Naturally we observed the Marmota when it broke through the wall of Randgriz. We were prepared to defend the embassy, and cover the retreat of the civilian staff. I greeted this prospect with less trepidation than I might have before midsummer, as I now had a reinforced company under my command. However, when the land battleship simply crashed into the royal castle, I am not ashamed to say that I was quite relieved.

However, I was rather disturbed when, less than an hour later, the thing lifted part of the castle out of the ground and trundled off.

Excerpted with permission from the unpublished memoirs of Colonel Miles Hayworth

Heinrich Lannes had some idea of how large the thing was before he actually saw the Marmota for the first time. For one thing, the 3rd had been following its tracks for hours, although he still wasn't sure how it had managed to cross Vasel Bridge without breaking it—then again, there had been a lot of ominous creaking as the Gallians crossed the river. Second, he had felt the ground shaking for more than nearly half an hour before he finally saw it.

Even so, when he finally did, his mind went blank for a moment as it tried to wrap itself around what it was seeing. Surely nothing that size could actually move itself on land!

But it could, and it did. It was an iron mountain grinding across the landscape towards him, and for the first time since the fighting for Ghirlandaio town, he felt his bowels loosen a little.

They'd also been able to put themselves across the Imps' line of march, thanks to a radio transmission from some brave woman in the military headquarters in Randgriz who'd stuck to her post. Varrot had deployed Falder and Enjolras to the left, Berthelmy and Kanawa to the center, and Gunther and him to the right. Her orders had been simple. "Focus your attacks on the area damaged by Sergeant Melchiott in the previous battle. Exploit that, gain access to the interior, and destroy the dreadnought's engine."

That was all well and good, but he wasn't really sure if putting themselves in front of the thing was a good idea. Yes, the troops in the woods—his squad included—had some concealment, but there were several small farms in the area, and some of the squads—particularly Berthelmy and Kanawa's—were badly exposed.

As he thought about this, he realized that the thing had stopped for some reason. It couldn't be them—after all, it had blown apart the Royal Guard without even slowing down, or so Varrot had said. So why had it halted?

Now that it wasn't moving, he was able to take in just how large it was. Just the rear section was the height of a three or four story building—and what was that white thing protruding over it that kind of looked like a lance?

Wait…could it be…

He took out his binoculars to get a closer look, which meant that he was in a perfect position to see energy begin to gather on the tip, and had just enough time to yell "Get down! Get down!" and to follow his squad in the order before the world ended in fire and wind.

When the ground stopped heaving, he realized that he was still alive, and looked around to his squad. No one seemed to be hurt, but he looked over to the left, and his heart stopped.

There was nothing. There was a trench carved into the ground, burning houses and trees on both sides, and no sign of Squads 4 and 5—or, of course, Kanawa and Berthelmy.

None whatsoever.

Valkyrur damn Maximilian and Welkin Gunther!

Then he turned his head to look in the direction of the trench, saw a great mushroom cloud where a mountain peak had been, and realized that the Darcsens might not have been the ones to create the Barious Desert.

But that something he'd need to think about later. For now…how were they going to kill it? And where were those Imps who were supposed to be guarding it?

"Stay clear of the front of that thing! Move around to its side!" Varrot called over the radio.

Why couldn't you have thought of that three minutes sooner? Lannes thought bitterly, but he knew she was right. And he was being unfair—how could anyone have known that something like that would happen.

Varrot's voice crackled again over the radio.

"Lannes, Gunther's advancing towards the near end of the dreadnought. Move your squad to cover him, a few hundred meters up."

"Understood, Captain," Lannes replied, and switched frequencies. "Squad 2, you saw what just happened, so you know what's at stake. This thing could kill all of Gallia if we gave it the chance, but that's not what's going to happen. Gunther's going to kill this thing, and we're going to keep the Imps off his back while he does it. Arrowhead formation, Thistle in the center behind the scouts. We're heading for the midpoint of that thing."

