The Battle of Alealmayn Part I
40 years after the Great War
Londinium
The Battle of Alealmayn is perhaps one of the best-known engagements in the southern campaign, thanks in part to the Hollywood blockbuster: Ketchener's Gambit.
Within this popular piece of cinema, General Horatio Ketchener is portrayed as an uncaring glory hound, willing to throw away the lives of his men for the chance to bask in the spotlight once again. The outcome, as we all know was the disastrous defeat of the Commonwealth forces at Alealmayn. With the only positive consequence of the tragedy being that his forces caused enough damage to the Imperial expeditionary force that they could no longer advance on the Suez Canal and had to turn back to secure their supply line.
However, the truth behind this battle is very different and many scholars believe this is an entirely unfair and unjustified interpretation of one of Albion's greatest generals.
Ketchener was a veteran of many successful campaigns and had led the troops of the Allied Kingdom to victory on many occasions. Although he did take some risks in his career, his record shows that he wasn't the sort to charge recklessly at the enemy for no reason. The proof of this is in the actions that he took at Alealmayn.
Hollywood has portrayed Ketchener's attempt to intercept the Imperial forces as one of history's greatest blunders, however most military historians agree that it was likely the wisest course of action he could have chosen under the circumstances.
The place he chose to engage the Imperial forces was ideal for a defensive battle and much easier to defend than Iskandria or the airfield. Additionally, although his troops were less well equipped than the elite force approaching them, they had a substantial numerical advantage. There was no reason to suppose that this deployment was the foolhardy action portrayed in the film.
Another important detail that the movie got wrong was the Imperial's target. We know that the Suez was never a consideration for General Romel, he himself admitting in his memoirs that he only sought to rob the Allies of their aerial superiority by attacking the airfield at Iskandria.
This has made the film somewhat controversial among both veterans and historians. Even General Romel leapt to the defence of his once advisory, calling the portrayal of General Ketchener "the most disrespectful piece of cinema ever made."
All this aside, the important question to ask is, if Ketchener's wasn't at fault, what exactly went wrong at Alealmayn? – Andrew WTN special correspondent.
September 11th Unified Year 1925 23:00
General De Lugo's office, Boulaouane Kasbah, Casablanca
Major General De Lugo stifled a yawn as he stared out of the open window of his new office and across the city of Casablanca. The sandstone walls of the Kasbah gave an unrivalled view that stretched past the harbour and out into the waters of the southern sea. The architects of the old fortress had designed it this way to protect from ocean born aggressors, but with both the majority of the Navy of the Free Republic in port and the Allied Kingdom's Southern Sea fleet patrolling, a direct assault was all but impossible.
Still, The Empire had a bad habit of achieving the impossible.
He felt a cool breeze wash across his face as his eyes passed over the partially illuminated buildings across the town. Although this city had received a fair share of civilising from its years under the control of the Republic, it had still yet to fully industrialise, and some parts still used the old-style gas lamps rather than the newer electric ones. It had a curious effect on the town, making it seem like the city was lit by candlelight.
This, combined with the unique architecture that illustrated the many interesting aspects of its past, made it a true spectacle to behold at night. De Lugo could not argue the fact that it was a truly beautiful city.
Yet still, he found himself despising it, and he was sure any trueborn son of the Republic would too. At least while their true home was in the grasp of the Imperials.
There was no doubt that their withdrawal from the homeland had been their only choice if they were to continue this struggle against the Empire. Everyone agreed that in order to prevent the Empire's complete dominion over Europa, they would need every capable soldier on hand to resist them.
Still, every moment of their exile felt like torture. Every second he remained here instead of Parisii, was agony.
He didn't hate the city, but what it represented to him. It was an ever-present reminder that his beloved country was in the hands of another, and he consciously fought to keep this disgusting thought in his mind. He feared that if he did not, he may grow too comfortable here, he may even lose sight of their true goal to reclaim their homeland.
Just like them.
He frowned, pushing the thought from his mind before closing his window and returning to his desk. Now was not the time to get distracted by idle longing for home, he had work to do if they were to win this war.
He sat back down, reaching for the latest of an ever-mounting pile of reports he needed to work through. Although he was fortunate enough to have retained most of his staff to help with the reorganisation efforts, there was much work to be done to reform their forces. Worse still, since most of the Francois Government had decided to collaborate with the Imperials, he had also been forced to temporarily take on the role of head of the civilian government of the Free Republic. This had created a great deal of additional problems, not least with some of the other Republican officers in the colonies.
The Republic had a history of politically powerful men being connected to the military. Many prominent figures in all three Republic's had been military men, so De Lugo's introduction as another was not seen as unusual to the rank and file, particularly amongst those who had followed him from the Fatherland. However, he was not the only General present on the Southern continent, he was not even the highest-ranking, and some of these men were not happy with the role he had been forced to appoint himself.
Due to their often-political nature, the Republic had always had a bad habit of retaining persons with powerful connections. After all, politics was a tricky game, so it was often better to avoid making unnecessary enemies by giving them a measure of what they wanted. Usually, a place in the colonies was considered a convenient place to dump these people so that they couldn't cause too much trouble. Unfortunately, the colonies were now all they had left, and these men thought themselves kings within the remnants of the Republic.
He'd been suffering backlash from these officers. Both from those who felt that their power was threatened and those who saw this situation as a way to increase their own. Some refused to acknowledge him as their new leader at all, while others felt his role as the head of the civilian leadership meant they were not directly subject to his orders.
It was infuriating and he was already tiring of their foolish attempts at politicking.
Could they not see they needed to unify against the foe? The Enemy had chased them here and these men were still content to fight over the meagre scraps of power they had gained during their governorships of these colonies.
He sighed, as he glanced at the next report, and raised an eyebrow as he recognised its source. The Allied Kingdom's illustrious intelligence service had been feeding information even before they joined the war. Now that they were officially allies, they had been even more forthcoming and the agent known as Mr John along with his compatriots had been keeping him apprised of what the Imperials, Illdoans and Commonwealth forces were doing.
