Operation Lockpick II: Saint's Wrath
Everyone likes to remember that Operation revolving door was an incredible military achievement. That it was the greatest encirclement in history, and it rewrote the rulebook on how we fight war. Even at the time all of us imperial soldiers at the front thought of it as a glorious adventure and an easy way to finish off the republic. All except one soldier.
Now I look back on that operation and I don't remember anything glorious or honourable, it was vicious and spiteful. The republic was confused and unable to react and we pushed them aside like it was nothing, viciously putting down anyone in our way in order to exact our vengeance and quickly finish the war.
It was entirely one-sided, it wasn't a battle it was a massacre.
I think the Saint saw it for what it was even before operation lock pick was launched. He tried to hide it and cheer us on as he always did, as ever he led from the front and I'm sure he tried to shield us all from the worst when he could.
But as the attack wore on, I saw the look in his eyes. I'll always remember that look.
– Excerpt from Herbert Litz's memoirs. As read by Reinhard Hausmann at the 'Bring back the Monarchy' rally on the anniversary of the liberation of Letzenbourg 1940
May 25th Unified Year 1925
Maginette 3rd defensive line, Rhine Front
Private Lefeuvre stood aghast as he watched the colossal plume of thick black smoke stretch endlessly into the sky. He'd been serving on the Rhine front for almost a year now and although he would never truly become used to the constant shelling and awful conditions, he thought he'd seen everything this war had to offer. He had been wrong.
Moments before he had been calmly making his way to his post on the tertiary defence line, he'd thought himself blessed to be deployed here. Although considered front line duty, this was one of the safest posts on the entire Rhine front, the Imperials had never penetrated this deep into the Maginette line and they rarely even bothered to shell this far back. It was almost a vacation for anyone who had spent much time at the front. The rest of the line suffered near-constant bombardment and there was the ever-present threat of a trench raid both day and night. By comparison, the third row of the Maginette was a relatively peaceful posting.
He'd barely been paying attention to his surroundings as he made his way to the concrete pillbox that he was supposed to be keeping watch from. It all seemed almost pointless to him, the Imperials weren't expected to make any kind of move, so why bother? Even if the Imperials did try to attack, they'd never made it this far before, he didn't think there was anything to worry about. From what he'd heard they'd pulled their lines back and friendly forces in the north had started moving in. Rumour had it that their artillery was almost in range of the Rawl industrial area, according to Lieutenant Brochard that meant the war was pretty much won, they all expected to be sent home soon.
Then it happened. First, the ground began to shake slightly, then more forcefully as a huge and deafening boom filled the air. A shockwave washed through the trench and he found himself losing his footing before falling onto his back. That is when he saw it, the tremendous column of thick black smog billowing into the air in the distance. He couldn't claim to be an expert, but he'd seen his fair share of explosions during his time serving here and he was certain he was looking at the aftermath of one.
He clambered to his feet and stared into the smoke-filled sky in confusion. Something was very wrong, the smoke seemed too far away for a blast that had been so loud and had the force to knock him off his feet. If it really were as far away as he suspected, the explosion would have to be huge, he didn't know of any artillery piece or bomb that could cause something like that. It would take an incredible amount of munitions to cause an explosion that size, there must have been an accident at a supply dump or something.
He couldn't say how long he stood entranced by the churning tower of ash, fumes and soot. It was oddly beautiful in its own way, his mind's eye began creating patterns in the swirling mass of smoke as his brain tried to make sense of what he was seeing. Everything seemed quiet compared to the ear-splitting roar that had pierced the air not long before and for a brief moment, an unnatural peace seemed to settle over the trench. But it wasn't to last.
"Get out the way!" shouted a soldier, shoving past him as he hurried to his post. Lefeuvre was broken from his reverie and suddenly remembered where he was. He cursed himself and began jogging through the earthworks, something had happened and instinctively he knew it must be bad, he should get to his position too.
The sudden blast had roused everyone in the tertiary line, within moments the entire system of trenches, tunnels and bunkers were a hive of activity as soldiers rushed around like ants after their nest had been kicked. Nobody knew what was going on but that didn't matter, they fell back on their training, performing the same motions they had endlessly drilled without the need for the interference from officers.
It was fortunate they did. Although the first gargantuan blast had been a shock, it had caused no damage here that he could see. It was what followed that did that. Soon after the first, many smaller explosions erupted around them as artillery fire ripped through the line. Each detonation was deadly, not just from the initial impact but because of the razer like fragments of shrapnel that flew through the air in the aftermath. The soldier in front of him fell victim to these deadly scraps of sharpened metal as one of the fragments pierced his skull leaving a hideous wound that killed him instantly. Lefeuvre was forced to leave the man where he lay, knowing with an uncomfortable certainty that if the blast had been even a fraction of a second later, it would have been him lying there.
