AN: Quick disclaimer. The setting of this story is in the Archie Comics of Sonic the Hedgehog, Pre-Super Genesis Wave; however, it is not 100% identical and there are several changes and such that I have made, and I will probably make more as I progress. They can range from very minor to very important and they will become apparent when they become relevant. For the time being, the only notable shifts you need to know are the following:
1. This story begins in October, 3,242
2. I've evened out Mercia's twin Medieval English and French influences so that latter is more noticeable. However, the Medieval English influences and touch will remain, just now equivalent with its French counterpart rather than completely overshadowing it.
Now without any further ado...
Maréchal Noël gazes at the table, the soft chirp of life within the vast surrounding forest is little more than a faint whisper, for the sounds just outside the tent he stands are suppressing them. The sounds of bantering voices, pen scribbles, electronic hums, and footfall of solid boots into dirt, all illuminated by the silvery shine of the Moon. His weary and weathered eyes examine the vast city on the map, his stern and stoic expression betraying nothing, but behind his eyes a maelstrom of emotions battle each other for preeminence in his mind, achieving little more than straining his already strained self. To an unfamiliar or even casual observer, no such thing can be discerned, at least from the front, for the only external expression of worry that emanates from him is a trembling left hand behind his back, which he restrains by gripping it firmly with its right counterpart, and so even a regular associate would not see anything amiss. The jackal standing on the opposite end of the table, however, is more than just an associate. The aide-de-camp eyes up the marshal one last time before returning his vision to the map and speaking.
"Vous are nerveux. Your hand is shaking."
If he did not know the marshal as well as he did, he could've been convinced that the grey fox was deaf, for not one sign of acknowledgement is given.
"I know that vous don't want to worry the men, but in here, vous should be honest."
As the words left the aide-de-camps mouth, the marshal sighs, a near silent admission of capitulation to the jackal's words.
"The end is fast approaching, we have striven for a république to call our own, we have suffered and sacrificed so much, and now the eleventh heure is nearly upon us, and I fear that should we break ourselves upon this rock then we shall be scattered to the sea, and all that we have done will have been in vain."
A grim silence descends as the last word exits the fox's mouth. It is not an unreasonable fear, despite all their successes the revolution is, and always has been, on a knife's edge, constantly struggling to keep together the various factions that make up its ranks, maintain the acquisition and flow of resources from wherever they come from, and ensure that it remains in able condition to fight the monarchy imposed on them by the Acorns of Northamer nearly a century ago. So many close calls have occurred over the years that the rank and file now simply refer to them as "calls". The silence continues to linger above and between their heads, the jackal moves to dispel it.
"Maréchal, I understand your concerns, but vous mustn't lose faith. We have performed admirably so far in this conflit, we have the support de le peuple, and our soldats are dedicated to la victoire finale. We all believe in vous, I believe in vous, and we know vous will not let us down."
The fox raises his head and sees the warm amber rings of his aide-de-camp, his friend, facing him.
"Merci, Edouard. It is good to know that we will soon see an end to this chaos. Once we liberate Marves, the people of Mercia will be free."
The previously inert fox finally brings his hands to his sides, picking up a nearby tablet and swiping his fingers across the screen a couple times.
"But it is even better to know that the most recent set of cadeaux from our 'associate' are all that he said they would be. Over three douzaines tanks and half that numéro of hélicoptères, they will prove essentiel in the assaut final. Birds in the hand and all that."
The jackal gives no reply, now it was the marshal's turn to try and reach out to him.
"Edouard, vous are having something on your mind."
It isn't a question.
"Pardonne-moi Maréchal, I just..."
Noël places the tablet down on the table and crosses his arms.
"Speak, I need honesty, not flatterie."
"I just don't think that putting so much trust into a man, or a woman since we have no way of knowing, who we've never met and never verified is a good idea. For all know they could be un espion for the royalistes, feeding us a false sense of strength and goading us into a trap."
"And what would vous suggest I do? Refuse all aide, ressources, and intelligence that he has provided us? Based on what? Fear? Appréhension? Doubt? Paranoïa? And where would that leave us? Up a creek without a paddle or, to be more precise, in the field without a weapon. Le Soldat may be an énigmatique and mysterious ally, whose intentions and motives we are not privy to and he is not above suspicion, but he is an ally. Without his aide we would not be where we are now. On a given horse, we don't look at the teeth."
Edouard faces down, partially in shame and partially in contemplation. Before he can formulate his response, Noël speaks again.
"I understand your concerns, they are not without basis, for prudence has a place in the domaine of war as much as fearlessness does. And I promesse vous, that I am always careful in our dealings with Le Soldat, I always have been."
