There are men built for war, and then there are men raised for it. They are much like how a sword starts out. They were once not much more than a lump of metal, forged in heat, hammered by struggle, and sharpened through combat…until they became a deadly edge.
Romeo Von Gutwald, a gaunt, thin looking General of average height, thought of himself as a soldier that had been honed by the fighting and training he had received. Generations of the male members of his family had been serving in the military long before he was ever just a drunken glint in his father's eye.
There was only one small problem…Romeo didn't want this war.
Don't get it twisted however, he wanted a fight. He wanted what his father and grandfather had before the great unification. He wanted a righteous battle where he could cut across the land, taking over towns and territory, striking at the heart of the enemy.
Instead for over a year, he'd been stuck, huddled down with bent knees in trenches. He had command over an entire battalion that couldn't really move lest they be lost to no man's land. He had tanks for days and yet they too would be lost if they went too deep.
Magna Rumelia was a deathtrap in this war, a stretch of land where his men were set to only keep guards while an inferior enemy took potshots at them. Supplies were always low, reinforcements even lower. He had started this war with more than fifty tanks and he'd been whittled down to only thirty.
He'd learned at least to be smart about his losses. When all of this began and Dacia made a move he thought too to take the neighboring country, but air support was low and the Rumeli were much better prepared. They made the mountains on the other side of no man's land a death trap for any flying mages…which left only the ground for him to fight on.
More than a year's worth of fighting…and they had only gained about 20 meters of ground. Considering the losses and pain not only he felt…but his men as well, he wondered if it would have been better to just surrender and let the Empire roll over this place if they thought there was a chance it could fall.
"Heh…if only I wasn't such a prideful ass…" He says to himself, huddled in his heavy coat, drinking from a flask he keeps inside of it while a few of his men come his way.
"Gutwald, sir! That engineer woman has slipped into the back trenches again!" The young soldier speaks over the heavy sound of shells blasting through the air around them. "She wants to talk to you! The Captain of her team is there as well!"
The General's deep sigh is drowned out by the sounds of war. Some of his men are trying to catch sleep in little holes they dug into the sides of the trench, others are trying to peek over sandbags, testing their luck against snipers…and one of his men, or what's left of him had his luck fail while he lays back on the ground, the top of his body covered until the men can move his body out before he stinks the place up.
Calling on the roaring, fiery voice a general needs to cut through a war like this, he then orders the soldier to bring the two where he is, right at the front trenches. If that woman was going to annoy him, might as well come and do it on his battlefield.
Warrant Officer Veronika Serebryakov was a perpetual thorn in his side. While he had been sent here to quell Magan Rumeli, she had been sent to this place so she would shut up. High command was tired of all the scientists and engineers promising them super weapons to end the war so they would often just send the supposed "geniuses" around to do more or less menial work while they were to do "research".
It was a trade off, he got a woman that was a wizard with fixing tanks…who wouldn't shut up about her own machine.
He thought maybe he could have had a more average morning in his hell hole…but this war was really teaching him that one doesn't get what they always want.
"General!" The girl shouts out, standing far too high as she comes down the trench, already infuriating the man. "I need you to-"
"Get down woman!" He roars back at her. "Those Rumeli snipers will burst your head like a pimple and I do not want to spend another six months requesting for a half decent tank repairman from high command!"
The girl does as he asks, making it almost comical to look at her having to bend so low when Romeo himself is barely tall enough to see over the trench line with his shorter stature.
"Sir! I humbly request that you review my proposal for practical testing of my machine!"
"Alright…request denied!" He shouts back at her.
"We have it working now sir! It's actually ready! I just need a few tank shells and your attention for all of an hour!"
"Again, request denied!" He yells again. "My tanks have few shells as it is warrant officer! The fact that I've had to waste metal and repair parts on your little pet project infuriates me enough! Now you want to take me away from the battlefield to see your little machine trump around and what, blow a hole in some metal? How about you pick up a rifle and gain us some ground? Or do your damn job and go back to fixing my machines huh?"
Gutwald had gotten used to this back and forth with her. Spirited as she was, it wasn't going to get her anywhere with him. The only thing she had done in the past other than fix his machines is to somehow get some old rich man on their side to help get them some supplies. Though it wasn't a huge help, it at least let his men switch to a good source of water they could drink and wash themselves with rather than surviving off of barrels of alcohol they had saved for the winter.
"Hey…wait! Where's that Captain of yours?"
"He's-" She turns to look behind her, expecting him to be there…only seeing nothing but the General's men on ladders, looking over the trench.
He sees the fear in her eyes, thinking that maybe he'd been hit along the way. She starts heading back while Gutwald follows her.
He hadn't met the new guy yet, but apparently he had some connections high up enough to land him a gig in the backlines of this place, which already put him on Romeo's shitlist.
As she turns the corner, she stops, looking on with shock down one of the turns down the trench line. He peeks around with her to see a man, seemingly as tall as her, kneeling in the mud with one of his riflemen.
The soldier had been shot and was trying to hold his sides, he was sweating and breathing hard, maybe even near passing out from shock…and there the Captain was, holding onto him, getting him to look at him while also looking like he was gonna pass out from blood and fear. In fact he seemed to look even more scared than the man who had been shot if that was even possible.
They seem to be talking to another in short, spoken whispers where Gutwald can barely make out a few of the words they're saying, but then the instincts of war start speaking for him.
"Woman! Grab that rifleman and get him to the backlines!" He roars, pushing her forward as he moves with her. The Captain moves out of the way as she takes his place, helping put a hand over the young man's wound before she helps him lean against her. Romeo could respect the woman's strength despite her lanky stature, but then again, working on tanks she might as well have some muscles on that frame.