Now he'd been broken from his daze, he found his feet worked automatically as he rushed through the fortifications towards his post. The ground shook as artillery fire rained down around him and his ears rang as the deafening sounds pierced his eardrums, but he pushed on in the hopes of finding some respite from the chaos once he reached his destination.
He let out a sigh of relief as he reached the bunker, the concrete shelter would not offer much protection if it suffered a direct hit, but it at least offered a shield against the shrapnel and concussive shockwaves that filled the air. He hoped that the enemy artillery would have a hard time hitting such a small pillbox this far back, they'd had less practice finding their range here, maybe he'd be lucky. As he entered, he offered a silent prayer of thanks for his continued safety before taking up his position looking out an opening facing out towards the secondary line. He hoped God was listening.
He nodded a greeting to lieutenant Brochard as he passed, but the man was too busy shouting down the telephone to take much notice of him. He found himself thinking back to when he had first joined the army and got chewed out for saluting an officer in a combat zone. Everyone knew not to salute an officer out on the front lines, it was a sure-fire way to let enemy snipers know who best to target. Even in the relative safety of the bunker, he knew his commander wouldn't appreciate being marked as a priority target.
Strangely the memory helped calm him and he found his mind begin to reassert some reason on to the situation. Now he was safe in the shelter, he had time to assess his situation. Obviously, something bad had happened but he didn't need to panic, the Imperials were probably trying to take advantage of the explosion and were launching one last desperate attempt to break through before they were forced to surrender. This was the Maginette line however, it had never been breached before and never would be. Better still, this was the third line of defence, no Imperial had ever set foot in these fortifications, he was as safe here as he was ever going to be. He didn't know what sneaky trick the Empire was trying to pull, but there was no way they could get through here.
He peered down the iron sights of his rifle as he looked out into the mist. The fog of war had engulfed the second line that lay ahead of him, and the line of fortification was hidden by the soot and dirt that had been thrown into the air by the munitions. He swallowed down his mounting anxiety, he told himself again that he shouldn't have to worry, he probably wouldn't even need to fire his weapon, at least not from here. The worst they could reasonably expect to see were friendly troops retreating from the secondary line but that was unlikely. Even if the Imperials had taken the first line, they'd be being ripped apart by now, they'd probably get the order to move up and support the second line soon
"Damnit!" he heard the lieutenant scream irritably, "Is everyone at command taking a nap or something?"
Judging from the stream of profanity coming from the direction of the officer as he struggled to get through to the command centre, they were having communications problems. This seemed strange to Lefeuvre, true much of the rest of the Rhine front suffered terribly with radio and telephone blackouts, but the Maginette line rarely did. Since this was a permanent fortification, it had been built with keeping an efficient communication network in mind, there were miles of cables sunk deep underground to prevent the lines becoming damaged. It was the worst kind of luck that they would be having problems with it now of all times.
"We can't even contact the other defensive lines" the officer growled to himself before turning to another soldier, "send a runner to find out what's going on."
By now some of their own big guns had started returning fire, adding to the cacophony of noise that filled the air. The return fire was sporadic and seemed uncoordinated, however, completely devoid of the usual well-drilled rhythm he was used to hearing from the artillery. His anxiety began to rise along with the growing sense of wrongness he felt about this situation, things didn't seem right somehow, and it felt as though his instincts were trying to warn him of something.
The noise of the battlefield was still overwhelming but Lefeuvre fancied he could hear something else in the distance. It sounded almost like the deep rumble of engines. He squinted down his sights once more into the fog but couldn't make out anything approaching. Still, he was sure he could hear a low mechanical rumble at the very edge of his hearing. He closed his eyes to try and pick out the noise, but his concentration was soon broken by shouting from the far side of the bunker.
"What do you mean they're gone?" he heard Lieutenant Brochard question with growing annoyance.
"Just that sir," a nervous soldier answered, "the spotters watching the advance to the north say that the old enemy position just exploded with our people in it, there's nothing left!"
He found himself staring over his shoulder at the messenger in disbelief, there must be some mistake. How could the entire trench just explode? And why wasn't the command centre doing anything about all this? It was then Lefeuvre noticed that the enemy artillery had stopped firing.
He turned back just in time to see a silhouette begin to emerge from the smoky haze. He felt himself go cold with terror as the bulky form of a tank began to emerge from the fog. He saw a flash from its muzzle as it fired before it slowly began turning its turret to aim at his shelter. Soon another appeared through the smoke, then another and another, in mere moments there were dozens approaching firing across the line. It was impossible, how could they have broken through both the forward defence lines before they'd received any warning?
He wasn't the only one to notice and soon the lieutenant was desperately calling down the receiver of the phone again while Lefeuvre and his comrades fired with little hope of damaging the approaching war machines. What were the artillery and anti-armour brigades doing? They should have been ordered to support this position as soon as the spotters reported the enemy approach, tanks should never have been allowed to get this far.