He scrambled on top of the tank, and as it lurched forward he felt his breast pocket carefully. He hoped that if it all went to Hel, someone would get the letter to his family. His mouth quirked. Hopefully he'd get the chance to introduce Julia to them, instead of her having to do it herself.

He looked to his left and right. The squad had set itself up properly—scouts in front, shocktroopers and lancers behind, engineers behind them, snipers wherever they thought best. At least all four of them were still in the fight.

As they moved closer through an open field, he kept his binoculars focused on the Imp war machine, trying to see what kind of close-in armament it had. At least it didn't have those monster cannon that had apparently blown the Royal Guard away at the pass mounted back on this end. No, just smaller cannon and Gatlings lining the side, not too thickly seeded. Trouble, but if they could take out a few of those they should be able to create a dead zone where they could set up a blocking position.

As they passed into a wooded area, his mind raced as he tried to determine where they'd need to start. Then he remembered that there had been reports of an infantry escort, and he looked around before remembering that trees would also blocking his vision in the direction the Imps would probably come in from. Then again, the concealment provided by the woods was probably the only reason they weren't being fired on right now.

Come to think of it, why wasn't he hearing any fire from that thing? Were they so focused on firing that horrendously oversized lance that no one on board was paying attention to whether or not there was an infantry attack coming their way? Did they think it was secure enough that they didn't need to engage in long-range fire to keep enemy troops from coming near?

Whatever the reason, the closer his troops got before the Imps opened fire, the better, as far as he was concerned.

Just as they came to the edge of the woods, and Lannes started to see the target again, looming over them, Varrot's voice crackled over the radio again.

"Lieutenant. The Imperial escort's moving in with a pincer attack. There's a small force coming in from the south, but their main attack's coming in from further up the Marmota. I need you to block it."

"Yes, ma'am," Lannes responded. "Can we expect any support?"

"No, Lieutenant. Falder and Enjolras are already under attack, and Gunther's going to be attacking the engines and that superweapon. You'll have to hold them off alone."

"Understood, ma'am," he replied, as he tried to figure out how he was going to deal with taking on Imp infantry while avoiding fire from the turrets lining the sides of that thing. "Enemy strength?"

"Three squads, but there's no sign of any Imp tanks."

Lannes looked at his troops. He only had one tank, and half his infantry were flat on their backs in Vasel. But did it really matter?

No. This was necessary.

"Understood, ma'am," he replied. "If they hit you and Gunther, I won't be around for you to yell at. Lannes out." He switched his radio to send.

"Squad 2. This is it. We win, the war's probably over and we get to go home. We lose, the war's over, and we won't care because we'll all be dead. We're about to attack this thing. Lancers and Thistle at the tip, but otherwise maintain formation. We're going to take out some of those turrets and then take on some Imps." He paused. "It's been an honor. Now move out."

When they reached the forest's edge, he took a moment to look closer at the thing. It looked like the setup was that across a squad's frontage, there would be a cannon turret and three Gatling turrets, and then the pattern would repeat.

He nodded. Gatlings first. "Rogers, you and the lancers fire when ready on the Gatling immediately to the right of the cannon directly in front of us. Crichton, you do the same," he finished, then immediately had to grab on to the turret as the sergeant turned it as fast as he could in order to get the thing in his sights.

The lancers and the tank fired nearly simultaneously, and Lannes grinned coldly as the Imp turret disintegrated, even though at least one of the rounds had missed. That, however, seemed to wake the Imps up, and the Gatlings began to fire, seeking whoever it was that had destroyed their brother.

But the trees concealed the infantry well, and thus the Gatlings sought out the one target they could see, which meant that he had to quickly scramble behind Thistle's turret and hunker down as the Imps sought to riddle him.

His voice still seemed unnaturally calm as he said "Now take out the one to the left of that. Everyone else stay alert and don't do anything stupid…"

Thistle fired at the same moment that the Imp cannon turret finally joined the party, and Lannes was flung off behind the tank.

