CHAPTER 5: HEATING THE PAN
A/N: Warning for mildly graphic scenes/implications. Nothing seriously gruesome, I went slightly over at some point.
What do I think of the Gallians? Bunch of wackos that's what.
Like, for real, that just about goes for every single of one these so called Europans. For Pete's sake, it's a shitty joke each time I see one of them in their blueberry shirts walking around the open street like they owned the place only to get capped by the strawberry-looking fucker with the scope hiding on the third floor. I'd be laughing if it weren't for the fact, I'm busy trying to put a hole into the shooter!
….
I got no complaints on their weapons though. Ask any of the guys here and they'll say they've seen worse and it's not a matter of being cocky. Frankly, it stops being shocking seeing someone turn to pink confetti or a crispy steak for the fifth time in a week. Never mind the ones that go missing for a bit and you find their belongings later. Let's not even talk about that big ass lance-thing they use though. Jerry used a smaller, compact one for use at close-range in ambushes, and I heard somewhere the name meant 'tank fister' -pretty accurate, not gonna lie.
….
Oh, the tanks you say. Yeah, those are pretty nifty. Being able to perform arty roles isn't a weird concept for our guys but loading an actual mortar shell is another. Edelweiss is a great example. If it weren't because how much it resembles a Panzer and the name of the commander, then it'd probably have gotten a much warmer reception. Other than that, the Imperials and their idea of segmented armouring is actually pretty interesting. Thick plating over the hull that could be replace on the fly or purged is something I definitely see Jerry doing. The larger operating time with that Ragnite stuff is pretty great too, but our Engineers are still pissed that no one among those Blueberries ever thought to use the added weight to make the actual armour thicker or at least have bigger guns. There's a reason why we call theirs and Imperial tanks Puffy's or Poppers.
…..
… I got nothing personal against the Gallians. No one in the outfit does. We shit on you, but we also trust yer to watch our backs, especially now of all times. Some of these guys like the 31st have been with us since the start. Let's not mention others like Squad 7 or Battlegroup 11. Baker owes their lives to the latter even if Oldie wouldn't admit it. In war, things like Race, Class and Birth Right mean jack shit when you're getting shot up or blown-up sky high. Ask anyone 'ere, they'll tell you that your farm boys got brass balls for being able to run up the street under fire. Speak about a Darcsen, and any one of my own boys will tell you that they make the maintenance and fixing of machinery look like a work of art.
…. Shame we can't do much about their sappiness though. Obnoxious.
"Tank! Right side! Right side!"
"Tracking! On the way!"
"Good hit!"
"One more up front, they've got infantry!"
"Mistletoe, 11 o'clock! Break 'em up!"
"On it!"
"Anytime now Wizard!"
"On the way! Fuck, shot wild! Give me HE!"
"HE, up!"
"On the way!"
"… Good hit!" he exhaled. They're running!"
With that, the crew let out a collective sigh of relief. Battle adrenaline for the past half hour finally wearing off. Yet, honed instincts kicked in and the crew began scanning their surroundings for new challengers. The engine rumbled with new vigour as the steel beast began moving in earnest once more.
"Gaston, get on the radio and tell the rest of Baker to advance. I want this square secured five minutes ago. Also, ask the Blueberries just where the hell was their advance force. They should've been here to join us."
"On it, John," said the loader with a grunt.
"Oddley, park us up next to the dead Poofy on the right. Keep Husker facing at one o'clock."
"Ye got it, bossman."
The next few moments passed with nary a word or spike, safe for the rumbling of the engine and occasional squelch and pop that broke the monotone. The air was saturated with dense smoke and evaporated sweat that would make a man nauseous. Occasionally, there would be a groan or hiss that would remind the crew to remain attentive over the beast they dwelled within.
From his seat, John rose to check the surroundings from the safety of the cupola. Temptation swelled within him to open the hatch which was promptly ignored at the behest of his heart that pounded with paranoia. His mind shifting priority to soak up every bit of detail he could make out beyond the safety of the reinforced transparent layer.
Imps were wising up. Signature streaks of blue from Europan mortars had been falling around the settlement almost non-stop for the entire night, leaving a terrain akin to swiss cheese. The upside was that the barrage had been far too early and for far too long, which allowed someone to come up with a quick solution in the form of a reinforced wooden deck to traverse the absolute mess of a roadway. Begrudgingly, he'd acknowledge the ingenuity represented by the Gallians on this one.
Of course, he may just have to reconsider his commendations now that those same Gallians were nowhere to be found. It was admirable how the leader ordered his men to move building-to-building. What wasn't, however, was how he hadn't seen nary a hair nor glimpse of them since then. The advance was already slowing down due to this, and he had already ordered both platoons to halt for now. They were already stretched thin as is with at least two tanks holding down one street each; John's Husker was an exception since he'd chosen to pursue an enemy combat group that was caught mid-retreat on their flank.
Meanwhile, as the crew continued to keep overwatch for trouble, Gaston was repeatedly inquiring through the radio for a sitrep on their supporting infantry. Annoyingly, the Gallians seemed to outright refuse to allow their elements to perform independently without informing their superiors. This translated into having someone act as mediator between them and the relevant unit. An incredibly cumbersome system that was by now a prominently disgruntling fact about their allies.
"Elmer actual, do you read?" he repeated. "This is Baker Actual, what's your current situation and are you in need of support, over?"
No response.
"Elmer actual, where are your men? Baker can't maintain the advance at this rate. We're too exposed. If you're in trouble, tell us where you are so that we can move to back you up. How copy?"
Again, no response. Gaston shook his head and turned to look up at Sawyer.
"Boss, I can't reach 'em. Something's up"
"Ye sure you you got the right numbers, Gas?" came the inquiry from the gunner.
"Ye bet, Wiz. I made double sure when I checked in with Marlowe before mounting up. Something ain't right 'ere."
John pursed his lips. His eyes wandered out into the street. The awfully quiet atmosphere was grating on his nerves and that of his men. Something slipped into his mind, and the paranoid part of him agreed on the matter. But just to be sure…
"Gas, call up the other Beasts. Get me a sitrep," he ordered, getting a nod from the loader.