De Lugo still didn't trust the man, or the Allied Kingdom, they had only joined to profit from this war and only fought because they had backed themselves into a corner. They promised their support but removed most of their troops to their home isles, it was clear their word couldn't be trusted.
All that considered, he did not believe the Allied Kingdom would lie or mislead him with their information, but he was sure they would never share everything they knew.
This report, at least this one contained some good news. General Ketchener had reached the Qattara depression and taken up a defensive position to force the Imperials into a battle to protect the Airfield.
The report drew a smile to his lips, a rare thing these days. He had great respect for the old Albion General and had studied the man's campaigns while still at the Parissii War College. Many criticised him for being reckless and impulsive but De Lugo believed that the man was simply very good at reading the intension of his enemies. And more importantly, quick to steal the initiative for them.
This was precisely what the old fox had done.
When he'd heard the news that Ketchener was moving out, he'd immediately ordered General de Juin's force in Turus to move to assault their flank, they may not have been in the best shape, but he wanted to make sure that no Imperial escaped to fight another day. They would overwhelm them with simple arithmetic if they had to, he wouldn't take any chances this time.
Meanwhile, he'd been putting political pressure on the Illdoans to keep their assistance to their allies to a minimum. They knew that The Republic had a lot more troops down here than they did, if the Illdoans dared join their allies in the war, he would see to it that they lost everything they had on this continent.
He just hoped the Illdoans couldn't see through his bluff.
His thoughts were broken by a polite tap on his door. He glanced at the time before calling for the visitor to enter. It was a late hour and his staff rarely interrupted him at such a time unless it was important.
"Sir." The young soldier saluted as he entered before passing him yet another piece of paper. "We've received a report from General de Juin, Colonel Vianto thought you'd want to see it immediately."
"Ah, he must have reached his position too." De Lugo thought aloud, a smile creeping towards his lips at the thought of finally outwitting the Imperials.
He dismissed the soldier and opened the dispatch, but his smile soon twisted to a frown and then a scowl as he read the contents of the message.
Major General De Lugo
It is with regret that I cannot follow the advice you have given me regarding the deployment of my troops. It is my judgment that my forces remain at their posts, defending the strategically important port of Turus.
Although suggestions from lower-ranked officers are welcome, I chose to exercise my own authority in this matter.
Lieutenant General Alphonse de Juin
Advice? Suggestions? That was an order! De Lugo thought as he clenched his fists with frustration, this was exactly what he had to put up with. They had the chance to utterly crush the Imperials before they could ever become a threat, yet the foolish generals left in the colonies were too petty to listen to him.
Something needed to be done.
He had the rank and file on his side, not to mention the elite units that had escaped the Republic. He would invite all the dissenters here and reason with them, if they refused then he would strip them of their pocket empires. He would have unity.
But that still left the Empire's expeditionary force.
He glanced back at the disposition of the opposing forces provided by Albion's agent. Ketchener had the numbers, the geography and the supply advantage. Not to mention a fine commander at the helm. It seemed impossible that he could lose.
De Lugo felt a frown tug on his face once again.
Then again, the Empire had a bad habit of achieving the impossible.
September 12th Unified Year 1925 03:00
Qattara Depression, Gyption Western Desert, 60 miles from Iskandria, near the town of Alealmayn
Nobody had expected that traversing the Qattara depression on foot would be easy, there was a reason that it was considered more or less impassable. The region was essentially a vast sinkhole filled with jagged rocks, fine sand that attempted to swallow you as you waded through it and salt lakes that robbed the water from your mouth as you breathed. Combined with the already treacherous conditions expected when crossing the desert, it was an incredibly difficult task as fatigue and dehydration robbed everyone of any motivation to continue.
It was said that the local nomadic tribes avoided this place wherever possible. Even the people who seemingly made a living out in the sands of the desert struggled to find anything of worth in this desolate place. It was far too much work for too little gain, nobody would enter this place willingly. At least that was what they hoped the Allied forces would think.
The journey had been particularly difficult for the Close Combat Company. Usually, they would fly or physically enhance themselves with magic when traversing such difficult terrain. However, such an action would give off a detectable mana signal and they couldn't risk giving away their position to the enemy. Especially since Project Shroud was going to be used to create a false signal for them to mask their assault. If the enemy detected a second signal, it might jeopardise the entire scheme, so they had been forced to move entirely unaided as they crossed the rugged landscape.
The journey had been especially trying for Will and his body ached from the extra effort he had needed to put in. He was still a child, at least physically, and he usually relied on magical augmentation in order to compete at the same level as the older soldiers.
This combined with the energy-sapping effect of the blistering heat, meant that by the time they had reached their destination, he had felt dead on his feet. If he had not followed Christina's carefully prepared advice for the desert, he was certain he would have collapsed long before now.
If not for the fear of embarrassing himself in front of his men, he probably would have allowed his legs to give way the moment Sophia had confirmed they had reached their destination. Fortunately, years of practice at dissembling how he truly felt meant he'd been able to hide the worst of his fatigue from the soldiers until he could find somewhere a little more private. He was just glad that they hadn't needed to go any further, he wasn't sure he could have managed it.
Fortunately, thanks to Christina's research on the area, they made the arduous journey with time to spare. Tanya and Romel wouldn't begin their advance until dawn so the close combat company had ample time for a well-deserved – if uneasy – rest. They would need it, although Will felt confident of their victory, they expected a difficult battle in the morning. So, after arranging an alternating watch to keep an eye out for enemy patrols, he had ordered everyone to catch a few hours of sleep while they could.
Will just wished he could do the same.
He shifted uncomfortably, tossing and turning as he lay in the rough sand at the base of the cliff; wrapping his robes and a blanket tightly around himself to fight off the early morning chill. Even with his padded flight suit, it was still extremely cold, and he had to fight to stop his teeth from chattering.
