Hello, ITalkToSky here.
This is just an experimental story.
Story-wise, I chose Strike Witches because of the interesting world and the gripe I have about the story. The source material created a canvas that provokes my imagination, just like Mahouka Koukou no Rettousei with the bonus of World War 2 backdrop. However, it focused only on the witches in the air for an obvious reason. What about the common people on the ground? The world is viewed through a lens of Aces, where they are unlikely to suffer many casualties. What about infantrymen then? If even the un-neuroified Yamato with its supporting fleet fared so poorly against a Neuroi, the infantry attrition rate would be so high to pierce the heaven. There was no mention of proper combat doctrine for infantry that I know of. Correct me if I am wrong. The only hint I must visualize the combat on the ground is in Operation Victory Arrow where Perrine fought against Neuroi on the ground with infantry weapons.
There was also a quote from Edytha Roßmann that drove me up the wall. To deter Karibuchi Hikari, she recalled one of her students who could never fly again from insisting to fight even with low magic power. A direct quote is that "one the battlefield, people lacking combat ability bring only sadness to themselves and those around them." Take that however you will.
Plot-wise, this story centered around Lunaire alone for the moment. Whisked from his fantasy land, he arrived in a strange war against the unknowable enemy. As a premier magician of Gensokyo, he holds tremendous power and knowledge to shift the tide of war, but is there any incentive for him to commit? As a character, I want to explore the perspective of an overpowered character in a more holistic approach.
I want to highlight the sense of detachment from the fact that he has no stake in the conflict. His beloved Gensokyo is safe regardless of whether the humanity of this world lives or dies. His main priority is returning to where he truly belongs. It might be selfish not to save men and women dying in drove just to earn humanity's right to exist, but he had neither the reason nor obligation to them. This is not his world that he grew up in. Lunaire is, in my opinion, not someone to sacrifice years upon years of his life just for countless millions he will never know. This is in stark contrast to Gensokyo where he can confidently claim of knowing more than half the residents there, excluding the fairies and spirits.
With the great disparity in power, Lunaire will not be truly in danger. While this may give a sense of empowerment to some character, he will be more and more guilt-laden. And when people lauded him for his "sacrifice and fearlessness in face of death," he knew he was not in danger in the first place, thus undeserving of the credit and praise. It is one thing to charge a machinegun nest as an infantry. It is a different thing entirely in a tank, granted there is no anti-tank gun around.
Finally, there is the aspect of holding back power. It is a cool moment when the main character whipped out their overpowered ability to save everyone's biscuits just in time and then the people feel thankful. But no, one day, Lunaire will be too late to act. People will resent him for it if he does not do anything about it. Something that he may not like…Maybe I should rename this story, "Lunaire must suffer."
If you are wondering whether you will get some witches from Canon World of Witches into the story, the answer is yes, but down the line. I believe you can guess who roughly which Joint Fighter Wing is going to encounter him first from the location and title of the arc alone. However, I currently do not have a plan for him to join any of the JFW.
As for why this is a Touhou crossover, it was because Lunaire was a character so integrated into that franchise that I cannot operate him outside that ruleset. My stories all have Touhou elements, so I can hardly write without that. Also, I do not want to waste time developing new sets of abilities for a new character without making it so out of the blue.
As for the Touhou timeline, Lunaire experienced the event up to Legacy of Lunatic Kingdom. That may be subjected to change, but I will run with that for now. Please do not confuse this with Mahouka timeline where the modern event with Reimu is delayed by a hundred years or so, this one followed the standard Touhou timeline. Since Lunaire was born in the 1980s, he should be in his late thirty chronologically. Expect him to be slightly less mature in his outlook than the one shown in Mahouka's story. He did not have decades upon decades to come to terms with the loss of his godfather at the hand of his blood sister.
Oh and come say hi in discord!
Discord invite code: nSMHjar
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Lunaire groaned and curled up like a shrimp, shivering. Lacking the springiness of a proper mattress and the fresh scent of clean linen, his body felt all mushy and damp. Something grainy was scratching his body with every movement. Also, the cold, oh god, the cold gnawed angrily at his bone. The magic heater could not have been busted. Patchouli, for all her inactivity, was not merely a freeloader but a resident magician, conscientiously maintaining any magical devices under her scope. Then, there was the physical inability for the interior of Scarlet Devil Mansion to ever be that cold.
In the first place, it was supposed to be in the middle of summer. Even at night, the heat and humidity clung in the air like thick syrup. Without using cooling magic, Lunaire would melt like a popsicle both day and night. The climate in Gensokyo was rather stable for the most part, even if some incident like with Tenshi could throw it out of whack. Though, the condition indoor would generally be unaffected in that case.
Lunaire balled up his body and tugged his silk pajamas in close to preserve as much body heat wherever possible. He opened his eyes to a greeting of harsh brightness. Not the calming yellow of the morning nor the dim orange reminiscent of the evening, the glaring midday sunlight burned into his retina. He squinted his eyes and looked down to the grainy dirt he laid on. Unless he went senile, he distinctly remembered tucking into the sheets of a luxurious canopy bed and not a dirt hole somewhere. He saw a bit of snow around too, adding to the growing confusion.
Then came the stench that made him gag softly. He was not familiar with the smell. But for the better of the worst, he could recognize it any day. This acrid and metallic smell clung heavily in the air. It was the smell of blood, bile, and spilled viscera. Something was gutted in the vicinity in a particularly brutal manner or in grossly large quantity. If that did not wake Lunaire up, nothing else would. He rolled into prone and stilled.
If there was one thing that remained just the way Lunaire remembered, it was his bright cyan silk pajama. Contrasting strongly with the dirt, he stuck out like a sore thumb to anyone with functional eyeballs. Out of all the colors he had, it just had to be that one. Lunaire bit down a curse and peered over the edge of the dirt hole he was in. Blinking, once, twice, thrice, the image registered just fine, but his mind adamantly refused to compute.
Lunaire had visited many places in Gensokyo, even the more obscure ones. So, he attested with full confidence that there was no town or city like this in Gensokyo. Flanking his two positions were rows of tall buildings, around two to four stories tall. Made of whitish brick and stone, some sported awnings, balcony framed with a wrought iron fence, or decorative relief. The architecture screamed of older, but not ancient, European style. More importantly, the buildings were in various states of damage. Marks of small impacts, various sizes of larger holes, and black soot marred the side of about every structure.
On the street level, the brick-paved road was in a similar state. Pothole and larger craters scattered about the entire surface. Lunaire realized he was probably lying in one of those. The rubbles from the buildings piled up intermittently along the entire length of the street, leading up to a large barrier completely blocking off the entire width. Lunaire saw smoldering wreckage of what could only be a car and squinted his eyes. No one else was in sight.
This is definitely not Gensokyo. We build our building primarily with wood and there is no car either. The Kappas have already developed a steam engine, but a small internal combustion engine is still a while off.