That left Gutwald with Captain King, a man trying to quite literally wipe the blood off of his hands. He had to admit, looking at him, with the scars and the height…he didn't seem to look too much like a coward, but there was always an easy way to tell.
A single, clear movement, Romeo stepped in and grabbed the man by the throat, pinning him to the trench wall as he squeezed.
As King struggled and looked at the General's emotionless face, some of the men took a look as well…before going back to their jobs, knowing better than to question their superior even if he was strangling a man in a hole.
Gutwald watches him, he takes note of his fear…and the fact he's trying more to pry the fingers off of his throat than to attack at all. The man isn't even carrying a goddamn pistol on him.
"Disgraceful…" He lets go of King, letting him fall into the dirt to catch his breath. "I ask for men for months and months…and the best I get back is a man who can't even save himself."
"Ugh…uh…was that…reason enough…to freaking strangle me!?" King demands while pulling himself up and leaning against the dirt walls of the trench.
"Men get killed here Captain, they get killed and dragged down the line to be buried in a hole because I have no good way to send them back over the mountains. That boy you helped along is lucky, his wound might be the only thing that gets him sent to a hospital over in the Fatherland…while I have to live with one less lucky soldier on this god forsaken front line!"
The General let his rage come out for a moment and realizing it he straightened himself out, smiling at the Captain now. "You've been in command of that woman for a bit now, what do you think of her?"
"Nika?" He seems a little shocked at how cordial the General is being after strangling him. "She's…smart, a little weird at times, but you know…overall she tries to do her best."
Gutwald gestures for King to follow him through the trenches, heading back toward the front as artillery shells burst barely 30 meters above just to the left of them, outside the trench, blowing loads out dirt up into the air while a scream is heard aloud from one of the other men down the line.
"What about that machine of hers, what's it called…the Lucky?"
"The Lover sir…and it's a great machine, the systems installed in it alone would be-"
A shell whistles through the air as Gutwalds instinctively dips down. It was a damn lucky hit, nearly fifty meters ahead it landed directly in the trench…lucky the men there had been eating lunch in another part of the line.
"Spare me the tech talk, I learn more by seeing than hearing. Just tell me this, is the machine at least a half decent tank?"
"I…yes, sir, at the very least half decent."
The man nods. "Alright, she gets one goddamn chance then, but if it's not everything she says it is, I'm having it disassembled. If it's half decent I'll use it like my other tanks, but I very much plan to not hear her coming down the line to complain to me about it ever again, got that Captain?"
"Uh, yes sir! Thank you sir! I'm sure she'll be glad to hear that. Am I dismissed?"
Romeo Von Gutwald looks upon the man he had strangled a few moments ago, and despite the fear he had seen…there was no anger in his eyes either. The man wasn't a soldier at all it seemed…but it was sort of refreshing to meet someone a little closer to human than he had felt like in the last year or so.
"What did you say to him, my wounded man, you were both whispering."
"Oh…" King's face looked a little solemn and forlorn as he spoke. "He…asked me if the Fatherland would forgive him if he fell. I told him it would…then he asked if god would forgive him."
"For what?"
"For…being scared. He thought he was a coward, he was scared to die."
Gutwald smiles before stepping forward and putting his hand upon Captain King's shoulder. "Ha, if only god forgave cowards, eh?"
"Ya…if only."
There are men built for war, men raised for war…and men who think they understand war.
Those who think they understand war in all its complexity and horror will always be fools. Sure, there may be men who understand battle and warfare…but to understand war itself is madness and the men who think they know it are either fools…or potential madmen themselves.
Benedict Pilgrim could have been called mad. He was the citizen of a foreign country, here to stick his nose into a war that didn't involve himself, taking as much resources as the Unified States could off a Major of his caliber to do one thing…and that was win.
"That's the thing Major Pilgrim…I do not understand why you have come to support us." A lower ranked sergeant of the Magna Rumeli army states as he speaks to the man across a table in his old fashioned war tent.
Benedict rubbed his handsome chin, giving the soldier a bright smile. "This place is the perfect staging point to stick it to the Empire. My country, well…we've always had a bit of trouble seeing big bullies throw their weight around. That so-called 'Fatherland' is a pretty god damn big bully in our eyes, and who knows…we might slug it out with them some day. So, my glorious homeland, red, white blue and true, has decided it might be helpful to weaken a few of the Empire's lines."
The sergeant nods, looking over the many shiny medals on the US officers coat. "But this place sir…it's not an easy battle line."
"But it's the most ignored." Pilgrim snaps his fingers, making another gentleman, bald headed and decked out in a fine, dark suit stand by his side. "This is Smith, you can call him…a bit of a clandestine patriot if you will. He has operatives in the Empire that feed us info…and word on this line is that the Imperial High command cares about this place as they would a rotten case of schnitzel."
"The Imperial's have been stretched a little thin…but what is your plan sir?"
Benedict Pilgrim smiled, standing up as he led the man out of the tent. Over the ridge overlooking the battle lines, the sergeant spied down upon what the man had brought with him.
Among hundreds of trained soldiers, he brought along five state of the art tanks that swarms of the Magna Rumeli men were looking at.. "What you have there is the M3 Herman. It's fast, armored and it's got a gun that will turn the enemy tanks inside out."
"Amazing…your country, they are giving us these?"