They had no fire to chase away the cold, the desert gloom meant that any light source could be seen for kilometres around and they couldn't risk being detected. He'd heard that temperatures plummeted in the desert at night but after experiencing the intense heat during the previous day he'd assumed it to be an exaggeration. However, without the daylight sun to warm the sands, the darkened desert seemed to radiate a cold that rivalled any winter in Letzenbourg.
He was now quietly thankful that Christina had been so insistent about bringing something to help them keep warm. As always, her dutiful and meticulous preparations had saved everyone a great deal of time and hardship on this trip. She may have insisted they carry twice as many supplies, but they had needed them and he had no doubt that the route she had plotted for them was the reason they had arrived ahead of schedule. He would have to find some way to reward her for everything she had done when this was all over.
The cold wasn't the only thing causing his discomfort and preventing him from grabbing some sleep, it wasn't even the primary reason for his restlessness. His mind was filled with worry about the upcoming assault and thoughts buzzed around his head as he tried in vain to relax.
He would like to claim that the thousands of enemy troops on the plateau above were the source of his insomnia. Even the most experienced veterans still suffered from anxiety before battle, and he would have felt no shame admitting that it was less than comforting knowing they were so close.
Although a passing concern, it was not the source of his unease. Sophia was currently on watch and it was unthinkable that an enemy patrol would get past her undetected. As for pre-battle anxiety, it wasn't the battle itself he was worried about. It never was.
He would like to have said his inability to sleep was the fault of the fine dust that had managed to find its way into his trousers, causing an almost unbearable itching and constant discomfort. He'd already grown to hate the desert sand; it was coarse and rough and managed to get everywhere despite his best attempts to keep it out.
But that wasn't the case either, he'd suffered worse, and he was tired enough that sleep should have claimed him quickly, despite the cold. In truth, the cause of his restlessness was something he was far more familiar with.
The nightmares had returned and just the thought of what waited for him in his dreams was enough to keep him away from them.
After they had unexpectedly ceased after the party, he had dared to believe that his night terrors might have finally dissipated for good. He'd actually begun to enjoy a few peaceful nights' rest. For the first time for as long as he could remember he had closed his eyes without fear and experienced the joyous novelty of uninterrupted sleep.
It was a foolish and unreasonable hope. He should have realised that the creature was too cruel to allow him more than a token reprieve from his misery. Slowly but surely, his sleep had once again become increasingly more disturbed by the nightmares, returning in full force shortly after they received their deployment orders. It was as if the monster felt the need the remind him what he was fighting for.
What he owed it.
Night after night, visions of pain, blood and the statue returned to him, bringing terror, dread, and a reminder of his potential fate if he were to fail to pay his debt. The thing Tanya called Being X was relentless in its drive to remind him what he owed. God, the Devil, or whatever it was, demanded its pound of flesh and if Will did not start repaying it soon, it would begin taking what it thought it deserved.
He was running out of time; he was sure of it.
Worse still, the visions had changed for the worse. The monster now only spoke in Ludwig's mocking voice, laughing and teasing him as the creature demanded its dues. He could no longer remember what the voice had originally sounded like, Ludwig's tone had even replaced it in his memories of the nocturnal torture sessions. And his so-called brother was all too keen to point out who he thought the real monster was.
With these cruel dreams came snippets of half-remembered and confused information. Knowledge he couldn't quite explain or even fully understand. It was the same sort of insight that he had found to write his political thesis describing the war but this time it seemed even more confused and vague. Was it a memory of a personal experience or misremembered knowledge from a book or newspaper? He couldn't tell but it all felt subtly wrong and unnatural, as though it didn't fully belong to him.
This twisted information had given him the inspiration for this plan, but somehow it felt more like he was remembering something that had already happened. Because of this, he was confident they would succeed, however, the source of this inspiration made him feel uneasy. He couldn't help feeling like he wasn't seeing the full picture and it gave him the nagging feeling that something terrible might happen because of it.
He wasn't sure if all this was caused by long lost memories, a cruel trick by the monster, or simply some half-remembered information his mind had dredged up and gotten mixed up in his sleep-deprived mind. He hoped it was the latter; at least that way he could explain it away without worrying about its true origin. Yes, that must be it. He'd read more than enough during his studies that it could be jumbled in his brain, and lack of sleep could do strange things to the mind.
Regardless of what they were, he desperately wanted them to leave him in peace.
It all felt too similar to the nightmares he had experienced as a child that gave Ludwig the excuse to perform those torturous medical procedures on him. Although the real Ludwig was gone, and he knew he would never have to suffer the so-called treatment of Doctor Jung again. The memories of them still filled him with fear and dread. It was a time he did not want to remember or repeat.
He gave up on all pretence of sleep, opening his eyes to stare out over the moonlit landscape. He watched his breath form into a cloud of condensation in the dim moonlight as he allowed his mind to turn itself over again as he considered his situation.
He wished he could talk to someone about all this, someone he could share his worries with. But there was not.
Tanya was not here, and even if she was, she still hated him. Besides he wasn't even sure how much she would care if he managed to get her to forgive him for what had happened on the ship. She was far too focused on her goals and her work. She would force away any secondary concerns and focus on her task like a laser until they were achieved.
That was one of the things he admired about her, how nice it would be if he could focus himself entirely on his goal rather than all these worries.
He could not tell Sophia or Christina either, he knew they could never understand. They'd surely think he was crazy, just as everyone had before. They'd think the war had gotten too much for him, maybe even send him to rest in Jung's sanitorium in Waldstätte. Either that or they'd lose all their respect for him and leave. Why would they stay? What worth was he to them if he was proven to be nothing but an insane little boy?
He didn't want to lose them, he'd already lost one of those close to him.
He sighed, sitting up and leaning against the cliff face at his back, pulling his knees up to his chest in an effort to retain some body heat. He stared down at the disturbed stand at his feet and tried to push the thoughts of abandonment away.