He took a few deep breaths to calm himself and began looking for some weak point on the lead tank to aim at, true his rifle would be no good against the armour, but he might be able to find an open hatch or vent. He couldn't expect too much damage, but it might slow them down at least. As his eyes scanned over his target, he found himself blinking in surprise. A small figure stood atop the hull of the war machine, completely unperturbed by the chaos unfolding around them. They were still too far away to make out clearly, but it appeared to be a small boy with a sword in one hand and pistol in the other.
His mind froze in confusion at the unusual sight, but his training took over and his finger twitched as he automatically fired at the head of the figure. Time seemed to slow and for a moment he could almost imagine the bullet flying through the air towards its intended victim. It didn't hit home, however, and a bright flash erupted in front of the boy as the bullet was halted before it could strike him. The boy was a mage he realised, the bullet had been stopped by his magical shield.
A child mage with a sword, could it be him? Could it be the Saint?
He'd never seen either of the now legendary named child mages that the Empire employed on the battlefield. He'd heard the stories, of course, everyone on the Rhine had. The Devil of the Rhine and the Saint of Letzenbourg were both said to be frighteningly powerful mages, if either of them appeared, you knew you'd be in for a hard time. The Devil especially was known to be ruthless, people said she ran down fleeing troops and butchered anyone unfortunate to meet her on the battlefield. The lucky few that survived encounters with her spoke of her as a demon that fed off of the pain and misery she inflicted, they called her a predator that stalked the battlefield in search of prey.
The Saint was supposed to be almost as skilled and equally as dangerous but in stark contrast to the Devil, he was known for his honour and mercy. He wielded a sword like the knights of old and fought under the old rules of chivalry. The tales went that he offered his foes the chance to safely withdraw, often begging his foes to leave rather than fight him, imploring them to think about their families and loved ones. One of his comrades had once heard the boy's pleading cries for peace echoing over the battlefield and admitted being moved by the gesture. The boy's voice was described as sorrowful and he seemed to sincerely wish not to hurt them, his friend confessed that he had been sorely tempted to run home after hearing him.
Lefeuvre's shot had attracted the attention of the mage and the boy turned towards the bunker before glancing up at the sky. Lefeuvre followed his gaze he saw the silhouettes of dozens of aerial mages emerge from the smog flying in a V formation. In perfect unison, the mages fired towards the defences and suddenly, the Saint launched himself forward from the tank at high speed and flew towards them. The boy raised his arm to aim his pistol towards the shelter, adding to the incoming barrage from above, while the sword in his other hand trailed behind him. Lefeuvre turned to alert his comrades of the impending danger, a powerful mage could use explosion spells that were even more powerful than the cannon of the approaching tank. A barrage from a whole group of them was akin to a highly precise artillery strike, the mages would rip there shelter wide open, they needed to take cover.
He opened his mouth to shout his warning but before any sound left his lungs the room erupted in a blinding white light. At the same time, he felt pain surge across his body and a strong physical force behind him tossed him through the air. He was still blinded from the explosion when his body finally came to a halt, he felt bones crack as his body struck the floor painfully and he could barely hear his own screams over the painful ringing in his ears.
Gradually the ringing began to subside, and his hearing began to return, and the brutal sounds of the battlefield filled his ears once more. He could barely move, and his head ached horribly as he tried to raise it to see what had happened. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, the world seemed blurry and indistinct, but he could just make out the remains of the bunker he had been in before. Somehow, he had been flung out of the shelter and back into the trench by the blast, the bunker itself was no more, all that was left was a pile of smouldering debris.
He tried to move but found he didn't have the strength, he was terrified and in pain, he desperately wanted to get to safety but his body wouldn't respond to his commands. He couldn't feel his legs anymore and every small movement sent a rush of agony through the rest of his body. He tried to call out for help but once again his voice betrayed him, and no sound left his lips as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.
The blast hadn't gone unnoticed and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as more of his countrymen appeared from one of the nearby tunnel entrances. Most headed for the parapets and began taking aim at the enemy, but one rushed towards him with a medical kit in hand and gave him a reassuring smile. The man rushed to clear the debris and immediately began to tend to his wounds, but both found themselves pausing and staring upwards as a childlike and sorrowful voice filled the air.
"Republican soldiers! Please, we do not want to harm you," the artificially amplified voice echoed through the trench despite the noise of the gunfire. Suddenly two of the fresh soldiers fell as bullets rained down on them and the boy mage fell from the sky into the trench.
"Think of your families, how would they survive without you?" Lefeuvre heard as he saw two more men fall as the boy's sword slashed at them in a flurry of movement. Immediately after, the boy launched forward at another group who had turned and were firing wildly at the approaching mage.
"Please flee, no more need to die today! Please surrender." Another soldier died as the boy's blade skewered him and pierced his heart before kicking the poor lifeless soul away to free his weapon once more.