"Not exactly, I'll command them. Just pretend that I'm another General, poking at enemy lines. I'll use my men and tanks to whittle them down while your men hold the line as usual…oh, I forgot the best part. These Herman's are only the first five. There's many more where they came from…once they're transported they'll roll into the fatherland in about a year's time and that Empire is gonna think twice about their battle lines, I can tell you that much."
In his satisfaction, the Major pulls out a hefty cigar as a shell whizzes through the air. Artillery fired from the enemy gets a little farther than the trenches for once, striking at once of his own tanks, killing some of the men outside the machine itself…while the armor held.
Pilgrim smiles like a man who's already won as he cuts the tip off, then sticks the cigar past his lips, burning the end with a lighter from his jacket as he looks out down the edge of no man's land to the mountains beyond.
"Just you see sergeant. I'm gonna have those five bad boys going very soon and break through their weak lines. You and I are going to sit back and listen to them shell the hell out of their backline defenses and implacements. Heck, if we're lucky…I can take over their lines and your men can be home for the holidays coming up."
The sergeant looked at the man whose eyes glazed over the battlefield, scanning above it all like he was the best thing to happen to war since the bullet itself was created. The young man, like so many before him, has gotten swept in the stupidity and madness of a man who thinks he knows war, who thinks he knows chaos.
He does not know that Benedict Pilgrim is a man who thinks he has the power and will of god on his side.
"Ah…ya, Pilgrim…not exactly one of our more proud moments in history to be honest." Donnel mutters to himself.
He had known about the leaders of both sides of the Vinnies Ridge conflict, both of whom had been personified quite a bit in the years after with Gutwalkd stated to be a short, tired, bitter man while Pilgrim was trying too much to be a cowboy with his tactics.
"We don't get to choose who gets remembered in history, or who even god cares about in the end, even soldiers." A hint of the old woman's bitterness creeps into the morning air of the room before she sips down more of the coffee the soldier made for her. It really took her back to the days she would just sit back and write reports with Visha at her side.
Louis Donnel moved to close the window of the meeting room. He had opened it when he came in, thinking that the elder girl could use some air, but the desert heat that stormed in didn't really help things at all.
"Leaders and Generals tend to get remembered more than the soldiers they command, I bet even that General you serve will serve to be more memorable than you are."
"I suppose it's a possibility." Louis smiles goodheartedly. "Though, I didn't become a soldier to be remembered…wouldn't mind being remembered by you, ma'am."
"Tell me about that General of yours…he seems to be a rather interesting man."
"Oh, I guess I can…"
The short elder listened intently, pulling as much info as she could out of the boy…but it didn't end up telling her much. The General's name was unfamiliar to her, nor had he seemed to fight in any wars that had involved her…or King. Not only that, from how Donnel told it, his family had been in the US before King had even been involved in the First Great War, but that still begged the question…how could a man like him know not only who she was, but about her past life as well?
"I hope you don't mind…but you have been setting it up for a while…" Donnel interrupts her questions with a bit of enthusiasm and a bright, young twinkle in his eyes. "You have to tell me about his first battle…that has to be incredible."
She smiles back at the soldier, a small part of her wishing that he would show such interest about her stories…but then again, he would probably balk at all her war crimes. Nations are such pansies now compared to the old days when you could just shell a town after telling the people to leave.
"Now remember, I have a lot of this information secondhand…in fact, my source wasn't there to watch the battle itself, though she did have quite the stake in it…"
Nika knew she shouldn't bite her nails…but part of her nervous nature was getting the better of the tall girl. She had been waiting for over an hour, sitting around inside of a tent while radio operators around her were chattering about with orders from Gutwald, making her wonder how long it would take for him to come to where she was for the test.
It was strange to think that after so long and getting what she wanted, that she was utterly worried about being ready…and not without cause. Just when they had gotten permission for the test a small engine problem had been found that she tinkered with…only to find that by the time the test had been scheduled, her tinkering had led to an even greater problem with the connection between the computational jewels and the engine that couldn't be fixed in time.
It was so bad that she had to have King and the others drag it out there with huge tractors so they could spend as much time beforehand fixing the machine while it was there. She could have asked for maybe another day, but Nika felt she had pressed her luck enough with this test alone…the Lover would probably never get a chance to show its potential again if it failed.
Nika took a deep breath, tried to calm herself down…before she scrambled toward one of the open radios and tuned in quickly to the Lover's frequency. "Hey, if you're there tell me about the engine…is it fixed, over?"
A few seconds passed as she sat before King's voice rattled through the static. "Oh heya Nika, uh…well, we almost have it. We started her up a few times and it's gotten a little hot, but I think she'll manage to get going. Over."
She bites her lip, hearing the uncertain tone in his voice. "If…the test starts and you're not sure, unhook the gems and just use the engine as it is. Over."
A few moments pass before an answer comes back. "But…then it will be even slower. It will barely keep up with the others. Over."
Nika leans in and sighs. "I would rather have my machine used as a subpar tank…than to see her taken apart. Over."
The woman sits back, wondering if she should have just been patient. If she should have just given herself some more time and not been so rash with her machine…why couldn't she be a nervous wreck when it came to her work as she was with some people?
"You can count on us." King's voice cuts in again. "We'll get her running, one way or the other…I promise."
She smiles to herself, knowing that King understands and will protect her machine. She only wished it could have been the chariot to a warrior as she had always romantically hoped.
"I still think this is a disaster waiting to happen."
"Duly noted Corporal Kurst." King states, wiping a heavy bit of sweat off his forehead and onto his undershirt. Despite the cold morning outside of the Lover, inside the heat was getting unbearable. The men had to strip down to the point they were damn close to being naked just so they wouldn't ruin their uniforms for good.