The crew quietly listened as one by one, all eight tanks of the assault group reported in with only the occasional complaints of damages to their respective machines. Despite being grateful, John couldn't help but feel they were missing something, or rather they were keenly focused on the wrong aspect.
When they're idling grew too discomforting after a minute, Sawyer readily gave the order to retreat. However, it was an order that came far too late.
With deafening boom, they felt tremors shake Husker. Audible clanging resonated through the side of the tank as stone and sand from the impact bounced of the steel hide of the tank.
"Artillery!" someone shouted.
"Driver, reverse! Reverse! Reverse!"
Honed instinct kicked in, and the tank executed a ninety-degree reverse turn right into one of the buildings to their right. Not a moment later, the space they once occupied was pummelled by ordinance that would've crushed and possibly burst them like a tin can.
"This is Baker Actual! My unit is under heavy artillery fire! We're pinned- need backup, NOW!"
The suddenness of the transmission had caught them no less off-guard than the loud booms in the distance. Their squad had just arrived within sight of Forten when the explosions began, the intensity of which was causing mix reactions from the men in his charge. The younger troopers were visibly concerned and filled with trepidation over the possible gauntlet they were going into, whilst the old breed expressed clear disdain -dare he say even reluctance- over the situation.
"That doesn't look good."
"No kidding, just look at what they did to the town," someone growled. "Damn the Imps, those Allied pricks aren't any better. 'Could've at least had the sense to not flatten our towns."
"Lay off the complaints, we've got a mission to complete," came a stern voice. The old man the voice came from turned to look at his much younger superior.
"What are our orders, sir?
The officer in question had for the most part dismissed his men's commentary on the situation. His attention maintained on the town that was getting absolutely destroyed by the wanton use of Ragnite infused high-explosive rounds. Even from his position, he could tell that the Imperials weren't acting in line with their usual habits, instead taking up new tactics similar to their allies.
The Imperial artillery wasn't just focused within the town, but outside of it as well. Albeit it was clearly much less in intensity compared to what he'd assumed was needed to unearth the land outside the settlement. The amount of firepower required, even for the Empire, to saturate two areas at once was far too much, which begged the question.
Where was all that ordinance coming from?
"Alicia!"
"Yes, Welkin?" responded a twin tailed woman.
"I want you to take our scouts and go around the town. Stay away from the areas under fire from the artillery, and any enemy force for that matter. You're looking for the enemy's path into the town."
The scout in question nodded. "On it, Welks."
He turned to face the rest of his men.
"In the meantime, I want the medics and engineers to make their way to the command post of the main force and stay there until further orders. Rosie, Largo, your teams stay with me. Sharpshooters will be split evenly, and we'll have one half go with the group joining our allies."
"That sounds awfully complicated. We'll be ourselves stretching way too thin to support each other." Retorted a shock trooper; one of their senior members from the last war.
"I know," Welkin nodded. "Which is why I'm banking on the friendlies within the town to aid us. Any tank or enemy advances we encounter should be balanced out with their aid."
The trooper nodded in understanding. With that said, Welks addressed the unit once more.
"Alright Squad 7, move out!"
"Goddamnit, what do you mean we can't get in touch with Baker?!"
"It's just like I said Sir, I keep trying but I'm getting utter nonsense! There must be something blocking the signal."
Muttering a curse, McKay pushed himself upright with a bit more force then intended. He walked away from the clearly just as frustrated radioman who was trying desperately to contact anyone from Baker. So far, their efforts had been met with little progress or none at war.
The current artillery bombardment was by far the most deliberate in comparison with the previous ones. They'd been spared any direct hits on the command post and the surrounding encampment, but unfortunately the same couldn't be said for the bridge that led into the town. Without it, they couldn't effectively send in reinforcements for Baker and the Gallian infantry that were supposed to accompany them.
Outside, the encampment was in a state of total chaos as men raced back and forth. Some simply stood at their posts awaiting orders while others prepared and re-shifted the order of equipment present to better suit the current situation. There was no time for anyone to be caught idling, as it was the only way to distract them from thinking too hard as to what was happening in town.
From behind a wall of sandbags overlooking the town, McKay stared intently at the storm of steel deterring them. His mind clawed at an unbreakable wall with every possible solution to get to Sawyer but to no avail.
Going around was improbable for the town had open clearing for at least ten kilometres in every direction, and that didn't include the possible routes available for their forces to take. Waiting out the bombardment was out of the question given that it would be exactly what the Imps want them to do.
Could it not be helped that some part of him wished for a war that no blood from his country is spilled? Preposterous, the captain banished the thought, this was what war is about. Lives were always lost, and it was only a matter of when.
"Captain McKay, there's someone who wishes to speak with you."
He turned to face a rifleman with a young Gallian standing behind him. The man -boy more like- in question wore an outfit that deviated from the usual ones worn by the Gallians; being less armoured and far lighter. His innocence was the first thing apparent from his demeanour alone.
"Who are you, and state your business," demanded the officer.
The native snapped to attention. "Hubert, sniper. Gallian Militia Squad 7. I was told to report to the commander in charge of this operation the moment I arrived."
"That's an officer's job. Where's he at?"
The soldier flinched for a moment from a shell landing far too near for comfort. "He's at the east side of the town, overlooking from the road that leads down the hills. He told me pass the word that he's leading a detachment to take out the guns."
Widening his eyes at the report, the captain spun on his heels and brought the binoculars that hung around his neck to bear. Despite having unfavourable position, the captain could sure enough see the tell-tale sign of dust being lifted into the air; experience was all that was needed for him to know when such a thing was natural or not.
Recognising the solution, McKay turned to the radioman from before. "Patch me through the Gallian general frequency."
"Gallian Militia Squad 7, come in. This is Able Actual of Allied Stars, please respond, over."
The radio coming to life was almost unexpected for Welkin. While certainly not outside the realm of possibility, he was more used to it being one of his squaddies on the other endthen someone of equal if not hire ranking than him. Strategic orders just weren't common in the Europan setting, and communication in most battles were limited to a more localised setting with battlefield commanders calling the shots when and where they thought it was best in accordance with set objectives.