The dreams will go away again when I've paid the debt. He told himself, thinking of the ever-present reminder he kept attached to his belt. He fought off the urge to check the number, no doubt it was burning as brightly as ever but he already knew exactly how much more work he had to do. Looking at it would do nothing to improve his state of mind.
I just need to get through this as quickly as possible, then I can leave the military and the nightmares behind.
"Do you really think that will work?" A familiar and mocking voice replied in the shadows in front of him. "You've killed so many already and for what? You don't even know if killing these men will make a difference."
Panic overtook him for a moment as he recognised Ludwig's derisive tone as it entered his mind. Or was it the monster? He couldn't tell anymore. Either way, the voice of the once regent had followed him in order to torture him further.
"Shut up, you're dead, you're not really here! Leave me alone!" Will mouthed in a whisper as he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to chase away the phantom. He knew that it was impossible for Ludwig to really be here, yet he could almost sense the man standing over him. Childhood memories of the stern frown glaring down at him with disgust filled his mind, making it feel almost like he could see and feel the man in front of him, despite his eyes being welded shut.
He tried to calm his panic by thinking logically. This was a manifestation of his fatigue and anxiety, nothing more, he should simply ignore it. Ludwig could not be here, nothing this thing said meant anything.
"Are you sure they are the faithful you seek?"
Will struggled to breathe as the words elicited a fresh wave of panic. The ghost didn't care that he was a fake and was relentless in its attempt to inflict suffering upon him. Would this thing stop simply because he was being ignored? Unlikely. Despite all logic, Will felt the need to lash out and defend himself against the words of the spectre and it took all his willpower to stop himself from crying out at the hallucination.
Worse still, this Ludwig had a point.
He felt his stomach clench involuntary as a terror-inducing thought entered his mind. He'd felt a growing sense of unease since he'd seen how diverse the enemy they were facing was. Although the Allied Kingdom predominantly shared the same religion as the rest of Europa, its overseas territories had numerous faiths represented within its peoples and armed forces. What if they were the wrong sort of faithful?
He had yet to fully understand how the rules of his debt worked, despite the brutal experimentation on the Rhine. As far as he was aware, he'd only ever faced those who worshipped the Catheric God, and even then, the results had been mixed. Soldiers he met on the battlefield did not always count towards his debt, so it was difficult to tell if they were what the monstrous god wanted or not. The definition for what counted as faithful seemed completely arbitrary and without logic.
Cruelly it seemed those who served alongside him were more likely to what the monster craved; he had noticed that losses incurred by his own troops seemed to contribute more consistently than the enemy. Although more of his debt had been paid with Francois blood, his companions from the volunteer battalion had never failed to add to his tally. Was he simply expected to act as a Judas goat to lead his troops to the slaughter?
If this was true it added to the proof of how terrifyingly evil this monster was.
However, this also was not a hard and fast rule. Hausmann, who not only was dutifully religious but a loyal and trusted comrade, seemed not to contribute to the tally at all. Although it had been difficult to tell who did and did not add to the count in Letzenbourg.
True Will had not been responsible for his death, that had been the work of that other him, but Will hated that the man had seemingly died for nothing. Hausmann was worth his debt ten times over.
He was a much better human being than Will.
The creature did not care for the worth of people however, it only cared for who was and wasn't faithful and even they were nothing but a number. As far as the ethereal monster was concerned, Hausmann was worth the same as that disgusting creature Canaris.
Nothing.
Will felt nauseous as he came to the horrible realisation that he could not be sure the death he would inflict upon the Commonwealth's international troops would be worth anything to the monster. Once again, he may have to look into the eyes of those he killed. He would watch as their faces contort between confusion, pain, and fear and see himself reflected in those eyes, staring down at them, with the fake smile of The Saint.
Finally, in their last moments, he would see their thoughts turn to their loved ones. He might rob a child of a father or a wife of their husband; he would never know but he would see in their expressions that their final thoughts would turn to those they left behind.
Then they would be gone, but their face would join Ludwig and countless others in his nightmares. Despite his best efforts to placate the ethereal being that toyed with his soul, everyone he sacrificed might be worth…
Nothing.
He felt dizzy and his nausea increased, he felt ready to vomit as his body tried desperately to expel these thoughts in some way. It wasn't fair! The monster wanted him to kill, he had no choice in it! He shouldn't have to shoulder any blame for this! Even if they weren't the faithful this thing wanted, it wasn't his fault! He'd done good things while he was doing all this, he'd saved people.
"So what if they aren't faithful? You make it all seem like it's my fault they'll die, but I didn't do this! You're the monster, not me!" He replied in a whimper, feeling tears begin to roll down his face.
"I'm not a monster! I made sure that Hausmann's family got everything they wanted, I saved Tanya from Canaris and I've helped soldiers on the battlefield. These aren't the actions of a monster."
Will could almost feel the smug self-assurance of his older brother as he chuckled at his words. It was terrifying to hear Ludwig laugh, he never had in life so in death it made him seem all the more terrifying.
"A wife and child that would be much safer and happier if their father had lived, I'm sure." Ludwig laughed derisively, "They must be so happy with what you've given them, is that why you never sent the letter?"
"Shut up shut up!" He hissed covering his ears in a futile attempt to block the spirit's words. It did not matter; Ludwig's taunts entered his mind directly.
"If you really feel that was such a good thing, then why did old Hausmann come to visit you that day eh?"
The memory of the broken form of his once deputy in the Letzenbourg embassy entered his mind. He could smell the blood dripping from his wounds and see his contorted limbs that had been twisted almost beyond recognition from the fall. Worst of all, he remembered the accusatory gaze of the man as he glared at him from the corner of the office.
The tears flowed freely now; Will could not have stopped them even if he wanted to, such was the sorrow he felt in that moment. Had Dietrich Hausmann ended his life hating him, did he continue to blame him from beyond the grave?
"It wasn't me, the other one did it." He sobbed in his defence.