"I still bet we can get it going." Harald is a bit more positive about things, but then again the dark haired Corporal has put a bit of money on a bet that the machine will impress Gutwald at least a little bit, considering all the work put into it.
"Just try to keep it from smoking on us," Jenko sits back in the driver's seat, his hands and body at the ready, but also a fair bit relaxed, as if he was utterly in his element. "Even if we get this beauty going if it looks like we're on fire we won't be impressing anyone."
They had been there since early morning, sitting in that machine. Every moment got hotter as they tried the engine again and again and again. The agitation and exhaustion growing between the men, packed so tightly together was damn palpable along with the heat, like they were all stuck in a teapot that would sooner or later boil.
"Swear this time, gonna take my transfer right up the chain, that or have Gutwald make some sort of new aerial mage core for this place."
"Oh come on, he wouldn't make us aerial mages in this place. The air support the other side has access to would take out even someone like the Devil of the Rhine." Harald counters, pulling off his headphones completely.
While those two spoke, King had his eyes closed, focusing on his T4. His gem was glowing with light in his pocket as he looked through the system of the machine, trying to find out what part of the engine's controls kept getting screwed up.
The engine was the key to the whole machine for the most part. It used the abilities of computational gems to regulate heat and the energy of moving parts, increasing speed and decreasing stress on the engine itself while it pushed a tank along, however calculating a way to control fire like that was not an easy task and despite trying to task the entire system of gems to do it, the engine itself only seemed to work worse with every try.
But in the end, King would still try. He took a little pride in his work these days. Despite Kurst's attitude, he was happy to have someone along who spoke his mind and was always ready to bring a problem up, it saved King the trouble of having to discern what the man in the gunner's seat was thinking.
Harald was a bit more soft spoken and had a much more calm attitude, which seemed to temper his blonde friend's frustration half the time. He was also a pretty good cook, apparently he had worked in his parents restaurant before being called to service because of his magical aptitude. The man turned operator could make some pretty bland rations into some decent grub given time.
Jenko couldn't do all that much work with repairs, but King had fun watching even Nika admit that his experience had been invaluable in redesigning parts of the tank itself. It probably would have taken more than a year to get as far as they did without his resources and experience…and to be honest, King liked having more of an older soldier around. Jenko reminded him of Strauss and even Hauser to a lesser degree, all three men had a sort of ancient air around them, like statues that had survived the test of time…and one sort of just had to respect the old tank driver for that.
"She ready to go again Captain?" Jenko leaned back to look up King's legs from where he sat, nearly catching a bead of falling sweat on his eyepatch.
"I think so…I just need a moment to-"
"Come in Captain King. This is Gutwald, do you read me, over?"
Crap, looks like it was sink or swim time. King gulped and wondered whether he should try the new configuration or just disconnect the orbs like Nika asked.
"I repeat, do you read me King, over?"
The young Captain grabs the bullhorn and speaks into it. "This is Captain King, we read you…over."
The men start to hear a rumble through the ground. Jenko closes his one eye and smiles. "Oh, I know that…that's an older model alright, can feel it in my bones…real rough tumblers on those old girls."
King looks through the openings of his hatch and ind\eed sees two older model tanks coming his way, just the kind Nika and his team had been fixing for the last while when they weren't working on the Lover.
"I've pulled two machines from the front for this. Designated Flame 1 and Flame 2. Flame 1 is being commanded by Captain Piotr Bahlo, he'll be witnessing the test for me." Gutwald explains. "Not that I wouldn't love being there, but it's standard procedure not to have the highest ranking officer out in the open, even if the chance of an artillery shell hitting me is slim, which is why I'm stuck in the back behind the artillery near the mountains with your woman today…yay me. Over."
"Wow, even he doesn't like her, what a shock." Kurst sighs, readjusting his behind, feeling absolutely uncomfortable after sitting on metal for hours and really needing to use the bathroom.
"This is Captain Bahlo, nice to meet you guys." They hear the jovial tone of the other tired officer through the radio. "We're going to start small first. See how well your machine maneuvers, can you get the engine fired up for us, over?"
Jenko looked back at King. The young scarred man sighed before he nodded his head. He then made sure Harald was on point in case something went wrong since he was the closest in proximity to the engine.
The old cyclops starts the engine up, making it roar out hard in an impressive show…before it begins to cough and sputter. Already a plume of black smoke rises out the back of the machine. Harald and King have to pop the top of the tank to let the air out before it gets bad.
"Are you okay in there Captain King? Over?" Barlo's voice cuts in through the comms, wondering if there was some kind of malfunction.
King was trying to stop himself from coughing a lung out while Kurst was looking pretty damn pissed. "Just let me fire the damn gun, at least that might dazzle the officers a bit."
"Uh…ya, just a sec." Once he gets his bearings, he calls back on the bullhorn. "Just a little engine trouble, we'll take care of it…we can do a fire test first if you're up for it, over."
"Alright then, I'll have Flame 2 move up next to you boys for a comparison test. We'll see how well your cannon compares in range, over."
King scrambles to get a few gulps of clean air from the top while Kurst, who's below all the dwindling smoke begins to move a few levers about to turn the gun about. It had been the only thing he had been excited about the whole trip, after all…when he got out of this crap outfit he wanted to at least say he got to fire off a tank shell. Might even be a good pick up line or a story for his future children.
Jenko just leans back, looking at Harald who's trying to get the smoke to stop filling up the inside of the machine by whipping his hands around like a madman in the cramped space.