Youkai magician was known for the sharp mind. Lunaire's branch of research involved quite a bit of calculation, but even he failed to calculate this. After sleeping normally in the mansion, he inexplicably ended up in the middle of a warzone not in Gensokyo, wearing nothing but cyan pajama. Who would have thought that one could cross the Hakurei Barrier by merely sleeping? Actually, there was that one called Sumireko, but Lunaire did not want to even think about that troublemaker.
Back to the topic at hand, Lunaire exaggerated a little. His silk pajamas were the only visible articles following him on this trip, but he still had a few doodads stashed away in his small dimensional storage. Given his budding knowledge in the area, the total volume was quite small, only able to contain his favorite staff, grimoires, and selected critical reagents. It was sorely inadequate for any trip of appreciable length, but the magician was grateful to have anything at all.
Lunaire shelved the question of how he got there was shelved for later. As a start, he minimized the target profile and strained his passive magical sense to the maximum. Such mode of detection was the most discrete, involving listening to the ebbs and flows of mana in the surrounding, not dissimilar to a submarine electric ear. In a strange situation like this, highlighting his own position by sending out mana ping was not the smartest option even if it would yield a better sensitivity.
To Lunaire's delight, the mana flow seemed laughably tame compared to Gensokyo. Multiple apocalyptic beings employing their power wantonly daily tended to stir up the pond. This, thankfully, extended the effective range of his passive sense. Lunaire breathed out a sigh of relief, knowing that there was nothing of note in the immediate proximity. Any form of detection could be fooled, but he at least had some confidence that nothing was going to jump him in the next minute. Though, the magician could not completely relax. Out in the yonder, there were numerous contacts, some distinctly human and other not. Lunaire could not quite identify the strange unknown but opted to leave the matter for later. They were out of his hair at that moment.
Rising to a crouch and hugging one side of the street, Lunaire followed the scent of death and decay toward the blocked off a section of the road. It was not the wisest choice, but the quickest way to determine what was going on in the area. As he inched his way across, he looked up to the sign on the many storefronts on the way. It was Russian. For the most part, he could read the language. Several quality grimoires were written in Russian. Though speaking was a different matter entirely. Lunaire prayed the locals would be lenient and apologized for when he would inevitably butcher the pronunciation.
Still, how on Earth did I slip from Gensokyo to Russia? What the Shikieiki's slapping stick is going on?
Cresting the large pile of rubble blocking off the street, Lunaire was greeted with another sight that raised another frown. He was correct in his initial assessment that this was a warzone. Soldiers in two different uniforms were strewn about the entire length of the street beyond the rubble. Some collapsed near the barricades further back, while others lied limply against the walls. Most of these clutched their weapons in a death grip, likely died fighting. Those were the lucky ones with intact corpses. The other unlucky bastards were ripped apart. Loose limbs and torsos soaked in the pool of blood on the ground. Lunaire witnessed many deaths before, some more gruesome than others, though never in this number. This gave him a pause, but nothing more. Rather he found his attention on a different matter entirely.
One side wore mustard yellow uniforms. Their tunic and trousers appeared rough and rugged, complete with black heavy boots. They wore various headgears, including hats, helmets, and ushanka-hats. They were Russian alright, but their uniform looked a little too shabby for the Russian Federation, Lunaire thought. On some, he could barely make out the red four-prong stars on some of the markings, which was quite strange. Russian generally were more associated with the red star with five prongs.
The other side wore a primarily greyish-green uniform. Their tunic sported four pockets and the belts around their waist hung equipment belt and ammunition pouches. Most of the soldiers wore a steel helmet, while some opted for a small cloth hat. Though, the most striking detail was the embroidery on the right chest of their uniform and the cap, the striking motif of an eagle spreading its wings with something in its claws. At that point, something clicked.
Lunaire generally had no special interest in World War II. Yet, for its sole merit as the most destructive conflict in the history of mankind, there were more than a few books about it even in Meister estate. From little he read about the event, he remembered the illustration of the uniform of the Wehrmacht, one of the more striking images one could encounter.
The Nazi? If this is a joke, now is the time to stop. What now, the Soviet Red Army?
Lunaire chuckled mirthfully before remembering about the red star motif. Added with the wind they blew the scent right into his face, he was left gagging softly. Surveying the carnage again, Lunaire's expression was stuck somewhere between deadpan and utter confusion.
Climbing over the rubble, the magician knelt beside the bodies of the soldiers closest by and inspected their weapons. Although Lunaire understood the operating principle of firearms and a rough idea of what rifle, submachine gun, and the machine gun was, he knew next to nothing about identifying each of them. There was only one exception. The infamous silhouette of "Hitler's Buzzsaw" was still recognizable enough even when caked in dirt. There were a few of those lying around the area, though most of them looked slightly different and sported a circular perforated tube around the barrel, not the boxy frame as he remembered.
Did I get sent through time?
That was not an unthinkable prospect. The flow of time was mysterious. For most existences, the passage of time was linear. Yet for those who dabbled in the art, there was much more down that rabbit hole, enough to induce madness in all but the most resolute. Manipulation of time flow on a smaller scale through dilation and contraction was possible, demonstrated daily by Sakuya. There was even a story of Mizue no Uranoshimako, who managed to reach dragon palace and returned many centuries after he had left. On a side note, said dragon palace was actually the Lunar Capital. Even with many stories including elements about temporal shenanigans, anything about traveling backward in time was much more elusive.
No, I refuse.
Time-traveling was impossible. Lunaire was a major proponent that anything that could happen would eventually happen. His magic operated on such principal. However, although time could dilate and contract from the effect of gravity and magic, he could not swallow the concept of time traveling backward. It was nothing on a theoretical level, but something Lunaire could not agree with on a personal and philosophical level. If one could go back in time, would that not make the present meaningless? If any mistake could be undone, was there any meaning left to making the best choice in the present? It was a rather bias and stubborn view for a magician, beings who swore to acquire as much knowledge of the world they could, but Lunaire was not that much different from humans in many areas.
Lunaire quickly concluded that he was trapped in some kind of illusion or more impressively, a type of miniature realm like Senkai or Former Hell with World War 2 theme. It was questionable that someone would create something of that nature, but it sounded a lot more convincing and palatable than time travel.
Even if high-level illusion could not be dispelled in such manner, the magician found himself instinctively pinching himself and wincing in pain. None of the dispelling arias he recited did anything. The mana flow in the surrounding seemed normal, albeit exceptionally thin. After mumbling through a small booklet worth of spells, he had little choice but to give up. Although the possibility of a powerful illusion could not be completely dismissed, Lunaire concluded it likely that he was trapped in a separate realm from Gensokyo, created by someone of respectable power. Of course, this depended greatly on the size of this place with mana expenditure increasing accordingly. It could just be one city to a small country or unthinkably, an entire eastern front. Lunaire dreaded to think of mana needed to create and maintain such large-scale recreation.