"Leave while you can, for your sons and daughters' sakes." The boy swung his blade around and decapitated the sergeant, leaving a spray of gore as his pistol fired at two more soldiers who had panicked and were desperately trying to escape the carnage.
"Please don't make me do this"
He stared at the scene with horror, pain temporarily forgotten as he struggled to comprehend the vicious massacre in front of him. This was the merciful Saint? It couldn't be, he was a vicious killer, he hadn't hesitated for a second as he'd ruthlessly exterminated his countrymen. His words were lies, he offered no peace, no quarter, he didn't even try to let his comrades flee or surrender. His voice may have sounded full of sorrow, but his actions were violent and murderous. He was a butcher, slaughtering with none of the compassion that was conveyed in his voice. This was no Saint, this was a monster.
The mage paused as he looked over to them and Lefeuvre got his first good look at this so-called Saint. He was small and skinny, it seemed impossible that this was the same being who had just slaughtered a whole trench full of people. The boy didn't look as though he could be capable of such a feat. He hovered slightly in the air with the aid of his mage equipment and he stared down at them with glowing green eyes. His expression looked desperate and panicked, he looked like a cornered animal ready to fight to its last breath. The boy looked utterly terrified, as though he were fleeing something terrible and somehow this made the boy seem more horrifying.
There was now only the medic between Lefeuvre and the boy, he raised his hands and offered his surrender, begging to be allowed to help the wounded. In the blink of an eye, the boy rushed forward and stabbed the medic through the chest causing him to cough blood and fall forward onto the young mage.
"I'm sorry, but you have to die!" the boy said in a strangely melancholic tone as he shouldered the dead medic onto the floor.
The Mage turned and lifted the sword up to his face and stared into the blade, while blood trickled along its length. The boy was either ignoring him or hadn't noticed he was there and instead stood for a moment transfixed by his weapon. He saw the mage's face contort into a hateful scowl and his whole body shook with rage.
"How many more?" he growled at his sword before a loud crash from above them caught his attention.
A tank rolled over the top of the trench line using the dismantled bunker as a bridge to cross the gap. Its cannon flashed and let out a loud boom as it fired at some unseen foe, while it continued its unceasing march forwards. Upon seeing his armoured comrade, the boy floated back into the air and stood atop the tank once more.
Lefeuvre was about to let out a sigh of relief at his lucky escape but suddenly the boy turned and fixed his eyes on him. The demon saint glared at him hatefully as it raised its pistol once more. It felt like he was staring into the depths of his very soul as their eyes met before he mouthed the words:
"Are you faithful?"
XxxxxxX
May 25th Unified Year 1925
Central headquarters War room, Berlun
Major General Hans von Zettour was not one to count his chickens before they hatched, but even he was struggling to keep the smile from his face as he surveyed the large map table dominating the centre of the war room. He was followed by his friend and colleague from operations, Kurt von Rudersdorf, who was similarly pleased with how events were unfolding, even his large bushy moustache did nothing to hide the grin that lay across his lips.
The pair had just returned from a meeting with the ministers of the Supreme High Command, where they had been given the immensely satisfying task of revealing that they had effectively crippled the Republic's Rhine battlegroup. This experience had been all the more gratifying as they'd spent much of the earlier stages of the meeting being accused of incompetence by the feckless bureaucrats. They'd weathered a relentless stream of insults and threats from the politicians while they waited patiently for news that Major Degurechaff had succeeded, biting their tongues the entire time. The only member of the council who had remained silent was Vice-Admiral Canaris, who had quietly watched the proceedings with a knowing smile.
There had been a brief moment when he began to worry that their gambit might have failed, time had seemed to drag during the meeting, and the wait for news of the operation was almost unbearable. He'd found himself glancing at his pocket watch nervously every few minutes as he mentally ran through the timetable of events that should have been unfolding. His worries were unfounded however, soon the news came in that Degurechaff had triumphed and the enemy regional command structure had been neutralised.
The bureaucrats had fallen into a stunned silence as he and Rudersdorf explained the masterstroke they had delivered, and the tone of the room shifted dramatically as the ministers fell over themselves to congratulate them. It was quite the U-turn and Zettour was amazed at how easily the politicians managed to forget that, moments before they were threatening to fire the generals. Now the untrustworthy officials were offering promotions, medals and bonuses instead, as well as reminding everyone how their own departments had made invaluable contributions to the war effort as well.
Eventually, the conversation turned to what prize the Empire should demand of their foes as compensation and what the precise cost of this war had been. They had left them to it, the aftermath of the war was their problem to worry about. There would no doubt be months of talks and negotiation ahead before the matter was fully resolved and Zettour was more than happy to leave that battle to the diplomats. Right now, he just wanted to be sure their victory was secure.
"What's the latest?" Rudersdorf asked Lieutenant colonel Rerugen as they approached the large map surrounded by staff officers prodding the markers around with their plotting rods. The Officer saluted and began his report in his usual professional demeanour.
