—and as the Imp fell he saw his lancers and tankers fire at the remaining super-heavy, and he wondered how long the Imps would be able to hold, particularly since the Imp infantry were running away…
Running away?
Yes, they were, and he immediately pulled out his binoculars to see if the Imps had managed to pull together another force. It didn't look like they had, so all they had to do was take out that super-heavy…and a sudden volley from the left blew the thing apart, catching a couple of the faster-fleeing Imps in the process, and he turned and grinned as he saw Kanawa's squad coming down the ridge, Fina's ambulance driving recklessly towards the squad.
He turned on the radio. "Squad 2," he said, "get our casualties where Fina can get to them easily. Then, we run these Imps down."
"Sir!" he heard Friedrich yell from behind him, and he turned to see the corporal and his team coming down the ridge.
"What did you find up there?"
"Not much, sir. There was just an Imp scout squad, and we brought them down quickly." Friedrich frowned. "Sergeant Melchiott is down as well."
"How do you know?"
"As we came down the hill, we could hear the sounds of a Valkyrian lance firing. But eventually those sounds ceased, but the sound of guns went on."
Lannes cursed. "That'll slow us down some. Get ready to keep moving, corporal," he added as Fina's ambulance skidded to a halt in front of them. "We've got Imps to catch."
His headset crackled. "Lieutenant!" Varrot yelled. "Gunther's in trouble. Sergeant Melchiott is down, and the Imperial are launching a pincer attack on his squad. You and Kanawa need to get around that ridge now."
"Understood, Captain," he said as he watched his soldiers carrying their fallen to Fina and Thistle and Briar worked their way out of their firing positions. "We'll be moving in two, but our flank's going to be hanging in the air. Are we getting any reinforcements?"
"Wilders is coming in behind Kanawa, and the 19th is going up and over the ridge to your left. From the reports we're getting, once Fielding's Hill is secure it should be a full-fledged rout."
"Excellent. We're moving, Captain," Lannes replied as he scrambled on top of Thistle, Crichton began moving forward, and Squad 2 formed up around them. "They won't know what hit them."
As Heinrich Lannes sat back against Thistle's tread, watching the Imp prisoners mill about under the guard of some of the other Gallian troops, he wasn't thinking of much of anything, besides the fact that he was glad to be off of the Naggiar.
They'd caught the Imps' northern attack force in the rear shortly after Gunther had blown its super-heavy straight to Hel, and they'd shattered like hammer-struck glass. Meanwhile, Berthelmy and Enjolras had slammed into the southern force and driven it right onto Gunther's squad with nowhere to run.
Three months earlier, that would have meant a fight to the death, and the three Gallian squads being rendered unfit for further combat for days.
Today, it meant that the Imps had surrendered as soon as they realized that they weren't getting out, and the 3rd had been able to hand off the prisoners to Ritterbach's battalion before pushing onward to the road and railroad that led to Citadel Ghirlandaio—and, it turned out, was the only way out for the Imps who hadn't already been snapped up as their position fell apart.
Resistance had been sporadic and scattered—a team here, a squad there—with the only significant resistance coming from an artillery battery whose captain had managed to hold it together enough that an Imp company's worth of troops had dug in around him.
Varrot hadn't had Squad 7—the fight for Fielding's Hill had left them unfit for offensive action—but against eight squads of Gallian infantry, an Imp force that size wasn't going to be around long, and she'd exploited her numbers ruthlessly, coming at the rearguard from three sides—but only with the tanks, while the snipers brought down any lancer that tried to poke his head up. The fight had taken all of ten minutes, and there had been nothing like it until they got to where the route to Citadel Ghirlandiao went into the hills, at which point they stopped and set up a defensive position to hold out against the desperate Imps trying to get out of the trap until relieved by the rest of the brigade.
However, there were no desperate Imps trying to get out. Instead, there were thousands of desperate Imps who knew that the Gallian military had rebounded from the brink of defeat twice, that their commander had abandoned them (something no one in the 3rd had known until an extremely bitter Imp colonel spilled the beans), and that the Valkyria they'd been relying on to win the battle for them was missing in action.