Since it is almost impossible to hide from the creator with direct authority over the realm, I better not give them a reason to go looking for me. I hope my silent running technique is not too rusty. I had no opportunity to practice it much in Gensokyo as the high background mana made hiding much easier than it should have been.
First order of business, Lunaire had to look the part. The bright cyan pajama had to go. Though for sentimental value, he stuffed it into his dimensional pocket as one of the few original possessions that followed over. After much deliberation, Lunaire chose to wear the Wehrmacht uniform. At the very least, he could pass for a German, both in terms of looks and language, and avoid dealing with the possibly trigger-happy commissar. With any luck, he hoped to extricate himself from any immediate danger and find someplace to muster his thought on the method to leave that place.
The magician dragged the body of the soldiers with the least injury and the most unassuming uniform into the wrecked storefront with a relatively open interior. The marking denoting the different ranks seemed to be on the shoulder, so he picked the one with no marking at all. Most likely, no marking denoted someone of the lowest rank like private or the equivalent. It would not be too strange for them to go missing in the middle of the chaos of war and the Wehrmacht probably would not keep too close a tab on the lowliest of enlisted men. Before putting it on though, he cleaned out the blood, grime and mended the holes most likely responsible for the previous wearer's demise. Unfortunately for him, he could not clean it completely though as a pristine uniform would stand out in a warzone like this. It pained him to wear such filthy clothes.
The fabric scratched roughly against the skin, but the added thickness warded off the cold somewhat. The tunic and trousers fitted right with enough room to not be uncomfortable. Lunaire spent the most time finding the right size of boots. With a good deal of marching and running around, it was best not having to fight against his very own shoes. For the helmet, he did not have a particularly big head and picked the first one after a bit of cleaning. Then, he found a problem.
Frankly, even though Lunaire did not take particularly good care of it and the length proved to be a hassle sometimes, anyone would grow attached to the hairstyle they wore almost their entire life. He kept it at midback length, so cutting it would be too much a waste. With limited options, tying them into a ponytail with a shoelace and tucking it beneath the collar would have to do. Of course, he cleaned it thoroughly with magic.
With the uniform straightened out, the next came the weapons. In a recreation of war, it was highly likely to find other soldiers around. There were the old reliable offensive spells, but that would leave unacceptable mana trace. Reinforcing his physical a little bit was acceptable. Firing explosive fireball was not.
Even if Lunaire rarely handled a gun, he figured he could probably scare people off before running away. With so many lying about, the options were plenty. It was probably common to use pilfered equipment when pressed, but on the off chance someone asked, going with something of German origin seemed like a better idea.
The rifle was a hard pass. Lunaire doubted he would even remember to cycle the bolt after each shot. Their length also proved unsuited for a close-quarter city fight. A functional weapon was always better in case I ran into a fight. With that said…he could use it as a spear if there was some bayonet lying around. The idea was quickly shelved, however. Lunaire was highly proficient fighting with long staff and spears but using that to defeat multiple opponents with guns would stand out, to say the least.
The first choice was the MG-42. It was the only definitively German firearm Lunaire recognized. There were examples lying around, so he just mimicked how the ammunition belt looked like in the feed tray to reload. The charging handle seemed self-explanatory. Of course, it seemed way less intuitive in practice. Unlike his previous conception about the firearm, he never had to deal with finicky things like ammunition belts before. Afraid of making too much noise, he refrained from test firing and simply hoped it would work when needed.
The problem with longer barrel remained though, so Lunaire turned to the submachine gun. Not knowing which was which, he just picked up the lighter one with a box magazine. The marking on the metal part suggested that this was an MP-40, meaning absolutely nothing to the magician. This one was simpler to wrangle with. The magazine went in, the bolt pulled back and the gun appeared good to go.
The next half hour was spent scavenging supplies on the streets. As a clueless amateur, the youkai magician conscientiously checked every ammunition box to match with the guns he chose. Even with a good memory, this was his first-time handling World War 2 era equipment. Magazines were scavenged from the guns lying about. The grenade had the decency to look one, so he had little problem identifying them. Even if he would never admit it straight up, he crossed his fingers, hoping not to accidentally pull the pin on one. On that note, some of them did not even have one. Like the stick grenade that had a string somewhere to tug on. The magic barriers would save him if anything went south, but he could do without the embarrassment and uninviting attention.
Fourteen magazines for MP-40 were found in various states of use. Consolidating the half-full ones, Lunaire awkwardly fought against the spring to load the rounds and learned the hard way that the magazine only held 32 rounds. The spring was quite stiff, so he thought it was normal and tried to force in one more round. With the subtle use of spell enhancing physical strength, it did not end so well for that poor magazine. In the end, Lunaire had eight full, one half-full, and a handful of empty ones. There was plenty, given that he had no intention to open fire, ideally.
For the MG-42, Lunaire scavenged up two large ammunition cans, one 100-round belt, and 3 magazines. Interestingly, the drums were merely a holder for 50-round-belt. Some of them were not completely loaded, so he replaced them with the ones from the ammunition box. Inwardly, he debated whether he needed them all. On one hand, nothing would ever be enough to satisfy the infamous 1200 rounds per minute fire rate. On the other, Lunaire only bought the gun along to look convincing as a German soldier.
16 stick grenades, about 5 can-like Soviet grenades, 3 "Nebelgranate" or fog grenades, 1 big grenade that looked like a giant can of Spam on a stick, a large water canteen, and some rations lined up on the dusty floor. Carrying all these on his person was utterly impossible, though perhaps highly comical. Lunaire's hoarding sense protested vehemently against leaving anything behind, however. Resigned, he carefully opened the dimensional storage and stuffed in as much grenade as it could comfortably fit and carried the rest in a pilfered rucksack.
Lunaire thought humorously. Should he ever had to throw all the explosives on hand, his enemies would be utterly baffled about where all these grenades came from.
As Lunaire packed, his thought began wondering about the question raised during the scavenging. The Wehrmacht and Red Army did not appear to be fighting each other. Instead, it looked like they fought together. At first, he thought they engaged in some vicious melee and ended up dying together. However, the direction of their makeshift barricades and machinegun position faced the same direction and no dead body could be seen in the direction of fire. Rather than one side defending against another, they more likely manned the position together. He wondered what was happening. Wehrmacht and Red Army were mortal enemies.
And the damage to the structures was strange. The explosion usually caused bricks and stones to shatter. However, Lunaire spotted signs of the melted or glassed materials. The energy required for such a feat was out of place on the battlefield of World War II.
Was there someone else?
Lunaire pondered about the strange signature he detected earlier. They were nothing like any he had ever encountered before. Over the years in Gensokyo, Lunaire met a wide variety of Youkai, each with presence unique to their species. There was variation between individuals, of course. None of them matched the ones he sensed. These emitted very weak mana signature that could be described as static white noise. They were quite numerous too. Almost a hundred of them scattered around the city, about the same as the human population in this city.