King could already imagine Gutwald's disapproval and Nika's sorrow…he had to fix this at once, but what was there to do? How could he prove that this thing could really do all they had promised?
"Alright, standby for Flame 2, firing in 3, 2-"
Right on two, the Lover suddenly shook hard, almost jostling Jenko out of his seat. "Holy hell! Now that was a cannon shot! What the heck happened?"
King was the first to poke his head out, seeing a flickering light overhead outside of the hatch. His eyes suddenly snap down upon the visage of Flame 2, now up in flames.
It had been struck and destroyed by another tank.
"WE HAVE ENEMY FIRE! BUTTON UP PEOPLE! CLOSE HATCHES!"
Gutwald's stomach clenched as one of his best tank commanders shouted the words he didn't want to hear. The enemy had gotten through their lines somehow. He damn near tears the radio equipment away to shout into it.
"Captain Barlo! Identify the targets and report to me!" He orders before switching the frequencies. "Flame 3, 6 and 7, report to the backlines immediately!"
"Sir! We took a shot but…the armor is far too thick! They're not Rumeli machines! I repeat, they are not Rumeli machines! There are five of them and we're outnumber-"
The transmission cuts out, leaving Gutwald to stand there with anger and tension building before he speaks again. "Captain Barlo, repeat what you said, what sort of machines are they?"
Nothing but silence…but he can't leave it at that. He dashes out of the tent to gather his men. He had to get the backline artillery to start firing down on those machines before they reached them or else they could wreak havoc and there would be nothing they could do to stop them.
Nika was left in the tent, scared for the men in her own machine…knowing that at the moment, they were probably sitting ducks.
There was a quiet tension inside of the lover as all the men stared out of their viewports, looking upon the hulking machines that were riding over the rolling plains toward them.
"We have a gun." Kurst states, nodding toward Harald to grab a shell to load it up. "Maybe we could get one of them and slow them down-"
"Don't be stupid." Jenko snaps at them. "We're a sitting duck at the moment, we fire, we have 3 shots back in us…besides, you're liable to miss since it's your first time swinging a cannon like that around. This ain't like hitting the back of a toilet rim with your piss here."
"Then let's get the hell out of this thing! They're just gonna blow us to hell if we sit here!"
"No…they would just kill us if we leapt out, we would be torn up by machine gun fire." Harald states darkly before putting his shell down.
King was gripping his throat, both out of fear and from trying to stop himself from coughing. His men were scared, he was scared. Jenko was the only one among them who was utterly quiet, simply staring out of his port to look at the tanks coming.
"Heh…US made, seems those Rumeli bastards have been making some friends. No wonder our friends couldn't pierce a hide like that. Must be thick as hell…bet they're engines don't smoke up though."
Wait, that was it. King looked down and tapped Jenko's shoulder. "Try to start the engine back up. Harald, try to see if you can tap into their radio frequencies. Kurst, point the gun down and away from them, make it look like we're not a threat."
The young blonde man operating the gun looked like he was ready to slap the man who just now decided to play Captain, but upon looking up at him he got a look that would tell him he was gonna get slapped back.
Jenko did his job, giving the engine a good go just to get her coughing up a heap of black smoke again, far worse than before. Harald was trying to keep his head down while fiddling with the blocky radio and Kurst was spinning the lever to change the gun's position.
King was staring straight out at the machines around them, coming over closer. They were taller than the lover by more than at least 5 feet. Much bigger guns too, each rumbling across the dirt around them.
"I…I think I have them." Harald says, trying to keep his voice straight while he thoughtly and nervously rubs engine grease into his hair. "Sounds like…they're trying to identify our machine and if they hit us…"
The enemy tanks were passing, but did so slowly. King could see the commanders of them looking from atop their armored vehicles. If just one of them stopped and shot at them…it could all be over.
It felt like an age had passed as those US made behemoths moved away from them. They heard and shared every hurried breath inside of what could have easily become their smoking coffin. The smell of fear was just as palpable as the cold sweat had been dripping down all of their necks.
When it was over, King felt like his skeleton would ooze out of his body like warm pudding. "Jenko…stop the engine, Harald…try to message Gutwald."
"I can't Captain, our receiver is fine, but we can't seem to send out any radio messages ourselves."
"That doesn't matter right now," Kurts opens his hatch, letting a lot of the smoke out before stealing a breath of fresh air. "Those machines will reach the backline in like what, less than ten minutes? How will they stop them?"
King tries to offer some hope. "Well, maybe the artillery there can-"
"Not likely I would say." Jenko interrupts, leaning back to look straight up at the young Captain's nervous face. "You see that armor? It would take more than a few direct hits to wear down that metal. No…there's only one choice really. We have to take it out ourselves."
Everyone in the tank looks at the old cyclops as if he's crazy and he just smiles. "I say, we rip all the crazy stuff out of the girl, we drive her like an old fashioned model and maybe, just maybe…she catches enough of those boys' attention to make it a fight and not a slaughter."
"But…that's still suicide." Harald states, pulling his radio headphones off completely before Kurst puts his hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, beats dying for nothing in some pillbox…besides, at least this way I get to fire the damn cannon."
King was laying his head against the top of the hatch, feeling that the entire situation was crazy. He could rip out all the jewels but that would just leave them in a subpar machine. They would get wiped out faster than Barlo did.
He closed his eyes, feeling old fear crawl up his spine again as he tried his best to resist it as he put his hands together in his lap.
IT IS NOT AN EASY THING, IS IT?
Immediately, his eyes opened…and for once, he couldn't help but feel happy to see that the smoke around him had suddenly stopped around him.