"And you saved the girl for your own selfish reasons, didn't you? There was nothing noble about that. The same goes for those soldiers on the Rhine. What does that prove? Monsters are fully capable of being selfish."
"Shut up it still doesn't mean anything! None of this is my fault!"
"You chose to take on this curse, you chose to overthrow me and cause so many to die in a needless Civil war! You chose to take up that sword and you choose to plunge into people's hearts!" Ludwig spat, suddenly devoid of all trace of mirth. "You choose to believe that all this bloodshed is worth your pathetic little life!"
"So tell me again my dear brother, who do you really think is really responsible for all this?"
He couldn't take it anymore. Rage overtook his fear as Will's eyes snapped open, and he began to yell and lunge forward to attack the voice. He didn't deserve this, he needed to get rid of Ludwig and stop the harassment. However, an arm caught him before he could move, and a hand quickly fell over his mouth before pulling him and holding him tightly so that he could not speak or move.
He panicked and began to struggle, wondering how anyone could have gotten so close to him. He was trapped by an unknown assailant and he had no idea what they might do to him. He instinctively reached inward towards his store of mana and began the calculations to manifest a spell in an attempt to break free but stopped himself as he heard the firm but kind whispers of a feminine voice.
"Shh shh shh." The feminine voice hushed reassuringly "Calm down my Prince."
Will stopped his struggling and blinked with confusion for a few moments as he recognised Christina's soft voice. His mind raced to catch up with events, but the panic had robbed him of his senses.
There was no sign of Ludwig, Christina had banished the spectre. He felt his muscles relax slightly as the sense of threat began to dissipate and he became aware of the woman's familiar presence holding him close. He recognised the scent and soft but firm touch of the woman who had cared for him for over half of his life and began to feel safe once again.
He was still shaking, and his heart still raced as Christina slowly removed her hand from his mouth, trusting him not to cry out, and began to gently stroke his hair.
She pulled him in a tight embrace and guided his head across her chest, allowing him to use her bosom for a pillow while she quietly whispered reassurances in his ear. He could hear her heartbeat and found himself almost hypnotised by the rhythmic thumping and the closeness felt calming as she gently ran her fingers through his hair. He allowed himself to get lost in the moment, enjoying the feeling of warmth and safety she had brought him while he focused on returning his own breathing and heart rate back to normal.
It may have only been for a moment, but he felt safe and calm, he didn't want to leave her arms. He was safe here.
"My apologies, My Prince, you were…dreaming," she explained sounding slightly embarrassed, pausing to carefully choose her words. "You were starting to make noise, so I had to wake you."
Had he really been dreaming? Had he actually fallen asleep? It had felt so real, he almost couldn't believe that it was true. He'd been certain he'd been awake, but Christina was hardly ever wrong, he must have been dreaming.
Suddenly, a thought entered his mind causing a further wave of panic to run through him as he realised he had been making noise in his sleep. What if the other soldiers had heard? Worse still what if the enemy had heard him? The silence of the desert could have caused any sound to travel for miles! His nightmares might have compromised the mission, maybe even the whole campaign!
"I managed to wake you before you made too much noise." Christina said, sensing his concerns. "I don't believe the rest of the company heard you either."
Will let out a sigh of relief, his eyes feeling heavy as he relaxed and fell back into the woman's comforting embrace. He'd gone to great lengths to keep his night terrors secret from his troops, he was worried that he'd lose all credibility as a commander if they knew. He may have used his youth to his advantage when persuading or inspiring people around him, but no soldier would follow a whimpering baby that complained of nightmares into battle. It was comforting to know that neither this secret nor the operation had been compromised due to Ludwig's visit.
He did not need to worry about that now, he could have this moment of safety. He needed it and not even Ludwig could take it away from him.
"It might make you feel better to talk about it." Christina whispered reassuringly continuing to hold him tightly. "Sophia and I are here for you, my Prince."
He wanted to, he desperately wanted to. Christina and Sophia were the closest he had to a real family. Christina particularly had been by his side for most of his life. He desperately wanted to open up to her, to tell her everything about the dreams and what he really was but he couldn't, he didn't dare.
If he told her everything, she might leave him, thinking he was insane. Sophia and Christina may have been more loyal than most, but Will understood how the world worked. His wealth and supposed social rank were what kept people loyal to for him, these were the only things people cared about in this world. If anyone thought he was crazy, they would be stripped away from him. He would no longer be of any use to anyone and Sophia and Christina would leave him. Everyone would.
"I'm sorry my Prince, I shouldn't have said anything." She whispered quickly as if sensing how torn her suggestion had made him feel. "I know you don't like to talk about your dreams, just stay there and give yourself a few moments to calm down."
Will felt a mixture of relief guilt and shame at her words, he felt awful hiding this from her, of anyone she deserved to know the truth, but he could not risk it. However, as always Christina was too perceptive to allow it to cause any more problems by probing deeper. So, he took her advice and closed his eyes for a few moments, calming himself by listening to her breathing.
Will's anxiety soon began to melt away, and with that calm came new a wave of shame and embarrassment as he became aware of the compromising position he was in. He doubtlessly looked even more childish as he sat cradled in Christina's arms, if any of his men saw him like this it would be far worse than them learning about his nightmares.
Worse still he must have equally embarrassed Christina. He felt ashamed that he'd forced her to do all this to prevent him from ruining the mission. What must she think of him now that he'd put her in such an awkward position?
Reluctantly he pulled away from the comforting and warm embrace of the woman and shuffled forward away from her. He kept his back to her, not daring to look her in the face for all the shame he had caused them both. He already embarrassed her enough, he didn't want to risk driving her and her sister away from him.
"Thank you, Christina." He whispered, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I'm sorry for causing you so much trouble."
Silence passed between them for a few moments and Will felt the woman's eyes on his back. Will had to fight off a shiver; although whether it was caused by the spectacled woman's gaze or the returning chill now that they were no longer sharing body warmth, he couldn't say.