The low number of living humans was also disconcerting. For a warzone, Lunaire expected more people around. Around hundreds of them concentrated on the northeastern sector of the city. At first, he thought that the frontline had already progressed past this city and those were merely the garrison force. However, the fresh corpses made that prospect unlikely. The firefight had concluded very recently, thus the main troops could not have moved too far.
The choice was made. This situation got several notches more bizarre and Lunaire thought he would need all the help he could get. Slinging the MG-42 over his shoulder and dangling the MP-40 in the front, the magician set off on his way.
The contacts led Lunaire deeper into either the residential or commercial district. The dense urban structures provided a good path to move around without ever touching the ground. Enhancing his bodily strength to withstand the weight, he bound from roof to roof. Apart from the embarrassing episode of cracking an old tiled roof when he landed on one foot with all that mass on his back, everything seemed great so far.
When the owner returns, tell him it was just a random bullet…
Then, Lunaire heard a series of loud pops and cracks. Even a magician like himself had a rough understanding that those were gunshots and dove for cover. The pops continued and sounded rather soft, coming from the direction of his destination. Peering into the mana stream, he sensed a group of unknown closing in toward the humans. Unmistakably, they were fighting. Lunaire redoubled his speed.
The cacophony grew louder. Lunaire found his hands sweating against the MP-40. For the last time, he tapped the magazine as if it would ensure the gun feed correctly. The fighting was merely the next street over, just beyond the next row of townhouses. The signature of the unknowns grew in intensity. The grating on his nerve forced out an annoyed growl from him. Leaping across the street onto the next row of buildings, Lunaire suppressed the grunt when the massive weight of the rucksack again slammed onto his backs. He needed something that fitted more snuggly with the body. The clattering was fortunately drowned out by the sound of a gunfight. Tucking the rucksack on the flatter corner of the roof, be crawled up and peered over the ridge on to the street below.
What in Shikieiki's name is that?
Trudging on the street beneath me was a column that could possibly be called as one-story high ants made of glass-like material. Just like the regular variety, they sported three pairs of legs, thorax, and abdomen. The head section had a pair of glowing red eyes but lacked the mandibles and antennas. The ants marching at the front of the column were flaking white fragments all over.
Lunaire looked down the length of the street and saw a building at the intersection. Yellow flashes could be seen from three windows. The human soldiers were lighting up these ants with a machinegun. Enhancing his eyes momentarily, he saw that the two gunners were wearing the Wehrmacht uniforms while the other one wore the Red Army's. The hypothesis from earlier was correct. Both armies were fighting something else.
Whoever created this place took heavy artistic liberty…and lots of drinks…lots and lots of drinks. More than anyone not Slavic or Finns or named Ibuki Suika had any right to.
The glassy ants proved to be remarkably resilient. The exterior was tough enough that the machinegun bullets could only break off little pieces at a time and not simply penetrating straight through. On top of that, the inflicted wound regenerated at a visible rate. Though not invincible, it seemed. A few ants perished under the withering gunfire, shattered completely into the white fragments. Before they were gone, they were suffering from deeper wounds on their abdomen, exposing their glimmering innards, hinting at their weak point.
The rest in the column, numbering five, pushed on toward the machine gun nest. Then, suddenly came the pause. The two German machineguns' barrels glowed bright red as the crew hurriedly replaced it. With only a Russian gunner on station, the ants gained ground rapidly. One of them suddenly stopped its advance and its eye glowed.
What followed was the moment of fascination and horror. A red lump coalesced before its eyes and lanced out like a beam toward the building. With a violent bang, the second floor of the building exploded. The ant missed the Russian gunner on the second floor, but the concrete spalling wounded the man. With all the gun silenced, the handful of the glassy monstrosity advanced with gusto.
There was no mana residue when that fired, so it was most likely an honest-to-god scientific plasma…an honest-to-god plasma! Whoever thought this was a good idea is operating somewhere even Eirin's strongest hallucinogen could not get to.
Their position was about to be overrun and with them, the chance of making sense of the logic in this realm. Also, even if Lunaire was no longer fully human, he aligned himself fully with them in this case. Unslinging the MG-42, the magician leveled the barrel toward the backs of the ants. With the steep angle of the roof, the bipod was useless except as a foregrip. Lunaire breathed with slight difficulty from the strange posture he was forced into. Lining up the front sight with the strange-looking rear sight, he squeezed the trigger.
The machinegun let out gushes of flame and thunderous roars while lurching violently in his hands. Lunaire expected a kick, but not the noise and the sense of unease from the gun escaping his grip. Two rounds from an entire burst found their mark on the ant. In his defense, he at least hit the target he aimed at.
Alright, physical enhancement, short burst…
The burst connected, causing that ant to turn around as if offended. Lunaire struggled to maintain the sight on target for the successive shots. After what seemed like an eternity, his effort was reward when the target shattered into million pieces…and the attention of the other four. The magician vaulted over the roof and slid down without looking back. Four flashes of red lanced forth into the blue sky. Only one impacted the roof to the left, peppering him with debris.
They can't aim…but neither, can I.
Rising to his feet, Lunaire climbed back up to the ridge and fired back. Through strafing side to side on an uneven slope and looking down the lurching sight, a few burst every two or three seconds were the limit. The ants faced his way too, so their abdomens proved a difficult target. That was their critical error, however.
Turning to face a poor marksman like Lunaire was also presenting their juicy rears to the hungry gunners. Not a moment sooner, the hail of bullet ripped into their glassy hides. Just to add to the excitement and against his better judgment, Lunaire kept the trigger held down, emptying the drum onto the street below. Whether it was worth it or not, only he knew.
With one issue squared away, Lunaire hopped over the ridge onto the other side of the roof and waved toward the machinegun nest. Even with discrete magical shielding, it was a little nerve-racking to be on the opposite end of the barrels. Lunaire breathed a silent sigh of relief, seeing the other side waving back jovially. There were more than just three in the buildings and they too exposed themselves.
Friendly faces at last. I hope they have the answers I need.
Jumping back across to collect his rucksack, Lunaire froze when he registered another contact closing in fast. The presence resembled those ants, but much larger and giving off a sense of unease. Ditching the previous plan, he cocked the gun and loaded a fresh drum. By this time, the approaching monster announced its presence with the tremor of the Earth and a shrieking cry. He peeked over right the moment it rounded the corner onto the main street. Rather than an ant, this one looked like a spider. Two-section-body, eight legs, its size was up to three-story. Rather than a normal head, it had two hydra-like long necks, terminating in two red eyes each. In his opinion, it looked mighty ugly.
Lunaire bit down a curse. The firefight did not go unnoticed and this ugly thing came to investigate. He quickly glanced over to the silent machinegun nest and stowed his own MG-42. If the bullets struggled to damage the smaller ants from the front, they would fare much worst against this towering monster.
