The Battle of Alealmayn Part III: Monsters
40 years after the Great War
Londinium
The total casualties inflicted on the Commonwealth forces during the battle is unknown to this day, but it is thought that many more died to the desert heat during the subsequent rout. Indeed, many thousands arrived back at the Suez Canal suffering heat exhaustion, nausea and hallucinations caused by severe dehydration.
They tell of fanciful tales of superhuman feats performed by mages, however, these have been largely dismissed as tall tales. Romel's own memoirs praises the magic users involved but denies that they were able to accomplish anything unattainable by contemporary standards. Despite this, many stories persist, and some veterans have even called the General's claims a lie.
With such passionate feelings at work, it's difficult to disregard the feelings of these men. But until further research is done into the battle, we cannot be certain of the truth. – Andrew WTN Special Correspondent.
September 12th Unified Year 1925 12:00
Governor's Palace, Benghazi, Illdoan Libya
Colonel Virginio Calandro found himself raising a surprised eyebrow as he glanced over the latest reports from the men observing the Imperial advance.
The Colonel had not rated the Empire's chances of success in this assault. They were outnumbered and outgunned by the Commonwealth forces brought in via the canal. Additionally, Calandro knew the local terrain; that old dog Ketchener had chosen the perfect choke point to halt the Empire's colonial ambitions.
He'd expected to see the Empire's finest back in friendly territory within a few days to lick their wounds. However, the latest reports indicated that the battle had turned in favour of Romel's expeditionary force. The Imperials had caused a huge amount of damage to the forward lines and broken through, causing untold Commonwealth casualties in the process. They had now begun to encircle and overwhelm the individual units; it wouldn't be long before the Commonwealth lines collapsed completely, and they fled back to Iskandria.
It was a surprising turn around, one that made Calandro uneasy, despite the good relations between Illdoa and its northern ally. General Gassman would want to be informed of this development at once.
He collected the files and strode towards the General's temporary office. The Empire's involvement in the Southern Continent had meant many diplomats and military personnel that would usually be busy in Roma had been sent down here to aid their allies. While protecting Ildoa's interests of course. Lieutenant General Igor Gassman had been amongst them and as his aid-de-camp Calandro had been brought along with him.
General Gassman was considered by most to be more of a politician than a military man, so many thought he would be the ideal choice to send to liaise with the Imperials. His position was in part due to the connections and influence he held that spread right through both the military and the government. Although he'd served out in the colonies in his younger years, he had little experience as a field commander of late and it was rare to see him away from Central command.
His rivals often dismissed him as little more than a bureaucrat in a uniform and he was unpopular with both those who supported their Imperial allies and those who would seek to undermine them. They thought he was a coward whose leadership of the centre faction in the government served only to keep Ildoa from winning glory in this war.
Calandro knew better.
Unlike most of the Ildoan military, the Colonel had tasted real combat during his career. He had been dealing with small scale conflicts, border wars and uprisings in the colonies his entire career; he knew exactly how woefully underprepared their military was for a large-scale conflict. They had some skilled alpine specialists and one or two crack mage battalions, but much of the rest of the army was ill-disciplined, under-trained and outdated.
If Ildoa went to war in this state it would be suicide and would likely cause the country to collapse back into the fragmented mess that existed before unification. Gassman's national defence plan was the only hope they had for long term survival, it was far better to toe the line and see where the most profitable outcome lay. If they managed to reap some benefits without getting directly involved, excellent. If not, at least they didn't need to risk losing what they already had. Ildoa couldn't afford to gamble its future.
As he finally reached his destination, he paused for a moment to straighten his uniform before knocking on the door to gain entry. He waited for the muffled reply of the General beckoning him inside and entered one of the grander offices of Benghazi's government building.
Until recently it had been inhabited by Libya's governor and it still held all the gaudy furnishings of a man who enjoyed showing off his wealth and power. However, the recent incumbent had fallen ill in recent months and a replacement had yet to be appointed to take over the stewardship of the area. General Gassman had taken the opportunity to snatch up the disused office during his stay but had not yet seen fit to remove the ex-governor's opulent decor. Perhaps he didn't expect they'd be here long enough for it to be worth the trouble, or he found it fitting for his own aggrandised taste.
It wasn't all bad though. The office faced the sea and offered an unrivalled view of the ancient city especially on clear days like today. The expansive office windows stretched far enough that they allowed a spectacular view of the busy port and the clear waters of the Southern Sea.
Many Ildoans liked to call this sea Mare Nostrum, even if the country's control over the waters were tenuous at best, but from the palace window it almost felt like it really was their sea.
The General was not enjoying the beautiful scene outside his window however, he was hard at work wading through a mountain of paperwork and reports from the Capital. Just because he was not in the General staff offices, didn't mean that he would allow others to attend to his duties for him. Whether this diligence was due to duty or fear one of the more aggressive factions might attempt to undermine his efforts, Calandro could not say for certain.
"News about Romel?" The General asked without looking up from his work as Calandro snapped a salute.
"Yes sir." Replied the Colonel placing the file on the General's desk, "Reports indicate that he has broken through, and Commonwealth casualties are mounting. Our observers don't expect the battle to last the day."
Gassman paused his work, allowing no hint of his thoughts to show on his face as he reached for a cigarette. He offered another to his aid, which Calandro took gratefully before reaching into his pocket for a lighter. Soon the smell of tobacco filled the room and silence descended as the older man skimmed the report in front of him.
"You don't seem especially surprised by the news sir." Calandro prompted, noticing that the General remained impassive as he read the document and inhaled the nicotine-infused smoke.