"Ah…I have to admit, I am glad to hear your big booming voice again…" The young Captain lays back against his seat. "But ya…dealing with this isn't easy, not even a bit."
I DO NOT MEAN WHAT YOU THINK I DO. I MEAN THAT AT THIS MOMENT, YOU ARE IN CHARGE OF OTHERS, YOU HAVE SWAY OVER THEIR LIVES. YOU ARE TO CHOOSE IF THEY ARE TO RUN OR IF THEY ARE TO FIGHT.
King smiles nervously. "Well…doesn't that not matter here? I mean, if I fight…you're just gonna help me win, and if I run…well, I survive. So I think I have good chances either way."
Kurst turns, looking at him with blank eyes but a funny smile.
YOU ARE LABORING UNDER A MISCONCEPTION. I HELPED YOU ONLY ONCE, BACK IN HELLSING. SINCE THEN, YOU HAVE GOTTEN HERE OF YOUR OWN VOLITION, ANY LUCK YOU MAY BLAME ME FOR HAS BEEN YOUR OWN…AND WILL CONTINUE TO BE YOUR OWN.
"Wait…so you're not going to do anything?"
NO, I AM GOING TO TELL YOU SOMETHING. IF YOU RUN, YOU WILL LIVE…BUT VERONIKA SEREBRYAKOV WILL DIE.
Oh hell, he just realized that the supreme being was right. If those tanks reached the backlines…she would be in danger, but this stunk of what happened in Hellsing.
"You…you organized this. You're trying to push me by using a girl I know again!"
Kurst stays facing him, but now it's Harald who turns and smiles at him, speaking with a voice that is not his own.
HUMAN MOTIVATIONS ARE A STRANGE THING. THE OTHER IN THIS WORLD IS MOTIVATED ONLY BY HER OWN NEEDS AND YET SHE REJECTS ME DESPITE BE IN MORE CONSTANT DANGER THAN YOU ARE.
"The other? What other? Who the hell are you talking about?"
YOU, ON THE OTHER HAND, ACCUSE ME OF PUSHING YOU INTO SITUATIONS WHERE IT IS BETWEEN SAVING THOSE THAT ARE CLOSE TO YOU AND YOUR OWN LIFE. YET YOU ARE THE ONE WHO CHOOSES TO CARE AND CHOOSES TO PUT YOURSELF INTO THEIR LIVES. YOU COULD SIMPLY RUN.
He could…he could have done that a lot. Way back in his own world he would have loved to just run away a lot, back when the King's Engine would be exploding in his ears…but back then he had no one, no real friends save for Saitama really…nobody like Strauss, or Zanah…nobody like his team.
"You said…if I run Nika dies," King states, gripping the side of his machine as he tries to strengthen what resolve he can muster into his shaking legs. "If I fight…will she live? Is there a way my team and I can survive this?"
Jenko turns to him from below, smiling knowingly while his one eye almost looks deranged.
THERE IS A CHANCE, BUT ONLY IF YOU BEGIN TO UNDERSTAND. YOU MUST BEGIN TO THINK LIKE A KING AND NOT LIKE A CAPTAIN. LIKE A GAMER AND NOT A SOLDIER. YOU MUST UNDERSTAND THE INDIVIDUAL…BEFORE YOU CAN UNDERSTAND THE SYSTEM BY WHICH ALL OPERATES.
"Wait, what? What system? What do I need to understand?"
"What are you talking about?" Kurst suddenly interrupts as the world goes back to normal speed and King feels like a weight has dropped upon his shoulders. He reaches toward a side panel and opens it, looking at the jerry rigged wires that connect all the jewels together.
"We're gonna go fight…I just need a moment to…to…" His pauses as his eyes look over the jewels as he pulls the wires into his lap like a pile of untangled, decorative lights.
The first time he had connected to it, he thought it was quite incredible…a singular, smooth computational system rigged together from multiple, lower end computational jewels to create something greater.
"An individual…a King…and a system…a game."
He pulls four of the jewels away from the tangle, extending the wires out on his lap while the other men look at him. He takes his T4 out and gets to work, realizing slowly exactly what the issue has been.
Just like with Jenko and Nika, the difference of experience mattered here. Nika and King had thought a large, interconnected system would be able to handle everything they could throw at it, managing the engine, the gun and a bunch of other systems…but when the connection would operate it would only slow it's control down to a crawl.
So, he changed it. He divides the system into four parts, each mostly controlled by a set of two jewels, finally he then connects the T4 into the center of them all, creating not a bridge between them…but something of an overseer.
"No…not even that, heh…a King?" He smiles to himself as he looks into his jewel.
"Uh…are you okay sir?" Harald asked.
"Better than okay." He grabs a jewel from each system. He throws one of them to Jenko, and another to both Kurst and his partner.
"I'm correcting the system to a set of better UI's for you all. Just keep your eyes open, try to keep up and don't be surprised by any changes that you see." He tries to explain only to get blank looks from his crew. "Just…don't be surprised if it gets weird. You're all gonna have a little control here. Jenko…start the engine."
The old man turns the ignition in, ready to press the starting switch…and as the system takes hold and he begins to see more, his finger pushes upon the switch.
A chariot awakens.
"God dammit!" Gutwald roars at himself as he comes back inside of the communications tent. Artillery had been shelling the fields as much as they could but it's no use…his scouts say the machines are still on the way. Worse yet, it was confirmed they were US machines as well, much more advanced than anything seen in Magna Rumeli as of yet.