Well…glad I brought that fat grenade.
Speaking of fat grenade, Lunaire meant it. The other grenade models amounted to something less than a kilogram. He reckoned that this can of Spam on a stick weighted a whopping four. If the explosive made up most of the mass, Lunaire wondered if a regular human could throw one far enough to not be turned into chunky salsa themselves.
After unscrewing the fuse cap of the fat grenade and gripping it like a hammer, Lunaire inched his way up the roof to see the spider strutting about like it owned the place. The men in the machinegun nest smartly stayed put.
If nothing goes wrong…I just jinxed it, didn't I?
Answering his expectation, the giant hydra-spider hybrid began charging up its weaponry. The baleful red light cackled violently above the red hexagons on its heads. Within a heartbeat, it fired. Unlike the ants, the spider spat out a stream of plasma instead of a singular bolt. Treating it like a garden hose, it gorged deep gashes into the buildings lining the avenue leading to the machinegun nest. The monstrosity did not know the exact location of the soldiers. Unfortunately, there were only so many places it could spray before hitting the jackpot.
You better be grateful. It is not every day I become a distraction.
Pressing himself flat against one of the chimneys, Lunaire patiently observed the flow of mana, seeing the spider without ever exposing his own body. Carrying on with the passive sonar analogy, at such proximity, the range, bearing, and even the exact shape could be made out. Beyond the mass of bricks and stone, he sensed something else, ominous, and pulsing. The sensation originated somewhere from its thorax, not the abdomen. Lunaire almost wasted the only fat grenade on the wrong part.
Pulling on the cotton ball dangling off the bottom of the stick, Lunaire strained his sense even as his heart bounded. Unsure of the fuse timer, he relied on his sense to track the spark of heat within the grenade. After two seconds passed, however, Lunaire changed his mind and simply lobbed the lump of explosive with his enhanced strength. Although he knew exactly where the flame was, he could not say the same about the detonator and thus the length of time he had left before it blew.
The explosive arced through the air. It would have looked normal to any outside observer if not for the fact that the charge weighing more than four kilograms effectively flew. The movement was also rather unnatural. From the height it reached, the forward momentum would cause the bomb to grossly overshoot the target, yet it plummeted like a brick after reaching the apex of the throw.
The blast wave rattled Lunaire's teeth. Even when covering his ears, being so close to exploding four kilograms charge still caused them to ring, bring out a sense of appreciation for the magical protection he normally took for granted.
There was a sharp ping, followed by a cascading sound of shattering glass. The ominous presence on his sense quickly melted away into perfect silence, telling of the spider's demise. Lunaire poked his head up and kept vigil until the smoke cleared up, revealing empty street below. Then, he smiled in satisfaction. He defeated many foes greater than this beast, yet there was something about doing so at a disadvantage, mostly. Although the magician cheated a little bit, it was dead. He was not. He would take that as a win any day.
That simplified things. Less running around.
Rather than moving toward the machinegun nest, Lunaire made a beeline toward one of the buildings on the side of the main street instead, sensing the main concentration of human presence. The soldiers smartly kept the place they live separate from where they fought. The machinegun tended to attract plasma fire after all.
As he neared, the magician caught sight of a human at the front door and paused slightly at the sight of a Red Army soldier standing at attention. He saluted as Lunaire neared. Lunaire fumbled a bit before returning the gesture. After a glance at Lunaire's shoulder straps, the Red Army soldier's eyes narrowed in mirth.
"I do not know if you have big balls or tiny brain, comrade, but great kill."
Lunaire blinked in confusion, hearing perfect English sans the thick Russian accent from the man, but jested right back. "I do not like comparing size. It tends to make people jealous."
"Ha! Listen to this guy. Come right on in. Would not want any more Neuroi come knocking." He said as he held the door open.
Neuroi…so that is what they are called. In all the records and grimoires that I have read, there is no mention of such a term, nor a beam shooting monstrosity for that matter. Not that the library at the mansion has everything under the sun. The literature from the mundane side is quite lacking. Still, I bet my Hihiirokane that Neuroi is not part of history.
As Lunaire was lost in his thought, the Russian man roared like a bear. "Give this man a hero's welcome."
"Ura!"
Lunaire took a step back, stunned by the fervor in the eyes of the soldiers, Wehrmacht and Red Army alike. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder without any hint of awkwardness. The Neuroi really put the fear of God in them it seemed, enough to stop savaging each other.
Or is this merely the machination of the power that created this…simulation?
"Shut up all of you! Do you want to call every damn Neuroi around on us? Huh?! Verdammt Viktor! Are you not satisfied you almost got us all killed once today?"
The soldiers parted like the red sea, revealing a man in fieldgrau-colored uniform. Lunaire did not know the exact rank his shoulder straps denoted but roughly guessed from the level of deference from the rest of the men. The man gave them all stink eyes, huffed before turning to Lunaire. His stern gaze forced even the magician to straightened up ever so slightly.
"S-sorry sir," the Russian soldier replied as he snapped to attention. After a brief staredown, the German officer diverted his attention to the silver-haired magician.
"Nice job out there, grenadier, taking out that heavy on your own. If I am a commissioned officer, I would give you a field promotion and apply on your behalf for a medal."
These Russians and German all seemed to understand English. Most of them did not seem to rank highly on the totem pole either. With the volatile political landscape during World War II, Lunaire found it very surprising for the common drafted citizens to be fluent in a foreign language. In this case, it worked in their favor, allowing them to work together against a common foe.
"Thank you, sir." Lunaire answered in English, playing along with the script. "I did what I must."
"Keep it up, soldier." The man eyed me from head to toe as if performing an impromptu inspection. His soft frown made his expression difficult to gauge. Before long, he smiled. "Almost forgot, I am Oberfeldwebel Kaleb Schauer of the 323rd. I am currently the acting leader of these men."
"A pleasure to see friendly faces, Oberfeldwebel Schauer. G-Grenadier Lunaire Vivian Meister, at your service. My unit is…" The magician trailed off, lowering his head so that the helmet concealed the eyes. The solemn act quickly earned a nod of understanding. They presumed that his entire unit was wiped out and he wished not to talk about it for the moment. Using the moment, Lunaire redirects the conversation. "Are we all that are left, sir?"
The grim silence was almost painful. Lunaire hit the nail on the head and reminded them of the bleak reality they were facing. So many perished, leaving these mere thirty men outgunned and outnumbered in a city infested with bizarre monsters. Three-fourth appeared to be Wehrmacht soldiers, while the rest came from the Red Army. All of them looked understandably worst for wear.
Lunaire knew of other pockets of survivors but elected not to speak of them. He had no answer if they inquired about the source of his intel, thus his only choice was to continue the charade.
"Retreated or…"
"The attack was so sudden…The Neuroi overran our defensive lines within hours. I doubt many even got the chance to run." Oberfeldwebel grimaced softly.