The jackal lifts his head and, with grateful eyes, nods at the marshal.
"Merci, Maréchal. To fail this close to the end would hurt moi more than to fail from the beginning. Now, what is your plan for the assaut on the capitale? Unless vous are just staring at this map because vous are fascinated by the cartographie..."
"Be grateful that I understand your humour to be a sign of respect and endearment."
The voice booms with an aura akin to an elder but with a hint of playful contest.
"As for mon plan, a strong and singulier combined arms offensive from multiple directions is the natural choice but, as much as it pains moi to admit, we must avance without artillerie support, we simply cannot risk such excessif collatéral damage. We are fighting this war for the masses; I will not have them blown to pièces in the final triomphe of libération over oppression. All is not terrible however, while we may not have artillerie support, we will have the hélicoptères, they will make up for much of the loss in firepower that we will certainly suffer. Based on this map, we should coordinate the hélicoptères to move along these vertical axes."
He traces his finger up across the map in multiple lines to demonstrate them.
"They will provide a relatively comprehensive, overlapping, and uniforme zone de contrôle for our forces going forth. Any concerns of lacking or antiquated optical hardware and software will be negligible since we'll be attacking in the day and sticking to the open streets and city squares."
"Maréchal, such a decision will certainly make our forces far more vulnérable than what is nécessaire. Surely attacking at night would be préférable as it would reduce the value of their supérieure air force and catch them off guard?"
The grey veteran massages his muzzle, his eyes revealing his amusement at the question.
"Vous learn well, but perhaps too well? While everything vous said was correct, vous are still wrong, doubly so in fact. First, the truth of the matière is that while we have done much from the shadows and in secrecy, our greatest victoires were not had stealthily infiltrating a base or sneakily ambushing a patrol, no our greatest achievements were had in la lumière of the Sun on the champ de bataille, facing our ennemi, face à face. Those are the triomphes that inspirer the peuple to take up arms, that strike terreur into the hearts of le tyrans, that provide much needed faith and resolve to the wavering and an exemple of how to acte to those with courage."
Edouard smiles.
Like vous inspirer moi, Maréchal
"This bataille final must be fought and won in view of all of the peuple of Mercia. And second, King O'Hedge will be reluctant to bring much, if any, of their airpower to bear; he has a soft heart and must know that their planes will not be able to accurately eliminate us without dealing great damage to large swathes of the city, killing many innocents. As for their hélicoptère force, it was nothing to write home about before and with our own force that Le Soldat has supplied us, we should be able to confront them properly. If he décides to actually fully utilise the RAA, then I fully believe he will destroy most, if not all, of their crédibilité and support among the population. In all honesty, it is a lose-lose situation for him, which is precisely what I aim for."
Edouard stands awestruck with astonishment at how the marshal always has a plan or reason for everything, accounting for things most, himself as well, do not.
"I see. It is good that vous are a man whose heart belongs to le peuple and not your own vanité, I would fear for the futur of this mouvement if that was not the case."
"If vous knew les choix I have made in mon life, vous would know without a doubt that no one but le peuple can ever hold mon heart again..."
The jackal gives a nod of acknowledgement to the words, but without any understanding of the sentiment the fox meant by it. The marshal isn't exactly an open book, but perhaps one day he can get him to turn back to such a page, one day.
"Now what about the preceding assauts, Maréchal?"
"There will be none, we in fact must do the opposé of that and feign weakness and a receding of our forces in the days before. Lulling them into a false sense of sécurité will greatly improve our chances. We will need to stage diversionary attaques in this général région, this will conform with the pattern set by the last major skirmish we had against their forces and will reinforce their belief that our core is behind that line, the fact that they will appear as defeats will hopefully encourage them to pursue to overwhelm us before we could réorganiser, that will throw them off our scent and give us the breathing room to undertake the offensif. Normally I wouldn't be able to commit our artillerie batteries but since we won't be using them, they can be transferred, they will most definitely be a grande help in selling the illusion. Now onto the question of supplies and logisti-."
The tablet on the table vibrates, drawing the attention of both of them. Noël picks up the device and checks for the cause of the interruption, his eyebrows perking up at whatever is on the screen. This has Edouard's notice and so he approaches the marshal.
"What is it?"
Noël's stony face melts into a soft and relaxed form, a smirk creeping along his face. The marshal raises and turns the tablet so that the Edouard can see what he had. As the jackal reads, the fox speaks.
"Quand on parle du loup..."
Edouard's eyes widen as they scan the screen, a message from Le Soldat. Reading it, the only thing that he can utter is a reply to the marshal's rhetorical statement.
"On en voit la queue."