Gassman was silent for a moment, looking up to study his subordinate with cold grey eyes. It was as if the cautious old man was quietly judging whether it was safe to share his thoughts with his deputy. Calandro had served with Gassman for several years now, so knew the General was very careful when sharing information. Calandro tried not to take the implied lack of trust personally. One does not get into such a powerful position by speaking carelessly; he doubted the General meant any offence.
Finally, and with a groan of effort, the man got up out of his chair and slowly made his way towards one of the large windows overlooking the terrace, stopping to stare out over the distant blue sea.
"Tell me Colonel, have you studied the Empire's national defence plan?" He asked eventually, gesturing for Calandro to join him by the window.
"Yes sir, the so-called interior lines strategy." He replied promptly, as Gassman nodded, urging him to continue. "They keep small armies on each of their borders. These are tasked with delaying the enemy while the main forces mobilise and overwhelm their foe. Unfortunately, in this war, they were attacked on multiple fronts which made it difficult for their main force to achieve this."
"Indeed, it is a solid strategy built to take advantage of the Empire's expansive infrastructure. They can move a lot of troops and equipment around their lands with relative ease." The General added taking a long drag from his cigarette, "However it is entirely defensive. Odd given the current situation, isn't it?"
"Indeed sir, as far as we know the Empire has no prearranged plans for invasions of its neighbours and certainly nothing for operations overseas. That is precisely why I'm surprised by their success; I can only assume they must be making it up as they go along."
"As far as we know." The general replied with a dark smile, leaving an unspoken accusation in the air.
"You can't mean?"
"The point of a general staff is to plan for all potential eventualities in war." The General replied in a tone that suggested that certain specifics of this conversation should remain unsaid. "I think it's fair to say that such a radical change in overall strategy means that they had something up their sleeve. It would be best not to underestimate our dear friends in the north."
Calandro nodded, understanding the General's meaning. The Empire were their allies, but they were also rivals. Despite treaties promising otherwise, it was clear they had been hiding things from them, perhaps even a plan to betray their southern neighbour. They had already taken Istria away from them after all, and they still held other lands traditionally considered to be within the Ildoan sphere of influence.
Still, potential trouble from the Empire wasn't Calandro's primary source of concern at this point. His worry was focussed far closer to home.
"Imperial victories down here will rile up the other factions. They'll use it as an excuse to draw us into the conflict eventually."
"I'm sure they'll try." Replied Gassman turning to his subordinate with a wry smile as he tossed his finished cigarette out the window. "But they'll soon calm down. Why should we risk our necks when the Empire will give us what we want?"
"Sir?" Calandro replied with a confused look.
"It'll take the Empire generations to pay off the debt of this war, even with reparations from the Francois and the Allied Kingdom. Meanwhile, they have no experience dealing with colonial administration and it's a terribly expensive business." The General explained with a smile. "As their dear friends, we will need to step in to help them of course. They'll either give us difficult colonies or sell them to us on the cheap to get rid of the cost. We'll achieve Mare Nostrum by diplomatic means."
Calandro nodded in understanding. The Empire may be a great conqueror but controlling its new territory in the long term was a very different business, a business that Illdoa had valuable experience with.
"Then of course there is the Republic and the Allied Kingdom. They'll have nothing after this war, not to mention the trouble they'll have at home. They'll be forces to either sell or release their colonies. Either way, we can make them ours." The General continued brightly before turning serious once again. "As long as we give our self the time to get our occupying forces ready."
Silence fell over the room. Despite the General's confidence, they both knew that preventing the other factions from dragging them into the war would be difficult, even with the promise of territory from the Empire and the vanquished nations. The pro-Imperial faction particularly would be itching to take part, especially since it was rumoured that the King himself favoured intervention on behalf of their allies.
"Our agreement with the Empire states that we will take care of any injured for them regardless of nationality." The General said eventually, "I'd like you to organise a force to head to the battlefield to provide aid. I need to take care of some business in Tripoli, you can meet me there when you're done."
"Yes sir, but what do we do with the Commonwealth troops? We're officially neutral, we can't keep them prisoner."
"They'll be sent home." The General said absently, "as per our agreement with the Allied Kingdom."
Calandro nodded in understanding. They'd be playing both sides, a dangerous game if they weren't careful, but what other choice did they have? He saluted and headed out of the office to see to the medical teams, pausing as he reached the door to look back at the General as he continued to stare out over the sea.
Toeing the line for survival? Calandro thought grimly. It feels more like a tightrope walk.
September 12th Unified Year 1925 13:30
Commonwealth temporary command centre, Gyption Western Desert, 60 miles from Iskandria, near the town of Alealmayn
"Im…Impossible!" Ketchener stuttered as the fragmented reports from the shattered front lines poured in. "It can't be true!"
The temporary command centre was in disarray as the soldiers around him frantically attempted to get confirmation of events happening at the forward most lines. Soldiers rushed backwards and forwards between the makeshift tables, while the officers manning the radios struggled to make themselves heard over the shouting in the makeshift shelter set up around Ketchner's jeep. The picture painted so far was grim and seemed to contain nothing but ill tidings of chaos and destruction.
A series of devastating explosions, far too big to be artillery fire or tank shells had ripped into their defences and left untold casualties. Moments later, Romel and his tanks had hit the weakened section of the line, cutting Ketchener's forces in two. It now seemed only a matter of time before almost half of his forces were surrounded and overwhelmed. If they didn't act quickly, the battered and beleaguered men still desperately fighting on the right flank would be lost.
But how had they done it? Nothing the Empire had with them should have been capable of such destruction, it would require something with the calibre of a railway gun or a battleship barrage. The only thing they had nearby was the mages that Bastine had been engaging, but no mage was powerful enough to produce firepower of that magnitude. Even the fabled Devil of the Rhine couldn't have pulled off such an extraordinary feat. It was utterly impossible! Wasn't it?
