Disclaimer: FoZ/ZnT belong to the departed Noboru Yamaguchi and whoever inherited the I.P.. Any real life organisation/person is merely being used in a fictional non-profit way.

Authors' notes: So North America counterattacks… Happy New Year's everyone!

For those who want to see other Earth nations in this conflict, do remember that the Commonwealth forces have to travel much greater distances to get to Canada in the first place. Australia/New-Zealand has the Pacific to cross as well as the west coast of North America while Britain has the Atlantic Ocean to deal with. The flight from Australia to Montreal alone takes 24 hours. That excludes mobilisation in Australia and reorganisation once they arrive in Canada. The 1st Cavalry Division, which is based in Texas, takes 3 days to travel to Montreal because they have to cross the whole US. Those 3 days is the time it takes for the quick response brigades. The flight between Houston and Montreal is 6h with one stop.

Given that kind of delay, there's a reason why any sizable non-Canadian Commonwealth force would not make into Halkeginia in time to help save the Tristainians. Waiting for them would have doomed Tristain and Henrietta. However reconstruction is another thing…

As for NATO, maybe small detachments but a large scale deployment is unlikely since the US/Commonwealth forces are more than enough.

Japan's unlikely as hell even if Saito and his brother were present in Halkeginia. In Saito's case… he's still missing as far the average Japanese know while his brother is only one citizen. The Zero fighter wouldn't be enough either. At best… scientific parties.

No Wagner's is because of two things. No one plays 'Ride of the Valkyries' for psyops according to what I learnt from veterans . The other reason is that RCAF helicopters don't actually have speakers mounted to them for psyops. It's not part of Canadian military doctrine. Sad but true.

Northern Resolve

They had brought tents and other supplies, but unfortunately it had never made it off the ships before the outworlders destroyed them. So now the Albionian troops around Clément-sur-Mer were improvising shelter from the local trees… that is if the damned outworlders hadn't removed most of them. Foraging gave some food despite the scarce land… but it was better than nothing.

The sun was soon to rise, and the troops couldn't be happier; the night had been very cold for many of them, camped out on the plains. Some kept themselves warm with rage as they stared at the brightly lit up base in the distance. It was almost a mockery for them at how their enemy seemed to be comfortable despite being at war. Others could muster no such animosity, their will to fight already sapped by the horrors they had seen on that first day. So many had died without being able to do anything.

The men had even been too scared to retrieve their wounded that fell close to the base. Their cries had fallen silent, no doubt having been taken prisoner by their enemies or killed.

To add insult to injury, the enemy had chosen to attack them with words. Their strange airships flew above, bombarding them with messages that the other assaults had failed catastrophically and that it was better to surrender than die uselessly for a leader that did not care about them.

Many had laughed at such blasphemy. How could faithless heathens break the will of Brimir's chosen themselves? It was only a matter of time before Lord-Protector Cromwell sent reinforcements from Albion.

But it didn't make the cold night any more bearable.

It was the early morning, still before sunrise. Many men were still sleeping, or trying to. Others were huddled around small fires to keep themselves warm. What few officers were left were conversing in the scant amount of shelter that they still had.

"We should be able to keep the enemy behind his battlements," Ravenshill said to his aides in the southern camp as he looked over a map, "He does not look like he wishes to sally forth."

"Milord, what if they are telling the truth?" one of his aides asked worriedly, "If they have already stopped our Lord-Protector's attacks elsewhere, we could be the only force left in Tristain."

"I refuse to believe their lies," Ravenshill replied simply, "If they were truly winning than they would have sallied forth by now. Not constantly telling us about our imminent defeat."

"Perhaps they know that help is on the way so they chose to wait and rest comfortably as to better fight us at first light?"

"It is of no matter. They are lying." Ravenshill insisted, "There is no way that their armies would be able to break the siege at the Tristain Academy and relieve Tristania in such a short period of time."

Meanwhile... light rose from the east. A sentry in the camp east of the base noticed it first. The lights grew brighter followed by a droning sound that grew ever louder. The sentry quickly had a messenger sent word to Lord Ravenshill. The rest of the eastern camp rose at the disturbance.


The light and rumbling was in fact two companies worth of Canadian mechanized infantry that had come from the portal. LAV-IIIs' and other support vehicles had dashed from the Academy portal as soon as the assault had been broken, bearing 300 Canadian soldiers and their weapons. Dust swirled around the armoured vehicles as they crested a small hill, their formation loosening up. The backs opened up and infantry sections disembarked.


"Lord Ravenshill! The enemy is upon us!" an Albion soldier shouted as he entered the General's tent.

"What do you mean?!" the general exclaimed.

"They have arrived upon strange magical wagons near the eastern camp!" the soldier reported as he caught his breath, "We count 30 of those wagons milord!"

"Have they begun attacking us?" Ravenshill asked urgently. He needed to form up his remaining men and the last thing he needed was the enemy attacking him before he was ready.

"No milord, they have stopped for the moment," the soldier reported, "But we have seen men disembarking from these wagons."

That reassured Ravenshill as he let out a sigh of relief.

"Send for the captains," he ordered, "We must ready ourselves for battle against the enemy."

"Yes milord."

As he made his way to his planning table and unrolled the map, another panicked man burst into his tent. He bowed hastily before talking.

"Milord, the enemy's airships have taken off again!"

"What?! Are they heading towards us?!"

"Yes Milord!"

"Have the captains form up for battle against the enemy's reinforcements immediately!"

Ravenshill remembered what had happened to his cannons. What had happened to the airships that robbed him of half his army the Lord-Protector had trusted to his leadership. Those strange streaks of magic fire that hit with precision that could make even a square mage envious. What would they target this time?


The attack began. Repetitive thumping sounds resonated as the Canadian's LAV-III's began pouring fire onto their enemy.

The Albion troops were still in the process of forming up. It was a difficult task as many officers, banners and musicians had been lost in yesterday's hectic battles. It had become downright impossible when the first 25mm shells began raining down on them. First to fall were the musketeer units as they were torn to shreds by the enemy's heavy muskets.

The Canadian officers had chosen to remove the enemy' only source of firepower. Muskets were much inferior compared to modern assault rifles like the Canadian infantry's C7A2's but removing the enemy's ability to throw lead around was always welcome.

It helped greatly that the Albion troops were using tactics from the early 1600's where each unit was clearly identified by their weapons.

The flashes and sounds reached as far as the southern camp. Ravenshill could only watch in horror as he saw his men getting cut down in the distance. His aides were horrified as well.

"M-milord, are we going to reinforce the eastern camp?" An aide asked.

"Of course! Order our men to advance!" Ravenshill ordered desperately, "We have the weight of numbers!"


"Move up!" was the order for many of the Canadian infantry sections after they had dismounted from their transports. They dashed through the open fields while their transports provided covering fire. Very soon, the clicking sound of bipods and tripods being deployed could be heard as Canadian machine gunners got into position. Machine guns roared to life as bullets streaked across the battlefield.

Occasionally, a wall of dirt or a shimmering blast of wind would appear, buying a split second of relief for the Reconquista troops before the magic wore out. The Reconquista saw their enemy charging them and counter attacked, only to witness the heretics stop and drop to the ground once they were close enough. More fire rang out from the enemy's repeating muskets, cutting down even more men. Officers fell at alarming rates, picked off one by one and slowly beheading the army as well as removing any magic that could help them.

The countercharge stopped in its tracks as many fell to the ground, injured, terrified or dead. Others tried to run away… but there was no escape. They were caught between the enemy bastion and the enemy's reinforcements. The eastern camp collapsed in order entirely. Some men fled towards the woods in the distance. Others tried to run north or south.

In the southern camp, the CH-146s began to rain fire down on the gathered Reconquista forces before they could even move out. The soldiers and Lord Ravenhill could only watch helplessly as their ranks were torn asunder by the loud and fearsome weapons of the heretics.

In the northern camp, pinpoint precise explosions suddenly decimated the gathered men as the Blackhawks fired from a distance. They couldn't even see the attacking airship. Hellfire after Hellfire detonated among their ranks, killing scores of men each time.


"M-milord, what should we do?!" one of Ravenshill's aides panicked. The sound of the battle rained around them: the wet sound of bodies being struck, of dirt and ground being thrown up, of men wailing in pain and in fear. Listening to all of that, the Reconquista general realized: he had no idea that could bring victory. Suddenly everything else seemed so far away from him: the cause, the Lord-Protector's vision for the Blessed Realms, visions of wealth and fame. Any chance of victory was gone.