So they surrendered. There were a few who attempted to start the fighting up again, usually the black-uniformed elites, but they were brought down by their fellow Imps before they could do any harm.
It hadn't taken long for the rest of the 3rd Brigade to show up to help them guard the thousands of prisoners, and it hadn't taken much longer for the 6th Brigade—the only other one that was combat-ready, supposedly—to pass through and dig in about two klicks north. Then, it hadn't taken long until some of the brigades who'd been hit hard but were still functional units had come up to guard the prisoners.
All of which explained why Squad 2, like the rest of the 3rd Brigade, was either draped over or leaning against any flat or semi-flat surface to be found. They anticipated being sent forward, and they were trying to rest while they could.
"Sir," Traherne called softly from his perch on top of Thistle, "Captain's coming."
"Thank you, Sergeant," Lannes replied as he got to his feet. "Get ready to tell the squad to move out, because I think that's what she's coming to tell us."
Varrot walked up to them, her progress slowed by having to pick her way around the sleeping soldiers, but when she finally reached them her news was not unwelcome.
"We're moving out tomorrow morning. We'll be out in front, and I want Squad 2 to take the lead."
"Why us in particular, ma'am?" Lannes replied.
"I've just been informed that there are some stay-behinds operating in the Ghirlandaio Valley, and they could provide us with intel. I thought you might know some of them."
"Possibly, ma'am." A thought occurred to him, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Who knew where Sergeant Dordt had ended up? "It might even be likely. I wasn't there long, but any survivors from the Town Watch should be part of that group."
"Good. I hope you find them, Lieutenant. Taking the citadel will be…difficult."
That, he thought, was a massive understatement. Then he thought of something else.
"Do we know how Sergeant Melchiott is doing?"
"She's alive and well, but shaken up. Lieutenant Gunther's with her right now." She frowned slightly at that last sentence, and Lannes didn't blame her much.
"Be ready to go early tomorrow, Lieutenant. Also, the field kitchen's moving up right now. They should be here in an hour."
That was good news, he thought, and wondered why he didn't feel as elated as he probably should be about their victory today.
Something must have shown, because Varrot looked at him sympathetically. "Gallia paid a high price for this, Lieutenant, even if we didn't ourselves." Her voice dropped. "And an unnecessarily high one, at that. If whatever happened to Sergeant Melchiott hadn't happened, we'd all be dead right now."
It was good to know that at least someone in authority knew what was going on.
"But we need to get the Imps out of Gallia, so rest well tonight."
"Yes ma'am."
As Varrot walked away, Lannes wondered if he was looking forward to seeing Julia or not.
Heinrich Lannes' mood was much improved the next day, as Squad 2 swept on down the road. Traherne and Friedrich's teams were up front, scouting to the left and right of the road, respectively, followed by the snipers, then him, then Thistle, then Yancy and Rogers, and, finally, Briar.
For one thing, they were out of the blasted wasteland of the Naggiar. For another, he was returning to where the war had begun for him—but this time, he was on the offensive, and if there were any Imps in their way, they would be the ones running away. Finally, it was a crisp and clear autumn morning, the leaves were red and gold, and the ground was solid enough that they wouldn't have to slog through mud if they went off-road.
He was not quite prepared for when they came over a rise and he saw Tannerman's Creek. The rush of memories hit him like a bullet, and he wondered what the others who'd been there that day were thinking as they saw where they'd made their final stand.
But there wasn't time for that now, and they pushed on past. Two hours later, as dusk was falling, they came into sight of Ghirlandaio town. It was still utterly devastated, and Lannes felt a pang of sadness overlaid with cold anger as he had a chance to look at what war had done to the place without having bullets cracking by his head.
Then two men stepped forward, out of the shadows of one of the ruined buildings, and he startled.
"Willem? Mr. Vredefort?"
"Please," his old boss said with a laugh. "You can call me Marcus now."