"You should try to get some rest, My Prince." Christina said as she placed another blanket over his shoulders. "I'll watch over you."
Will felt a lump in his throat as a mixture of gratitude and shame threatened to overwhelm him. Despite all this discomfort he had caused her, Christina was still willing to watch over him and prevent him from making a fool of himself. He both loved her for that and hated himself for his weakness. He couldn't bring himself to ask more of her tonight, she'd done so much already.
"Under the circumstances, I think it would be better if I stay awake for now. I'll go relieve Sophia and take over the watch. At least one of us should get some rest." He said quietly getting to his feet, desperate to find an excuse to extract himself from the awkward situation his nightmares had put him in.
Christina was silent for a moment and Will expected she might argue but instead, he heard a heavy sigh. It was a mix of disappointment and resignation and Will felt a stab of guilt as he realised that by refusing to go to sleep, he was still putting more work onto Christina. It seemed that no matter what he did, he made her job as his caretaker more difficult.
"I understand my Prince, but you will be fatigued for the battle tomorrow." She began softly before returning to her usual professional tone. "It's against my better judgement but I'll prepare some Pertavin for you in the morning, it should at least keep you alert during the assault."
He knew how much Christina hated him using the stimulant, she must have been really worried that the fatigue would prove too much for him. She was probably right, she usually was.
"Thank you, Christina." Will whispered glancing back at the concerned woman with a weak smile. "I appreciate it, all of it."
As he stared at her darkened silhouette illuminated by the dim moonlight, he found himself desperately wanting to return and give her one last hug. He desperately wanted to taste that small piece of comfort one more time before he walked off into the darkness, but he stopped himself. He didn't deserve it; he'd asked enough of her tonight. So reluctantly he turned and began to make his way to relieve Sophia, fighting with every step to push the longing away.
His thoughts began gravitating towards the numbered blade at his waist once again but as he thought of everything Christina had done for him tonight, he began thinking about it differently. This debt wasn't just about his own survival, it was about his future happiness and about the happiness he wanted to bestow on those who had stayed by his side.
He felt a warmth begin his chest as it filled with a newfound determination born from the comfort Christina had given him. Ludwig was wrong, none of this was his fault, he had nothing to feel guilty about. This had all been orchestrated by that monstrous god, if anyone was to blame for this it was him. The monster had forced this debt on him and caused all the deaths, it was that thing's fault. He may ultimately profit from it but that was better than their deaths meaning nothing to an uncaring deity.
He would pay this debt and Christina, Sophia and Tanya would get what they deserved, he would make sure of it. He may hate what God was forcing him to do, but he would extract their reward from the monster as well as his own survival. He would see to it their stories ended as they should, he would see to it that they got their happily ever after.
I'll thank you for everything you've done for me Christina.
September 12th Unified Year 1925 06:30
Gyption Western Desert, 60 miles from Iskandria, near the town of Alealmayn
Lieutenant Colonel Bastine peered through his binoculars at the distant pillar of dust erupting from the desert with mounting concern. This sandstorm was not the work of nature, the dust cloud was the by-product of the Imperial task force's relentless advance towards their defensive lines. An ever-present reminder of the highly trained and effective army that was bearing down on them. An enemy that he and his men had already engaged in the vain attempt to slow them down, an enemy that had driven them off with ease every time.
Perhaps it was because he had already faced this enemy that he felt so worried. Victory would not be easy, no matter what the old general thought.
After their first engagement, he had quickly realised that his regiment would struggle to take on the enemy mages in a straight fight. His men were part of a specialised reconnaissance unit, it was rare that they would be deployed as a full regiment. Usually, individual companies and platoons were assigned to support infantry advances and artillery barrages. When they were deployed together, they acted as the equivalent of light cavalry in the days of old, used for raiding, skirmishing and reconnaissance, they weren't meant to be used as a shock unit.
They were trained in all the usual combat spells and techniques of course, and they were highly skilled at what they did, but they were no Marine mages. Against the elite aerial mages of the Empire, they had proven to be hopelessly outclassed and underpowered with each one seemingly faster, tougher and stronger than any one of them.
However, due to the rough and ready nature of the Commonwealth taskforce, Bastine had been forced to take on the role as best he could and had tried to adapt his tactics accordingly.
He had hoped to use his superior numbers to his advantage. After the first raid, they had confirmed that the enemy had fewer mages than they had, perhaps only an augmented battalion. If worst came to worst they should be able to overwhelm them with numbers alone.
However, he didn't dare underestimate his enemy, too many had already made that mistake for him not to learn from it.
Aside from a mountain of data accumulated by intelligence in Norden and on the Rhine, proving that the Imperial army's computation orbs were far more advanced than anything any of his men had. He'd also heard rumours of the aces he was facing from the Francois attaché and he swore he wouldn't fall into the same traps that the Republic had.
It had been his hope that he could coax a platoon or two out of formation by targeting the vehicles, maybe even the Devil of the Rhine considering the ace's aggressive reputation. After that, he and his unit could smother them with overwhelming numbers and get out before their friends could reinforce. It didn't matter how good this Devil was, enough firepower could take out anything or anyone.
Unfortunately, the imperials had proven to be far too disciplined to fall for the ruse and would not budge from their positions despite their provocative attacks. The strikes had achieved nothing but unnecessary casualties amongst his men and he felt the loss of each of them like a physical blow. They hadn't even been able to protect the aircraft accompanying their harassment raids, they had been viciously dispatched by the Devil, climbing to a height impossible for any normal mage.
They'd utterly failed at all their attempts to slow and damage the convoy. The few shots and strikes they and the aircraft had managed to score had been ineffective. True to his reputation, The Saint had taken the task of protecting the convoy, shielding them all from harm while the Devil went to work slaughtering them. The Saint and his troops put the final nail in the coffin of any attempt to slow the convoy down. They were far too well protected.