"The explosives all detonated without issue," explained Rerugen as he leaned over to point to the map. "Holes opened in the line here and here, our forces managed to exploit them and pass through with little resistance. The flanking force is making good time and is ahead of schedule."
This was excellent news, until the encirclement was complete there was still a risk of the enemy managing to turn this all around somehow. If they were ahead of schedule then this risk was drastically reduced, they estimated it would take two days before Parisii managed to respond to the crisis and reassert control over its forces, they had to be done by then.
"What about the assault on the Maginette line?" Asked Zettour, if they would have any problems, it would probably start in those fortifications.
"Prince Wilhelm's breakthrough was successful and with the aid of the follow-up attack the first three lines and the tunnel system fell within an hour" reported Rerugen. "The prince and his Kampfgruppe have now joined the flanking force and are aggressively seeking out potential resistance. It is in part due to his efforts that the encirclement is proceeding so efficiently."
It seemed Degurechaff's assessment of the young prince was right about one thing, he really was quite zealous on the offensive. They had initially had some reservations about having him leading the assault considering his reputation for kindness and clemency on the battlefield. Degurechaff had always claimed he was overly aggressive however and believed his pleas for peace were simply a form of psychological warfare, but he hadn't been so sure. To Zettour the boy seemed genuinely distressed about the need to fight but he was also determined to do his part for the defence of both his home countries. The boy had a noble spirit and Zettour worried that he may not handle the necessities of modern warfare all that well. It seemed he had nothing to worry about, the young prince obviously understood his duty and had performed his role perfectly. Perhaps he'd developed a thicker skin while working alongside Degurechaff.
"It seems the Prince is trying to give Degurechaff a run for her money," smiled Rudersdorf as he puffed on his cigar. "The supply train is struggling to keep up."
It was certainly true that the prince was proving himself useful. Either on his own or with Degurechaff it seemed he was quite capable, another child prodigy. He found himself regretting that they hadn't made better use of him earlier in the war. They'd all been so focused on trying to get him away from the front lines that they'd almost missed his talents. Degurechaff had seen it immediately, however, and she'd seen how to make use of him and his unit more effectively. Once again, the girl had proved to have talent and insight way beyond her years.
The pair made a good team, it was almost a shame that the young royal would be leaving the military soon, he would have liked to see what the two aces could achieve if they continued working together.
"Speaking of Degurechaff, where is she now?" Asked Zettour, doubtless, she'd want to join in the fun as soon as she returned.
Rerugen's face shifted almost imperceivably for a second at the mention of the girl's name and once again Zettour found himself wondering what the man had against her. True she had some problems in the academy but she'd obviously matured since then, Rerugen needed to learn to let things go.
"U-171 successfully extracted the team and is currently making its way back along the coast. It's expected to be back in friendly waters within sixteen hours." Said the Lieutenant colonel.
"She can rendezvous with the Prince for the final phase" observed Rudersdorf with a chuckle before taking another puff of his cigar. "It's fortunate they are both on our side, can you imagine if they were ever pitted against each other?"
Zettour found himself laughing along with his friend, it was an interesting thought. He'd be willing to bet on Degurechaff in a one on one duel. When it came down to it, she was the more experienced and he'd learned never to underestimate her. Still, the prince had a reputation for close combat prowess, maybe if he got close enough, he could put her under pressure at least. Regardless, it would no doubt be an impressive display.
"One thing's for certain" Zettour replied with a grin, "They'd make one hell of a mess."
XxxxxX
May 26th Unified Year 1925
60 Kilometres south of Caleis, Rhine Front
It won't be enough thought Will as he stood atop Captain Ahrens command tank as it rumbled relentlessly towards the northern coastline. He stared at the number on the blade for what was likely the hundredth time that day and willed it to suddenly increase. It didn't change, however, and his heart sank further into despair. It's nowhere near enough.
He felt on the verge of tears as he battled the feeling of fear and hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm him. He'd tried, he really had! He'd spent a full day assaulting every Republican they could find, and he hadn't allowed a single one to escape alive. He'd risked his reputation and potentially his freedom by gunning down the fleeing and wounded in complete violation of the rules of war. He'd committed numerous unforgivable atrocities that would join his collection of nightmares and haunt him forever, but it still wasn't enough. He was fortunate he'd been able to range so far ahead of the rest of the battalion alone despite the other officer's concern for his safety, if anyone saw what he'd done, he'd be branded a war criminal.
The wretched Ludwig voice in his head seemed to take great joy in pointing out that a war criminal was too kind of a way of describing what he truly was.
He'd even gone so far as to prioritise using his sword for the slaughter. Past experience had taught him it didn't matter how he snuffed out his prey, the number would rise as he delivered a faithful soul regardless of their method of dispatch. But he was desperate, he hoped that somehow the use of the cursed blade might make some difference this time and charged headlong into the enemy whenever he could. He'd seen far too much blood as he sliced through flesh and bone in his quest to satisfy the vile God, but it hadn't helped.