With no hesitation, Ravenshill drew his sword and made his way to one of the walls of the tent. He swung a few times, cutting off a large piece of cloth before tying it to his sword.

"Milord?!"

The Albion general ignored him and strode outside, the carnage not letting up in those few moments. Pointing his wand at his neck as he waved his sword.

"The battle is yours! We surrender! Men of Albion… lay down your weapons! They have defeated us on this day! We cannot win! The Founder has forsaken us on this field of battle!" His amplified voice drifted over the plains. The airships suddenly ceased their devastating fire. After several moments, the sound of battle in the north and east ceased too. His voice hadn't actually reached those camps, but the Earth forces had ceased firing and the Reconquista there were either too shaken or too banged up to even attempt to attack.

Ravenshill just stood there in a daze for several minutes while the airships returned to their base. And suddenly the enemy was sallying forth, heading directly for his camp. He could only assume they were going to his other camps as well. Coming to gather their prisoners.

As the Canadian and American soldiers advanced and entered the camps, their adversaries were begging for mercy. Despite being outnumbered, there was no opposition. A single soldier could guard a dozen prisoners and none would disobey their captors' orders. Reconquista was wholly and truly beaten here.

In spite of his horrific losses, in spite of his surrender, and in spite of his failure to complete his mission, Ravenshill was determined to at least maintain some semblance of dignity and station. "What man here led the defense of this bastion?" he asked to a group of American soldiers that attempted to take his sword and wand at gunpoint. He could finally see his opponent up close.

"I cannot give you the name of my commanding officer!" the man said, "Drop the weapons or we're going to have a real problem here!"

"I have already surrendered my army! I will only surrender my sword and my wand to one of equal status to me!" he argued, "I will only hand them to one of your leaders!"

"Captain!" The soldiers called someone else over. A mere captain? Surely a man of higher rank had to have been responsible and present on this field. The man made his way over, accompanied by what Ravenshill presumed to his guards. The soldiers explained Ravenshill's demands to their leader.

"You are in charge of the defense?" He asked.

"Right now, I'm in charge of you. You can either put those weapons on the ground or I can force you to drop them."

"Preposterous! How dare you? I will only surrender to the leader of this army!" To the Earth soldiers, he was playing hardball, demanding the same type of respect and courtesy he'd normally get here. Problem for him was the Earth forces had and still preferred expediency and efficiency over that nonsense. But in the interest of de-escalating things (the other troops could see their General resisting, and the Americans were aware something might happen if they attacked their leader here in front of all of them), the Captain decided to humor the man.

"Tell you what- surrender it to me, and I'll see to it my commander gets it. He is currently busy elsewhere and cannot be present. What is your name milord?"

"I am Lord Cornelius Richards of Ravenshill. And yours captain?"

"Captain Andrew Hills of the United States Army."

"Then Captain Hills," He stepped forward, immediately getting a host of guns pointed at him. He ignored them and pulled up his sword sheath from his belt. "I surrender this army to your kingdom and my sword and wand to the commander who has bested me." The Captain took the sword and his wand, taking a moment to feel the weight of the bladed weapon.

"Your surrender is accepted." The Captain recognized. The tension from the other Albion prisoners eased off. It was completely over now. "You're our prisoner now, so I suggest you cooperate."

"Of course." The noble knew his place. He allowed the same group that'd confronted him at first to raise his arms over his head and lead him away, like so many other men, to the outworlders bastion.


Inside the base, the reports started coming in. An exact headcount could wait, but at the moment they had somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 prisoners. That included a few surviving nobles and a senior enemy general.

Despite this victory, it was not time to rest. Radar crews still monitored their screens while ground crews were keeping the helicopters on standby. They were all very tired, having only indulged in brief power naps, but there was still work to be done. Troops were leading the enemy prisoners to temporary holding areas while medics were carrying the wounded away for healing. They already knew they didn't have enough cells at the secret prison for all of them. Hell, not even for a fifth of them. But they'd figure something out.

Word of the battle's conclusion was sent back to Earth. Siege broken, enemy army decimated, 0 casualties. It was a scale of victory unheard back on Earth. In all the hustle and bustle after such a battle, a young officer was making his way to an office in the base, carrying a package with him. He knocked on the door before a voice told him to enter.

"Colonel Hamilton." The Captain saluted after he entered the room.

"At ease." The colonel returned it. "What do you have there, Captain Hills?" The younger officer presented the sword and wand.

"The enemy commander surrendered these to me sir." he said, "He wished to surrender them to you but I told him you were indisposed so he surrendered his army and weapons to me."

"I see. Good job there captain and thank you. You can put them on my desk."

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

Hills exited the office and returned to his task. Meanwhile, Hamilton had drawn the sword from its scabbard and was inspecting its craftsmanship. It was a magnificent sword that shone proudly in the office's light.

"Guess this is how General Washington must have felt after Yorktown," the colonel said in satisfaction as he sheathed the sword. He wasn't going to keep it- rules and regulation. But someone up the chain might want it around. Who knows? Maybe it'd be in a museum one day above a plaque detailing Albion's surrender to a base under his command. He chuckled briefly as he realized that he had one-upped the Canadians in being the one that got the first army in Halkegenia to surrender to an Earth army.

One point for America!


Back in Tristainia, the early morning sun had brought a temporary spell of peace. To each sides commanders, the troops were simply reforming after the chaos that was resulted from the outworlder's airship attack. In reality, both sides were using it to catch a few moments of rest. Most could do so on the Albionian side because their commanders were dead. On both sides what commanders still stood even went so far to encourage it.

But while the Albion troops collapsed in whatever buildings or alcoves they could find, the Tristainian troops were treating themselves to the untouched center of the city, past manors and shops most of them could only dream of being rich enough to live in or shop at. Many passed checkpoints set up by Canadian air assault troops, and there was a true sense of security as they realized the bulky warriors were now between them and the enemy. Some of the warriors had even given words of reassurance and praise for the Tristainian troops' heroics during the night as they passed by.

Coming back with them were also Reconquista prisoners that had been picked up during the surge, although it would be very inaccurate to say they were coming back willing. A few had been bound and were being dragged along the street, a few behind horses. Others were being forced to walk. And if they faltered, they were struck.

This nearly caused an exchange of blows when one such instance happened right in front of Canadian infantry section. They watched as a Reconquista soldier stumbled, and how he was immediately smacked upside his head to the ground.

"There will none of that around us!" a sergeant barked at a group of Tristainian soldiers, "Cut it out!"

"They must pay for what they did to our lands and our people!" one shot back, "They deserve no pity!"

"They are already beaten! If you want to hit one… get your fucking asses back on the line!" the sergeant argued.

"He is right!" another voice cut in. Looking over, the two groups saw a man dressed in fine clothes and decked in expensive armour. It was definitely a nobleman.

"Men of Tristain, cease wasting your strength and return to the battlefield if you wish to quarrel with Albion's men."

The commoner troops grumbled with one daring to talk back. He looked weary and was covered in blood.

"Pff, you can talk of honor and chivalry you fool!" he snapped, "You're not the ones fighting and dying against the damned enemy!"

A scandalized look appeared on the noble

"How dare you speak to me in such a brazen manner?! I am Captain d'Auvergne, leader of the Iron Wall regulars, the finest pikemen in the service of Lord de Grandpré!" the noble retorted, all veneer gone from his voice, "You'll do well remembering your place… you filthy commoner!"

The Canadian troops watched this tense exchange between noble and commoner.

"Gentlemen we have a war to fight!" the Canadian sergeant finally shouted, fed up with such an exchange. Both parties grumbled the man for getting involved.

"You are quite right," the noble finally sneered, "But I will tell my lord about the indiscipline of the Grammond's troops!"

Somehow, the Canadians felt uncomfortable witnessing this exchange. They knew this place was backwards but it was still unpleasant this was what they were partially fighting for.

But if it protected Canada herself, then so be it.


Also in the center of the city were Louise and Saito. Getting out of the Palace had taken longer than expected, them having to force themselves through throngs of sheltering citizens that had flooded into the first floor. The crowds were still bad after they got out into the open areas directly around the Palace.

Even after they escaped the grounds and gotten into the city, they hadn't got anywhere. Saito had wanted to rush right out to join the fighting. Louise, still holding the Founder's Prayer Book to her chest, had reigned him in. If they were fighting, she insisted they join up with her family's army. But they had no idea where it was after all the movement throughout the night, and none of the people they questioned knew either.