Ketchener felt his strength leave him, it was as though all the new life bestowed on him on the onset of this battle had been sucked out of him again. He felt the weight of his advancing years return to him making his muscles feel weak and tired once more. It felt as though he barely had the energy to stand anymore. It took all his willpower not to slump down onto a nearby crate and hang his head in despair. Where had it gone wrong?
No, the men still look to me for leadership, we can still turn this around. At the very least we can repel them and make an orderly withdrawal. He thought regaining his composure as a distant explosion filled the air somewhere behind him. He was an Albish Gentleman, and Albish Gentlemen did not crack under pressure, what would his niece think of him if she saw him acting this way?
Forcing himself to be calm, he closed his eyes and began envisioning the battlefield and the troop positions in his mind's eye once again. The important thing now was to do what he could to get the soon to be encircled troops on the right clear, or at least as many as possible. He still had a force at Romel's left but they were still quite far away from the fighting, and they had no vehicles to speed their advance. He wasn't sure it would be enough, even with their aid he would need to find something to help plug up the hole while the defenders withdrew the front lines.
"Order the flanking forces to engage immediately. Tell them to do everything they can to slow Romel's advance." Ketchener began turning to a nearby radio operator. He just hoped that they could make it in time to save their beleaguered colleagues. "And tell the Right flank to withdraw immediately."
If they haven't started routing or surrendering en masse he added silently to himself feeling the despair clawing at him once again. He wouldn't blame them if they had, this disaster was his fault, they shouldn't have to suffer for it.
He shook the dark thoughts from his mind, trying instead to focus on the matter at hand. He needed something to help cover their retreat or it really would end up as a route. But what else did he have available?
Of course! The troops pinning down the Saint. He thought remembering the unit's he'd sent to prevent the mages from harassing the rear lines. Surely, he didn't need two regiments to keep a single company trapped in the burning wreckage of the old command centre. The boy was likely ready to surrender now anyway, it would be the ideal time to move his troops to somewhere more useful.
"Get me the Gyption 9th." He began, feeling a little more of his confidence return, "Have them move to the support the withdrawal."
Yes, it would work, he was sure of it. They might not be able to win this battle outright, but they could at least force a stalemate and fall back. In this war, a draw was a win for Albion, it bought time for the Allied Kingdom and the Free Republican army to send reinforcements. Even if they were forced to give up the airfield, they could recover as long as they maintained control of the Suez. Once they did, they would put an end to Romel's desert adventure.
He just wished he'd have the chance to see it. He would likely be forced to retire by his critics after this battle, they'd say he was an old fool that had led them to disaster. Perhaps they'd be right, but at least he'd be able to look himself in the mirror and say he did everything he could. He had done his duty.
What are you doing you old fool? He mentally scolded himself. There are men dying out there! This is no time to worry about your career!
"Sir, the 9th Gyption reports they've been engaged with the enemy mages for some time now." A young lieutenant replied as another explosion, much closer this time, filled the air behind them. "I'm sorry sir, the initial message must have gotten lost during the confusion."
"Damn!" Cursed Ketchener loudly, clenching his fist with frustration. It seemed the Saint wasn't content to sit the battle out either, he was probably trying to regroup with the main force but how had he broken the encirclement?
"How did he get out? There was more than enough firepower to keep them pinned down indefinitely."
"It seems they stayed close to the ground and used the smoke as cover to close in." The officer replied eventually as he tried to make sense of the radio traffic. "The Gyptions were never able to bring their full firepower to bear because the mages were too close when they attacked. They've been in melee ever since; they've been forced to fall back."
"What about the Gyption 10th? Where are–"
Suddenly Ketchener found himself flying backwards through the air as a blast tore through the temporary command centre sending his jeep flying and scattering the makeshift tables and equipment in every direction. Ketchener cried out in pain as he hit the ground hard, feeling bones break in his fragile and elderly body.
He heard panicked shouts and sporadic gunfire around him as he rolled his aching body onto his stomach. He tried to stand but found he could no longer move his legs and a sharp pain shot up one side every time he tried to move. Hesitantly he looked around, seeing the burning wreckage of his transport sitting sideways in the sand beside him. He saw no sign of the other soldiers that had been manning the temporary command centre with him. The smoke surrounding him made his eyes water, making it difficult to see very far and the blast had been enough to throw everyone a considerable distance. He prayed they would be safe.
It's over, I need to order a full retreat before it's too late! He thought dragging himself towards a battered radio set half-buried in some rubble in front of him, desperately hoping the device was still operating. I have to make sure as many of my brave boys get out as possible.
The agony was almost unbearable. Even in his prime these injuries would have made this task difficult but with his advanced years, his ageing muscles struggled with every centimetre of progress. But Ketchener refused to give up, he had always done his duty, he would not fail in it here when it mattered the most. Even if this was to be his final order, he would see it through.
Finally, his hand closed over the telephone like transceiver and with his final ounce of strength, he began dragging it towards him only to find a sudden pressure halting its movement. A small metal flight boot stood on the handset holding it in place. It was bulky, as all flight equipment was, but very small. It was clearly a child's footwear, and he was certain if he had the strength, he could have easily wrenched it free from the juvenile that kept him from his final duty.
HHis strength had left him however, his aged and damaged body had betrayed him and had nothing left to give. He struggled feebly, desperately trying to free it but to no avail. The boot began to apply pressure and Ketchener made an anguished sound of desperation as the handset split apart and shattered into a mess of broken components and loose wires. He used what energy he had to lift his head to look upon the one responsible, the one who would have doomed so many more commonwealth troops to the grave than was necessary.