He lay there for a moment, not quite clear on the fact that he was alive, but then realized that their tank had taken some extremely heavy damage just then, and if it went down…

He came to a crouch just as Ivor and van Reenan came running in just barely ahead of the Gatling fire, sliding in behind the tank, and rolled further back and out of their way. From here, he could tell that they'd taken out the second turret as well.

Thistle's turret traversed to the left, and the lancers and tank fired again. The cannon turret exploded, and the remaining Gatling that could bear on the squad shortly followed suit.

Lannes scrambled back up onto the tank and looked to the left. It seemed like Gunther was succeeding, judging from the smoking wreckage of the turrets in that direction. Then he looked to the right, and saw the Imp escort coming down by squads, anchoring their flank on the sides of the Marmota.

They were only three hundred meters away.

This was going to be interesting.

"Here's the plan. Our left is going to be on the Marmota. I don't want elbows rubbing off paint, but that's close to it. Thistle on the outside and slightly forward, scouts screening, shocktroopers behind, engineers spread out across the rear, snipers where they think they're most needed. Rogers, I need you and the other lancers, plus an engineer to start working your way back down this thing, blowing apart the turrets as you go. We might have to make a fighting retreat of it, and I'd rather not be getting shot at from the side all the way down. Move!"

They did so, Crichton pausing a moment to let the infantry get ahead before turning the tank to cut across the infantry's path while reaching his designated position.

Lannes kept his eyes on the approaching Imps, who didn't seem to be doing what he—or any sensible commander—would be doing in their situation, namely moving their front squad to flank while their second squad kept moving forward. Instead, they kept pushing forward, still in close order formation, and he wondered if whoever was in command was being pressured into it by Maximilian himself. Whatever the reason, that meant his men could probably bring down a lot more of the Imps before they had to fall back or die than they would have otherwise, and he was grateful for it.

Thistle slammed to a halt, and Lannes had the thought that this would have been the one time that the Gatling turret might have been useful. Then he remembered why that wasn't really true as Crichton lofted a mortar round directly into the center of the Imps' lead squad, blowing half a dozen of them into the air, followed by cracking sniper rifles and crumpling red-clad Imp infantry.

Then the scouts began to add their contribution to the harvest, and Lannes smiled coldly as more Imps began to fall. Then he frowned. This was a recon squad in front of him. Why weren't they holding in place, instead of moving in close where his shocktroopers could finish them off?

Then he saw the other two Imp squads double-timing forward, realized that both were probably assault squads, and knew what his counterpart was planning. He was going to run all three squads at him, and hope that at least one would be able to come to grips with the Gallians in front of him.

It wasn't what he would have done, but it could still cause him a lot of problems if they did get in range—and, unfortunately, they almost certainly would. He'd been able to pull off a fighting retreat in the Barious, yes, but these soldiers were moving much faster, and he had much less room to retreat in.

This was going to be an extremely bad few minutes, he thought, and he cursed as he saw the Imp assault squads shift into open order as the last members of the recon squad fell to the ground. Then he realized the second part of the Imp commander's plan as his scouts, masked originally by the recon squad, came to a halt and opened fire.

Four Gallian shocktroopers dropped, and while the Gallian scouts and snipers quickly ended the threat, he knew he'd be feeling the firepower deficit when the Imps finally closed—even with his scouts firing Randgrizers.

Thistle fired another mortar round, several Imps went up in the air, and the Imps finally got into MAG and Randgrizer range.

Lannes didn't have long to aim, but he didn't need much time.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The red-clad shocktrooper he'd been aiming at dropped, and he knew at least some of the others had too, but the rest were coming to a halt to fire and two of them were aiming at him.

So he jumped down and to the right as they pulled their triggers, feeling the bullets smash into his left side and arm as he plummeted to the ground, thrown off by the bullets' impact.

He staggered to his feet, knowing that his uniform wasn't going to be able to take more than one or two bullets before the damage got to him, and lurched clumsily forward as best he could to get around Thistle and into flamethrower range before the Imps could go after his troops.

The first Imp stepped out in front of him and began to turn, and he could see the man going for his flamethrower's trigger.