The rising sun, the Albion fleet moving over the city, and the helicopters arriving had kept them rooted to the ground to watch. And now that the forces were reforming, any hope of getting into the city was shot. But it was finally their chance to join up with someone. They even found a few familiar faces.

"Kirche!" Saito spotted the red head first.

"Saito, Louise?! What are you two doing here?!" the Germanian mage exclaimed as she whipped her head around.

"We're looking for my parents' men." Louise stated seriously, "Have you seen them?!"

Kirche shook her head sadly.

"The battle has been so chaotic that men have simply fought with whoever they could," she explained, "So I do not know."

Louise was about to cry in anger.

"So if you're here Kirche… is anyone else like Guiche, Malicorne or Tabitha here?" Saito asked, worried about his friends.

"Of course, Tabitha's flying above and Guiche and Malicorne were fighting in the streets." the Germanian explained soberly, "We-we got separated in the fighting."

"Dammit! Come on Louise! We'll keep looking for your parents," Saito said as they kept moving through the crowded streets. They could still get involved even without the Vallières Army.


They'd marched through the entire day and night. Their men were tired and weary. Horses, donkeys, and mules had collapsed from exhaustion. These lords and their armies represented Tristain's southern holdings, and they were only a few leagues from arriving to their destination.

But it was better than arriving too late to save their capital and queen.

"Grand Duke Guldenhof, we have returned from scouting the capital," a scout reported as he arrived on his horse.

"How is the city faring?" the burly man asked, "Where are Albion's armies and ships?"

They were standing on a small hill as their army marched in front of them. Tristania was but a very small spec in the distance still.

"Tristania's walls have fallen. The banners of Reconquista fly from the outer battlements but we hear fighting from inside and her Majesty's banner still flies from atop the Royal Palace."

"So the battle is not yet lost," the Grand Duke said as he looked again at his army.

"Many of the enemy's fleet is still around the capital and they are still fighting the remains of the Tristainian navy," the scout continued grimly, "Our ships are badly outnumbered and many were retreating when we last saw them."

"Do we have any signs of our allies' armies?" the Grand duke asked, trying to hide his mistrust. He had heard many fantastical things about the Americans and Canadians at court and had trouble believing their promises.

"We have seen many strange airships fly in and out of the capital," the scout explained.

"So reinforcements then… Have they destroyed any of the enemy's airships?"

"No milord, they are merely flying in and out though we have seen them use strange weapons and magic against the enemy."

A nearby shout suddenly interrupted the report.

"Milord! Albion's ships are headed towards us!" Another one of his soldiers shouted as he rode up to the Grand Duke.

"How many?!" the noble growled as he looked over the horizon, pulling out a spyglass. He could see the silhouettes of the Albion ships come into view. Many were damaged but it was moot. Any army without naval support would be at the mercy of such a force. His question died in his throat as what looked like a literal cloud gathered on the horizon. At least two dozen ships, all bearing towards them.

"Founder help us," he muttered under his breath. "We must space out our forces!" He spurred his horse into a gallup, quickly looking to find the other lords. Thousands of men weary and tired suddenly jerked to alertness as word spread through the ranks.

Mages readied themselves, knowing that their powers had the most chance of damaging these ships. Others scattered, trying to limit the damage that the ships would inflict with their cannons. The enemy continued to speed towards them, each minute a prolonged nightmare of anxiety.

Then distant explosions echoed. The gathered armies first thought it was enemy cannon. The sound was coming from the Albion ships, but it wasn't cannons. Massive explosions began tearing apart the Albion ships as their burning hulks broke apart in the skies. Debris and men rained down on the field beneath, many never realizing what had befallen them. But the men on the ground had- they caught brief glimpses of strange light approaching the ships at unimaginable speed.

"By Brimir," the Grand Duke heard one of his men whisper, "What is this magic?!"

"Grand Duke, it must be our allies! I have heard tales of their power!" another noble exclaimed. Their allies had come to save them from Albion's navy.

Recomposing himself, the Grand Duke casted a spell on his voice.

"Men! Forwards! Let us save the city from the heretics!" he commanded as he urged his horse forward. He would have, Founder willing, the glory of saving the capital from Reconquista.

The army began to move, emboldened by what they had witnessed. The other Lords' armies were not far behind them.

As they advanced, they passed by the grim remains of the Albion fleet. The stench of burning smoke and bodies hung in the air mixed with the noise of breaking wood and agony of injured men.

It was a grim sight but one that many would see soon repeated before their eyes.


This was mobilization that hadn't been seen on a scale since WWII. Not even training rehearsals had anything on this. Hundreds of vehicles were heading east from the portal, armored or otherwise. IFVs, APCs, and lighter vehicles. And at the forefront of the Canadian forces in the South were Leopard 2A4/A6 tanks leading the charge. American convoys of MRAPs drove to the North of them.

It was only about 2,000 men in total. An advanced element made up of the battalions and regiments that been fully formed up. Mostly armored and mechanized forces that wouldn't be able to get into the city. Instead, they would get an early hold on the city perimeter, open the way in for the infantry when they arrived after them as well as destroying the enemy camps that had been set up outside the walls.

Occasionally, they would see civilians watching them from afar with a mix of awe and fear in their eyes. News coming over the net was that the enemy was being bled dry since yesterday by their allies and now by the airborne soldiers.

And just in was the news fresh out of Clément-sur-Mer that an entire army had surrendered to the garrison and relief forces there.

It was quite encouraging considering for the Canadian soldiers that were heading into what many joked to be "Medieval Mogadishu", a joke shared with their American counterparts. Irony was that 'Black Hawk Down' was screened in certain Canadian Army units as part of Christmas celebrations. It was rather quite jarring as many soldiers were thinking of Christmas that was in a few weeks.

Now they were stuck fighting religious fanatics instead of shopping… but it was what Canada demanded of her soldiers.


Back at Clément-sur-Mer, Colonel Hamilton and Colonel Roberts were once more in the base's radar room. Both had been urgently called up. A radar operator was reading them a report.

"We have a dozen enemy warships that have just left from these three ports," the technician said, "Same ones we watched go home yesterday."

"That confirms what our teams have been saying," another voice chimed in.

"Harper, what do your teams have for us?" Roberts as the CSIS agent and his American counterpart entered the room.

"We had men watching in the ports still. They were loading up more troops, a few thousand at the very least. Lightly armed, possibly reserve forces. No dragons, cavalry, or artillery."

"Do you have any idea where these reinforcements would be headed?" Colonel Hamilton asked.

"Considering the reports that these ships were broken off from the main assault on the capital and were some of the largest transports, it would be safe to wager that they are heading to reinforce Cromwell's main assault," Devers reported.

"Thank you M. Devers." Roberts said before turning to Hamilton, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Hamilton nodded.

"I believe that the helicopters should be ready to go for another mission. How far out are these ships?" the American asked.

"They're still in port. I'm willing to bet they'll take the same route they did yesterday. Perfect for an intercept in a few hours time."

"Splendid news eh?"


"Good shot there man." one of the Blackhawk pilots said to his gunner. In the optics, they could see the last ship of Albion reinforcements convoy fall out of the skies. Burning hulks crashed into the sea below with their precious cargo still on board.

Both helicopters had launched and flown out to intercept the reinforcing fleet over the ocean, closer to Albion's coast than the Tristanian one. It was a grim fate, but war was full of those. Now they flew back to base. It was a short journey for them. As they passed back over the coastline, one radioed the other.

"Hey, you noticed that cloud of smoke over there?"

"Isn't that where Tarbes is supposed to be?" Tarbes was the closest city to the base, although still half a day away by the local means of travel.

"Shit." They radioed back to base and were cleared for some quick reconnaissance.

The two Blackhawks quickly banked over towards Tarbes. The smoke grew thicker as they got closer. The pilots felt dread as they had a feeling of what might have happened. They switched to thermals. The sight confirmed their fears. The enemy had burnt down many of the buildings. The church was blazing orange in their optics. The warehouse was still intact though… with Albion troops gathered around it, though many began to run.

"Those sick bastards," one of the pilots muttered, "They've set up some kind of fucking pyre. In front of the church."

The pyre was less shiny than the church but it was still bright. Meaning it had just been used. The pilots didn't need to guess that it was some kind of religious fanaticism that had brought on this. They knew how religious this world was compared to theirs. ISIS was still fresh in their mind.

A voice came over the radio and drew their attention to another portion of town where Albion troops were busying themselves… with shovels. Horror filled their hearts as they saw what was unfurling.

"Command, there's a mass grave over here!"