His gaze traced upward along the boot, revealing the figure of a small boy in a black flight suit and bulky battery with white robes similar to those worn by the local nomadic tribes hung like a cape over the top of them. In his hands, he had a pistol and an old-fashioned cavalry sabre that gleamed in the desert sunlight. It was the sort of weapon Ketchener had carried at the start of his career, an old relic in a modern battle, just like him. He wasn't sure if it would be fitting or ironic to see his life ended by a weapon as archaic as he was
The boy had messy golden hair, with silvery flecks that reflected the light. And he wore what to most would seem like a kind smile. However, Ketchener had seen too much in his life to believe that false expression, the kindness did not reach the boy's eyes. Instead, the piercing green orbs had a wild look about them, akin to a cornered and desperate animal. The sort of eyes that showed that their owner was willing and capable of anything.
The boy stared down at the broken radio and for the briefest of moments, his smile distorted into one of cruelty and the evil eyes flashed once more. It was as though he realised the significance of the destruction of the communication device and as he stared down at Ketchener it felt like those emerald orbs existed only to feed off his misery.
"This must be the real command centre." The boy said, Ketchener barely managing to understand the Germanic language through the fog of pain in his brain. The evil expression disappeared as he turned his head to the squad of mages behind him, as though he wanted to keep his cruelty secret from his comrades. "Spread out, make sure nothing is left behind."
Ketchener's tried to speak out, but his voice had diminished to little more than a whisper. He felt his remaining energy fade and his head slumped as the mages quickly obeyed the boy's orders and began spreading out to make sure that every remaining trace of the command centre was destroyed.
"The enemy commander, so this is where you've been hiding." The boy said sweetly in slightly accented Albish this time. He used his foot to push Ketchener onto his back, forcing him to look up at the boy's now smug grin. "I'm Prince Wilhelm Hozollern, it's nice to finally meet you."
This is the Saint? Ketchener thought incredulously as he stared up at his attacker. This is no saint; nothing holy can carry an expression like that.
"Tell me General, are you a man of faith?" The so-called Saint asked, pointing his blade at his throat as the wild look returned to his face.
Before Ketchener could reply, a yell and a burst of rifle fire cut through the air causing the prince to grimace as he looked over towards the source of the ruckus. Despite his weariness, Ketchener also found himself looking towards the cause of the commotion and was surprised to see a squad of soldiers from the Raj 12th frontier force appear through the smoke.
"Rally to the General!" One of the soldiers called as they charged towards the young mage, firing wildly as they advanced.
The prince's face soured as he raised his pistol, and he clenched his teeth together as he fired three shots at the approaching Indus troops. The ammunition erupted into small explosions, each with the size and ferocity of a grenade and the men of the Raj fell before the cruel saint.
"God no!" Ketchener breathed with a tear in his eyes as he saw his men blown away.
His voice had scarcely been a whisper, but the name of the almighty caught the cruel saint's attention, even over the din of battle. The boy's head whipped down as soon as he heard it, distracting him long enough that a more accurate hail of fire struck the mage's barrier, forcing him to stagger back as the shield lit up.
Suddenly Ketchener felt himself being hauled to his feet as a young soldier propped him up on his shoulder and began dragging him away.
"Quick General, we have to get you out of here."
Ketchener turned to his saviour and recognised it as the young soldier that had woken him just days before. He couldn't believe it. The young man who had been terrified of an old man in his nightgown had dashed through the flames and snatched him from the grips of the enemy.
You brave fool he thought feeling his heart swell with pride. He'd been wrong about these men; they were no simple farmers without the will to fight. They had the hearts of lions and the courage to match, they had risked everything to save him. It was an honour to serve with such men, but it was too late for him, he needed to do what he could to get these men out of here.
"No Lad, get out now!" He coughed, tasting the coppery taste of blood on his lips. "I'm done for anyway; you need to get everyone out before it's too late!"
The young soldier stared at him with worried confusion as he continued to carry the old man away. He opened his mouth to argue but suddenly let out a silent exclamation as the air was forced out of his lungs. He released Ketchener and the old general fell to the floor once again, twisting as he fell to reveal the sight of the young soldier impaled on the prince's sword.
The young soldier looked down at his chest in shock, unable to believe what had just happened to him before looking to the old General once more before the light faded from his eyes. Ketchener felt tears form at the corner of his eyes once again as stabbing guilt replaced the pride in his chest. He didn't even know the young soldier's name. It shamed him to admit it, but he had never bothered to learn the names of any of the Raj troops. What kind of commander was he?
With strength far exceeding that of someone his age or size, the prince shrugged the young soldier from his blade leaving it covered in shimmering red ichor. Ketchener watched in disgust as the false saint lifted the bloody blade to eye height and studied the residue from his kill while his company continued with the butcher's work of cutting down the rest of the brave soldiers from the Raj.
"Idiot, if you'd just ran…" The boy said with a strange expression on his face as he gazed at the blood dripping from his blade.
Finally, the cruel saint turned back towards Ketchener, his desperate wild eyes blazing once again as he approached. This time the smile matched his eyes, his grin almost manic. The Empire were madmen for sending children to war, it had obviously mentally shattered this boy leaving little more than a vicious beast behind; one that fed off death and destruction. And this was the one renowned for mercy, he could only imagine how evil the Devil of the Rhine must be.
The Cruel Saint stood over him and stared down into his eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Ketchener coughed again, tasting more blood in his mouth but despite himself, he smiled. He knew he was dying, at least he could take comfort that the Imperial bastards wouldn't capture him.
His mind started to turn hazy, and his thoughts started to wander. He thought of all his achievements and the proud day when he stood in front of the Queen and was rewarded for his service. He'd been so proud of what he'd done for the Commonwealth, he didn't care much for the medals, the ranks or the titles but he felt honoured to have his hard work acknowledged by their sovereign.