Well, this is a rather difficult situation. From the rough estimate of the human life sign in the area, compared to the presence of Neuroi, the city is completely lost. There are few pockets of survivors like this one, but if all the Neuroi are capable of what I saw…they will soon be liquidated.
"Should we withdraw from the city, sir?"
"Unfortunately, Grenadier, we do not have enough intel to consider such an option. The Neuroi could have pushed our lines back so far beyond the city premise that it might take days just to see any more friendly faces. Without knowing what to expect, I like my odds here than out in the open field outside the city." Schauer explained. The other less decorated men nodded along.
"Supplies, sir? How many days of ration and water do we have left? What about ammunition?"
Oberfeldwebel stared at Lunaire as if he was some type of unusual animal. The magician spoke a little too impassively and detached for a green recruit when he dropped those questions. It almost seemed like Lunaire was demanding a situation report, not the other way around. Thankfully, they did not take offense.
"With our current number, we should last at least two weeks under strict rationing. As for the ammunition, there can never be enough. It is hard to scavenge for anything useful with Neuroi crawling about. Most of our patrols usually got caught and had to bring the bastards back to the kill zone over here." Schauer cursed under his breath. "If we had to deal with any more of those, before long, we will have to start beating them with our empty guns and bayonets."
Those are some despairing statements in quick succession. Strictly rationing can keep people alive, but probably not in the shape to effective fight. Their weapons are also running out of ammunition. With neither the strength of mind and body nor the tool to defend themselves, their chance of survival is low indeed.
"What about you? Do you have anything to report?" The same Russian who greeted me at the entrance asked. "Junior sergeant, Vikentiy Vladislavovich Kozar, by the way."
"Pleasure to meet you, sir. Unfortunately, I did not have much to report. I regained my consciousness a good while after the Neuroi overran the defensive position to the south that I was in. I made my way north after scavenging whatever I could carry," Lunaire dropped the heavy rucksack on the floor and disengaging the enhancement spell. "These should be useful. There are more that I left behind, so it might be worth a thorough look.
Schauer blinked in surprise. "That is better than nothing. But, the south? Did you by chance come all the way from the outer defensive ring? Alone?"
"Yes, sir." The silver-haired magician chuckled dryly. "I crawled on the roof and luckily avoided all the patrols. The Neuroi do not look up most of the time."
"Well done making it this far, especially with a pack this heavy." Oberfeldwebel nodded curtly. "You must be tired. Sleep wherever you please, though, do not light a cigarette. It is getting dark soon and we do not want any attention.
"Thank you, sir."
Hauling the rucksack to their ammunition dump, Lunaire turned to head upstairs but was stop by the Oberfeldwebel looming over. His eyes bore into the purplish-blue orbs and then toward the weapons on Lunaire's person. The magician saw the disapproval in his look but could not identify the source. At first thought, he thought he had to disarm. However, the other soldiers had weapons with them.
"Grenadier?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"I…am unsure, sir."
The man looked several times more menacing as his eyes chilled even further. However, this was hardly the most intimidating display. Being in the close vicinity with a thoroughly incensed Kazami Yuuka trumped him by far. Lunaire stood his ground without looking confrontational, keeping up the clueless look.
"What did they teach you during training about weapon handling?"
Lunaire had received no such training, thus no idea what he did wrong. Of course, that was not the answer he could give. Worst yet, this was the first time Lunaire handled weapons like those. Without any basics to fall back on, the magician prepared to, as they said, face the music.
Befitting of an Oberfeldwebel, he tore into poor Lunaire. Surprisingly, there was no yelling. Even if he looked incensed as if wearing a Hanya mask, Schauer kept his voice barely above a whisper. Lunaire found that both impressive and commendable for they were still in the middle of hostile territory. However, the wheezing resulting from trying to speak too fast in a hushed voice amused not only the magician. The soldiers watching the two of them also struggle to hold their laughter, not willing to be the next victim.
As for what Lunaire did wrong, it seemed he did not engage the safety on the weapons. MP-40 and MG-42 were apparently open-bolt firearms, which for reasons unexplained, were prone to discharge when dropped in cocked state. Since they were in a combat situation, there was no problem leaving the ammunition in the gun, but that made the safety paramount. Friendly fire would be quite an embarrassing affair. Schauer preached in excruciating detail, even if all that needed to be done was pull the bolt back to a notch for MP-40 and pushed a tab on MG-42.
"Do you understand?!"
"Ja," Lunaire was going to yell, but remember he could not. It came out more like a mewling of a kitten.
They looked like humans. They acted like humans. Their mana signatures felt like humans, every single one of them. No matter how much Lunaire probed them magically, even examining them with some active spells, the result was the same.
Powerful illusion mimicked reality closely, but there were gaps when employed on a larger scale. This went doubly so when simulating complex entities like humans. With unique personalities and feelings, creating a lifelike illusion of humans that could respond organically to stimuli was virtually impossible. There would always be areas that fell short, giving a sense of wrongness. Lunaire knew that for a fact or else Alice's research would carry no meaning. After all, if one could create a perfect simulation of sentient beings, how was that different from creating a soul?
All thirty or so of them were, beyond a reasonable doubt, living humans.
Just how sick is the bastard who created this? Simulating the cruelest conflict in mankind's history with live humans? And he even has the audacity to add in those…Neuroi?! There is no research in the world to warrant such action.
Lunaire clenched his fists tight. Not only would he have to play soldiers, but he also had to contend with a sadistic freak with way too much power than they had any right to.
Thinking such despairing thought for so long, Lunaire felt slightly woozy. Without actively circulating mana, Youkai Magician hardly differed from the baseline human. When all the adrenaline left, Lunaire was just another exhausted man. Spells could easily melt his tiredness away, but he felt that the serenity of sleep was long overdue. Near the back wall, he collapsed with only his arms as pillows and uniform as a blanket.
Lunaire lurched up to the sound of clacking stone. From his peripheral, a chunk of concrete rolled to a stop. Even with the dim light, Lunaire had no trouble homing on the culprit, the lanky man to the right in rough cotton uniform. He was staring right back.
"Prosti," he whispered.
"N-nichego," Lunaire replied hoarsely, surprising even himself. Both the unnoticed thirst and unfamiliar tongue made the word quite bizarre to the native speaker.
"You speak Orussian?"
"No, just a little." Lunaire reached for the canteen, wondering.
Orussian? Did I mishear the word Russian?
"Vyacheslav Preobrazhensky"
"Lunaire Vivian Meister." He answered between gulps of water. It was a good call to magically fill the canteen beforehand. Though he could not overdo it, lest he had to explain why the water never ran out. Lunaire noticed Vyacheslav staring at the canteen and took the initiative to offer. Making a friend was always better in his book.
"Spasibo, tovarishch."
Russian was quite a strange language to use. Lunaire fumbled a bit for the correct response. Yet, before it came to him, he saw Vyacheslav taking a big swig directly from the canteen and rolled his eyes.