The Albion troops could finally see their victory in their sight. They could see the Royal Palace closer than they did the night before, its proud towers and walls standing defiantly against the ruined city. The Tristainians had finally withdrawn into the inner city, leaving the rest to them.

Despite this, they did not feel victorious but tired. It had been a long bloody night with little rest, fighting against a desperate foe that did everything it could to deny them an easy victory. The whole city had fought against them that night… not just the soldiers.

As they advanced through the streets, they had seen the outworlders' airships land regularly with dozens of men aboard. Were the outworlders that desperate to stop the march of the righteous servants of Brimir that they would sacrifice any man that they could?

A unit of Albion pikemen were advancing down one of the streets, unknowing that their every step was watched from the skies above them.

"We've got eyes on them sarge," a Canadian trooper whispered to his section leader, hidden inside a luxurious manor. His leader quickly contacted his superiors by radio and the rest of his platoon before nodding.

"Engage those hostiles!" the sergeant ordered.

It all happened in a blur for the Albion troops. One moment, they were walking on the streets… the next second, they being cut down by heavy musket fire from the nearby buildings that punched through . Explosions began to appear amongst the ranks as well, tearing apart men with impunity. Unfortunately for that unit, their mage had been cut down in the first few instants. No magic could save them. The decimated unit soon broke.

This played out in many of the streets surrounding the inner city. The columns of men falling back brought horrifying news to those who were heading into battle. They spoke of warriors who could turn any mundane building into a fortress and who could fire muskets with lightning-like speed with accuracy and range unheard off.

The Albionian troops tried their best to avoid the fire- scaling walls, shields, trying to sneak around. But nothing worked. These musketeers seemed to know exactly where they were. Drones above- new ones brought over from the States while the ones from the night before recharged - kept a tight shift around the city center. All the while, more CH-146s were coming in. Joined by a pair of US Army CH-47 Chinooks now, the entire 3rd Battalion had made it to the Capital and now the air assets were flying in plenty of munitions and supplies to sustain the fight. Medical units from both armies were being flown in, and steps were being made to fly in an additional two infantry companies from the 10th Mountain.

The Canadian firepower bought the Tristainian troops more time to rest and reorganize. What little medical capabilities they brought was swamped but still much appreciated.


"They are finally starting to pulling their weight," Duchess Vallière commented as she looked over a map of the capital, "Have our forces manage to rally?"

"We have formations available but many are woefully understrength," one of her aides reported, "Many have lost most of their men."

The duke sighed as he massaged his temples. The casualties had been grievous for the Vallières' army. Nearly half of their men were wounded while a quarter were dead. The rest hung on by a thread.

"What of those who can still fight?"

"Tired milord… very tired. We are completely out of shot but the enemy's assaults have stalled and they have withdrawn to regroup."

The two leaders mused at what they could do now. If the strongest Tristainian army in the capital was that badly in shape, the Vallières did not want to imagine how the other noble armies were faring. A counterattack was out of the question. Their musings were broken by a messenger, a member of the small Tristain Royal Army, entering and bowing respectfully to them.

"Duke Vallière, Duchess Vallière, the Queen wishes to summon her generals to the Royal Palace for an emergency meeting. Your presence is required."

"What is happening?

"She wishes to discuss with all the lords and our allies about the course of the battle together as she is in touch with their general."

"Understood, we shall depart right away," The Duchess said as her and her husband stood up.


After their meeting with Kirche, Saito and Louise went off in search of her family's army, the Germanian mage instead choosing to go find some rest with Tabitha who had shown up. It was a mess as the streets were filled with men from the various armies. Many carrying wounded soldiers and anytime the pair would ask for directions, they would be told different things, much to their annoyance and exasperation. At a certain point, they even ran into a Canadian-manned position whose leader told them to get back to safety as beyond them was no-man's land and the enemy.

But then they got lucky in their wanderings, but only because generals moving parted any mass like the Red Sea.

"Mother! Father!" Louise shouted as she saw her parents pass by with their guards, causing their heads to snap.

"Louise! My daughter! By the Founder! What are you doing?" her father shouted in surprise before her parents made their way to her.

"Didn't her Majesty order you to remain in the Palace?" Her mother asked angrily, "This is no place for a child!"

Louise quickly hid the Founder's Prayer book in her cape while Saito froze up.

"W-we wanted to help in the fighting!" Louise tried to defend herself.

"And how are a pair of children going to fight men who have toppled the ruling family of a Blessed Realm?" her father asked, "Come, you are to return to the Palace with us!" he ordered.

"But-"

"There will be no buts. You are not fighting the enemy Louise! You will stay in the Palace!" her mother cut her off, "Familiar! You are coming with us as well. I do not wish for my daughter to lose her familiar because of foolishness."

"Bu-" Saito's protests died as his blood froze under the Duchess' withering glare. The pair merely followed silently, muted by the intimidating presence of the Valliere family heads.

Very soon, the group was once more in front of the Royal Palace.

"Duke Vallière, Duchess Vallière, I am quite happy that you are both well," Agnes said as she stood at the main building's entrance. The Musketeer then noticed Saito and Louise.

"Her Majesty has been looking everywhere for you," the Captain said dryly, "She was quite worried to say the least." Louise shrunk when her parents glared at her.

"I shall take all of you to the Palace's War Room," Agnes said before motioning for a pair of Musketeers to follow behind Louise and Saito.

The walk was uneventful despite how animated the palace was. Tired civilians were waiting anxiously inside the main ballroom while rows of agonizing injured could be seen in the various hallway waiting for medical attention. It was rather quite grim despite the luxurious interior of the Royal Palace.

Finally, the group arrived to the war room. The Queen, General Du Poitiers, and Lord Grammond were already there, along with a few men sporting the green military garb and armour of the Canadians. Several blocky objects were on the table, presumably their communication contraptions. Saito almost gasped at seeing an Earth officer.

"So glad that you could make it Lord Vallière, Lady Vallière." The Queen sounded relieved. She did not speak directly to Louise and Saito. "We were waiting on Lord De Grandpre. He was injured in the fighting and was getting his wounds tended."

"Will it be long before he recovers?" Duke Valliere asked urgently.

"The Palace healers has assured us that he will be here shortly and his messenger has told us to start the meeting without him," Du Poitier reported.

"What of Admiral De Châteauneuf?"

"He and the Navy are still fighting. According to his latest dispatch, most of Albion's fleet has broken off to attack Grand Duke Guldenhorf's relief army. His remaining ships are trying to stall the enemy's efforts at stopping our reinforcements."

The duke and duchess nodded.

"I have summoned you here because we have a break in the fighting to strategize with our allies. I'm sure you've seen by now they've sent their troops into the city. Their commander is here." She motioned to one of the man in green uniforms. He was indistinguishable from the other Canadians present.

"Thank you your Majesty," he said respectfully, "I am Lieutenant-Colonel Frédérick Côté of the 3rd Battalion of the Royal 22e Régiment and I am in charge of the men that have arrived in the city over the past hours. I am also in direct contact with General Carignan, the commander of the relief force."

He briefly bowed to show his respect to the nobles.

"Let us start this meeting then," Du Poitier said, "What is the current state of our armies?"

The grim look on the gathered lords told everything before Marshall Grammond began to talk.

"My men and ammunition have been exhausted. We require a few hours of rest in order to be able to fight again. Even with a few hours, I do not believe it will be enough to fully recover. My casualties have been severe. At least a third of my army is injured and we do not yet know how many have perished." the Marshall reported, "If things continue as they have, I cannot guarantee my army will still exist at the end of the day."

"As for our army, half of our men have been injured and a quarter lay dead in the streets of the capital," Duke Vallière stated, "We have expended all of our shot and I believe that we will not hold another day if the enemy is not defeated before that."

"The various orders have suffered greatly as well," Duchess Valliere added grimly, "Many of our knights have injured or slain in battle against the enemy's knights."

Henrietta looked over another man- the messenger from the Grand Duke.

"Very well," Du Poitier said plainly, "What of Grand Duke of Guldenhof's armies?"

"We have marched all night long to reach you. My lord fears that our men will be too tired to fight well," the messenger stated almost apologetically, "We have 9000 from the southern lands under many lords."

"Has your lord met with the enemy?" Henrietta asked, not noticing Lieutenant-Colonel Côté's faint smile.

"No, your Majesty. We met no enemy forces during our march." The man seemed hesitant for a moment. "Before we left, there were reports of Gallian troops moving around our border." He said uneasily.

"Have they been marching towards our lands?" Henrietta asked grimly. Meanwhile, Lt-Col Côté gestured to one of the signalmen who nodded as he transmitted the Gallian developpement. He turned back to the gathered nobles.