His finger, unfortunately for the Imp, was already on his.

FWOOOOOOOSH!

He started the arc just to the right of the shocktrooper, who flinched back as the blue flame licked out in front of him but didn't have time to go back any further before the fire caught him. For a quarter of a second Lannes had the thought that the other shocktrooper was going to come around right when he had to take his finger off the trigger for fear of overheating the fuel reservoir before he came into view and shrieked before he began to burn as well.

He moved forward, then, slowly, as his uniform began to recharge from the beating it had taken and he reloaded his MAG as fast as he could. All he knew about how his squad was doing was that there was still firing going on the other side of the tank, which could mean anything from Gallians finishing off retreating Imps to a continued close-quarters brawl.

He wasn't worried about his troops retreating. Not today, anyway.

When he came out from behind Thistle he quickly assessed the situation.

To put it bluntly, it wasn't good, but it wasn't terrible.

The Imps and his troops were slugging it out, and Yancey and Guildenstern were the only shocktroopers still on their feet. The scouts and engineers had apparently fired their Randgrizers, though he hadn't heard them go off, as far more Imps were on the ground than could have been accounted for otherwise. They hadn't had time to reload, though, and were using their rifles to try and bring the attackers down or at least break their charge before they could claw their way into range again.

The Imps, however, seemed to understand what was at stake here as well as his men did, and they were still pressing forward.

RATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATATAT!

The shocktrooper closest to him crumpled to the ground, and the Imps paused—just in time for Thistle to launch another mortar round into their line.

Several Imps—Lannes couldn't tell how many—flew up into the air, but they still had enough troops to bring down most of the rest of the squad.

Then they heard a great rumbling noise from behind and above them, and every head, Gallian and Imperial, snapped to where they could see the glowing white bulk of the giant lance, though some of it was hidden by the bulk of the Marmota.

Then the rumbling was replaced by the sound of crumbling, as it first fell dark and then pieces began to fall from it, and Lannes imagined the great white lance completely falling apart and landing in pieces on the ground and on its carrier, and hopefully not on any Gallians. He'd be okay if some Imps were crushed by falling rocky bits.

Then his head snapped back around to where the Imps still stood, frozen, and he was about to give the order to fire when he saw one of them kneel down, place his weapon on the ground, and stand up again, hands in the air. The others followed him, and soon a dozen Imperial soldiers stood there, looking as beaten as their comrades taken at the Naggiar had been.

He stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, then recovered his senses.

"Squad 2, move to assist our wounded. Sergeant Crichton, keep covering these Imperials." He then spoke to the latter, using one of the few phrases he knew well, pointing away from the Marmota with his MAG. "Move that way."

They complied, shuffling their feet as they walked, and he haltingly asked the nearest Imperial, "Why do you surrender?"

The man sighed and said, slowly, something about having lost all of their comrades between when they'd invaded Gallia and now, and that Maximilian had said something about how if they lost the Valkof—which, Lannes presumed, was the giant lance the Marmota had been carrying, and where had they found that, anyway—they might as well quit.

That sounded like crazy talk to Lannes, but he had seen the Imps come apart time and again when their big fancy weapons didn't work out the way they'd planned, so he supposed that it wasn't completely insane to think they might surrender when this one last roll of the dice failed.

He waved the Imp on, and as he and his comrades walked away under Thistle's guns, he looked to his troops.

Yancey and Rogers were standing closer together than was entirely appropriate for two team leaders on the battlefield, but since they were still facing towards where the Imps had come from he'd let it slide. Traherne was also still on his feet, looking grimly over the body-covered ground—far too much of which was blue. The rest of the able-bodied squad members were stabilizing the wounded, which reminded him of something, and he turned on his radio.

"Captain. Imperial forces in this area have surrendered. Multiple wounded. Requesting assistance."

"Understood, Lieutenant. Mina's heading your way. Good work. Hold position until she gets there, then load your wounded and move back towards the rear of the Marmota. "

"Thank you Captain"

He frowned. Where was Friedrich?