Tovarishch…at the very least, I do not want your saliva in my water. Note to self, sanitize, and refill at the earliest convenience.
Making his way toward the window, Lunaire peered down on the street and saw no movement. With closed eyes, I listened to the fluctuation in mana for the characteristic white noise of the Neuroi. Beyond the buildings, Neuroi patrol, consisting mostly of ants, lurked through the streets. Fortunately, the closest one was at least 3 blocks away.
The horizon reddened, signifying the coming of dawn, but the chilly wind showed no sign of stopping. It was difficult to see good sunrise inside a building like this, but Lunaire tried anyway just to assuage his boredom. Climbing up the stair, his attention was caught by a strange tent in the middle of the third floor. A glimmer of light could be seen within. He parted open the flap.
"Grenadier? Is there a problem?"
The lantern light dyed the interior of the tent dim yellow. In the middle stood a short table with the city map on full display. Five letters stood out prominent on the bottom left corner. Narva, the name did not ring any bell to the magician.
On the dusty floor next to the table sat Oberfeldwebel Schauer and Junior Sergeant Kozar. As the highest-ranking members, they held command of the group, thus needing to work even at night. Lunaire felt a measure of respect for the two men.
"What do you need comrade?"
"Pardon the interruption, sir, just on a morning stroll."
"No need to call me sir after saving our hides." He chuckled heartily, but quickly clasped his mouth. For the note, they issued a standing order to remain silent. "Just call me Viktor."
"As you wish." Lunaire debated on his next word, lowered himself into a half-crouch, and asked, "although I am not qualified, may I sit in for a moment? The silence is getting to my nerve."
I love silence. Give me a cup of tea or a book and I am a happy man. Yet, there are so many questions that I have no answer to. While I cannot ask too bluntly, lest I invite suspicion, I can at least listen.
"Of course, comrade, it is getting boring with just the two of us too." Viktor ushered amiably. "Though I have to say, your name is a strange one for Karlslander."
Lunaire felt a figurative bead of sweat on his neck. From the casual look of it, Viktor appeared quite open and frank, like the friendly neighbor type. Yet, he imagined the people in the intelligence service to be unassuming and approachable people like this. Playing it safe, Lunaire deflected the question.
"I did not dare ask my mother why she named me like this. She would have whipped me senseless."
Everyone chuckled and exchanged a quick round of pleasantry. Then, both men quickly drifted back to the map on the table, leaving Lunaire to stew in his thoughts.
Still, what is a Karlslander? It would make sense if he meant German, but the word had nothing in common with Karlslander. I do not remember a country like that existing. The closest sounding noun is…Karlsruhe, a small city in Germany. It is strange for them to pin me so specifically to a lesser-known locale.
"I am worried comrade…I cannot hear the sound of artillery anymore. We have completely lost any hold around this city and the whole Narva Isthmus. The Neuroi no longer had a chokepoint to contend with and only had a mere 100 kilometers to go before reaching Petersburg."
"Rather than worry about that, we should worry about ourselves. Now, there is no chance to link up with our divisions. We are now in Neuroi-occupied region with few men and not a lick of supply. Rather than worry if we can link up with our line, whether we survive tomorrow was still up in the air."
Petersburg? If they meant St. Petersburg, then I recognized it. People at this time should be referring to it as Petrograd or Leningrad. Schauer mentioned that the Neuroi are pushing for the city, even though it should be under siege for around 2 years by the Wehrmacht forces before the Soviet definitively lifted it. Ah, right…at this point, whoever created this hot mess of a realm probably does not give a hoot about historical accuracy. Anything can happen now. My only option is to lay low and find my way off this realm as soon as possible.
Anyway, how big is this place anyway? I can sense that the city and the area further beyond exist. However, does it include St. Petersburg? If it does, this realm dwarfs Gensokyo by far, a testament to its creator's power.
"Right…we should rally up all the survivors and scavenge whatever supply is left in this blasted city. Whatever comes after that…" Schauer trailed off as he turned to Lunaire. He did not say anything, most likely not to damage the morale. "No matter what, we need that supply warehouse. Have our scout teams discover any approach that will not get us killed?"
"Not a chance in hell. The east is crawling with Neuroi. There is no way we can make it there and back. Our scouts could not get close enough to even see the warehouse."
"Verdammt…So, we still do not know for certain whether the food we are looking for had burnt to ash or not." Oberfeldwebel Schauer sighed deeply.
Apparently, this warehouse contained mostly food supply with a modest munition dump on the side. Since it was not the most important structure in the city, it was unlikely to be any heavy fighting around it, giving a higher probability that it survived the combat. That warehouse was also the closest to their position.
Lunaire chewed on his lips in thought. He was quite set on remaining in the city. As a point of arrival, Lunaire figured some clue might be around to return him to Gensokyo. The Neuroi could not harm him and he could survive without any food as a Youkai Magician, so staying in a war-torn city alone posed little challenge to him.
On one hand, Lunaire thought of leaving these people be. Operating alone would greatly increase his flexibility of action and allow the use of some magic for convenience. Without having to conceal his arcane works from the prying eyes, Lunaire could devote his entire effort to finding the way back. On the other, abandoning these men entirely to their fate would weight on his conscious a little. Lunaire was not cold-blooded by any stretch. It may delay his return, but it was not like Gensokyo urgently needed his presence. Lunaire could treat this as a hardcore survival camp.
Even as Lunaire pondered on this thought, the discussion continued. Both men pointed at different approaches around the elusive warehouse. Each side brought findings of their scouts refuting the viability of the others' suggestions. To their credit, they were not trying to countermand or hold back information from one another. Rather, they seemed genuinely unfamiliar with the intricacy of higher-level strategizing in a joint operation between two completely different armies.
"Sir…"
"Yes, comrade Lunaire. What is it?"
"Sir, I heard from your conversation that we still have some food left in stock. While it is not a bad idea to get more, our short-term survival needs are met. During the time when we still have the strength to spare and not desperate to fill our stomach, we should be looking for tools to defend ourselves against Neuroi." Lunaire scratched his head nervously, hoping that they do not take offense from the suggestion. Technically the most inexperienced grunt in the army, he was probably acting way above his paygrade. "When they come knocking, we will have more to do than just rollover. At the same time, we will have more options to maneuver in the field if we do not have to run from every fight."
"When you put it that way, I agree. Though, we need a place to go look for weapons. The warehouse is, as you heard, currently off-limit." Oberfeldwebel scratched the table, irritated. "Got to give it to the Neuroi to be so troublesome."
"The first defensive line to the south should have something we can scavenge. I came from that area, so I can be the guide. It will also keep the troops busy for a few days. Having something to do will be better for morale. In the meantime, we scout for the prime opportunity to secure our food supply." Lunaire cleared his throat softly. "Forgive me if I am overstepping my bounds."