"What do you know of the Gallian leadership's current intentions?" he asked, "Has there been any unusual activity or movements with their armies anywhere else along the border?"

Marshall Grammond shook his head before he answered.

"My scouts have not reported any unusual activities from the Gallian armies. As for King Joseph, that fool is an absolute enigma when it comes to his intentions… perhaps he is either fortifying his borders against Reconquista or preparing to invade us once the fighting is over."

That last statement left an unpleasant taste in Côté's mouth. More useless fighting due to a madman's ego and whims.

"I see. I'll send word of this to my superiors and they'll decide the course of action concerning Gallia. Of course, there is no intention of abandoning you to them," the Canadian reassured, knowing how his superiors felt about losing proper allies, "Let's focus on our current situation."

"Lieutenant-Colonel Côté, what is the state of your armies?" du Poitier asked urgently, "How will it take for them to relieve us?"

"Our full forces should arrive at the capital in 7 hours. Both our countries together have mustered over 10,000 soldiers to join the fighting here."

"Only 10 000 men?" Duke Vallière asked skeptically, "Will they be enough to break the enemy?"

"More than enough Duke Vallière," Côté answered confidently, "We are bringing some of our best forces." The man turned to the map of the city on the table. "They'll be surrounding the city to cut off any possible enemy escape routes before moving into the city to remove Albion's forces."

"Will they be in any shape to fight?" Marshall Grammont asked, "They left your world only last night, did they not?"

"They'll be fine." The Canadian wasn't concerned. "What all of us here need to worry about is keeping the city center secure so we have something to catch them against. It seems that Albion's forces have stopped their attacks for now. My men can hold the front while yours rest."

"Will they be enough?" Duke Valliere asked before Côté answered with a nod.

"I am very confident in my troops' capabilities. Our airships will be back to offer support at our beck and call. Since we broke the siege on the base this morning, we can put all our focus here." He added in a more pleasant tone of voice.

"When was this?" Duchess Vallière questioned. While Major Evans had relayed it to the Queen and the Earth forces in the Capital, word hadn't reached the commanders in the streets yet.

"We received word of it just a few hours ago." Henrietta explained. "The Albion lord besieging the base has surrendered to our allies with the remainder of his army."

"Almost 2000 men according to estimates," Evans added "Another 8,000 were killed in the fighting."

There was evident disbelief in the room amongst the Tristainian nobles. Sure, the casualties had been heavy here, but there were tens of thousands of soldiers. The base only had a few hundred.

"So don't worry about the battle. Go rest you and your men for now. You've done a superb effort in beating back Albion all night and I'm happy to fighting alongside you right now." the Canadian commander praised, "Don't wear yourselves more than is needed."

Someone cleared their throat.

"You have something to add Major-?" Henrietta hesitated on the man's name.

"Major Evans, your Majesty," he corrected politely, "I just had word relayed back from the Joint Base: We have destroyed an entire Reconquista fleet that was returning here with reinforcements out at sea."

"These are wonderful news," Henrietta said, "Word of this must get out onto the streets."

The gathered nobles nodded in agreement though some were still skeptical. So many enemy casualties in such a short time was hard to believe. Still, good news was very welcome in such dire moments.

"Unfortunately, we've received news from our scouts as they were flying near Tarbes." Evans added more soberly, "Considering we saw ships before the attack break off from the three fleets, we believe that small bands of Albion troops are marauding around the countryside and raiding towns for supplies. We believe that they are using Tarbes as a main encampment- it is close to the coast."

It was not something surprising for anyone in the room. Marching armies in Halkegenia often had barely enough foodstuffs to stay well nourished and the local countryside was always a good source of fresh supplies.

"That was the good news," Evans continued grimly, "Our scouts have reported that Tarbes has been razed by Reconquista."

There was a pause as everyone tried to digest the information.

"Razed?" Henrietta asked quietly, "Have they seen any survivors?"

Evans shook his head.

"No. The scouts have seen a pyre and mass graves. I'm afraid that there are no survivors as far we can see."

The Tristainians gasped in horror. They knew that Reconquista was fanatical but no idea just how far they were willing to go for their beliefs.

"Brimir protect their souls," the young queen prayed, "Is there anything that can be done for Tarbes?"

The Canadian shook his head.

"As much I hate to say it," Côté spoke up, "We must focus on the capital right now."

Cromwell was becoming the next man that needed to be tried for war crimes.

Everyone soberly nodded as the door suddenly swung open, revealing a Navy messenger. The man looked pale and shaken.

"Excuse me," he said in a shaking voice, "But Admiral de Châteauneuf has perished!"

"What?!" Henrietta almost shouted, "How can this be?"

"His ship was destroyed by the enemy's flagship." The man nervously licked his lips. "We...have no Navy left, your Majesty."

"Every ship has been destroyed?" Duke Valliere asked, barely hiding his horror at such news.

"The Defender barely made into her moorings before she broke up," the messenger said sadly, "We are trying to save as many survivors as we can from the wreckage."

"Brimir protect them," Henrietta prayed again while Lt-Colonel Côté looked serious. The Major quickly got on his radio to pass on this news back to the Academy.

"Your Majesty, I must excuse myself for a moment. I will speak with General Carignan about this… latest development."


"We haven't lost the war in the air, but our allies have." General Carignan stated before her staff, "The Tristainian Navy has gone down fighting and is no longer a viable force. We've neutralized the enemy's Navy except for their command vessel."

There were a few murmurs inside the command tent. The odds were evening out, but not yet won. The enemy Navy was done in except for its most powerful asset. They had the city center, and by extension the most important assets to save, under guard but there were still thousands of enemy troops in the city.

That ship could cause plenty of problems to their forces though. They had to neutralize it somehow.

"What options do we have?" Carignan asked her subordinates and American counterparts, "Destroying that ship above the capital is our last option." She clarified.

"We can attempt to lure the ship away from the capital's airspace," one suggested, "Of course, we would need to have something big enough to entice it to shift its attention away from the fighting."

That was the main issue that they faced as the only thing to probably shift that ship's attention was the North American relief forces. It would require great timing as they would need to have helicopters present at the same time. To do so meant potentially pulling away sorely needed firepower that was required in the present.

"Why not outright board it?" An American suggested. "We got helicopters in theater and Special Operations on the ground. That's the stuff they're trained for, isn't it?"

That was all true. The Special Forces teams had been in the Capital fighting to defend the diplomatic compounds, but there was nothing stopping them from being shifted to offensive action, especially now that there were more boots on the ground defending the compounds. The Brigadier had the authority to order such an operation. But there were only two dozen of them, and likely hundreds of enemy personnel on that ship. They could very well run out of ammo before they secured it, or get overwhelmed by numbers. And that would be if the helicopters could get them to ground in the first place.

"It's too risky." Was the conclusion after they discussed it. But it was still a step above shooting it down while it was above their heads. "It'll only proceed if no other means are available." Was the decision. As it was, the ship was motionless after defeating the Tristainian Navy. It had stopped being a direct threat for now. But if it did again… they'd take the risk.


During the whole meeting, Louise and Saito had remained silent. There was simply so many important figures in one room that were at work that they didn't dare speak at all. After the meeting was over, the Queen had asked for a private moment with them, her voice barely hiding her anger.

Now the master and familiar were standing in the same quarters they had left earlier during the battle with Henrietta looking at them.

"Lady Vallière, I believe that my orders were quite clear when we last spoke," Henrietta said in a very formal and serious voice, "Why have you chosen to disobey my orders?" No longer were the talking like friends. This time, the conversation was between liege and subject.

"Y-your Majesty," Saito stammered before being cut off by Louise.

"I must apologize for my familiar's disobedient behavior, your Majesty," the mage said, bowing before her queen, "And my poor decisions in letting myself influence by his decision to disobey an order from my Queen."

Henrietta sighed tiredly.

"You are forgiven for your transgressions, Lady Vallière but I will not tolerate that you recklessly risk your life in such a fashion. Have you been able to harness the power of the Founder's Prayer Book?"

Louise looked down at her feet.

"No, I have not your Majesty," she said dejectedly, "We have not been able to unlock its secrets."

"I see… you are to remain here and attempt to discover its powers," Henrietta ordered, "I will assign a guard to make sure that you remain here… Louise-Françoise."


Cromwell wanted to pull out his hair as he read his latest reports. The messenger had quickly left after handing him his papers.

"How is this possible!?" He ranted as he threw the reports, "How dare they interfere with my will… with Brimir's!?"