Then he saw Kat stabilizing a scout, and knew that that was where the corporal was. At least he was alive.

And, now he was finally able to really look at what was left of Squad 2, and he felt no rush. Only twelve of his troops were still able to fight, and he was grateful that the Imps had decided to surrender. If they hadn't, it would have been—bad.

Now all that remained was to count the rest of the cost.

Lannes stood and looked over the battlefield, the sweet taste of victory mingled with the bitterness of knowing that the cost of achieving it here had not needed to be paid.

Reports from the squads to the north of what his troops were already calling "the Gash" were that the Imps there had surrendered when the Valkof had gone dark and begun to crumble, just like those his squad had faced and those who'd fought Gunther's squad.

The Gallians had then sent said prisoners marching south, under the watchful eyes of the surviving tanks from the various squads, while the infantry had, after stabilizing the wounded, gotten them into the medics' vehicles and sent them back to the aid station set up once the shooting had stopped. That done, they had moved back towards the Marmota's engines to regroup and decide what do next.

Meanwhile, Gunther and Squad 7 had scrambled up to the top of the land dreadnoughta few minutes ago, for some reason or other—and had somehow managed to get their tanks up there with them. Why the Imps had tank elevators on that thing he didn't know, and he really didn't care. As far as he was concerned, Welkin Gunther was personally responsible for every casualty suffered after Operation Maiden's Shield. He didn't know if Sergeant Melchiott could have used her Valkyria powers to cripple or destroy the thing, but given the damage he'd seen Selvaria and the sergeant inflict at the Naggiar, he was as sure as he could be without having seen her try it.

And he was certain that Gunther hadn't even tried to convince her to do so.

Come to think of it, he should probably throw at least some of the blame at Captain Varrot—

White light flared on top of the war engine, and his recriminations fled his mind as he joined his remaining troops in looking towards what looked like electrical transformers on top of giant poles that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

It also sounded like someone up there was shouting something or other.

He frowned.

Why could he even hear that someone was shouting? That was a long way up.

Then a beam of blue light shot out from what seemed to be the area the electricity seemed to be transmitted to, and his jaw dropped. Had the Imps figured out some way to create some kind of portable Valkyrian lance that didn't need a Valkyria to fire it?

He turned to look at what was left of his squad. They looked back at him. No one said a word.

"Follow me," he said simply, and began to walk towards the ramp that led into the Marmota's interior. Maybe they could figure out some way to shut off the power to whatever that thing was.

If Gunther died up there, he might could forgive him. Might. He wasn't sure.

Those who could still fight from Falder's and Enjolras' squads were moving forward as well, which was good. Even if there weren't any Imp infantry in that thing, mechanics and such given rifles could be trouble—especially if, as Lannes suspected, they would outnumber the Gallians by ten to one or more, depending on how many crewmen such a machine needed.

He heard the sound of the Edelweiss' main gun firing, and wondered what they were shooting at up there. Maybe the electrical devices?

As they climbed up the ramp and into the open space beyond, he didn't let himself notice just how large the thing was. No, he needed to keep an eye on two things: first, the way to the engine room, and second, whether or not there were any Imps around.

"Where're the Imps, sir?" Yancey asked, her voice echoing in the chamber, much as their footsteps and the noise of the engines were.

"Probably somewhere we won't like them being," Traherne replied. "Just keep watch."

Just as he finished, the chamber rocked from side to side, and the engines sounded like they were being brought up to the maximum power level.

What was going on here? Was Maximilian planning on trying to flee back to the Empire in this thing?

Not if he had anything to say about it, and then he finally was able to see a door that had the Imperial for "engine room" stenciled above it.

"This way," he ordered, motioning towards it with his MAG, and he walked forward, ready to fill anyone who came through the door full of holes, since the only Gallians here were either behind him or above him.

When he was about to reach for the door, however, Guildenstern stepped into his field of view and shook his head as if to tell him that it was not the Lieutenant's job to open the door, but his.