Adjusting the frequency, Welkin responded. "Squad 7 here, this is Lieutenant Gunther. To whom am I speaking to."
There was a brief silence, and it left Welkin wondering before a second burst of transmission.
"You can refer to me as Captain McKay. I'll get to the point, Lieutenant. Can you silence those guns?"
There existed a significant amount of weight in those words. The young officer pursed his lips in thought before he took a peek at the vicinity outside the tank.
Through the top of the commander's hatch, he could the northern end of the town. More importantly, he could see the enemy's artillery batteries arranged in two rows flanking the road leading into the town. It was a testament to their ferocity that the barrels of each cannon were red hot and looked ready to break from the strain. Despite this, the crew never seemed to stop shoving shell after shell into the breech and firing moments after.
However, that was the least of his concerns. What was more pressing was the arrival of an entire Imperial armoured column. They numbered easily a squadron's worth in the standard composition of four tanks and their infantry escorts. Of all the battles they'd fought, this would certainly be his squad's toughest one yet.
Despite their disparity, that didn't mean Welkin was going to throw in the towel. It was far unbefitting the son of a general.
"You can count on us, sir. Just keep us informed of any new developments."
"Wilco, lieutenant, Able out."
Returning the handset to its place, the young officer took one last in-depth look at the enemy firebase before him through the binoculars. He'd noted the state of urgency the Imps were in. The lower echelons didn't seem to even be stopping in order to present themselves to their superiors, rather, they seemed to be rushing past what was clearly two ranked individuals in the middle of an argument.
As the last of the squadron passed them, the two remained where they stood by the roadside arguing. The roar of the heavy calibre guns continued unabated with only the briefest of respite given for mainly the crew to rest. Seeing this, Welkin could already feel the beginnings of a plan being drawn up at the back of his mind.
"Alright Squad 7, listen up. I'm going over the plan one last time.
As you know, we were given orders by Captain Varrot to assist our newly acquainted mercenary allies as soon as were able to deploy. Now, is the time we follow through with those orders and show our foreign allies what we Gallians are made of!"
"Impressive speech lieutenant but get to the point."
"…. Right. Anyways, we obviously need to take out the batteries shelling the town. That's a job for the Edelweiss and a small troop contingent. As dangerous as it may seem, I want our Lancers and Engineers to follow behind us at a distance. I'll be bringing just one of our present snipers for this operation."
"You out of your mind, kid? Just what are you supposed to do if you encounter armour then?"
"I have options, Largo. The commander I spoke on the radio was pretty tense. If my hunch is right, then they already have troops in the town. Tanks are a definite possibility. The plan is to take out the Imperial artillery and link up with any and all friendly forces in the town. It isn't likely the Imperials could mount a counter-offensive at any rate based on what Captain Varrot has told me. For the past month, the mercenaries and regulars have been striking hard and fast. In all likelihood, they're still trying to make heads and tails as to what's happening.
"You sound so sure of yourself there, sir."
"Well, pray that I'm right. Squad 7, move out!"
Their plans were shot to hell.
Over the sound of booms and whistles and distant explosions, the commander and his second argued over their next course of action. Their metaphorical shield was at its breaking point, and their only remaining options were either to abandon the town or hold to the last man; neither choice appeared appealing in the least.
Retreat risks punishment for cowardice and have shame be brought upon their families and descendants.
Staying meant that word will never get out as to what happened here, and that meant the wonder weapons would continue to have free reign over their forces until a time in which high command was made aware.
Things had been going so well for their unit up until that point whose task it was to clear the designated points along the route to the capital for the logistics group. They'd even managed to follow-up with their secondary objective which was to set up outposts and stockades along said route ahead of schedule. Truly, such feat should've earned them the highest of praise direct from the prince's own staff.
Sadly, their good tides fell short thereafter beginning with the hamlet just beyond the town they were currently in. The brigade commander -a veteran of a previous campaign- had already been more than weary when they didn't encounter any personnel from the advance force sent to deep strike the capital. However, such fears were initially belayed by his second-in-command under the assumption that resistance may have been far more than expected, and that they could use whatever time their comrades had unintentionally given to set up defences in preparation for a counter-offensive.
The capturing of the hamlet nearby should've been the start of that defensive operation, but when they failed to contact the squadron sent there the next day, their commander had immediately put their forces on high alert. It was a sound call as their scouts soon reported alerted them of the large, armoured force rolling up the road to the town.
Working under no confidence they could push back the assault conventionally; the commander had ordered the mortar battery to begin shelling the general area between them and the enemy in a huge semicircle. Such order was met with due protest that it wasn't sustainable, but the man would have none of it and pulled rank. He needed all the time he could get in order to prepare a hasty defence.
Some twenty-one hours later, the first wave of enemies entered the town. The mortars by this point had been absolutely destroyed, their barrels akin to giant candles then steel tubes. The time they'd provided, however, had been put to good use in setting up a proper perimeter and defence, consisting of strongpoints and reserved forces for responding to breakthroughs.
Yet, all of their preparations proved to be inadequate for the kind of foe they faced.
Panic filled the radios as enlisted, and officers alike struggled to grasp just what exactly they were facing. Veterans claimed it was some new Gallian war machine whilst hysterical new blood cried out that they were facing a green-hided monster.
The only thing discernible from the communications chaos was the fact that they were losing ground fast. Hence, the commander once again took desperate measure in the form of shelling the town itself with a new set of guns. Four areas within the town were where the enemy forces last sighted, and each was being shelled by no less than two guns each at any given moment. Additionally, the area outside the town was subjected to a lighter downpour of lead, if only to deter the rest of the enemy force from doing something drastic.
Whatever reprieve would be short-lived in the end, however, and the gravity of their situation had reached its absolute lowest. The remaining imperial soldiers were in distress and confusion. The former with their nerves frayed and mental exhaustion from jumping at every shadow whereas the latter had opted to slump themselves on whatever surface was available. Far too few remained attentive; many of which had their alertness dulled from hearing the artillery batteries firing non-stop over the course of a day with very little in the way of proper rest to top it all off.