The reports was that a small band of outworldly soldiers had arrived in the city. At first, it seemed that the enemy was desperate… until Cromwell read how this small band of soldiers had all but humiliated his forces whenever they met in battle. Entire units would be forced back effortlessly and no matter where they struck, his men were always met by the otherworlders. What foul magic or entities did they consort with to have such foresight?! It was a heresy that tarnished Brimir's world even worse than the Elves. Those foolish Tristainians would have to pay for such an alliance. This realm had to be cleansed by the fury of His righteous followers.

With their presence however, something started to nag in his mind.

"Where is Sheffield?!" he said to no one, "By the Founder, where are my reinforcements?!"

Down below, the fighting continued. All the fighting was on the ground, now. That was the good news that convinced Albion's Lord-Protector that he was doing his Founder's work. His fleet had wiped out the Tristainian Navy.

"9000 men from the South… nothing to worry about," he muttered to himself as he read another report, one that had been sent by messenger pigeon right before the ships were intercepted. Not that Cromwell knew yet.


Guiche groaned as he collapsed against the wall of a manor. Light snoring could be heard as him and his men rested their tired, aching bodies, the wounded already having been transported to safety of the Palace. In the distance, it seemed that the city had fallen calm once again, the sound of battle having died out for the time being. Both sides were licking their wounds.

Verdandi snuggled up to his side, its large body proving to be a comfortable rest. Normally, the young noble would have refused to let himself be seen in such a way but now was not the time.

Appearance was not a luxury he cared much after the past night of battle. He heard the sound of boots thumping against the ground. Turning his head over, he saw bulky musketeers dressed in green-beige patterned clothing moving down a street.

'More of our allies' soldiers,' he mused as they marched pass him.

Some waved as they pass, cheering the Tristainians.

"You really fucked them up!" One called with a grin on his face.

Guiche noticed how some looked young and fresh while others looked older but sharper, their eyes darting around. These men looked determined to fight… almost as if they were defending their own homes. Confidence radiated from them. The young man remembered how they first arrived in Tristainia, bringing death and fire to their common enemy.

A voice suddenly snapped him out of his musings.

"You got any wounded with you?" one of them asked as he walked to him, flanked by other soldiers, "We can patch some of them up."

The dark-skinned man looked older and experienced.

"N-No," Guiche stammered, his voice hoarse from exhaustion, "We've already brought our wounded to the Palace."

He glimpsed at the man's uniform. There were various insignias and writing at different places. Guiche could make out a pair of crossed swords with 'MOUNTAIN' above it on the man's left shoulder underneath what seemed to be a flag. On his chest, he could read 'Monroe' and 'U.S. ARMY'.

"Good." The man then began to reach into a pouch on his armour before producing a green bottle.

"Drink up son. You looked thirsty."

Guiche took the bottle and almost emptied it, the cool water refreshing his tired body. The others handed water as well.

"Don't worry about the water," the man said before the noble could say anything, "Rest up. We might need you soon if Albion pushes harder."

"Thank you very much milo-" Guiche stopped remembering his meeting with the Canadian officer a few months earlier.

"You're welcome milord."

With that, the soldiers left, joining the rest of the relief force.


"Lord-Protector!" a messenger said urgently as he bowed before the Reconquista leader, "An enemy army has arrived from the south!"

"These are lies!" Cromwell roared, "The Founder would have prevented them from getting here!"

The messenger shrunk and quaked in his boots as he saw his leader walk to the side of the Lexington and looking out towards the south with his telescope.

"Where are Brimir's ships?!" he ranted, "Have they sullied His Name with their incompetence?! Blasphemous fools!"

As Cromwell scanned the skies, he could see none of his ships but he could make out plumes of smoke rising from the south.

"Liar," he muttered angrily, cursing the messenger, "The smoke is the enemy's defeated and battered armies… not His ships burning. Yes- yes-..."

He lost all words as he looked to the ground and saw ranks of men and horses marching proudly. His tired mind could barely comprehend what was happening here.

"This-this must be a test of my faith in Him," Cromwell shakily muttered to himself, "I merely need to have faith in his Will and my reinforcements will arrive with Sheffield when they'll be most needed and I will claim another victory for Reconquista! This is but a test of Faith."

He was rambling, but his mind was not entirely gone. He knew deep down what he was seeing was that his ships had been destroyed. A small bit of logical reasoning made its way through the delusion, but it didn't have anything good to say: What if the ships carrying the reinforcements had been destroyed too? What if Sheffield was dead?

A spark of clarity ran through Cromwell's sleep deprived mind as he looked over his flagship and its crew. He knew how he would end this battle. It would take but one swift, savage blow to end this battle. He could defeat the outworlders not with force, but with leverage.

"I want the Lexington to attack the Royal Palace. We shall bombard it before landing and capturing that foolish Tristainian brat that dared stand against His will," he ordered, his voice cold and calm. His officers looked nervous. "Order the crew to arm themselves."

"Milord, are you certain of this?" one asked hesitantly, "The enemy's Palace defenses are still intact and they can certainly inflict great damage upon our ship."

"No, Brimir will protect us, His faithful, from harm," Cromwell insisted with absolute clarity, "So press on with this attack. Our boldness will earn His favor and grant us a great victory. The army will intensify its assault against the enemy."

His officers looked at each other uncomfortably before nodding in unison. Their leader's sudden calmness unnerved them all.

"It will be done milord," one finally answered, "We shall send word to the army as well."


It had been almost an hour since Cromwell had issued the order to attack. As time passed on, the Reconquista leader noticed that his ship had not moved. In the distance, he could not hear the sound of battle. Tristainia was silent. He walked out of his quarters and saw his officers conversing.

"Why are we still here? Why can I not hear the sounds of battle?" Cromwell asked, causing his officers to jump in surprise.

"Milord!" the most senior of officers exclaimed as he turned to face his Lord-Protector.

"Explain this immediately. Is this insubordination from Brimir's finest officers?"

"No-no Lord-Protector," the same man stammered, "We-we were merely waiting for the army to refor-"

Those were the admiral's last words. In a flash, Cromwell's left hand flew up from his side, a purple ring shining brightly as he chanted a few words. The admiral straightened out before walking, puppet like, to the side of the Lexington before leaping off into the ground below.

The other officers gasped, their faces contorted in horror at what they had just witnessed. They looked at their leader. His face betrayed no emotions as he looked at them.

"Brimir punishes those that defy his will. Now, can this final, decisive assault begin?" Cromwell asked calmly.

A chorus of "Yes, Lord-Protector." confirmed his officers as they moved around. Orders were being issued. Men moved around and messengers took off, carrying commands to the various army commanders.

The Lexington began to move ominously towards the palace.


"Shit" was a word shared by both drone operator and the forward elements of the joint American/Canadian relief force as they saw the Lexington fly toward the palace. Inside the Palace, panic sparked as hundreds of refugees fled from one side to the other. The Musketeers and even the Palace staff took up weapons like they expected the enemy to land. At the same time, they did their best to guide the civilians safely through the hallways, trying to avoid a stampede.

And at the Embassies, the beginnings of the boarding operation were taking place. Weapons were checked and extra ammunition tucked into pouches and pockets. Extra ammunition was loaded into the helicopters and their pilots, who'd never performed a boarding operation before, doing whatever last minute checks they could.

The most daring Earth operation in Halkegenia up to this point was about to kick off.


Grand Duke Guldenhof looked grimly through his telescope as he saw the enemy's flagship hovering ominously above the smoldering capital. His army was forming up to attack Albion's rear guard. Scanning over, the Grand Duke noticed something strange… the enemy seemed to ignore his presence.

"Grand Duke, what are your orders?" one of his subordinates asked as he rode up to him.

"Order the Luft Panzer Ritter to attack the enemy. They are entirely committed to attacking the capital."

The powerful dragon knights of the Grand Duchy of Guldenhof were some of the finest, if not the finest dragon knights on the mainland, being only bested by those from Albion.

"Yes, Grand Duke. It will be-"

"By the Founder!" The noble exclaimed as he looked through his telescope. A series of explosions tore through the rear of the Albion army and encampment.

"What power has done this?!"

He scanned once more the battlefield and found his answer.

Rows upon rows of war wagons with cannon attached to their top that were firing into the enemy's lines and advanced with great speed.


The flurry of activity continued in the Palace as the Lexington approached.

"Her Majesty has ordered everyone able to fight to man the walls," Agnes said as she passed one of the Musketeers guarding one of the many rooms.