The backline didn't have any armored support save for artillery. He had no aerial mages who could support either…which didn't leave him a lot of choices when a certain kind of excrement would hit the fan.
"Serebryakov!" He shouts at Nika as he comes in, grasping at straws. "Do you have anything, literally anything back at that factory that can punch through thick armor?"
Being put on the spot, she nervously shakes her head. "There's nothing there that could be put up and running within such a short time…sir."
Damn it all, this could be what ends this front all together. If the Rumeli, or god forbid, the Unified States poke their nose into their backlines and push Gutwald's back…they'll have to either fight in the mountains or in the Fatherland. The place will be a goddamn backdoor for the whole rest of the war!
"Sir, we've recalibrated our radar systems. We can detect five enemy machines coming over the hills." One of his radar technicians spoke out.
"How long until they reach us?"
"I would say 3 minutes at most…but, wait a moment." The technician turns back toward his simple monitor, rechecking his findings. "Sir, there is a sixth machine detected."
"Ugh! Of course there had to be another one…" It was starting to become time for Gutwald to begin choosing between sending out orders to either fight to the death, run…or possibly even surrender.
"Just a moment sir…this is…its…" The man checks his findings again. "Sir, the other machine is of a different profile, it's a bit smaller, coming up behind the others…at 3 times their speed."
Gutwald blinked for a moment, trying to pass that knowledge in his head before he turned to Warrant Officer Serebryakov, smiling with a hand over her mouth.
Pride cometh before the fall…and there's a long way to fall.
Sergeant José Pascal was a proud soldier of the US, itching to get into a fight. When he was chosen to be a part of not only the fighting in Magna Rumeli, but also to be a part of the State's new tank program he nearly thought he had died and gone to heaven.
He had traveled overseas, struck out under the orders of his superior, Major Pilgrim, and his men were minutes away from glory as their tanks barrelled down the rolling plains of Vinnie's Ridge.
"Major, I must say…thank you for this opportunity." He speaks into his radio as they get closer to their target. "This is all I've wanted, to fight for my country, over."
"You have worked hard for it Pascal…and the fruits of your labor will be sweet, I can promise you that." His commander's voice reassures him. "There seems to be one spot of trouble though…according to intercepted transmissions you have a single machine that's catching up to you. If you can believe it, they're saying it's moving at 3 times the speed you are, over."
Another tank? But there wasn't supposed to be another for miles…maybe it was the one they didn't fire at? No…it was already a smoking heap, and besides that…no tank could move at 3 times the speed of their Hermans.
"You would think they would be able to come up with better distraction tactics than just lying." He says to himself, but curiosity gets the better of him and he decides to open his hatch. He pokes his head outside, looking back over the hills.
He shakes his head…did those Imperial idiots think they would fall for such a trick?
Well, Pascal soon understood just how much of a fool he was as his eyes caught something moving over the ridge…and over the hills was just the way to describe it. It was moving with such speed that when it came over one of the rolling hills it lifted off the ground a bit, landing like it was a speeding truck coming off a ramp.
"All tanks stop! I repeat! All tanks stop!" He shouts into his bullhorn, feeling something of a cold chill run down his spine. "Rotate cannons to aim behind us! I don't want this schnitzel eating bastard annoying us during our raid. You zero in on that machine and wait for my order to fire when it rolls over that hill, over and out!"
Just like he ordered, his group of US made Hermans, the new tank that was supposed to be the harbinger of armored machines for this generation, stopped and aimed their weapons while Pascal waited.
He was confident. It was five to one…and even if this thing had speed, there was no way it could dodge past five strong cannons aimed its way. Besides…even he could tell from the glances of it he say that its own cannon was puny compared, probably only suitable for taking out armored trucks and not their superior machines.
Finally, the smaller machine roared over the hill, launching itself against before nearly tumbling over when it landed. The five Hermans took aim and Pascal almost felt a pang of sympathy for the outgunned machine.
It was a small pang though. "Fire!"
When a shell hits a tank, it produces a fine sound. Even if it bounces off…but when the first off the five shots hit their enemy, something strange happened. It sailed through the machine and created the sound of a shell hitting only the dirt.
Sergeant José Pascal couldn't understand what was happening when the machine disappeared before his eyes, leaving the rest of the shots to hit only dirt. The sound of the machine, its tracks…all of it disappeared.
Out of the corner of his eye, Pascal saw something flash. The tank had seemingly reappeared, nearly twenty meters to the side of his stopped column of machines. "They're to our side! Turn your mounted machine guns and pepper that thing while you turn your cannons!"
"Sergeant! What's going on there!" Major Pilgrim's voice cuts through as José begins to panic, but he still thinks he can salvage this.
He still thinks that the machine guns can do their job, but upon watching his men aim and fire, he sees the tracer rounds bounce off a flickering barrier of air around the machine as it takes aim at the first Herman close to it…and he sees the tip of its barrel start to glow.
"ITS A F$##ING MAGICAL TANK!?"
He watches as a single shot is launched from the machine with such force it almost blows the smaller tank back on its ass. The shell hits one Herman, barreling through with piercing magical energy…only to push through, sprouting out the other side to strike at the next machine behind it…and continue to barrel through. The shell only stops at the third machine, having lost enough energy to finally ricochet off the armor.
All of this happens in less than a second of time. In the next second, Pascal watches as two of his machines explode damn near instantly.
"Pascal! Report! Did you say magical?"
He wasn't listening, instead he was staring at the machine that had destroyed part of his tank platoon and watched as its figure began to warp into the background. An illusory spell no doubt, but to think that one could cover a whole tank, even a small one was ludicrous…along with that gun of their piercing not one, but two of their best machines all the way through.