Lannes stepped to the side, next to the door, and nodded. Guildenstern swung the door open, and nothing happened.

He was not going to complain, and motioned the private forward.

As they moved down the corridor, Lannes noticed that the noise from the engines was changing again—almost like they were starting to seize up. That could cause problems. If the engines on something like this caught fire—

The door at the end of the corridor slammed open, and a panicked black-clad Imp ran forward, oblivious to the fact that the corridor he was fleeing down was full of Gallians until he literally ran into Guildenstern and bounced back onto the floor.

Instead of backing away, though, he immediately got back to his feet and started talking very quickly.

Lannes couldn't catch most of what he was saying, but the words "run," "Prince Maximilian," "Valkyria" and a phrase that he did not understand but resulted in the fellow twirling his finger next to his ear. Then he saw more Imps coming their way, obviously running away from something, and he turned to the squad.

"Let's get out of here. Move!"

It wasn't far to get back to where they came in, and as they ran down the corridor he hoped that Falder and Enjolras' squads hadn't moved into the bowels of this thing yet.

Just as he and Guildenstern reached the doorway, the Imp crewmen hot on their heels, the giant war machine rocked as he heard a great explosion behind them, and he turned to look behind and see that the room at the end was consumed in flames.

"Get everyone as far away from here as possible!" he yelled as he emerged into the entrance chamber, but even as he did so he saw that his words weren't needed. Pipes were starting to burst, fires were breaking out, and explosions were starting to occur, and everyone, Gallian and Imperial alike, was running for their lives.

He side-stepped to avoid being trampled by the men behind him, took a quick look around to make sure that none of the Gallians were being left behind, and then ran pell-mell for the ramp.

As he sprinted, a sudden thought popped into his mind. How was Gunther's squad going to get down in time?

Then a great crashing noise came from behind and to his right, and he turned his head to see what it was.

It was the Shamrock, which had apparently made it halfway down on one of the tank elevators before they'd finally completely lost power, hitting the floor of the hanger and somehow not exploding. In fact, it didn't even seem particularly damaged, since it started moving forward.

He really didn't want to be there when the Edelweiss ended up doing the same thing, and as his feet hit dirt he saw the infantry rounding up the Marmota's crew, and turned around to see the troops from Gunther's squad run down the catwalks from the top of the machine as the Edelweiss hit the floor.

As the tanks rumbled out, he smiled grimly. After this, the war was over. Right?

Then he looked closer as he saw Gunther's squad come together near to the ramp. Zaka and Czherny were poking their heads out of their tanks, and Corporal Stark and Sergeant Potter were rounding up the troops…where were Gunther and Melchiott?

Varrot ran forward. "Is anyone still up there?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am," Sergeant Potter replied. "Lieutenant and Alicia got cut off when the thing started going up. He ordered us to get off the thing before it exploded. I think they're tryin' to find…another…"

His voice trailed off as he looked to the sky, and Lannes turned to see something he'd never seen before in his life. It looked like some kind of bird, almost, but it was too big and moving too fast.

"He really made it work…" Potter said softly.

"What is that thing?"

"Isara started working on it before she died. It's a flying machine. Leon and the rest of us've been workin' on it for the past few months when we could get the time." He frowned. "Maybe he's tryin' t' get the boss off of that thing, but I don't see how…"

The plane disappeared behind the superstructure, and Lannes found himself wondering what he wanted to happen. If Gunther died, it would be appropriate. On the other hand, did Melchiott deserve it, since chances were that either both or neither would die?

He'd rather they lived. Maybe they might be able to make things right that way. Or at least, do more that way than if they were dead.

The plane came back around, and he lifted his binoculars to his face. Two figures hung off the wings.

They'd made it, and he lowered the binoculars and turned as he heard someone walking towards him.

"Lieutenant. There's something you need to retrieve."

A/N: Sorry about how late this is; FF wasn't letting me upload files. Also, allow me to note that the opinions of Heinrich Lannes are not necessarily those of the author.