Zip- ACK!
Just as the commander was getting ready to release their next string of rebuts, the man suddenly jerked forward before falling onto his knees. Blood sprayed from an open wound onto the second-in-command's face, leaving him stunted as to what happened. For his troubles, he was shot square in the head whilst trying to wipe some of the blood off with his hand.
The few men that had still been watching the argument unfold swivelled their heads to face where the shot had come from. Much to their horror, they saw a tank not their own rolling down the main street; its cannon blasting high-explosive shells at every building that had an Imperial whist the machinegun shredded those caught out in the open on the street. Infantry flanked the steel beast, taking potshots as they advanced.
Much of the Imperial force was still unawares of the attack happening in the rear in combination of the lack of proper rest and the relentless thunder of the artillery rendering them half deaf. Those that were, however, tried to mount a palpable defence, mainly by occupying what few sandbag barriers deployed as well as the buildings present.
Squad 7 for the most part ignored the fire coming from the buildings as they rushed past them into the intersection that overlooked the rest of the town. A now dried-up, manmade river formed a natural divide from the current part of town to the centre, and had any force chose to make the conventional push then they would've been expected to endure the fire from the other side. Obviously, this wouldn't be Squad 7's problem.
From atop a balcony, an Imperial scout could only watch as the damnable tank that belonged to those Gallians all but sped past his overwatch. He didn't bother firing at the infantry as they were already too far out for his own liking. As he turned, he found himself staring into the barrel of a submachine gun. He'd barely registered a flash of light before he was sent tumbling backwards over the edge.
The shooter spared a mere look to confirm her kill before she turned on her heels.
"Tch, take it you damn Imperial," she growled.
The songstress had to admit. The young lieutenants plan was working far better than she had to guess. She'd also admit that it took guts to rush his tank down the road like he did with minimal support from his escorts. Not that it would've made much difference given how fast he'd driven the steel beast past the unsuspecting defence.
In the meantime, she and the rest of the shocktroopers were given the task of clearing out the buildings. It seemed suicidal at first, but she soon understood what her officer had in mind as they got closer to the artillery and its constant firing. She pitied the scouts now for having to be so close to that almost maddening sound.
Taking a quick inspection of how much ammo she had left; she quickly made her way downstairs and onto the next building. They'd gotten lucky in that the enemies in the buildings were scarce and at best the most she'd encountered was four in a single building. All the same, she kept a sharp lookout at the shadows for any possible foe, occasionally noticing one of her own fellows dashing in and out.
This was going to be a long day.
A loud boom, followed by a whistle. A distant explosion goes unheard. The sounds are repeated thrice in an interval period of ten seconds each.
Between each period, the spent shells were discarded from the breech. A man checked to see for faults. A new shell was loaded. The guns were adjusted and then fired once more. A blue star streaked across the early evening sky, falling somewhere unseen but completely out of sight as the occasional blue and orange hues clued in on the destruction happening.
This process repeats itself again and again. It had been a continuous cycle since the day before, and almost none of the men in charge had a word of complaint in it under threat of punishment. By now, their bodies were numb and their minds null to the feeling of exhaustion. Organic components in a machine far past the breaking point. Most had discarded all their armour; a few even had exposed upper bodies, showing sweat pouring heavily as if in a sauna.
Hence, when the next cycle became violently interrupted by a force of wind and metal bits flying in the air, the suddenness made a few individuals drop to the ground clutching their chests as their hearts gave in to the stress. Amongst the rest, the ones closest to the source were thrown off their feet whilst others ducked out of reflex.
Slowly, a few brave souls peaked from underneath the cover of the sandbags. They discovered that one of the artillery guns were destroyed. Its crew reduced to charred husks splayed around the remains of the weapon.
They then noticed the perpetrators appearing from behind the gun. A tank and its complementary infantry escorts.
Caught by surprise, the remaining personnel couldn't mount any form of defence. Gallian rifles barked, puncturing holes into the Imperials where they stood. Those further away were quick to break out of their stupor and tried to run but didn't make more than a few steps before being gunned down by the Gallians and with support from their tanks machine gun.
The tank brought its main armament to bear and fired at the nearest artillery piece. Chunks of steel and brass went flying into the air upon detonation. Heat waves and fires that sprouted from the initial detonation caused secondary detonations in the ammunition and Ragnite cells, forcing those present to hunker down.
Again, the 8.8 cm gun of the Gallian tank roared, and the artillery gun further away met the same fate as its two other siblings. The secondary explosions that occurred being just as spectacular as the first.
As for the remaining gun, it was approached by three Scouts who went to work in disabling it. One look at the barrel, and they quickly realised that the Imperials had done most of the work for them. With some searching and ingenuity, the seasoned soldier amongst them was able to cobble to gather a dirty bomb using Ragnite cells and a grenade that was made to fit just right into the tube. Pulling the pin, the three were quick to scramble to safety behind the sandbags just as the bomb detonated.
Cheers erupted amongst the young enlisted for what was effectively their first victory. The older breed stayed quite whilst busying themselves inspecting the dead, occasionally nudging them with their boots or stomping lightly at injuries in case of a reaction.
From the commander's hatch, Welkins observed the totality of destruction before them. Alicia had mentioned that the Imperials had concentrated their logistics solely around the main road leading into the town from this side. Working with this in mind, he had Rosie and the shocktroopers storm the nearest buildings on both sides of the road and make their way to the forward whilst dealing with any stray Imperials they'd miss.
He turned to look behind in just in time to see the assault unit regroup with them. The lone injured soldier amongst them was the first thing to grab his attention as the man was being helped by his comrade to lean against the nearest wall.
The commander watched as the wheezing shock trooper was checked thoroughly by his fellow. The latter soon nodded his head and gave a thumbs up; one to the injured man and another to his superior, affirming that there was no cause for concern at least for now. Still, Welkin had one of the scouts stay behind to watch over him just in case.
With his combat group all present and accounted for, Welks took the time gather himself with a single deep breathe before relaying out his next orders.
"Excellent work Squad 7! Now that the artillery is out of action, we can start moving into town to wipe out the remaining enemy forces."