"Worry not about it. That is a valuable addition to the discussion. Did you perhaps attend the officer cadet school?"
"No, Oberfeldwebel."
"Anything else to add?"
"Other than small arms ammunition, we should look for anti-tank weapons. I dread to think that there are more of that…two-headed spider…thing around." Unfortunately for them, Lunaire knew for a fact through the mana sense that around twenty of those monstrosities prowled the street of Narva at that moment. "Preferably something with a bigger punch and longer range than a fat grenade. I barely survive using those and I do not want to do that again, Oberfeldwebel."
They gave him a sympathetic look. That entire affair was exciting, excessively so. If it were that bad for a magician with heavy shielding, Lunaire could not begin to imagine what it would feel like for a regular trooper. The uniform was no different from a wet paper wad in the face of a plasma beam.
"Hehe, comrade, I might just know exactly what you want and where to get it."
"We best wrap up. It is getting late." Schauer chuckled and patted Lunaire in the back. "Since both of you are moving at first light, better catch some sleep. I cannot rest assured if the non-commissioned officer and guide doze off…"
"Do not worry about me, or about Lunaire for that matter. He slept like a log once he hit the ground." Viktor laughed mirthfully and rolled up the map on the low table.
"I am fresh and ready to roll. Though another hour or two will not hurt. I heard it is good for the skin." Lunaire jested.
All of them had a good laugh, though did not forget to suppress the volume. Nobody liked being woken up in the middle of the night, especially not to a Neuroi plasma fire. As he exited the tent, the cold came back with a vengeance. Once again, Lunaire was tempted to just use a little heating spell to fight it off.
"Haha, comrade, cannot stand a little cold?" Viktor walked out with a prideful saunter even as he exhaled a cloud of white vapor. The plasma fire earlier in the day gouged quite a large hole into the building, compromising the insulation. "This is only autumn. Just wait for winter and you will know what real cold is like."
"May I request two sets of winter gears in advance?" Lunaire rubbed his shoulders in emphasis.
"We will take that under careful consideration, grenadier," Schauer added in good humor.
Sensing their relaxed attitude and lowered guard, Lunaire jumped in on the opportune moment with some probing question. He was still a little hung up on the matter about Orussian and Karlslander. "You seem used to the cold, Viktor. Where are you from?"
"Most Orussian knows a thing or two about winter. I was born and raised in Kiev. You?"
Answering Berlin is probably too lazy. Frankly, I cannot act like a farm boy in the period and will probably talk more like a scholar if I am not careful. The larger city is probably more convincing. Although I do not know about the slight difference in naming, I will just have to risk it for the biscuit.
"…Hamburg," Lunaire answered with the name of German city he once visited on his flight away from the Meister family.
"Yeesh, so we are on the same boat then," Viktor grimaced.
"How so?"
"Well, we both have a giant Neuroi nest hovering right above our hometown. Right? If I recall correctly, there is one right on the river mouth. Comrade Schauer?"
Oberfeldwebel nodded solemnly. "Indeed, the hive sits right on the mouth of the Elbe river."
Ok, if I did not go completely delusional, Viktor just said that Neuroi are in Hamburg and Kiev, major cities of Germany and the USSR. Not only that, but they also have large hovering hives over them. Neuroi is definitely not a small-scale phenomenon then. That will explain why the people talked about them without so much as questioning their existence in the first place. I should throw out any preconceptions I have about World War 2. This will be a different beast altogether.
"Do not look so dour, Comrade. We will reclaim every last inch of the Motherland from the Neuroi and more. Mark my word, one day, the Berlin hive will fall, and we will drive them back to wherever godforsaken hole they came from!"
Good lord, even Berlin too? Just how is Germany faring right now?
"What about you, Oberfeldwebel Schauer? Where are you from?"
"I came from Koblenz." Seeing the blank look from the Junior Sergeant, he remembered that an Orussian could not be expected to know the tiny city in his country. Orussia already had multiple towns and cities names to deal with. "It is a small place on the Rhine, the western part of Karlsland."
So, my ears work fine. Even the country names are changed. Russia is Orussia, while Germany becomes Karlsland. I will remember that. Still, rather than a simulation of World War 2, it felt more like a parody, a sick one given that it is being played by live humans. Depending on the scale, this could become the largest crime against humanity since World War 2.
"That day, to Generalfeldmarschall Erich von Manstein, the First Battle of Narva had ended. It was not until a few months later did the Second started that would see the Neuroi expelled from the Narva Isthmus. Yet, to us, there was only ever one Battle of Narva…and it had merely just begun." – Oberst Lunaire V. Meister, 1947
00000
And there you go.
This experimental story is intended to be a way for me to shape my writing on Lunaire's personality but also the military action. I believe it will prove useful for my other story as well as be a good break for me. I wrote an entirely section of why this story should exist up at the top if you skipped it and are interested.
As for the status update on my main Mahouka story, I am currently reading further into the source material. I strive to deliver a story that is not a copycat of the original with additional characters adding on. To evaluate the impact that Touhou casts will have on the timeline, I must know the original timeline. In term of writing, I am at the transition point into the Yokohama disturbance arc, but I must know way further from that point to properly write. Unfortunately, the quarantine partially lifted where I am at and now, I have load of lab work overdue for 2 months of shutdown.
This story is merely a collection of doodling on the side whenever I have on my free time in the lab. I am surprised none of my colleague realize what I had been writing as I waited in front of the instruments. I hope it did not turn out too disjointed for your liking. I have a few more of these to polish, but my focus is still on reading Mahouka novel and taking notes.
If you have any suggestion for the story or words of encouragement, please leave them in the comment.
The first arc, Battle of Narva, will cover the exploits of a company of men trapped behind the lines against the Neuroi offensive from Hive Anna across Narva Isthmus toward St. Petersburg. Although not set in stone, I planned this story based on mission objective that they must complete. I mostly write in snippet in the lab, so expect sporadic update after the first few.
Operation Pocket Watch – Secure weapons and munition from southern defensive lines
Operation Red Lance – Recover 76 mm divisional field gun M1943 ZiR-3 (ZiS-3 in our timeline but without Stalin) from Orussia battery to the Northwest
Operation Giftbag – Recover food and munition supply from eastern secondary warehouse
Operation Watchdogs – Reconnaissance and destruction if possible, of Neuroi ground hive in Narva.
Operation Lunar Hare – Recapture of primary and second radio towers of Narva, listen to allied transmission and request supply airdrop.
Operation Saving Angel – Recover of nighttime supply drop and rescue of escorting night witches shot down over Narva.
Operation Exorcist – Destroy unique Neuroi unit with camouflage ability.
Operation Heaven Fall – After allied force recaptured Kingisepp, transmit all the coordinate of Neuroi ground hive in Narva for combined field artillery, naval guns bombardment and aerial bombing.
Operation Vengeful Rat – Assist allied force in liberating Narva
Discord invite code: nSMHjar