His mind drifted further back, to the day his niece was born. He'd been a young captain then, so focused on his career that he barely ever visited his family. If not for poor weather delaying his voyage, he would have missed it but in the end, he was thankful for the delay. From the moment he'd held her in his arms, looking down at her inquisitive eyes and soft dark hair he'd known she'd forever have a place in his heart.
Now she was the only family he had left, and he felt a pang of guilt as he realised he would be leaving her alone. But she was a strong woman, stronger than anyone he'd ever met. He knew she would be fine without him.
Finally, he thought of home. The Allied Kingdom of Albion with its rolling hills, green fields and smoggy cities. He'd spent so little of his life there he realised, he'd been serving or campaigning across the world for most of his life. But Albion was where his heart lay, and he knew he would return there to rest when this was all over.
He became aware of the cruel saint staring down at him once again, but something had changed. The mad desperation was still present in the green orbs but now they were coloured with something else. Sadness, deep sadness and regret.
The boy looked at his blade once again and Ketchener swore he saw a tear form at the corner of the boy's eye as he winced as though in physical pain.
"If it's any consolation, I wish I didn't have to do this. It's just…" The boy whispered as he slowly and deliberately placed the point of his blade at Ketchener's chest. Ketchener took a deep breath and stared up at the boy as he lifted his sword to deliver the final blow. He would not look away, he would meet his end as a man of Albion.
"Deus lo Vult"
September 12th Unified Year 1925 17:00
Gyption Western Desert, 60 miles from Iskandria, near the town of Alealmayn
Bastine felt as though the world had been ripped out from under him. His body was aflame with agony, and he could barely move. He could barely even summon the energy to open his eyes as he lay broken on the warm sands. He now knew only pain as he lay trapped within the shattered confines of his own body. Drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to call for help or even reach for his canteen to slake his thirst. Barely able to hear as his ears filled with blood.
He had no idea how long he had been lying here, he had no way to mark the passage of time aside from the occasional fluctuation in his agony. Gradually it began to feel like his sense of self, his very being was slowly fading away and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. It was a mercy really, the world was becoming ever more darker and distant, as though he were becoming detached from reality. He should have been terrified, but instead, a curious sense of serenity took over him as he felt the void begin to take away his pain.
He tried to recall how he had gotten here, his injuries made it difficult to remember but he felt like it was important that he recalled what happened before the end. His head throbbed as he tried to force the memory forward, then all at once he saw a figure in his mind.
It was the Devil and as he saw her dispassionate stare, everything came flooding back.
Five hours earlier
"God help us." Bastine whispered as he stared at the impossibly large explosion that had just ripped through their lines.
He felt frozen in place by a mixture of horror and awe as he watched a single streak of unearthly power remove hundreds from existence in a mere instant. No trace of them remained, even their clothing and equipment was swallowed by the blinding light and deafening noise. The detonation left an empty void filled with nothing but blasted sand in its wake and there was now an unnatural emptiness where these brave men had once stood.
There was a moment of eerie silence, as though even sound had been removed form the blast radius. Bastine felt numb as he saw so many lives extinguished all at once; unable to contemplate the enormity of what he had witnessed. It shouldn't have been possible. That blast had only been from a single mage. An entire regiment shouldn't have been able to cause so much destruction! Yet somehow this lone soldier had torn through them like they were nothing!
He stared down at the blast site feeling dizzy from the impossible sight he had just seen. From his vantage point, he could see there would be little hope of finding any survivors. He doubted even the strongest of his mages could have survived even being close to a blast like that, and they would at least have some protection. The poor souls down there had nothing to shield them from the mage's power.
He couldn't even begin to comprehend what it might have been like for those caught up in the destruction. The anguish cut into his chest like a knife. He could only hope that it had been quick and painless.
"A single mage." He mumbled to himself as shock deafened him to the frantic radio signals and battlefield noise that had begun return around him. It wasn't possible, no mage was strong enough to wield that sort of power. Or at least they shouldn't be.
He gazed upwards towards the shooter, his head feeling heavy, almost like he was drunk from the horror he had just witnessed. In the distance, he saw a single figure lower their weapon and look down upon the havoc they had wrought as the remainder of the mages formed up around them. It was true, it really had been a single shooter.
It was her, The Devil of the Rhine.
He now understood why the Francois feared her so much, she wasn't human, she couldn't be. They'd been having trouble with her and her mages before this but now it was clear that she had been toying with them like a cat playing with a mouse. Romel had wanted to bring as many of them together as possible, simply to unleash her and show how futile their resistance was. He'd herded them in order to let the Devil slaughter them like cattle.
He had thought he'd taken heed of the Republic's warnings, he thought he'd done his best to prepare for what this monster was capable of. But there was nothing that could have prepared him for this. He swore he would never forget the moment that this monster destroyed so many lives so callously. This person deserved her moniker, they truly were evil.
A second shot rang out from the Devil, this time accompanied by the fire from her lesser demons. Their power was minute compared to that of their vile mistress but together it added to the concert of destruction taking place below. The air filled with screams that almost matched the volume of the explosions, this was no longer a battle, it was a massacre.
The shock began to transform into indignant rage and for the first time, Bastine felt as though this war were truly justified. The Empire knew they could push this force aside, they knew that the Commonwealth forces had no hope of victory here, yet they allowed them to believe they stood a chance. This enemy was ruthless in their killing, they had no respect for the lives of those they had taken. That they offered no quarter before unleashing such a devastating and overpowering attack was proof of that. This carnage was immoral, sinful even!
A monster like this cannot be permitted to live.
Both his mages and the troops below were already panicking and would doubtlessly be looking to him for leadership, but Bastine's gaze was fixed on the figure high above them. They should withdraw, save who they could while they still had the chance. He knew that and every rational bone in his body told him that he should order it immediately before it was too late.
However, he knew he would never forgive himself if he allowed this evil to go unopposed. Even if the effort ultimately proved to be futile, someone had to stand against this demon.