"What do you have in mind lieutenant?"
"The mission stays the same. We have to rendezvous with the mercenary forces within the town if we're going to drive out what remains of the Imperials. The Edelweiss will take point, and I want our scouts and sniper watching the flanks and windows respectively. Shock troopers, stay behind the tank and try to keep yourselves out of sight until further notice.
"Expect anything to happen, people. Let's go!"
Under Welkin's instructions, Squad 7 was quick to reform and begin moving into the town. Having heard the roars of the guns all day, the newly rooted silence was in no small parts unnerving for the young blood.
For many of the militiamen, the training they underwent after highschool meant that they were far more desensitized to the idea of destruction caused by weapons of war compared to the average civilian, but that didn't necessarily mean they were prepared for all of situation brought by the advent of war.
"Do they even have people in here? Who in their right mind would let themselves get hit by friendly fire?" wondered one of the Scouts, his head constantly swivelling between each and every window he passed by.
"Yer git used ta et, kid. Sooner or later, it's gunna happen ta ya too." The response came from one of the shock troopers, an aged man that just couldn't bring himself to sit out this fight.
The advance was mostly quiet for the better part of twenty minutes. An exception to this was when one of the ruined buildings suddenly collapsed of its own accord, nearly crushing a Scout that was too close to the collapsing structure. When the dust settled, Welk's ordered that the formation be more compact so as to avoid any further incident, much to the objection of the veterans.
The box formation waded through the ruined streets. In another time, this place would've been filled with all the splendour and friendly hospitality of a thriving, peaceful town. Now, the only greeting they received was the terrible air that threatened to suffocate them and the feeling of paranoia over every movement in the corner of their visions.
It was whilst turning the corner out of a square, did they find their enemies. A Lancer rocket sped right past the Edelweiss, detonating in the wall of a building down the road. The Gallians were startled at how sudden the situation had escalated, but quickly got into gear once it registered to them that there was gunfire around the corner.
Alicia was the first to take the initiative. She took a peek from around the corner of the building and was the first to see the green war machine furiously discharging all of its armaments downrange at some obscure threat she couldn't see. Turning back to her comrades, she signalled for the Edelweiss to move. Welkins gave her a nod in response.
As the tank turned the corner of the street, not one of the participants on either side of the engagement seemed to take note. The militia's tank had crept until it was right behind the other tank on its left flank before coming to a halt. From within the turret, Welkins switched the main gun to mortar firing and got to work in providing support for the other machine.
It was mostly infantry armed with a mix of small armaments and a few Lancers that were engaging the allied tank. Had they been more organised, then they could've overwhelmed their foe, but as it stood, they were simply throwing themselves at the green steel beast, and now its recently arrived ally with near wanton abandon. Combined with their own infantry, the two tanks were able to make short work of their foes, leaving a trail of bodies in various states of decimation.
Edelweiss crept forward until both tanks were lined up side by side. The young Gunther rose from his seated position within the turret and took a peek from above the lip of the commander's cupola. His gaze fell on the other tank, noting the immense scarring and impacts from where the Imperial arsenal had struck true. Amazingly, he noted how none of the damage suggested they'd been hit by a Lance, but he opted to cast the thought aside for another time.
Pinching the microphone on his headset, he addressed the other vehicle.
"This is Lieutenant Gunther, Gallia Militia Squad 7. To the allied-"
"KEEP YOUR FUCKING HEAD DOWN!"
The sudden scream reverberated through Welkin's skull. However, it paled in comparison to whatever made the loud, high-pitched clang. The sparks that flew from the source of the sound didn't help either, leaving him temporarily blind but mostly unharmed.
Confusion and numbness clouded him, and he was vaguely aware how he had slipped back into the tank; the seat below him catching his fall. A constant ringing could be heard around him, mixed with what he could only describe as distant vocals.
Calm down, deep breaths. You're fine.
Training and common sense kicked in, he could feel his frayed nerves begin to settle and the sound of chaos around him steadily getting louder and eventually drowning out the ringing in his ears. Also, he found the strength to open his eyes once more and make out the dark interior of the Edelweiss despite the bright spots in his vision.
"…..-kin! WELKIN!" a voice surfaced out of the distant vocals.
"I'm alright," he replied with a voice laced with pain.
A hand reached out and he instinctively reacted, grabbing the limb whilst reaching for his sidearm. It was only when a second hand gently grabbed the wrist holding the first did he reel in his instincts. His mind recognising just who had approached.
The face of his sister was a reassuring sight to see when his vision returned. Her worried look sent a wave of guilt deep down into his soul but was pushed aside for the more immediate concern at hand.
Shaking his head to clear any lingering discombobulation, he pressed a hand to his sister's shoulder. His eyes had regained their focus. His voice firm, and full of urgency befitting his station.
"Isara, report. What's happening out there?" he queried.
"A sniper struck from the building ahead. I didn't get to see much, but I heard the other tank firing its main gun," was her response.
The officer gave her a small nod in confirmation before tapping her shoulder twice, which in turn prompted her to return to her station in the driver's seat. Welks took a moment to compose himself and his uniform before looking through the tank's visual instruments.
Through the periscope, he noted that the building in front of him had buckled under the sustained fire of the other tank. The once dispersed debris cloud was now back, and even denser than before. Otherwise, the street and immediate area seem safe for now.
Still, that didn't mean he was going to make the same mistake twice. Taking a chance, he dialled the radio to a more general frequency and spoke through the comm again.
"This Lieutenant Gunther, Gallian Militia. Allied tank, respond," came his short, yet pointed address. He winced at the sharp static noise that came through the speaker but said nothing.
"Lieutenant Gunther, Sergeant Floyd. Boy, are we glad to see you mate," an accented voice reached him. "You couldn't have shown up any better than late, but we appreciate it. Beg your pardon, but I suppose you wouldn't happen to be the reason that it stopped raining shells now, yes?"
"That we are. We came in through east of the city. Most of the Imperials must've been caught under their own barrage, so we met little to no resistance when taking out the guns."
"Splendid!"