"All tanks full speed ahead!" He shouts into his comms. "Try to spread out, give the bastards a harder target so they can't take out multiple tanks at once!"
They begin to try to speed off as he looks about, worried as they try to head over the hills. At the very least, the hills themselves would give them protection. The thing might be fast, but catching up to them and stopping them before they could at least wreak some kind of destruction would be a hard job even for that thing.
At least, that's what he thought…as they rolled over the hill he saw the illusion around the machine fade once again as it came into view. He ordered his men to fire at it while moving, which wasn't exactly a smart idea, the Herman wasn't built to fire on the move... but it might give them some cover at least.
What he didn't expect was that the enemy had figured out how to do what they could not, because the next charged shot hit the third machine dead on, even while both had been moving.
Either the forces inside that thing are extremely well trained…or somehow, the machine itself can correct the shots while moving even at that speed. José could not fathom how such technology could exist without them knowing of it or implementing it in some way.
However, he couldn't focus too hard on that…his third machine was down, leaving him with only his own ride and one other…but they were at least thirty seconds away, just one hill from the finish line. They could get over and at least get a single shot out on the backlines, maybe wound or kill some soldiers.
However, he would need to make sure that all of this was reported. So he decided it was best to take one for the team. José Pascal ordered his other tank to retreat, it would turn back and hopefully, the men inside could get close to the front lines, abandon the machine and possibly, just possibly make it back to Major Pilgrim. He needed to know about this new weapon or else the death of those other tanks full of men would be worth nothing but a single shell.
Finally, they made it over the hill. There was no chance to get a shot off on them from this angle. He could see the artillery, the tents, the trucks…all perfect targets. He would aim for the tents, where he could be sure that his shell would do the most damage, where its explosion could rip apart through the canvas of them and kill all the people inside before the other tank would catch up.
It was going to be his victory even if it was just a small one.
What he couldn't have counted on…was another magical shell, piercing through the ground under his Herman. He could not have guessed that the machine chasing them would stop and aim through the hill…and that the shot would connect.
The last Herman began to smoke…and finally stopped.
Gutwald stepped outside to look…and there he saw the last of the enemy tanks, broken down…and unmoving. The other would probably get away to the front line…but he would radio his men to check the perimeter. They might be able to sneak past them on foot, but they'll find that vehicle somewhere.
Rolling over the hill came the small tank that could. The Lover slowly started coming down as smoke began to against waft from its hatches. Gutwald and more men began to pile out of the tents, watching it descend as they heard arguing from inside.
"For the love of god shut the damn thing off! My lungs are already black enough!" Kurst shouted.
"Oh come on now boy! It's customary to have a good smoke after a tumble like that!" Jenko shouted out before he stopped the machine, finally turning the engine off.
Suddenly, all the men began to crawl out like worms out of holes in an apple, met by the Imperial soldiers now surrounding the machine. Kurst and Harald were picked up as they tried to catch their breath and pulled up upon the shoulders of the men cheering for them. Jenko was already telling a group of them what had happened inside the thing, mythologizing the story as King tumbled over the back of the machine, lightheaded and seeing spots.
The strain the system had upon him was…hard to pass. It was like his brain had been rewired a bit…but it gave him a lot of new ideas on how he might make it better. He could connect his men inside the machine now, make them see what he did. Have the system calculate firing trajectories while Kurst handled shooting magical shells while Harald took care of the shield and illusions. Jenko would drive and King would keep it all together…and it worked. It really worked.
The air starved Captain was soon pulled up not by the other soldiers though, but Gutwald. He thought he might get another bit of strangling as he was pressed up against the tank wearing nothing but his underwear and a shirt.
"I have to admit, you really are a proper bastard…you undersold just how good this machine really is." His superior says before letting him go after only holding him to straighten him out. "We'll definitely be talking about its use in the future, until then I suggest you get shower and back into uniform. You've earned-"
The sound of gunfire begins to ring out. King and all the other soldiers around instinctively duck, most hiding behind the lover while Gutwald turns to his enemy.
The tank that had made it over the ridge had been on fire…but one of the men, a sergeant by the way it looks, crawled out and was standing atop his machine, firing at them with a small machine gun.
The short man draws his side arm and starts firing. Four shots ring out of his weapon, one striking at the enemy's jaw, another his thigh…and finally his chest.
They all watch as the soldier tumbles off the flaming machine like a ragdoll, cheering again as Gutwald smiles.
King however…only watches. The man who was shot was still lying before the tank, looking at them all, looking at him. Blood was oozing out of his mouth, anger and rage directed at them all…until those eyes lost their light. The fire soon spread and consumed the man.
"Heh, don't worry, won't take much of the glory on this one." Gutwald reaches up to put his hand on his subordinate's shoulder. "After all, you racked up an impressive amount of kills today. Those boys are burning in their machines like sausages…but you know what they say, if you're gonna hit the king, kill the king."
Gutwald smirks at his joke before pulling his hand back and moving to congratulate the others. He had plans to talk to Nika later as well as Jenko about the way forward using the Lover in his plans…and he had some big plans for the machine.
Meanwhile, Nika herself was watching from afar, looking at King as he stared off into the battlefield, looking serious in the light, like a warrior of old legend. A norse god who had rode in on a chariot she made to smite down evil.
She couldn't see his full face…and the near sick, almost brought to puke levels of disgust King was trying to hold down after seeing and knowing that he had killed people.
It was his first true taste of war…and it tasted perfectly bitter.