His hope had turned out to be futile, the only obvious differences he could tell were that his arm ached, and he'd been forced to look into more of the terrified faces of those who were sacrificing themselves for him than usual. He smelt their blood on his flight suit and it made him feel sick, it seemed the real God was more like the ancient malevolent entities that preferred human sacrifice rather than the benevolent being that was preached about by the church.
His efforts obviously weren't enough for the demon-like deity, the number on the sword may have increased quickly at first, but not by enough to free him from the curse. He was sure he'd slain more than what the number showed, but as always it didn't always show on the sword. It was difficult to tell how many he had truly killed since the operation began; he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He'd started to become numb to the violence again and gradually it began to feel like just another task he had to perform. He felt strangely grateful for that, despite the fear that it made him a despicable person. He tried to remind himself that he shouldn't feel guilt over all this, it wasn't his fault! God had forced him to be so monstrous, he just hoped he'd be able to go back to how things were before.
Unfortunately, as time went on, the digit's growth began to slow, and he watched in terror as his chances of survival slipped through his fingers. He'd been forced to work harder still, going out of his way to hunt down any Republican soldiers close to their route. He'd done his best to disguise this activity as hunting down possible resistance, diverting his mage company to search and destroy any enemy groups they came across to maintain the advance. But soon the number seemed to slow even more until it barely seemed to rise at all.
He'd found himself considering leaving the column completely and attacking civilians in the countryside, anything to pay the toll the cruel beast demanded of him. Even he had baulked at that, there was no way he could justify it, he hadn't fallen that far yet and he worried what everyone would think of him. Besides, he couldn't be sure it would even work, after all, it hadn't in Arene. It made him feel sick with rage to think of the atrocities this despicable God was forcing him to commit. This is why you don't deserve my faith!
He must have let some of his true feelings and worries spill out onto his face, Major Schwarzkopf and some of the other officers had started looking at him with undisguised concern. Eventually, the man insisted that he rested and allow another company to take the lead for a while. Despite everything, he'd found himself relenting to the major's wishes, it seemed like all his energy had fled him along with his hope. He elected to stay closer to the front of the column with the tanks rather than resting in one of the trucks with corporal Litz and the rest of his company, however, he didn't want to be around others right now. In the meantime, Schwarzkopf had taken the liberty of rotating the mage companies leading the charge to share the workload more evenly.
He let a long sigh before sitting down on the hull of the tank and staring up at the sky. Things had been going so well to begin with. Although Will had to admit, for the first hour he was an anxious wreck due to the fresh reminder of the fate the monster threatened that weighed on his mind. The plan had gone off without a hitch, clearly, Tanya had succeeded in taking down the command centre and the explosives had devastated a sizeable chunk of their lines. The Republic's forces were left rudderless and taken completely by surprise by the assault.
It had been surprisingly easy to break through the Maginette, he'd expected more cooperation between the defensive lines, but they didn't move to support each other and were overrun quite quickly. Their mages didn't react fast enough either, the Maginette was supposed to have a few companies on standby at all times but they'd hardly seen any. Most must have been taken out before they could get airborne, and those who they did see were quickly isolated and easily taken out. Will wondered if they'd moved troops to the north in anticipation for the final push. It would be just his luck for them to send soldiers away when he needed as many as possible between him and the sea.
These quick early victories had buoyed the confidence of his men and they seemed even more driven to complete the encirclement as quickly as possible. They'd also caught a glimpse of the follow-up attack before they moved onwards from the Maginette. They were swarming into the remainder of the enemy lines with similar enthusiasm. He supposed it was hardly surprising, they'd been living in the shadows of those fortifications for nearly two years. They were presumably thankful to exact some revenge on the guns that had been pointing at them all that time. They probably appreciated the change of scenery too.
All this had mattered little to him, but once they'd broken through and he had a moment of reprieve, he glanced at his sword and for once had felt almost happy about what he had seen. It had been the largest increase in the sword tally that he'd ever seen. He had started to feel hopeful he could do it, he could pay the debt, be free and live the life he knew he deserved. He now cursed that optimism, the monster was toying with him he was sure, the tally slowed to almost a stop and now he was back to fearing for his continued existence.
He leaned back against the tank and felt an uncharacteristic wave of fatalism wash over him. He felt exhausted and depressed, he was tired of it all, he hadn't asked for any of this. He wondered if he should just give up. He knew he didn't have to worry about those he left behind, according to Patryk he'd amassed an obscene amount of wealth from the investments he'd made in weapons and medical supplies before the war, Christina and Sophia would be well looked after. Tanya had a sizeable amount put aside too since he'd opened her a secret account in the Waldstatte confederacy and filtered some of his own gains into it. He wondered how she'd react when she found out. They could all live a comfortable life, a happy life, a life that was supposed to be his.