"Where's the rest of your unit? And shouldn't you be with infantry support?"
"Ah, about that; no clue ourselves on that either. We took a near-nasty hit at the start of the barrage. The blast caused a balcony to fall right on us, and it must've broken something that we haven't checked out yet. About the support, we should be the ones asking. Your Regulars disappeared just as soon as we drove out the Imps from their first strongpoint."
The young officer took the time to process this new information. His intellectual side recognised the beginnings of a series of problems, but it was quickly thrown under the rug for later. Afterall, they had more pressing matters to address.
"Can you and your men still fight?"
There was what sounded like a scoff. "'Course we can! I'd never 'ere the last of it from the captain if he were to find out we dropped out of an ass-whooping just because of a few scratches. Lead, and we will follow!"
Welkin didn't bother holding back his smile.
The rest of the sweep through the town went without so much as a hitch. In combination of the initial assault, the barrage and Welkin's own strike, the Imperials were only left with a few dazed and bewildered men that were much too shaken to do anything brash.
Of those that surrendered, the infantry had to get creative in binding them as well as ensuring that they wouldn't try anything funny when their backs were turned. This included scavenging the buildings for half-decent binders, or at worse simply locking them up with only their fatigues then destroying their kit to prevent recovery.
In their gradual search of the town, they had found two of the other 'Beasts' as Sergeant Floyd had put it. They were similar enough in shape and features, but the amount of damage they took varied greatly. The first they'd found had lost one of its tracks and had managed to survive by sheer virtue of being in an alleyway that was big enough to accommodate the tank on top of having debris form a makeshift shield around the tank. The second was in better condition, but the crew was too dazed from the shelling to be of any help, hence Welkin decided to leave a small contingent of his men to guard them until they recovered.
Eventually, they located a third tank that was in far better condition than the ones before it. Floyd had volunteered one of his men to disembark and inform the allied tank of their approach, which of great relief to the crewmen. They then explained that their captain, a man named Sawyer, had contacted through radio that the remaining elements of the attacking force were to evacuate and maintain guard around the main entrance into the town. Meanwhile, his tank and one other were going to continue the sweep around the city.
"I don't know about you lieutenant, but I'm not just gonna sit 'ere dawdling," Floyd spoke through the comm. "There ain't telling just how many Imps are still out there, and I doubt two tanks are enough for a dedicated search party."
"Likewise, sergeant. We still need to find out what happened to the Regulars anyways. Did your people happen to see them?"
"Nope, they disappeared just like ours did. Honestly, sir, they're dead. We have to accept that."
"Then we just have to find their bodies. I'm not letting them be left on their lonesome more than need be."
A sigh. "Wilco, lieutenant. Floyd out."
It was suggested that the other tank reposition itself to protect the other two damaged ones they'd encounter before. A brief look of surprise flashed on the face of the tank commander, but it was soon replaced by a more steely expression. Soon, the war machine was on the move down the path they'd taken.
The Gallians and their mercenary allies would continue to scour the town for the trail of Baker's lead tank, also known as Baker Actual or Beast One. However, their search led them to a far more grisly one first.
They were approaching the westside of the town now. By this point, the dust from the earlier artillery barrage had settled and there were also no more buildings eager to collapse on them. Hence, Welkin had ordered the men to disperse into a loose formation with Scouts taking the lead.
From within the confines of his tank, the lieutenant was pouring over a map of the town and detailing notes of their current course, starting from when they entered, up until their current position. He noted that by the time they reached the end of the current road, they only needed to turn a corner to finish a full circuit of the settlement.
That did little to lessen his worry. Afterall, they still had next to no sighting of Baker Actual, or the Regulars.
Screech.
All of a sudden, the Edelweiss lurched forward; Welkin nearly dropping the map and pencil he'd been using. He himself had caught his own momentum by bracing with his forearm on the gunner's optics.
Placing the map and pencil on his lap, he pressed his throat microphone.
"Isara, why the sudden halt? What's wrong?"
"It's the Scouts, Welks. Somethings wrong."
A look through the optics confirmed as much. He saw one of his men hunched over and doing what he assumed was emptying his stomach contents. Two more Scouts were beside him with one looking after the first and the other simply staring down the street, his rifle held limply by his side.
"Lieutenant, what's the hold up?" Floyd interrupted through the radio. His tank was at least ten to twelve meters behind them. The reason being that the sergeant wanted to avoid a situation where either tank could block the other from manoeuvring.
"Something's going on up front, stay with the rest. I'll go and check." He replied back.
"Roger."
Thumping once on the driver's compartment with his foot, Isara set the Edelweiss into motion at a cautious pace. Welks in the meantime traversed the turret to face down the road, he bit his lip in preparation for whatever was to come.
When they eventually turned the street, the young officer visibly froze, subconsciously swallowing a dry lump in his throat. He finally understood what had upset his man.
A thought occurred; they now knew the fate of their countrymen.
The entire street was in shambles. Buildings on either side collapsed, and the ground full of gaping mouths ready to swallow whole squads. But that wasn't what bother him.
It was the sight of the remains of the Regulars, in literal pieces; akin to a child after they'd smashed their collection of toy soldiers in a tantrum. Bits and pieces scattered on the sides, and some even on top of the rubble metres high above ground. Too few still had still had their heads attached, but their missing limbs and faces wrought in agony told a tale of a death that came too slow, and very, very painful. What blood leaked from the remains and hadn't dried up was absorbed by the exposed earth beneath the street, but he later learned from the men that the smell of rusted iron was thick in the air and many found it difficult to sleep that night.
A moment of time went by; it must've been long because the voice of his fellow tanker suddenly blasted through the radio.
"Oy, what's taking you so long over there?!" he demanded.
Welks shook himself out of his stupor, his words shaky. "W-We f-fun- FOUND the Regulars! T-They're dead…,"
"….Shit," the other man cursed. "What about Beast One?"
Gathering his strength, Welks peaked through the slits of the commander's cupola this time. Through the limited vision, there was something he noted that he must've missed earlier in his shock.
"Nothing yet, but there are tread prints in the ground. They could've passed through here." He reported through the radio.