"Even if-"

"New orders Renée!" Agnes ordered, "No exceptions!"

"Understood Captain de Milan," the musketeer replied respectfully as she followed her commander. She hadn't noticed that one of the occupants inside said room was listening to every word that had been said.

"Now's our chance Louise!" Saito exclaimed as he slowly opened the door, "She's gone!"

"B-but-" the mage stammered as she stood up from her chair, "Our orders you idiot!?"

Saito shook his head.

"New orders… her Majesty wants everyone on the walls!" the teen said as he slid out of the room.

"Y-you i-idiot! You're sleeping on straw when we get back to the Academy!" Louise ranted as she followed her boyfriend.


"Lord-Protector! The otherworlders are here!" a messenger reported urgently to Cromwell. He was met with naught by silence. As he looked up, he saw an emotionless face looking back at him, undisturbed by the grave news.

"They are breaking through our rear. Our men are powerless to stop them. Their armoured wagons and cannon are too powerful for even our mightiest mage to stop!" the messenger continued, trying to impress Cromwell with the urgency of the situation.

"It is of no consequence," the Albion leader finally said, "Brimir will grant us final victory. We merely need to act decisively and He will grant us victory."

Cannonfire began to be heard.

"The Palace guns are firing at us!" a crewman reported urgently.

"All men to battle stations!" the captain of the ship ordered, his voice amplified by magic.


On the fields outside of the capital, the battle had been joined. Canadian forces had gone around the south of the city to attack to Albion forces in the west while the Americans commenced battle against those east of Tristania.

If one could call such a scene a battle. Armoured vehicles from Canada and the United States were shelling the Albion forces from a kilometer away. Albionian cannoneers could seldom understand their powerlessness as their guns and they were shattered one by one. How could the enemy command such range. How had Brimir allowed such monsters to exist?

The proud Albion cavalry, unused so far in the battle, formed up and rode forth to meet their enemy. It was a magnificent sight as their holy banners flew in the air, their armour and weapons gleaming in the sunlight. Their horns sounded the charge while leaders urged their men onwards.

They could see their enemy's monstrous metal beasts in the distance, lumbering towards them. Large ungainly green monsters that moved without horses over the ground, kicking up dirt behind them as they moved tirelessly across the ground. It was almost an insult to Brimir's land as their presence defiled the ground beneath them.

One noble held his sword high as he led his fellow riders into what he believed was glorious battle.

"Forwards men of Albion! Our Founder is with us on this day! He shall-"

The noble never finished his sentence, being struck down by the monstrous beasts' powers. The entire unit disappeared under a hail of concentrated coaxial fire from the tanks of the 12e Régiment Blindé, both men and mount. Some horses survived the hail of fire but their lifeless riders were dangling from their saddles.

In a few instants, the Albion cavalry ceased to exist as they were swept aside by the Canadian Army's Leopard 2 tanks. There was nothing left between the soft belly of Albion's army and the sledgehammer that was the North American relief force. As they dashed forwards, the armoured vehicles' firepower tore through the Albion rearguard with ease. Formations hastily thrown into the way collapsed like a house of cards, men torn apart by the violent firepower or mentally broken by such a demonstration of brute force. Magical shields and earth barriers failed to buy any meaningful amount of time for those who cast them. Fireballs merely singed the front armour of the Canadian tanks before their casters disappeared in explosions, anti-tank assets being priority targets for the main gun.

Infantry disembarked from their transports and pushed forwards with the LAV-III's providing a withering hail of fire to cover their assault. Sporadic gunfire could be heard as the Canadian infantry advanced and encountered bands of fanatical Albion soldiers who tried to fight despite the odds.

In the north, the 10th Mountain moved swiftly, unimpeded by any Albion counterthrust. The enemy had all but collapsed. MRAP's provided fire that tore through the enemy's wavering ranks while the Mountaineers disembarked to mop up any nonsense from the enemy forces. It was swift and unforgiving.

Others cowered on the ground or raised their hands in surrender to the advancing Canadian infantry. The initial assault broke through the Albion lines and outer camps. As the soldiers advanced, they came into sight of the enemy's inner camp. They raised their weapons as they moved forward just in case if anymore zealots ran out screaming for blood. A tired man walked out, a bloodied white rag in his hands. His clothes were stained red as he raised his impromptu white flag.

"Please! Please! Have mercy!" he pleaded desperately, "By Brimir, I implore of you to spare this hospital!"

"Keep your hands where they are!" a Canadian sergeant shouted as her men advanced, "Cooperate with us and we will spare you!"

"Yes-yes!"

"Secure this area!"

The Canadians bound the man before they moved forward. They could moans of agony the closer they were. Blood stained the ground beneath them. They saw stretchers with men in various state of injury and consciousness. Other wide-eyed casualties lay on the grass as they agonized, fear and pain mixed on their faces as they saw the imposing soldiers.

That was what they found most of all in both camps: wounded. So many wounded that the tents couldn't hold them all and many men were hosted outside. The only 'military' target any of them found were metal working tools and barrels full of spare weapons. But for the most part all they captured were thousands upon thousands of men wounded by a warfare far more primitive than theirs. Some peered inside the tents to secure them.

Needless to say, medical science had come a long way since the 1600's. Even with Water Magic, the ferocious fighting had simply flooded the Water Mage healers who had to use mundane healing means to try and treat the torrent of casualties. The healers begged for help, hoping that their foes would show leniency to the wounded men.

Then cannon fire rang out from the walls- Albion troops using abandoned Tristainian defenses. But the shots fell well short of the camps; obviously Albion hadn't set up that close to the walls. Tank and TOW fire responded in kind, and new sections of Tristainia's wall fell down. The cannons fell silent in an instant.

The healers who were at the hospital blanched at the sudden attack before dropping to their knees to beg for mercy, trying to say that they played no part in the sudden cannonade.

"Keep an eye out for any funny business huh?" the sergeant ordered, "We'll give you the benefit of the doubt for now but try anything and we will shoot to kill."

The last few words were crystal clear for the captured Albion troops.

The Earth soldiers were outnumbered 7-1 here, but no one was willing to give them trouble, especially after the surge of grievously wounded and shocked that had come in wailing about demonic airships. The hospitals were locked down, the breeches in the walls secured, and word send back that they'd be ready for the rest of the infantry to arrive.

There was one last transmission though, warning command of something that the British military attache and the 3rd Battalion commander had already relayed moments before: the Palace was being bombarded.


In the skies near the Palace, cannonballs flew back and forth as the Lexington traded fire with the Palace's defensive cannons. It was a furious engagement as the gunners on both the battlements and the Albion flagship worked feverishly to load their weapons. The fate of this battle was in their soot covered hands. Projectiles crashed into the battlements, sending shards of stone flying everywhere. Occasionally, a cannon was hit by the Lexington'sweapons, shattering crew and weapon. The Palace defenders were also battering away at the massive ship's hull with their weapons. Fighting had resumed in the streets leading up to the inner center of Tristainia, Albion troops smashing against desperate, tired but defiant Tristainian defenders or were mowed down by fresh, resolute North American troops.

Amongst the chaos on the battlements, Louise and Saito were trying to help as best they could. The Tokyo teen was running around with powder bags to help reload the Palace's defenses while Louise was trying to guide him in the confusion.

"Saito! Look out! A little to the right- I mean the left!"

"What are you doing here Lady Vallière?!" an angry voice sounded, causing Louise's head to snap. It was none other than Henrietta who was glaring at her.

"Did I not order you to remain in that room?!"

"Your Majesty! We wanted to ass-"

"Wha-arghhhh!"

A cannon had hit a nearby wall section, sending debris flying everywhere. A chunk of masonry had struck Saito and knocked flat on his back.

"SAITO!" Louise shrieked as she ran to him. She held his head. He looked slightly dazed.

"Urgh. Wha-what just happened?" he said, confusion apparent on his face as he saw his girlfriend's worried, tearstained face while pain radiated from his body. She kissed him… and both suddenly felt a burst of power between them.

"What's happening?!"the pink mage exclaimed as she felt power flowing through her body. Light began to surround her as runes floated towards her head. Saito's runes shone brightly as well.

"She's awakening!" Derflinger suddenly said, "Her powers are awakening!"

"What!?" Henrietta exclaimed as she ran over. Louise's eyes had gone blank as began to chant an unknown spell. She stood straight as she pointed her wand at the enemy ship.

"Buy her some time!" the sword ordered urgently, "Her spell will take a moment to chant to give it full power."

"What's happening?" the queen asked worriedly as she saw the light gathering around Louise. The other Tristainians looked at the scene, their jaws slack from shock.