With a wordless prayer on his lips, he willed mana into his flight gear and charged towards the enemy mages, firing wildly at them despite the extreme range. He became aware of many of his own troops following his example, but his mind was too focused on his target to pay them any mind. He needed to rid this evil from the world. If he ever wanted to close his eyes without seeing the terrible vision of death he had just witnessed replayed again and again, he needed to make sure the Devil was defeated.
His men joined their fire to his and he saw the barriers of the Imperial mages begin to light up as they were struck. Again, he paid no attention to them as he focused on his own target, the monster who led them.
As they closed, he began to make out the figure of the Devil more clearly and what he saw made him feel sick. He'd been briefed that the Devil of the Rhine and Saint were children, of course, he'd even seen top-secret pictures taken from computation orbs, but he'd never truly believed that a nation would send children to war. How could any moral person even consider it?
No, this is no child. A child is not capable of such slaughter. This is a monster in the form of a little girl. A killing machine shaped by an unscrupulous Empire.
He urged himself forward, firing again, watching the shots impact against her shield. She ignored him, firing another devastating volley into the helpless soldiers below. He felt his rage rise further as he thought about how many countless lives she had so casually extinguished and yelled in anguish.
"Face me Devil!"
Time seemed to slow as the girl turned to face him. She wore a dispassionate expression, as though she were completely unaffected by the death and destruction she had caused. Her eyes glowed a sickening yellow gold and she radiated an unnatural aura that made her seem large and dominating, despite her short stature. Just looking at her filled Bastine with a strange feeling of dread.
The girl raised her weapon once again and he felt a surge of mana in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Her lips began to move, and her voice rang out over the battlefield as she levelled her weapon at Bastine and his mages.
"Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord; And let perpetual light shine upon them." The girl's voice echoed in the sky as she squeezed the trigger and unleashed a volley of fire at the soldiers behind him.
He heard the blasts and the screams of the fallen behind him. He didn't need to look to know that they were dead; this monster was too efficient of a killer to allow any of them to live. However, her words as she fired cut through his soul. This creature, this devil was mocking his very faith. It was as though she knew the reason for his foolhardy charge, and she was taunting and laughing at his conviction.
He let out a wordless yell of defiance and fired the last of his ammunition at the Devil, watching as it lit up her shield once more. He increased his speed and hefted his rifle so that he could charge her with his bayonet. He would drive it through her heart, he would defeat this monster. He'd use his bare hands if he had to! He owed it to his fallen comrades, he owed it to everyone who had suffered under her gaze.
The Devil did not react as the blade drew closer and closer to her, a little more and she'd be…
Bastine saw his barrier shattering into a thousand pieces, the blow that had struck him had been so quick that his eyes had not seen what had broken it. A moment later, he found himself coughing up blood as an explosion of pain ripped through his torso. He heard a sickening crack as a sledgehammer like blow fractured his rib cage and knocked him from his flight gear.
Time slowed again as his brain struggled to process everything that had happened. He looked down at his chest to see the Devil ramming the butt of her gun into him. How had she moved so quickly? It wasn't possible.
Her gaze moved up to meet his and terror filled his heart. She still wore the impassive look on her face, almost like she was in a trance, but her actions didn't seem thoughtless. Instead, it was as though she were being puppeted, as though the Devil himself really did inhabit this fanatic's body.
Again, he felt a prayer on his lips as he looked into those soulless eyes, not for himself but for those below. He prayed that they would escape the clutches of this demon.
"Lord bless you and keep you, and give you peace." She whispered robotically before in one terrifyingly swift movement she brought her weapon up and smashed it into his face and the world went dark.
Several hours later
She hadn't bothered to finish him off, she'd let gravity do that for her. She hadn't even fired her weapon to tear him from the sky. She didn't need to; he wasn't enough of a threat for her to bother with. He was too weak to defeat her, too weak to even hurt her. Too feeble to avenge the poor souls she had so casually slaughtered.
A spasm of pain brought him back from his memories and a curious sense of tranquillity fell over him as he thought about his situation. It was unlikely he would survive, if he didn't die from his injuries, the desert heat would no doubt get him. His throat already felt dry, it wouldn't take long for thirst to take him at this rate.
He was going to die.
He felt a deep sadness as he thought of his home and family, he would never see their smiling faces again. He'd always told himself that as a soldier he had prepared himself for the possibility of falling in battle but now that it had become a reality, he found himself terrified of leaving the world behind. Leaving the people he loved behind.
He didn't want to go.
It was at that moment he heard muffled voices at the edge of his awareness. They were distant and it was impossible to make out any details, but someone was nearby searching for survivors. He began to feel the smallest pang of hope, the tiniest flame of belief that he might be rescued and survive this ordeal. He might see his loved ones again after all.
He focused on the voices, using the sound as an anchor and grasping it with his mind in an attempt to drag his consciousness back from the pit it had fallen into. Gradually the voices began to become clearer, and the darkness began to fade away as the sunlight began to pass through his eyelids.
He gasped to fill his lungs with oxygen, sending a new wave of agony through his chest. However, he began to feel stronger, as though the life was somehow being returned to him. Mustering all the effort he could manage, he forced his eyes open, filling his world with light once more. His vision was blurry as his eyes struggled to focus and his aching head began trying to interpret the fuzzy shapes being introduced to him.
His vision began to clear and a face filled his perception. A young boy with bright, but tired, green eyes knelt before him smiling softly at him as he gazed down at him. His hair was golden with flecks of silver that shimmered in the desert sun, making the boy seem like he was glowing.
His first thought that this was an angel, perhaps he had already died and this cherub had come to calm his anguished soul. As his mind became slightly clearer, he knew he was mistaken, this was a real boy, not some divine apparition. But why would he be here on the battlefield?