"NO!" He growled feeling a sudden burst of energy and rage dispel the fatalistic thoughts from him.
Why should he sacrifice the life he knew he deserved? He'd already suffered, why shouldn't he get his reward? Why couldn't they all share it?
It was then he noticed a distant speck high above them in the clouds. He quickly sat up and summoned an observation spell to zoom in on it while radioing Major Schwarzkopf for confirmation of the magical signal he was sure would be up there.
A matrix of semi-transparent turquoise circles and symbols appeared in front of him and with a small gesture, it showed his distant target clearly. Less than a second later, the major radioed to confirm that somehow this luckless mage had managed to get through the picket of mages surrounding the column and was blithely flying towards what was once the republican front lines. Tanya would no doubt be very disappointed to find her troops being careless enough to allow him through, they must be feeling overconfident.
Even from a distance, Will could see this was a republican mage, the outline of the metal steed they rode was clear. It looked almost like the man was riding the Pegasus from the ancient legends. He zoomed in further and saw the mage stop abruptly, clearly shocked at the devastation that he could no doubt see from his vantage, before the man dropped a bag and turned to speed away. He couldn't be allowed to escape so easily.
Will launched himself off of the tank and up into the air towards the fleeing mage while radioing the others that he was in pursuit. The figure may have had a head start, but the top speed of the type 97 far exceeded the orbs of the François republic and Will soon found himself closing the gap. Even if that weren't the case, Will was determined to catch him, he needed to feed the sword. He needed to survive.
The mage had yet to notice his pursuit, either that or he was too focused on reporting back the shocking developments at the front to his superiors to care, and Will readied his sword for a quick kill. He poured enough magical energy into his blade, slicing open the mage's protective barriers before raising his pistol for the finishing blow. The mage was fast however, and despite being taken by surprise moved at the last second, narrowly avoiding the shot.
Will had no time to readjust his flight trajectory or bring his sword back around for a second strike and went careening into the man sending him flying from his metal steed. The man grasped him out of instinct and Will found himself being dragged down with the man as they tumbled towards the ground.
Will swore as he felt an elbow strike him in the face as the man grappled with him as they fell. His flight gear was enough to slow the descent, but he would need to pour more mana into his flight formula to fully counteract the man's extra weight. He tried to kick himself free of the man, but he was much stronger than he was and clung to him as though he were a life preserver preventing him from drowning. Even if he enhanced his own strength the mage could easily match him, so instead, he tried to angle his foe towards the ground and increased the speed of his dive to drive the man into it.
The older mage caught on quickly and moments before they struck the ground, Will found himself being shoved away from the mage as he focussed his efforts on enhancing his own toughness in readiness for the fall. Will hadn't been expecting this but the shove allowed him enough time to react and he poured mana through his orb and into his flight gear and bought his boots down just in time to cushion his fall as the enemy struck the ground hard a few metres away.
Will took a breath and then began gliding over to the fallen soldier to finish the job. It was a drop that would easily have killed a normal man, but this was a mage, they trained for these sorts of falls, although likely dazed, the man would undoubtedly be alive.
As he approached, he got his first proper look at the man. From the rank insignia at his collar he could see he was a lieutenant colonel, he thought it odd that someone of his rank would be flying alone so close to the frontlines, but he wasn't exactly in a position to judge anyone for that. He was tall, well built and what Will had heard described as traditionally handsome, the very model of what the republic no doubt felt was the perfect soldier. To Will and his sword, he would just be another number, if he were faithful.
Will approached the dazed man and raised his sword to the man's throat before he could struggle back to his feet. His pistol had been lost during the fall, but he doubted he would have used it anyway, the blade seemed cleaner somehow.
"You're the Saint," the man said with surprise before his eyes darkened and his face contorted with anger. "You were at Arene, they blamed you for it, yet you're still an Imperial lapdog?"
The mention of the butchered city made him pause as he stared into the man's hate-filled eyes. Of course, the Republic would blame him. He'd taken responsibility for the massacre in the hope of ridding himself of the curse, they would have died anyway but they wouldn't see it like that. He felt a stab of anger at the creature Tanya called Being X, not only had he been cheated, he'd been villainised. History would think of him as a butcher and he'd never be able to tell people it wasn't his fault. No sane person would believe that he was ordered to commit mass murder in the name of a monstrous God.
It was then he saw it, the look in the man's eyes that returned a sliver of hope to him. It was a look of utter loathing and undisguised animosity, it was a look of protest and defiance. These were not the eyes of a defeated man.
He was on his knees but still refused to surrender, he hadn't been broken yet. He and his country had been surprised, beaten and even humiliated but looking into the man's eyes he could see he was desperate to stand and fight on. Will wasn't sure how he knew, but as he looked into the man's eyes, the republic wasn't broken either.
This war isn't over he thought with growing certainty as he stared into those hate-filled eyes.