"Well, step aside then. We're going through!"
"What!"
Turning around, Welkin noted that true to his word, Floyd was moving his tank down the street despite curses from the infantry that were forced to hastily move out of the way. Even the Edelweiss was forced to move forward a few metres to make way for the mercenary tank that was now turning the corner.
"WHAT ARE THEY DOING!?"
Rosie was shrieking. The songstress was shrieking, and unwittingly some of the melodious voice was used to emphasise even more horror as they watched their allies push through the formation and into the bloodied street where their fellow countrymen lay scattered all over the place.
Said tank was simply rolling over the gore and mud, as if they were mere ants underfoot. It stopped for none, whether it be crater, debris or body alike.
The Gallians could only watch in part disgust and also bafflement as the war machine made its way through the terrain. Only when it crushed a particularly large piece of masonry with a loud crunch that the spectators became snapped out of their trance. In particular, Alicia sprinted to the Edelweiss and clambered up its deck to the commander's cupola.
"Welks, Welks! Open up!" she hammered the hatch. In response, it opened, showing an equally bewildered Gunther who was wide-eyed and looking like he'd awoken from a dream.
"Alicia, what-,"
"No time!" she pointed to the other tank. "You have to stop them! Their running over the Regulars!"
He looked at the tank that was now almost across the street. His mouth opened and closed in almost muted speech as if an unseen force prevented him from a valid response.
"What?" the scout pressed.
"- can't."
"What?" she repeated.
This time, Welks looked her in the eye. "I can't Alicia, I'm sorry. When we were briefed on the mercenaries, it was mentioned that they made it clear that they wish for no intervention or inclusion into our command structure. They were adamant to maintain themselves as an independent fighting force, and they'll only engagement in matters of operation and campaign level decision making. They aren't obligated at all to listen to me."
"This is fucked up." said the driver.
"What is?" asked his assistant.
"The flesh grease, what do you think?" grumbled the driver. "It's going to take forever to remove them from the treads, you know that."
"Quit it down you two!" Sergeant Floyd snapped, as he continued to fumble with the device on his lap.
Jack Floyd, English immigrant, was fumbling the makeshift radio he'd cobbled together from parts he kept in the tank. Having spent his youth in apprenticeship to a local handyman on top of a creative mind, the creation of reliable equipment from scrap was second nature to him. The radio in his hand wouldn't replace their damaged one, but simply being able to receive any signal within a few dozen metres would do wonders to find their superior.
For his efforts, he was rewarded with a loud screech before a voice burst through the speakers.
"-ain Sawyer of Baker Company! My Sherman is under heavy infantry assault! We need help! Fucking now!"
The heads of his fellow tankers turned towards their commander in surprise at the sudden transmission. Shaking his own surprise away, Floyd was quick to re-establish authority.
"Driver! Full speed! Full speed!" he barked.
Beneath him, the M4 ground, like a beast awaiting its moment of fury. The sound did little to calm their nerves. Floyd, for that matter, took a chance and opened the hatch above him. That was when he earned the distant explosions and equally audible rapport of gunfire.
Floyd raised himself up and racked his Sherman's top mounted weapon.
Beast Three was equipped with a top mounted M1919. Baker Company rarely used top mounted machine guns. Instead, favouring additional protective layers in accordance with their preferred role as tank-to-tank combatants. Still, the sergeant had gotten away with mounting the machine gun with much convincing -and bribing to a lesser extent- to his superior.
Said superior who he could now see was in deep shit as they turned a corner of the road.
Beast One was all kinds of damage. From what he could see from the tank's flank, the tracks were destroyed, and it would seem they had a close encounter with this world's anti-tank weapons if the blast marks were any indicator. Worse, was that the main gun was blown off, leaving a stump for a barrel.
Their tank had arrived in the nick of time as well, for less than a dozen infantry were in the process of climbing the Sherman. Neither Floyd nor the bow gunner hesitated and unleashed a hailstorm of lead downrange, confident that the other war machine's hide was still thick enough to shield them from friendly fire.
Beast Three eventually slowed down as they neared the damaged tank and crept up the left side of the street, using the corner building for cover. The main gun was traversed first and fired a preemptive shot downrange the second the gunner had visuals of the enemy.
Apparently, the Imperial infantry had wavered the moment they saw their comrades shredded by an unseen opponent. The moment the other Sherman turned into the street, they quickly turned heel to run, but never got the chance as the high-explosive ordinance from the tank struck the ground behind them. Men were sent flying as the shell passed them, and then spun in mid-air as the blast shockwave sent them flying at the opposite end. Those lucky enough not to get caught were quick to drop their weapons and hold up their hands in surrender.
Both, Floyd and Sawyer's tank simply opened fire with their secondaries. None of the soldiers managed to voice a single cry of mercy.
The streets went quiet.
Through instinct and experience, Jack Floyd could tell this battle was over. Still, he didn't let his guard down so easily and took in deep breathes in the moment of silence. He counted ten exhalations before he released his grip on the mounted weapon.
He took the current opportunity to appraise the other tank and couldn't help but wince at what he saw. In addition to the blast marks, there were perhaps hundreds of smaller craters dotting the front and left side of the vehicle. Apparently, both of the tank's treads were blown out, with the right side extending out in a long line on the pavement in front of the tank. Worse still, was the smoke dissipating from the surface of the tank as if it had come straight out of hell. Floyd was betting on his currently non-existent salary that this was one machine out of commission for the rest of the war.
"Captain!" he cried out. "You alright, sir!"
The hatch for the commander's cupola opened. More smoke escaped the tank from within, and for a moment the sergeant feared the worst, until a face covered in soot emerged; the stiff-lipped, stern gaze of Sawyer revealed itself through the smoke.
The captain turned to his subordinate and asked. "What's the sitrep?"
"We're clear sir. Gallians took out the artillery, so we should be safe."
"Bullshit, we rolled over them earlier."
"There's another group. They followed us around whilst clearing the town. Beast Five and Eight are damaged but still operational. Beast Six pulled back to guard them."
Sawyer grunted in response. A lighter in hand as he lit a cigarette.