He was a proud man, but he had to concede that they were outmatched, although it left a sour taste in his mouth to admit it.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He couldn't even break their supply lines, the imperial bastards were so confident that they raced ahead with little regard for their own supply use, they clearly thought they could break through before they even needed to resupply. It was insulting, if he could figure out how he'd happily give them a bloody nose as punishment for it.
He would have liked to lead a raid to rob them of their supplies as payback, but he couldn't get at their supplies even if he wanted to. Their nearest supply cache sat tantalisingly across the border, protected by the Ildoan's stance of technical neutrality. He would have loved to loot the place and bring the spoils back to the main army group, lord knew they needed them. However, they couldn't risk provoking the Dago's, the danger of angering them enough to enter the war was too great. They already had more than enough on their plate down here.
He glanced down at the makeshift fortifications below, watching the distant figures haul sandbags into position. Even at a distance, he could tell none of them wanted to be here.
Morale had been a major problem for all of the Commonwealth troops. This war was not popular in the Allied Kingdom's distant Colonies and Dominions, most thought that they never should have joined. This was a Europan war, caused entirely by Europan politics. He understood that the Empire's hegemony was a great threat to the Allied Kingdom and the Commonwealth, but this had all been the fault of those bloody Legadonians.
If they hadn't attacked, none of this would have happened. Why should they fight to correct the mistakes of others? And why wouldn't those damned Imperials accept the offer of restitutio in integrum? Now they'd been given carte blanche to attack, it seemed like they were determined to expand their dominance as far as they could.
He sighed as he watched the troops take their positions on the line. Not even the Gyption troops had much fighting spirit, despite defending their home. When he'd last talked to their officers, he'd found that many of the rank and file blamed the Allied Kingdom for the Empire's invasion more than they did the Imperials. They'd had discipline problems since the news arrived, with many outwardly claiming that the Allied Kingdom was using their country as a battlefield for a war that didn't concern them.
In some ways, it was hard to disagree with them.
Bastine's failure to slow the enemy down had done nothing to improve morale and it felt like they were in a worse position now than when they started. However, General Ketchener still seemed confident of victory.
Bastine had mixed feelings about the old General, the man clearly believed in the old fashioned idea of the total rule of Albion and treated those around him accordingly. He looked down on everyone not born in what he considered the home islands and seemed almost blind to the talents of those born abroad, especially the Gyptions and those from the Raj.
It had taken all he had not to punch the old bastard when he made an offhand comment on his "felonious" heritage. His family had been amongst some of the first free settlers to Terra Australis and they had all been lawful and God-fearing folk. His grandfather had even run a mission station to spread the word of God to the new continent. It had been insulting to have his family thought of as common criminals.
The General did not seem to notice or care however and had continued to treat him as though he and his troops had been miraculously reformed by service in the Army. If not for his grandfather's teaching about turning the other cheek the old man might be nursing more than a few bruises from both him and his disgruntled troops.
Despite his personal feelings, he couldn't deny the man's ability as a leader and strategic thinker. Now that he'd been able to get a good look at the geography from above, Basitine could see that the old man was right about this area being the best place for them to engage. It forced them into a narrow pass that removed the enemy's advantage of mobility and kept their flanks protected. It was already proving to be easier to fortify just one approach rather than several as they would have needed to in order to protect the airfield or Iskandaria.
The old man had also personally taken charge of organising the troops, picking up the slack left by the relative ineptitude of his remaining staff and had been liaising with all the units present to deploy them as quickly as possible. Despite his advancing age, disagreeable personality and outdated opinions on race, he was surprisingly energetic and very good at getting things done.
He wasn't sure whether it was some lingering respect from his past campaigns, or that he somehow managed to inspire more fear than the enemy as he marched around yelling at people. But somehow when he ordered something, it was done without question or argument.
It was probably only the old General that was keeping the force together. Most of the frontline troops spoke little Albish so they had already been suffering from every communication and organisational difficulty you could name as far as fielding an international unit was concerned. Now that they had deployed in earnest, these problems had been made ten times worse.
However, by sheer force of will, or an inability to believe his orders wouldn't be followed, General Ketchener had somehow kept it together and had gotten them fortified far quicker than Bastine had ever expected. He hated the man, but he couldn't help but respect the officer and somehow he took strength from that, they all did.
Maybe this whole thing wasn't such a lost cause after all.
The dust cloud edged closer and Bastine was struck by the silence of the guns behind him. The Imperial's should have been coming into range of their artillery now, however, the order to fire had yet to be given. They had a limited supply of ammunition and Ketchener had forbidden the guns to fire at their extreme range.
Bastine understood the reasoning, at this distance the shelling would be inaccurate. Since they had limited supplies, they would need to make every shot count; force the imperials through a killing field of shells and shrapnel when they came close enough. However, it was far from comforting to have those guns silent, especially when you can see the enemy approaching.
He wondered if the troops on the ground were similarly affected. Morale might end up being the most important factor in this battle, if anyone was in danger of losing their nerve, now was the time to do something about it.
"Galah 1 to Scarab Command point, come in." He radioed, it was time to take action, even if it was only to calm his own nerves. "Put me through to the General."
"I'm sorry Galah 1, the General is surveying the troops at the moment." The nervous voice of one of the young staffers returned.
Bastine began to swear loudly, what the hell did the General think he was doing? He needed to coordinate this battle, not waste his time inspecting their uniforms. Bastine nearly repeated these thoughts down the radio, but suddenly the Generals voice erupted through the transceiver.
"Perkins you utter cretin! How many times have I told you that I took a damn radio with me! You are to pass on anything of note at once!"
"B..but sir, protocol states." the staffer tried before being interrupted by the irate General once again.
"Damn the protocol man!" The old man yelled with enough volume to make up for the lack of artillery fire. "It's all fine and dandy at the war college but out in the field you learn to make do. Now put me through to Bastine!"
Bastine smothered a smile, at least the General was being as hard on his own staff as he was everyone else. However, if he wasn't mistaken he heard a hint of amusement in the old man's voice, he was enjoying this.