Bastine became aware of a small hand on his chest a small influx of power was being directed into his body. The boy was healing him he realised, using magic to breathe new life into him. He may not have been a true angel, but he was Bastine's saviour, his saint.
He urged his mouth open to thank him, barely able to force a raspy whisper from his parched lips. However, before he could form any words, the boy lifted a finger to his mouth and gently shushed him before reaching into his pack and pushing a canteen towards Bastine's mouth.
He swallowed the water gratefully, the liquid giving him life as sure as the boy's mana was. He watched as the boy returned to performing magical first aid and although still in great pain, he felt some of his strength begin to return to him.
They stayed like that for some time, although Bastine had no idea exactly how long. Eventually, the boy's ministrations were interrupted by shouting somewhere outside Bastine's vision. He felt as though he recognised the speaker, but he couldn't remember where from. He tried to turn to see who the new voice belonged to, but the boy stopped him, once again bringing his finger to his lips before whispering in two words in accented Albish.
"Stay quiet."
The boy stood and turned, giving a quick salute to whoever was approaching. Bastine tried to focus on the second voice, attempting to remember where he knew the speaker from despite the pain and disorientation filling his mind. It was young and obviously belonged to a female, but the tone was harsh and aggressive. Somehow it didn't seem to quite fit with his recollection.
"Ah, Frau Major, Sie haben es ihnen dort drüben aber gehörig gezeigt. Bei so wenigen Überlebenden wird das Ildoa Rote Kreuz mit wenig Arbeit belohnt sein." The boy began, smiling at the approaching figure while Bastine silently wished he could understand the Germanic language. "Nächster Halt - Flugplatz, dann Iskandria und danach der Kanal, oder?"
Despite the boy's warning, Bastine forced himself to move his head to one side so that he could see the second figure. Pain shooting through him with the effort but he felt compelled to find the source of the familiar voice. His vision was still blurry, and the bright sunlight made it difficult to see so he had to squint in order to see the person the boy was speaking to.
Bastine's blood ran cold as the figure became clearer, it was her! The Devil who had killed so many and left him a broken shell! Fear overtook him, in this state he was helpless, the cruel girl could snuff out his life in an instant and he had no way of defending himself, just like the poor soldiers she had so mercilessly killed a few hours before. All that stood between him, and certain death was the small boy who had brought him back from the brink.
He prayed as he unconsciously reached into his pocket, his hand closing over a small silver cross. It had been a gift from his grandfather, a family treasure that he had kept safe since he was a child. He drew strength from it as he asked the Lord for protection against this She-devil, not just for himself but for the boy who stood against her.
The devil girl's gaze met Bastine's for a brief second and her eyes narrowed. Bastine's fear turned to terror, they were not the same eyes he had seen far above as she struck him from the skies. These were much worse. These were the eyes of a much more controlled individual. Unlike before these eyes seemed to show understanding of the carnage around her, however, her expression showed that she simply didn't care. Somehow, these eyes were much worse and he thanked God that he had not needed to face her while wearing this gaze. He was certain he would not have survived.
The second seemed to stretch on for an eternity but eventually, the girl ripped her gaze away from him and returned it to his saviour.
"Genug rumgealbert Wilhelm, Abmarsch in zehn Minuten." The Devil barked at the boy, causing a shot of pain to run through Bastine's body as he reflexively jumped at the girl's harsh tone. It was strange, this was very different from the monotone prayers that he had witnessed in the sky, yet no less intimidating. The girl was fiery and aggressive, like a predator ready to strike. It did not seem to bother his saviour, however, as the boy continued to smile calmly at her.
"So verstanden Major, ich komme gleich nach." The boy replied as the girl turned and stalked away, waiting a few moments before kneeling back down and returning his attention to Bastine.
He wished he understood what the two had said, he felt he had missed something important in their interaction. The boy must have seen the pained confusion on his face as he began to speak to him again in a soft whisper.
"We'll be leaving soon, now that your army has been beaten, we'll go to the airfield then push on to Iskandria and the Suez." The boy began with a hint of regret in his slightly accented Albish. "We haven't got the numbers to take prisoners and wounded, so the Ildoan's are sending some people to look after you, since they're neutral they'll send you back home. If…if you could, I'd like you to warn your people what we're doing, try to convince them to surrender peacefully."
Bastine was confused, although they had suspected that the Imperials would continue to threaten the important sea lane, they hadn't had any proper confirmation of it. The boy had revealed the Imperial's plan to him. With foreknowledge they would be able to dig in and defend the canal, Albion and the Commonwealth would throw everything they had at it to keep it secure. Even with the power of that Devil behind them, they couldn't hope to take it if they had enough time to prepare. Could they?
"Why?" Bastine breathed, barely able to force the word from his lips.
The Boy was silent for a few moments and Bastine saw the tired and melancholic look that fell over the boy's expression. He suddenly looked older, far beyond his years, as though the weight of this terrible conflict had stolen away some of his youth.
"Too much blood was spilt today. I don't want to see any more."
"Who are you?" Bastine whispered as he stared up at the boy, already knowing the answer.
"I'm just a soldier like you." The boy said getting to his feet, "One who wishes there was no need for Saints"
September 12th Unified Year 1925 19:00
Gyption Western Desert, 60 miles from Iskandria, near the town of Alealmayn
Tanya waited impatiently as Wilhelm sauntered towards her with an infuriating smirk on his face. Her head was pounding and the disorientating effect of her memory loss of the past few hours did nothing to improve her mood. Neither did Wilhelm's irritating antics. One would never have thought that not so long ago the little idiot had been surrounded and was lucky not to have been killed.
"What the hell was that?" She hissed as he drew closer.