"Sir?" Floyd addressed.
"Hm?"
"Where's Beast Two?"
"They took a turn a while back," he paused to take a puff. "Last I heard they'd secure the square."
"Alright. And sir?" the sergeant added.
"What?" he grumbled.
"You look like shit."
Sawyer's response was to sniff and then throw the half-finished cigarette at him.
Hours later
It was nightfall when the rest of the allied forces moved into the town. The settlement was wrapped in darkness, save for the illumination from numerous vehicle headlights.
In another time, such acts would've been a cause for concern due to the possibility of the opposition being informed of their movements and taking action in the middle of the night. However, no such worry existed in the current epoch and world, in no small part thanks to a sky that belonged to no man.
Sawyer stood in the middle of town square, smoking a new cigarette. Behind him, the slumbering form of Beast Three. Her crew scurried about inspecting the damage taken and doing field repairs. His own tank was still lay immobilised in the western part of town, and the crew were eager for the recovery crews to come and pick them up.
The lead vehicle, a jeep carrying Captain McKay, Lieutenant Varrot and the new adjutant for the Gallian Regulars, Colonel Heinz. General Damon had been recalled back by Gallian High Command for other matters and had dedicated a new liaison in his stead to oversee the operations between the Gallian Regulars and their mercenary allies.
McKay was the first to approach him. There was a distinct irony in their current situation, with the leader of the infantry looking much cleaner than the leader of the armoured force.
"Captain McKay."
"Captain Sawyer."
The leader of Able took this as que to continue. "What's the sitrep?"
"Town's secured. The Reds are dead. Blues too." He took a long inhale. "Got that militia unit to thank for saving me and my boys."
"You met up with Squad 7?" Varrot queried. She was rewarded with a nod, before the tanker gestured to the Sherman behind him.
"They did," he remarked. "Floyd said they were good. That lieutenant of theirs was a bit slow, but he did alright in the end."
"You said something about Blues being dead," Heinz spoke up this time. "If you're referring to the infantry attached to your unit, I need to ask what happened to them?"
"Like I said, 'Blues too'," Sawyer quoted.
"Please elaborate, Sawyer." McKay pressed.
A frustrated sigh escaped the man's lips. "They were probably killed during the barrage. The last we saw of them; they were moving building to building and providing support wherever possible. Hell, we were wandering ourselves just where the hell were they before the shells started hammering us."
No longer eager to entertain anymore questions, Baker's captain pushed past the assembled officers and disappeared into the night. More vehicles were entering town by this point, and Sawyer prompted another oncoming four-wheeler to stop so that he could hitch a ride. This left the officers, the Sherman crew and the ever-growing number of military personnel flooding in.
Varrot and Heinz looked to McKay for revelation for his peer's antics, and the man reassured that this most likely had to do with fatigue from the day. After promising to get a more detailed report ready for reviewing tomorrow, the group dispersed to coordinate the rest of their respective forces.
After they'd confirmed that the captain of the mercenaries was found, Squad 7 had been quick to widen the distance between them and their new allies under the excuse of needing to ensure the town was truly safe for the soon to be entering relief forces.
They hadn't much to do by that point, as it was all but written that the Imperials had either fled the town or were all killed. Despite this, the group chose to use the exploration of the town as an excuse to avoid thinking of what their allies had done earlier that day.
Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said now as all of Squad 7 sat in peace and quiet near what once had been the site of the Imperial force's artillery battery. The remains of the Imperials were carefully placed a distance away from them for collection later. Now, they all enjoyed the silence; for many this had been their first taste of war, and there was a lot that needed to be grasped both mentally and physically."
Welks sat on the rear deck of Edelweiss reviewing the notes he'd made for himself in the quiet moments between fights. These included those that he was directly involved in and those where the squad fought in his to say. Suffice to say, the men and women under his command had performed splendidly.
"Welks?" a feminine voice spoke.
Sparing a glance, he noted the twin tailed girl looking at him.
"Oh, hey Alicia."
"Not joining for the festivities?"
"….No, I'm glad everyone is able to keep their spirits up, but I really need to go through these notes by tonight. Lieutenant Varrot would expect a report from me by sunrise tomorrow."
"Oh, okay then."
"….."
"….."
"….. So, do you mind if I came up there?"
"Certainly not," the young Gunther beckoned. "Come, make yourself at home."
This earned a small giggle from the Scout, who didn't hesitate on climbing up and sitting in front of him. There was a healthy amount of space between them for the sake of it, and also so as to not interrupt Welk's reading.
"So, where's Isara?" she asked.
"Asleep inside, she wants to wake a bit earlier than everyone else so that she can do some serious maintenance on the Edelweiss." Came the reply, his eye never leaving the sheet of paper he was reading.
Alicia nodded. She then shifted in her sitting, her gaze turned to the town, and suddenly a frown appeared.
"Welks, about what happened today….," she trailed off.
"I know," he sighed. "It's…. It's a lot to take in. I'm still trying to make sense and figuring how to explain that part myself."
"…. How could those mercenaries be that heartless?"
Welks placed his notes down and took a deep breath. "I'm not sure myself, but if there's anyone who could probably address this right, it's Varrot. I'll have her look into this."
Once again, Alicia nodded. "I'm glad about that at least."
The two sat in comfortable silence. It was a moonless night, and the only source of light came from lamps, torches and the occasional firepit that was lit. Nevertheless, no one felt the need to complain after such a strenuous day.
A/N: ….. So, it's been a while. I apologise for all of you who waited a long while. God, I feel so relieved finishing this. Sadly, there's still editing to do but screw I can do that tomorrow. Update comes first.
So yeah, I went a bit overboard for that last part so shouldn't be surprised if I have to change the rating. Earnestly, I find doing so kinda sucks since I fear the story may be missed by others who come onto the crossover section. Oh well, such is life.
Anyways, thank you to those who stuck around this long. You're patience is much appreciated, and I appreciate any and all constructive feedback.
Oh, and yes before I forget, Squad 7 is here! Yay, more headaches! They'll be around alright but I may keep their appearances at a low until I grow more confident in my writing capabilities.