"Keep firing!" The sword yelled again, and for some reason everyone did. The fighting continued for several moments longer while Louise didn't move an inch.

Light began to encircle the pink haired mage before turning into a white beam that sped out towards the ship. It missed, streaking past its target and over part of the city before turning into a great ball of energy that detonated into a powerful pulse that hit the massive warship, rocking it violently. Wood cracked and shattered. Cannons were suddenly blown from their secure locations. Albion sailors were knocked over the side and to their deaths below. What was left of the shockwave hit the battlements, light enough to not cause damage but still send dust and loose debris into the air.

At first, it seemed that the ship was still airworthy but creaking sounds began to grow louder and faster. Pieces of the hull began falling at a quicker pace while the ship began to quickly lose altitude. No doubt that the explosion had damaged the windstones. It tried to break away from the Palace battlements, more pieces falling off as it desperately flew away.

It kept losing altitude as it approached the edge of the city, and for a moment everyone on the battlements were sure it was going to crash into the city. Instead, the massive ship of the line landed directly on a section of wall, snapping its spine unnaturally in two. The back half of the ship fell into the city, and the front fell into the fields outside Tristania.

Shocked silence rained not just on the battlements, but all over the city. Everyone, Halkagenian and all, had just witnessed some terrible form of magic that destroyed a flagship wholesale. Only one person wasn't surprised by it.

"T-told you you were powerful," Saito chuckled weakly. Louise was still standing with her wand held out in front of her.

"You might want to catch her, partner." Derf warned just a second before Louise's small form began to crumple.


Nearly 3,000 people from Earth witnessed the explosion, and to say it caused a mild panic would be an understatement. Troops outside the city hit the ground. The ones in the center of the city stopped their fire to do the exact same as what looked like a MOAB went off in the air not too far from them. The Spec Ops teams, just about to lift off for the assault, disembarked to watch their target fall from the sky while the Embassy staff inside were taking cover under their desks. An American Chinook in the airspace was buffered by the dissipating shockwave and quickly retreated out.

"Bloody hell!"

"Calisse de tabarnak!"

Major Evans and Lt-Colonel Côté had seen it from inside the Palace. The Canadian was on the radio and almost dropped the handpiece he was using.

"Fucking hell." One of the SAS operators said less eloquently as he looked out from the helicopter. There was a torrent of Quebec, American, and British swearing that was going off all over the city.

"Do you have any idea what just happened General du Poitier?" the Canadian officer asked urgently, "Was that your forces or the enemy's? The Tristainian commander paled.

"Power like that is unheard off save for some legends from the days of the Founder," du Poitier finally answered after he recomposed himself.

"Unbelievable," Côté muttered before turning to the Tristainian general, "Please figure it out as fast as you can. That might've caused some friendly fire. And we'll need to see where it crashed. I'll update our General on this."

The detonation came with a grave implication: someone had potentially bought a weapon of mass destruction to the table without anyone knowing.

"I will send one of my men to see and we'll do what can to find out how it happened," du Poitier replied before he ordered one of his men to do so. The man hurried off as fast as he could, barely believing what happened.

Lt-Colonel Côté ordered his signalmen to get a status report from his units, hoping that none had been caught in the blast zone or crushed by the falling warship.


Back at the Academy, the comms center was being overwhelmed with traffic. Reports of a sudden large, mid-air detonation flooded the comms while General Carignan and her staff tried to make sense of the situation and discover if any casualties had been sustained.

But one fact was apparent: the enemy flagship had been the target and was out of the fight for good. So either it'd been someone on their side or the enemy had screwed up with their own magic. But the entire Canadian military had been getting briefings on magic since the worlds connected, and this was unheard of.

But it wasn't a perfect science, so surprises were to be expected. If that had been magic, it had been some magic on par with some of Earth's deadliest weapons. Definitely a matter that needed to reach the upper echelons of American and Canadian leadership. It was something that could change how diplomacy was conducted in Halkeginia… especially if other powers had such capabilities.

While the Pentagon and NDHQ received word on a possible escalation, Lt-Colonel Côté contacted the Brigadier directly.

"M. Côté, can you confirm the reports of a possible WMD being used by Albion's forces?" the general asked urgently.

"We don't fully know what happened but we can confirm that a very large burst of what seemed to be magical energy suddenly appeared and detonated in midair. According to what we witnessed, there was an almost blinding white light before the detonation happened. It's caused shockwaves around the city center, but no casualties no far."

"Very well, what else can you report?" Carignan continued.

"The ship has partially crashed inside the city walls," Côté reported, "We don't know if anyone survived though. Part of it landed outside near the advanced force. It's surprisingly intact"

"Get in contact with the advanced elements. I want them to secure that ship as soon possible then," Carignan ordered the communications section., "Someone might've survived who can tell us what happened. What are the enemy forces doing?"

"They're running. I don't think they understand what happened and I presume that they think it's our fault." That was something, but as long as the enemy was retreating.

And whether or not they realized it, they were retreating right into the noose the Earth forces had set up.


The destruction of the Lexington had caused shockwaves inside the war torn streets of Tristainia for both sides. The most tired defenders felt a second wind carry them forward while the Albion troops were divided. Some saw the loss of their ship to such a phenomenon as a sign that they had lost divine favor from their Founder and chose to drop their weapons as they fled through the ruined capital. Had the outworlders used unholy magic against them to rob them of any chances victory? Was it displeasure from Brimir? Could their enemy be preparing to use more of this power on them? Many chose not to tempt fate and ran away.

Many others saw anger flare up their hearts as they sought to avenge the loss of the Lexington and possibly even the loss of their Lord-Protector chosen by Brimir to lead them to glory and salvation. This weapon or magic was a perversion of the Holy Gift that he had given humans. It was their duty to fight the heretical enemy that had bought such a blasphemous power to defeat them.

And so they hurled themselves forward against their foe. Some were trying desperately to make their way to the fallen flagship, hoping they could save their Lord-Protector. In this chaos, more gaps had appeared in the already porous Albion lines.

Some Tristainians saw the opportunity as they dashed forward, a burning desire in their hearts to finally expel the enemy that dared defile their capital.

"Forwards men! For Tristain!" Guiche yelled as he rose his sword once more, this time hoping it would be the final assault.


For the Canadian troops outside the walls, the shock of seeing the enemy capital ship crashing was soon dissipated. There was plenty of cursing as the soldiers remanned their blocking positions in anticipation of anyone trying to get out. The ruined wall segments were perfect obstacles to slow down any retreating forces.

As the broken Albion troops clambered over the debris, they heard loud voices.

"Men of Albion! Surrender now and you will be spared!" the voices demanded in perfect Albionian, "We will grant mercy to those who surrender! Drop your weapons and raise your hands above your heads."

Some were quick to cooperate, tired of the near constant bloodshed of the past day. They threw down their weapons with no hesitation. Others refused to surrender and drew their weapons. Some even cut down those who surrendered, cursing them as traitors and heretics, before charging the American and Canadian positions. The result was a carnage at various breaches as it became difficult to separate surrendering men from those still wanting a fight. The echo of gunfire sporadically reverberated through the outer walls of Tristainia. The advance force was only a portion of the total relief force, but they were more than enough to contain the retreat.

Albion forces in the city who saw their comrades either surrender or get cut down tried going back into the city- only to come face to face with Tristanian forces that had been pursuing them. There was no navy to rescue them. There was nowhere to run. The only options were to surrender or to die. The invasion was over.

Albion- no, the Reconquista- had been defeated.

Now it was only a matter of cleaning up the remaining resistance.

Authors' endnotes:

Why no jets, you may ask. The ground forces would do more damage and the planes were just to attack Albion. Shipping in those jets would also take of effort that could been used for other things such as more boots and armour on the ground. You can bomb a city… but you can only secure it when the ground pounders stick a flag in the ground and say it's ours (Simplification but works in this context). Helicopters in this scenario are far more practical, requiring less effort to operate (Helipads vs airstrips) than jet fighters. They also happen to be more than enough to obliterate the Albion Navy and terrorize the ground forces as well as ferrying in men to defend the capital.

The portal is also a severe bottleneck for the coalition forces, forcing the commanders to prioritize what could come in. Unlike in GATE, the Coalition doesn't have weeks or months to respond but barely a day and a half. So they bought in what could do damage quickly… and was present nearby. In this case, the 10th Mountain Division that was already in theater (based in New-York state) and the 2nd Canadian Division (based in Quebec province).

That being said, jets will be coming in...