He wanted to laugh out loud as the wave of relief swept through him. It was stupid and irrational for the mage to act like this, but it was human and that's what humans were. He'd been hanging around imperials for too long, he was starting to think in their narrow and logical terms. People don't act rationally, they acted emotionally and until the people of the republic gave into their hopelessness they would fight on out of the desire for foolish vengeance and defiance. The only thing that was stopping them was the blade that threatened the final blow.
What would the final blow to the republic be? The loss of Parisii? No, they were so insufferably proud of their capital being the cultural centre of Europa that they'd probably abandon it to save it from being damaged. Then what?
They may have lost their army on the Rhine, but the Republican army still had millions of men, more still in its overseas territories. They still had plenty of strength with which to resist, especially if another power stepped up. Would this be enough to make the commonwealth stop trusting that small channel of water and intervene directly? Their naval exercises were already as good as a thinly veiled excuse for a blockade, so they must be close.
In his paper, he'd said they'd prefer to allow others to fight while they remained on the side-lines for as long as possible. Their Navy gave them a feeling of security and in peacetime, they only maintained a small army. Intelligence said they were rapidly increasing those numbers however they must have realised they'd have to interfere eventually. They couldn't allow an uncontested hegemony on the mainland and so close to their doorstep. But would they dare stand against the Empire if they were truly alone? If that final blow struck the republic?
He stared down the blade at the mage, he had the strength to resist too, but what if the final blow never came? What if he were given a chance to fight another day. What if the Republic were given the chance to fight another day?
He lowered his blade and turned away from the man, he didn't trust himself to contain his smile anymore. He scanned the area and soon saw the metal horse the man had been riding. It was probably a little battered, but he knew they were tough pieces of kit, it would probably still fly.
"You should report back to your superiors what you've seen," said Will, trying to keep his voice level. "My unit will move out of magic detection range soon, you should be able to sneak back."
He heard the man rise behind him and tensed in case the mage decided to attack him instead. There was silence for a moment and then the mage spoke again.
"Why? Do you think this will scare us into surrendering? We'll fight you till the last man if we have to!"
That's what I'm counting on thought Will as he felt a manic smile tug at his lips. It was fortunate he wasn't facing the man, he'd think he was being mocked.
"Good luck, Lieutenant colonel" Will called as he took off and left the man to his own devices.
He flew a good distance away before stopping in a small wooded copse that split some of the surrounding woodland. He glanced around to make sure he was alone, once he was certain he collapsed to his knees in a fit of hysterical laughter. Such was his relief he couldn't control himself. He'd been given a reprieve, he felt like the death row inmate that had just been pardoned. If it weren't God that was causing all this he would have probably given a prayer of thanks.
"What do you think of my prophetic paper now Ludwig?" he asked between breaths as he let his worries out with the laughter. The Ludwig voice remained silent, and Will felt even better for the small victory.
He eventually managed to bring himself under control and wiped the tears from his eyes. He took a few calming breaths and reminded himself that he still had to make sure that it happened. He would have to find a way to make sure the Empire didn't press its advantage too much, but then again, who better to push for an end to hostilities than a saint?
He looked up at the sky, somehow everything seemed brighter now. As he began floating back up into the air, something in one of the trees caught his eye, it was the bag the republican mage had dropped. Curiosity got the better of him and he picked it up to investigate its contents as he flew back to the Kampfgruppe. As he peered inside, he almost burst out into another fit of laughter. It was all he could do to keep himself from giggling as he radioed the column as he approached.
"Captain Ahrens, I have a bottle of fine cognac for you if you can get those vehicles to the coast before Major Degurechaff gets back."
All in all, it was turning out to be a good day.
Author's Notes
Hi all and thank you all for reading as always.
I'm sorry the last couple of chapters have been a little light on Tanya but she's still on her way back and there wasn't much else I could add to "we did it and now we are in a submarine" without rewriting the canon. She'll be back next chapter though (she might end up with the whole thing as her POV but I'm not sure yet.)
I'm trying to strike a balance with Wilhelm. On the one hand, I want him to be at least slightly relatable but on the other, he does some pretty awful things, even if he has his reasons for doing them. If I'm honest part of the reason for the first part of this chapter was to remind myself of that.
I had the mental image of Will riding a tank almost from the beginning of this story, (possibly shouting "Drive me closer I want to hit them with my sword") so I desperately wanted to write that in somewhere.
BTW Patryk is Wilhelm's financial advisor as mentioned in CH 27, I think I'd originally planned some little bit with him but that fell by the wayside.
Yes, it's Lt Col Vianto, de Lugo's right-hand mage that was in Arene. Now you know what happened to all the François booze haha. Also, Will completely misinterprets what Vianto says to him, Will is completely incapable of understanding that nobody really blames him for either Arene or Letzenbourg. I was a little worried people would read that part and think it was a typo.
Thank you all again for reading, the favs, the follows and the reviews
Xanen