"I can hear you, General." He replied, saving the staffer from another tongue lashing. "Shouldn't you be at the command centre, sir?"
"Don't you start Lieutenant Colonel, I've had enough of that from the paper pushers in the command tent." He replied gruffly, "The simple fact of the matter is we need to keep the men's spirits up and it's better for me to be around to do it. Besides, there's nothing I can do there, that I can't do from my jeep."
Bastine decided it was best not to argue, he doubted he would win if he tried. It was good to see that the general had identified the same problem that he had, however. He'd gone out to join the troops in an effort to keep up morale and despite the almost universal dislike of the man, it would probably work. No one would dare turn and run under the icy gaze of General Ketchener.
"General, the enemy are within extreme range of our big guns. I know we want to conserve ammunition but I'd like permission to sortie and fire artillery spells onto the enemy as they approach. It pisses me off to see them get here so easily." He asked before realising his momentary lapse in front of the General.
The old man didn't seem to care about his language however and erupted into a hearty laugh. Whatever it was about this situation had energised the General and he could imagine the expression on the man's face after hearing his request. In a strange way, it was quietly terrifying.
"I like the way you think Bastine. Permission granted, give 'em hell. Ketchener out."
Without hesitation, he ordered his men to advance. He wasn't sure how much damage he and his men could do on their own, but it felt better doing something to resist the approaching imperials. At the very least it might help the morale of the ground troops to know that the enemy was being put under pressure.
Artillery spells did not have the range of the big guns they had sitting idle at their backs. As advanced as magecraft was becoming, it was still outpaced by the relentless march of industrial progress. They needed to get closer if they wanted to disrupt the enemy advance.
However, Bastine didn't see any benefit in getting too close to the enemy just yet. True he might succeed in drawing the imperial mages out but if he had to deal with them, he'd prefer to be closer to friendly lines where they could withdraw behind the anti-air defences. If they were to beat both the Devil and the Saint, they'd need all the help they could get.
Instead, he ordered his troops to prepare their spells and fire at maximum range. They may lose some accuracy at that range, but the point was to disrupt their formation, not to take out every imperial single-handedly. This was not a hunt for glory.
"Fire!" He yelled, using his binoculars to gauge the effectiveness of their shots.
He felt a mix of triumph and pride as he watched the first shots impact just in front of the approaching line of tanks and trucks. They had not caused a direct hit, but the explosive force had caused some of the vehicles to flip and at least two of the tanks had been put out of action as they fell suddenly into the craters that had opened up in front of them.
"Adjust aim and fire again." He called without missing a beat, preparing his own rifle to join the second volley. "Right between the eyes this time!"
"Galah 1, this is Scarab command post." The nervous young staffer called over the radio in a panic, distracting Bastine from his target. "Incoming mana signals, Enemy mages are approaching your position!"
Bastine cursed as he glanced up and saw the distant silhouettes of the imperial areal mages leaving the main group and charging forward to engage them. It seemed the Devil wasn't willing to sit back and let him and his troops take potshots at them.
His thoughts were interrupted by the heart-warming sound of artillery fire opening up behind him. Ketchener had finally allowed the big guns to sing, and the effect was glorious. Bastine saw the front of the Imperial line disappear in a cloud of black smoke as the first round of bombardment hit them perfectly. Even the Saint would struggle to protect them from that. He would have to buy the gunners a drink later, they deserved it.
It did not slow the Imperial advance however and they continued to thunder towards them as if the Devil were at their back rather than leading the charge. They were not willing to allow the insult to go unanswered however and their tanks unleashed their own barrage into the defensive lines, hitting with all the precision he'd heard to expect from the professional Imperial soldiers.
Bastine remembered his priorities, the Devil of the Rhine was coming for them and they needed to act fast to keep the initiative.
"Form two groups and switch to penetration formula." He ordered quickly, trusting his officers to follow his instructions. "Target incoming mages and prepare to withdraw behind our anti-air umbrella."
His soldiers complied and one group began peppering the approaching enemy mages as the other began the withdrawal before stopping and covering their comrades in the same manner as they fell back behind them. Bastine wanted to lure the enemy into the anti-air fire but he wanted to inflict as much hurt as possible in the meantime.
By now the approaching mages were firing back and he began to see some of his own troops fall to the barrage. Still, he was confident that once they were under the 40mm anti-air cannons opened up on them, the mages would be ripped to shreds. His friends and comrades would be avenged.
"Scarab Command Post, prepare to order anti-air fire on my mark." He called feeling momentary triumph as he saw the mages close on their line. "Like the General ordered, let's give 'em Hell!"
"Confirmed Galah 1." The staffer replied, obviously feeling more confident now that they had begun to hurt their enemy. "We'll relay on your….wait."
The Radio went quiet for a moment and Bastine felt his feeling of triumph fade, only to be replaced by mounting dread.
"More Magic signals detected!" The staffer called in terror, "they're almost on top of-"
The radio signal cut off abruptly and even above the blasts of the firing artillery, Bastine heard the explosion behind him. He turned quickly and saw a pillar of black smoke rising into the air where the command post had once been.
Scarab command was gone.
Authors notes
Hi everyone and thank you as always for reading.
First, I have to apologise for the delay. I suffered a major case of writers block and really struggled when writing this chapter so it took much longer than I hoped to get this finished. The good news is that I am fairly happy with how it turned out in the end.
I do have a consolation for you though since you waited so long. If I direct your attention to the cover picture, you'll notice some excellent artwork featuring Will and Tanya in the ruins of Letzenbourg. A big thank you to _Jebiii for creating it for me, please check out his stuff on twitter using the above handle.
I also have to thank Vickers-Vimy-1919 for helping me through my writers block, so also check out his story: The Purpose of conflict and leave a favourable review.
P.S I apologise for the Star wars reference about sand but I couldn't resist lol.
I hope you enjoyed the chapter and thank you for reading and reviewing.
Xanen