"Hmm?" The little captain replied with a widening grin; his pretence at innocence only serving to further aggravate her. Her temper snapped and she grabbed him by the collar pulling his face level with hers. The action caught the boy off guard, and he now stared at her with undisguised apprehension and surprise. You'd have thought he'd have learned not to push my buttons by now.
"That crap about Iskandria and the Canal? You know full well we're heading back once we've destroyed the airfield." She growled, invertedly launching spittle into the nervous and confused Wilhelm's face.
"And don't think I didn't notice you talking to that injured soldier. I'm in no mood for whatever game you're playing. Tell me what you're up to or I swear you'll live to regret it." She warned narrowing her eyes at him.
"Tanya please, I'm just trying to be helpful." He stammered nervously as he tried to make his excuses. "It was just a little show for our injured friend I thought it would be useful to pass on a little false intel. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to understand Germanic, so I had to improvise. I think I was quite convincing though."
Tanya glared at the boy, searching for the tell-tale signs of deceit she'd learned to recognise in Wilhelm's expressions. Eventually, she loosened her grip on the boy's collar, satisfied that, for now at least, the boy was telling the truth.
"You don't get to make decisions like that anymore Captain." She stated emphasising his rank in order to make her point. Still, she felt herself calming slightly now that she knew the bratty Captain's motives. He may have been acting without proper authorisation but at least he was doing it with the mission in mind. "You should have asked me or the General first."
"I just wanted to try and make myself useful." He replied with a frown and a heavy sigh. "My assault was a disastrous failure, you'd already broken through by the time I managed to take out their commander. I was hoping to prove I can be of some use to you."
Tanya found herself genuinely surprised by the boy's words. Usually, the boy took almost any setback in his stride, adapting to the changing situation with surprising alacrity. As a general rule, he viewed them as little more than a bump in the road, so it was unexpected to see him upset that things hadn't gone quite his way.
Besides, she'd had her doubts about how well the plan would work in the first place. She knew better than to pin all her hopes on the chance that a decapitation strike would cause the enemy to flee. Being X would never allow her to have such a run of good luck. All in all, Wilhelm had done a decent job, it was just that his gambit had failed. It wasn't his fault, so why did he feel so bad about it?
"You were even forced to use that thing; if I'd done my job properly, it wouldn't have been necessary." The boy sulked.
Tanya felt her ire rise once again. One thing both she and the Salaryman had always found incredibly annoying was people who took responsibility for things they weren't accountable for. It was acceptable for a superior to bear a portion of the blame for a subordinate, they were ultimately culpable after all. However, taking the rap for something not within your power to prevent was a pathetic attempt to gain unearned pity.
Besides the idea that he was somehow responsible for her using the type 95 was an affront to her belief in self-determination. It was bad enough that Being X ripped away her free will whenever she used the cursed device, she refused to believe that anyone could somehow take away her choice to use the damned thing in the first place.
"Don't give me that crap Wilhelm!" She snapped at him irritably, "Next you'll be telling me that you're the reason I got put on the front lines in the first place!"
Wilhelm blinked at her with confusion before allowing himself a small smile.
"I'm not sure even I could have managed that." He chuckled doing nothing but increasing her displeasure.
"I'm not sure what you're laughing at Wilhelm." She cut in feeling an evil grin pulling at her features, "you're still guilty of insubordination. And not for the first time."
She smiled inwardly as she saw Wilhelm turn a shade paler as his smile evaporated. It was always nice to see him taken down a peg. He looked tired, well weren't they all, but Tanya had always been a fan of using unpaid overtime to encourage correct behaviour. It would be some time before Wilhelm got the rest he wanted. If she was lucky, the little captain might actually learn his lesson this time, but she wouldn't hold her breath.
She'd originally intended to keep him close after this mission to prevent him getting caught up in any other suicidal missions. However, what she was planning for him shouldn't be too dangerous under the circumstances, with the Commonwealth on the run he should be relatively safe. Besides, it would be nice to get him out of her hair for a while.
"Since you're so keen to make yourself useful, you can act as a rearguard until we're back in Illdoan territory." She began, taking perverse delight at watching the boy's expression sink further. "Another few days of active duty will do you the world of good."
Authors Notes
Hello everyone and as always, thank you for reading.
First of all, for all those unable to speak German (such as myself), the dialogue translation is below.
"Ah Major, you certainly let them have it over here. There are barely any survivors for the Ildoa red cross to collect."
"So on to the airfield, then Alexandria and the Canal, eh?"
"Enough playing around Wilhelm, we're moving out in ten minutes."
"Right away Major, I'll be right with you."
Thank you to my German friend Simko for translating for me, I know you read the AN so enjoy your kudos.
Next, in case you haven't heard season 2 of YS just got announced so hooray! They also showed an OVA showing a little more of what Tanya and co were up to while in Afrika (sod's law considering I've been stuck for so long). For some reason, it involves pasta, which I don't really know how to work into this story but maybe one day I'll write a short side story or something.
I feel like I'm getting back into my stride with writing so I hope I might get back to updating a little more regularly. (fingers crossed)
immy-Vickers-1919 (Author of the Purpose of conflict and my proofreader) impels me to add that I rather annoyingly (and accidentally no matter what he says) added a character with the same name (Ketchener) and that I finished using mine so quickly. Personally it didn't feel quickly to me, and I'm kinda sad to see the old fella go but that's how it is.
Lastly, since it has been mentioned that some can't see the cover art (by the very talented Jebi), I have set up a deviant art page to show it along with a few other bits and pieces in future. Vickers will also be putting his cover up there (also by Jebi). Most excitingly we will be getting some more art commissioned and add it to the page.
doesn't allow links but if you remove the spaces from below you should find it.
: / / w w w . / y
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you again for reading, reviewing and favouriting.
Xanen